Christmas Male(12)

“No problem.”

It wasn’t the first example of her thoughtfulness. Earlier at the sculpture garden, she’d arranged for one of the squad cars to drive his mother and sister to union   Station so they could catch the eight o’clock train back to Baltimore.

As they crossed the street, D.C. took her arm and felt her stiffen.

“I don’t need help crossing the street, Captain.”

“Maybe I do.”

The look she shot him was cool and assessing. “I don’t think so. You don’t impress me as a man who needs much help with anything.”

D.C. smiled. “Thanks, but you’d be wrong. I want your help solving this case. And my guess is that you’re not happy at the prospect of working with me.”

“Your guess is correct. But don’t take it personally. I don’t have a history of working well with partners.” Stepping up on the curb, she turned to face him. “My last one was shot.”

Her tone was flat, but D.C. saw the flash of pain in her eyes and understood. “He’s alive?”

“Yes. It was a shoulder wound. He’ll be returning to work in a few weeks.”

“You’re lucky. My last partner didn’t make it. He died in the same little skirmish that sidelined my leg.” The words were out before he could stop them. He hadn’t talked about David’s death. Hadn’t been able to—not even to his family.

“I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, linked her fingers with his.

For a moment, silence stretched between them again. The understanding in her eyes eased the tightness around his heart.

“Let’s hope we both have better luck this time,” he said finally as she freed her hand and continued to walk. “In the meantime, I think it might be good if we got to know one another. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a cop.”

“C’mon, Lieutenant. You know a lot about me. Turnabout’s fair play.”

Stopping, she turned to him. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“You’ve met my mom and sister. You’re practically part of the family. They liked you, by the way. They really appreciated you getting them to union   Station. But showing them the Rubinov—they’re not going to forget that.”

Nor was he going to forget that moment when she’d pushed her coat aside and pulled the necklace out of the front of her dress. The gesture had left him with a vivid image in his mind of exactly where the diamond had been nestling.

“Next time my big brother calls to check up on me, I’ll let you talk to him. Jase is ex-navy and special ops, and he runs a security firm in New York. I called and asked him to run a background check on Amanda Hemmings.”

She was studying him now, her eyes narrowed. D.C. had the uncomfortable feeling that he was on a slide under a microscope.

“I’ll even tell you my deepest and darkest secret.”

Her brows arched. “And that is?”

“What D.C. stands for.”

Fiona suddenly felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

The man was charming. She had to grant him that. And that charm might help while they were questioning suspects. He might prove useful in other ways, too—especially with that brother who could run background checks.

“We can either work around each other or together,” he stated.

“True.” And on the drive to Georgetown, she’d already decided on the former, hadn’t she? She’d put on a good front, cooperate when he asked, and do her own thing.

“Working around each other is going to cost us time. And this is an important case. If we’re right and you’ve got the real Rubinov tucked near your heart, we’re dealing with the kind of theft that might have made history—if it had been successful. We need to find out why it didn’t work out that way. And how the legendary diamond ended up in Amanda Hemmings’s pocket.”

“There had to have been someone on the inside.”

“Agreed. My brother says that there isn’t a security system in the world that can’t be hacked into. But it would take a real pro to crack the one at the National Gallery. My gut feeling is that Amanda Hemmings isn’t that person.”

She nodded. “She was working for or with someone.”

“Or she’s an innocent pawn,” D.C. countered. “In any case, we’ll have to look at the owner. Gregory Shalnokov is a very rich man. My experience with the rich is that they’re never rich enough. If he puts the stone on display and orchestrates a successful robbery, he gets to have his cake, in this case the Rubinov, and eat it, too, when he collects the insurance money.”