Gonna freeze their asses off.”
Shane’s gaze followed. He watched as one stupid kid who couldn’t have been more than fifteen dared the other to go out as far as his knees. The dark-haired moron at the kid’s right rolled up his pants legs and headed out into the freezing water. “Serve ’em right it they catch hypothermia.”
Jack chuckled. “Anything to get out of sittin’ in class. Not too long ago you and I would have been doing that.” He watched two women dressed in thick sweats, hats and gloves as they jogged by. When they rounded the bend, he glanced up to the gray sky. “Smells like snow.”
“Smells like snow, my ass.” Shane leaned back against the bench, wrapped his bare hands around the warm cup. “You haven’t been able to smell crap since you took that bullet.” Three years and a handful of surgeries later, all that was left of that dark night was a thin scar on Jack’s cheek. But it had been enough to make Shane’s ex-partner say adios to the Chicago PD.
Jack shot him a grin. “You’re perky this afternoon. I sure do miss that sunshine-sweet temperament of yours.”
“I need a fucking vacation.”
Jack sipped his drink. “You need a career change, my friend. I keep tellin’ ya, PI work is cush. Set your own hours, choose your clientele. No one lookin’ over your shoulder, telling you what to do. Pretty sweet.”
Yeah. Sweet. Jack had been trying to lure him away from the department for nearly two years now. And there were days where he actually thought about making a change. About ditching Chicago and heading off to the sun and fun.
Damn, it was tempting.
“So I heard there was some action at the Marriott last night.”
Jack’s rugged voice pulled Shane from the little fantasy taking root in his mind: a sunny beach, a stupid tropical print shirt and no worries.
Not today. Not anytime soon as far as he could see. He shifted and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced toward the frigid water, the cup held gently between his hands. He and Jack kept each other informed. Sometimes Jack’s outside connections were just what Shane needed in a tough case. “Carl Tegan’s covering it. Brutal double homicide.”
“Any leads?”
“None so far. Carl’s gut thinks it was a professional hit, though.”
Jack nodded. Carl Tegan was a good detective, and his gut was usually right—but that didn’t make Shane feel any better.
Shit, Lis. What the hell did you get wrapped up in?
“I haven’t heard anything on the street,” Jack said. “But I’ll keep listening.”
Shane ran a hand over his face and tried to refocus. “What about Sullivan?”
Jack reached for the folder at his side. “Interesting fellow.” He handed the folder to Shane. “This related?”
Jack’s mind was always one step ahead. Shane set his cup on the ground by his feet, flipped open the file. Jack’s cramped handwriting filled an entire page. “Maybe.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t push. “Degree in art history from Florida State. Graduated magna cum laude, worked his way through school with scholarships and the military.”
“Navy boy,” Shane mumbled, studying Jack’s notes.
“Yep. And smart. Did six years active duty after college. Naval Diving and Training Salvage Center. Traveled all over the globe. Got hold of a couple guys he served with. Had nothin’ but good things to say about him.”
Shane flipped a page. “What else?”
“When he got out of the service, he invested in a gallery a college buddy of his had opened.” Jack pointed to a name on the paper Shane was holding. “Peter Kauffman. Place was struggling until Sullivan signed on. Kauffman ran the day-to-day operations. Sullivan was the go-to guy.”
“How so?”
Jack shrugged. “Word is Sullivan had a knack for finding rare pieces. Anything the client wanted, he was able to get. Used his connections overseas to get what ever was needed.”
“Caught up with him, though,” Shane muttered, flipping to the police report on Sullivan’s arrest.
“Charges dropped for lack of evidence,” Jack corrected. “And this you’ll find interesting.”
“What?”
“The arresting officer? Sullivan ended up marrying her.”
Shane’s head darted up. “He’s married?”
“Was. Six months. Divorced about a year ago. Then some eight months ago he up and sold his share of the gallery.”
Shane’s brow creased as he studied the papers. “Why would he do that? Looks like they were raking in the dough.”
“Yeah. They were. Still are. The Odyssey Gallery has some big-name clients.”
Shane leaned back against the bench. “So why’d he pull out? Have a fight with his partner? Screwing the man’s wife?”
Jack