I was just another pretty face.”
“No, Sergeant. What I thought was—I’m sorry, but I thought you might be the shooter, some kind of vigilante doling out street justice.”
“I’m not all that surprised.” He shrugged. “I know you had your boyfriend ask around about me. Whether I was a good cop.”
“And?”
“And Mike Quinn got his answers. Ask him.”
“I don’t need to, Sergeant. Not anymore.”
Franco nodded, looking pleased. “So . . .” He glanced at Mike’s building. “Is your man up there?”
“I don’t think so. Can I use your cell phone to call him?”
Digging into his pocket, he smirked. “As long as it’s local . . .”
QUINN was extremely relieved to hear from me. “I left five messages on your voice mail, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry, Mike, I didn’t have my cell phone with me—”
“When I couldn’t reach you, I finally contacted Detective Hong. He filled me in. You should be pleased, Cosi.” I could hear the pride in Quinn’s tone. “Based on what you’ve uncovered, Hong is looking for evidence to link Alf’s killing with Karl’s. They might have come to that conclusion eventually, but you speeded up the process. And crimes have a much better chance of being solved when they’re—”
“—hot, I know. What about Dickie?” I asked after recounting my adventures in the New York Public Library, including my candy cane tangle with the man’s Known Associate.
“Hong’s already reached out to the Two-Oh on that—”
“You mean the Twentieth Precinct, right?”
“Right, sorry. That’s who caught the Kovic murder. They’re picking up Dickie right now for questioning. I’ll call Hong and let him know about the man who tried to assault you in the Public Library’s basement. If Dickie doesn’t give up a name, we’ll have you go through mug shots. The Twentieth Precinct house is on Eighty-second. I’ll take you myself tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay . . .” I sighed with relief and explained my current dilemma. “I’m sorry, Mike, but I don’t have a key with me to get into my place or yours.”
He told me what to do and asked me to put Franco on the line.
I did, thanking the sergeant again for his help, and then I climbed out of his unmarked car, punched in the front door code on Quinn’s building, and took the elevator up to Dr. Mel Billings’s apartment (a neighbor and coworker of Quinn’s who kept a spare key to his place).
Mel let me into Quinn’s one-bedroom, and I locked the door behind me. Then I rang Tucker, left a message on his cell to take my handbag and clothes with him when he left the library, and headed straight into a hot shower.
Toweling off, I heard the front door unlock and open. I smiled with relief, already feeling better because Mike was finally home. Using a small hand dryer, I took a few minutes to fluff up my chestnut hair. Then I sprayed on a bit of perfume, glossed my lips, wrapped a terrycloth robe around me, and began swinging the bathroom door out toward the bedroom.
“Hey, big boy! Guess who?”
I froze at the sound of a strange woman’s singsong voice—and pushed the door the rest of the way open.
Sitting on Mike’s king-size bed was a tall, slender, thirtysomething woman. Her most striking feature—a silky curtain of red curls—framed a delicately sculpted face with a complexion of flawless porcelain. A Mrs. Claus baby-doll nightie barely covered the woman’s long, slender torso. Her Rockette-length legs were crossed; her pretty feet manicured with holiday red polish; and the expression in her big, blue, doll-like eyes was one of pure shock.
Okay, that made two of us in shock.
“Who are you?” I demanded—and that’s when I remembered. This was the same Blend customer who’d been giving me nasty looks for the past week. I’d assumed she’d been holding a grudge because of our argument on the night of Alf’s murder. Obviously, I’d been wrong.
“I’m Leila!” she now informed me. “Leila Quinn!”
“Mike’s ex-wife!”
I closed my eyes. Mike never wanted to talk about Leila. He displayed no photos of her, and I’d never pressed him for details. I thought I was letting the man heal, allowing him space from bad memories. Now I could see what that naive trust had wrought.
Opening my eyes, I glared. “Why are you here?”
“Excuse me,” she snapped, “why are you here?”
“Mike invited me!”
“Well, he invited me, too,” Leila said with a pout. “And you know what? Three’s a crowd!” She pointed to one of her wrists and, right in front of me, handcuffed herself to Mike’s bedpost!
My