Quinn asked. “You think Alf’s death was more than a mugging?”
“I think there are a lot of unanswered questions about why he was on that particular street during a snowstorm and what exactly he was doing in that building’s courtyard.”
Quinn studied me a moment—read me, actually. “So you and Franco locked horns.”
“For about a minute, yes,” I admitted. “He was condescending and I was angry. In the end, the man did show an interest in my theory, but only if I was willing to discuss it with him off duty, over coffee and doughnuts. I’m pretty sure he was hitting on me.”
“Is that so?” Quinn’s eyebrow arched. “And?”
“And what?”
“And did you tell him you’re my girl?”
I laughed. “It wasn’t that big a pass. He was just starting to suggest we ‘make nice’ when Matt showed. Ten seconds later Matt was touching my chest in front of everyone, so Franco jumped to the conclusion that Matt and I—”
“Whoa, back up! Allegro did what to your chest?”
Oh, God. “It’s not what you think. See, I got caught in the middle of this police chase. The perp ran me down and Matt was worried I’d broken a rib—I hadn’t, but he wanted to check me out. I mean check my chest out. I mean my ribs—and Franco saw the whole thing and got the wrong impression—”
“I’m getting the wrong impression. And I’m completely lost. Start at the beginning.”
I did. I ran down the entire evening, the crime scene, the footprints in the snow. “Sergeant Franco said, ‘Two and two is four.’ But the man must be using new math because there’s definitely more to the story. Alf went to that deserted street for a reason, and I believe he was climbing the fire escape in the courtyard for a reason, too.”
“And you think those reasons will add up to why he was killed?”
“I realize there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence to support Franco’s version of the events, but I think there’s more here to investigate.”
Quinn went silent a moment. “Tell you what. I’ll keep an eye on how the case progresses. Who’s Franco’s partner?”
I told him.
“Good. I know Charlie Hong. He’s an easy guy to deal with, methodical, even-tempered—”
“You mean as opposed to this Franco character?”
Quinn avoided a direct reply. “I’ll have a chat with Charlie,” he simply said. “Find out when they pick up and charge that mugger who eluded capture.”
“Thanks, Mike. Looks like I’m going to owe you one again.”
His eyebrow arched suggestively. “Hold that thought.”
I laughed. But he didn’t. His gaze was too busy moving over me; his callused fingers too interested in sliding up my bare thigh.
I shivered—happily. For the first time tonight, my quaking had nothing to do with freezing cold weather, residual fear, or latent reaction to a bloody crime scene. Nevertheless, I stilled his hand.
“You want something to eat first?” I whispered, knowing he’d just come off duty after a very long day. “Some fresh coffee?”
I moved to get out of bed, but he stopped me.
“Stay put, Cosi. For once, I made a treat for you.”
“You’re kidding.”
Quinn rose from the bed and crossed the room to an end table near the fireplace. As my gaze followed him, I found myself actually noticing the decorations I’d put up that morning: the evergreen wreath hanging over the hearth’s ivory-marbled mantel, the tiny white lights framing the French doors, the gold tinsel draped along the top of the antique gilt-framed mirror.
The crackling fire had brought a glow to the room, and despite the chilling events of the evening, I felt my spirits rising again. Mike Quinn had built more than a fire in this room; he’d brought the warmth of the season back to me—along with a neatly folded brown bag.
“I was sorry about missing your tasting party,” he explained, sitting back on the bed. “But I did take your challenge.”
“What challenge?”
He held up the brown bag. “Didn’t you ask your staff to figure out what Christmas tastes like?”
“I did but I didn’t expect you to—”
“Close your eyes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Close ’em, Cosi.”
I did. Next I heard the brown bag rustling, then a plastic container popping open. The earthy smell of cocoa immediately hit my nostrils. A moment later, I felt Mike’s fingers slipping something cool and smooth between my lips. The morsel was round and fairly hard. I bit into it, hearing a gentle snap. The shell of rich chocolate burst open in my mouth, delivering a velvety taste of sugary fruit laced with the tart brightness of alcohol.
“A cherry cordial!”
“You