hoped—she’d given up. But apparently she fed off disinterest.
They entered the squad room and he spotted a wastebasket next to one of the desks. He pulled the paper from his pocket, meaning to three-point it into the trash. Was shocked to have it snatched out of his hand.
“ ‘Nate the Great?’ ” Risa read off the note. Her mouth quirked as she turned slightly to prevent his grab for the paper. “One of your conquests, detective?”
“She’s sixty if she’s a day, and has a strange fixation on me. I don’t encourage it.”
Risa flicked a nail at the message. “So inviting you over for borscht and kotlety isn’t an ethnic euphemism for sex?”
Dammit, he could feel his ears heating. “I was throwing that away.”
“No problem.” She tossed it neatly in the wastebasket from an admirable distance, then cupped a hand to her ear. “Is that the sound of a heart shattering I hear?”
“You’re hilarious,” he informed her, lengthening his strides. She kept up with him easily. She was nearly as tall as he was. And her legs . . . well, he’d noticed how long they were yesterday. Before he’d realized she had a sense of humor.
The fact that he was the butt of it tempered his appreciation of that quality. “Keep your voice down. These guys don’t need much encouragement.”
She smirked. “Ah, department humor. I miss it.”
“Stick around. A few days here should cure that.” He pushed open the door to his office, belatedly remembering to step aside for her to enter first. “You can take Cass’s desk. She’s set up temporarily near Brandau.” And hopefully Jett would keep her mind on the job. It had required some fast-talking to convince the captain that Cass belonged on the case. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her she was on very thin ice, professionally.
Rounding his desk, he powered up his laptop and accessed the departmental database. He tapped in Juicy’s alias, and after a moment he added drugs as a keyword, hoping at least for an arrest report to get them started. A minute later he gave a long low whistle. “Jackpot.”
“What? You found something already?” Slipping out of her suit jacket as she spoke, Risa hurried to look over his shoulder.
“Found a few somethings. Juicy is apparently a hot nickname among dirtballs.” He shifted to allow her a better view. “But my bet is on this guy.” He scrolled back up to the top of the screen.
“Possession with intent, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder . . . a varied career.”
“For which it looks like he’s only done time once. Three years on the attempted murder charge. That doesn’t make sense.” He read more carefully, jotting down notes on a pad he took from his center desk drawer. One of the arresting officers was in a neighboring district. He took out his cell and called the number given on the report. Risa leaned forward and nudged his hand away from the keyboard so she could scroll through all the listings.
She had her dark blond hair pulled back today, but one long strand had worked free and curved along her jaw. In profile she looked almost delicate, which was a joke. Even in the short time he’d known her, he had a feeling that she was about as delicate as a pit bull.
“The third one’s a possibility, too,” she said, and turned to look at him. Her eyes were an odd amber color, wide and thickly fringed. And when the call went to Randolph’s voice mail, he had to clear his throat before speaking.
“This is Detective Nate McGuire, Homicide. I’m heading the task force on the three dead detectives and one of your old arrests may be of interest to us.” To divert his attention from the female standing too close to him, he scrolled back up the screen to check the name again. “Javon Emmons.” He read off the arrest report number. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call back at this number.” He rattled off his cell and disconnected. Thankfully, Risa moved away, her arms folded across her chest, looking thoughtful. He made a second phone call on the photo she’d indicated, identified as Dwayne Jersey, and once again had to leave a message, this time for an Officer Pelton. After consulting the list on-screen once more, he made a third and final call concerning one William Fox.
“We could show Crowley an array of these photos and see if he IDs one of them.”