NYPD Red 6 - James Patterson Page 0,41
made the phone call.
It all went well until Jamie dropped the bomb and told them that half a day after the proof-of-life video went live, Veronica Gibbs had not lifted a finger to do anything to help her unborn grandchild.
Erin was right. Veronica was a tight-fisted bitch, but Jamie was the real roadblock. He had no balls.
It was a problem Bobby hadn’t planned on, and he wasn’t sure how to solve it.
He reached inside his shirt, tugged at the chain around his neck, pulled out the .357 Magnum bullet, and closed his eyes.
The answer would come.
CHAPTER 37
SPENDING HALF MY waking life with my ex-girlfriend can be a double-edged sword.
On the upside, I get to be with her, work with her, eat with her, laugh with her, argue with her, and occasionally I get to bail her out of a jam or be a shoulder for her to lean on. It’s like being married, only without the sex, the in-laws, or the mortgage.
Kylie had summed it all up yesterday morning: You’re not just my partner, Zach. You’re my rock. You’re my best friend.
I was her best friend. And she was definitely mine. That was the good part. The downside was that when you’re in close quarters with someone for hours on end it’s impossible to escape her private life. Even when you’re trying hard to avoid it.
I knew Cheryl’s cousin Shane would be calling Kylie, and I was hoping it would be when we were off duty or at least when we were in the office, so I could walk out of the room.
No such luck. We were on the Sixty-Fifth Street transverse on our way back to the precinct. Kylie was driving when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID, shrugged, plugged in an earbud, and took the call.
“This is Detective MacDonald. Who’s this?” A beat, then: “Oh, Cheryl warned me you might call.” She laughed. The “warned me” bit must have gone over well with him. “I didn’t recognize the phone number,” she said. “Where’s area code 832?”
Houston. He just moved from there.
“How do you like New York?” she asked.
I picked up my phone and started scrolling through my e-mails. I hadn’t wanted to be around when Shane called, but now that I was a captive audience, the best I could do was shift my body to look like I wasn’t interested while my ears homed in on every word.
“No, really, you’re not interrupting anything,” she said. “My partner and I are just driving back to the office. Oh, right … of course you know him—Zach. He had dinner at your place a few nights ago. He says you’re a pretty decent cook.”
She looked over at me to see if I’d react to hearing my name, but I was tapping away furiously, a man hell-bent on responding to an e-mail.
The call didn’t last more than a few minutes, but I recognized the dance. It was that giddy first-time meet-and-greet before there was any drama, any craziness, any baggage.
I remembered back when I was in Shane’s shoes. It was my first day at the academy. I was sizing up the other recruits when the door opened, and Kylie MacDonald breezed in—blond, tan, with the face of an angel and the body of a sinner.
Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Testosterone surged.
“Excuse me while I go introduce myself to my new partner,” one guy said, heading straight toward her. Half a dozen others followed. Not me. I decided that this girl knew she was a magnet, and she’d flirt with the herd but wonder about the guy who showed no interest.
It was my first bit of profiling as a wannabe cop, and I was spot-on. A week later she came up to me after class and introduced herself.
And that’s where Mr. Shane Talbot was right now—that first conversation, the banter light and playful, the possibilities endless.
Laugh it up, I thought as she cracked up at something he said. If sparks fly, and their relationship goes somewhere, so be it. The irony of it all was that I’d be the one who got the credit for suggesting that the two of them should meet.
Kylie hung up the phone and, still smiling, exited the transverse at Fifth Avenue and headed for the precinct a few blocks away.
She didn’t look over at me to tell me who’d called.
And I, of course, didn’t ask.
CHAPTER 38
DANNY CORCORAN WAS waiting for us back at the station. He looked like he hadn’t slept since we’d assigned him to work