Mitchell shook her head hard. „No,“ she bit out. „I’ll do it. Go tie up your loose ends. The desk will be yours when you get back.“ Turning on her heel, she headed for the door.
Spinnelli faltered. „Mia…“
She spun around, rage supplanting the pain. „I said I’d do it, Marc.“ She was breathing hard as she fought for control.
„Did they, Mitchell?“ Abe asked softly.
Her eyes flew up to meet his. „Did they what?“
„Did Ray’s wife and kids have food on the table?“
Her breath shuddered out. „Yeah. They did.“
„Good.“ Abe saw he’d scored a point with his new partner. Her nod of response was jerky, but she was back in enough control that she didn’t slam the door behind her. Still, the blinds on the window clattered and shook.
Spinnelli drew a breath. „She’s not over him yet. He was her mentor.“ Spinnelli shrugged, and Abe could see he still had unresolved grief of his own. „He was her friend.“
„Yours, too.“
Spinnelli managed a smile before sinking back down into the chair behind his desk. „Mine, too. Mia’s a good cop.“ His eyes sharpened and Abe had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling Spinnelli was looking straight into his own soul. „I think you’ll be good for each other.“
Abe was the first to look away. He jangled his car keys. „I need to be getting over to the prosecutor’s office.“ He’d made it to the door before Spinnelli stopped him again.
„Abe, I have read your file. You were lucky to be alive at the end of that last sting.“
Abe shrugged. It was the story of his sorry life. Lucky, lucky, lucky. If they only knew the truth. „Looks like Mitchell and I have something in common after all.“
Spinnelli’s jaw tightened. „Mia went down guarding Ray’s back. You have the reputation of taking chances, riding in to save the day.“ Spinnelli’s expression was severe. „Leave your death wish in Narcotics. I don’t want to go to any more funerals. Yours or Mia’s.“
Easier said than done. But knowing what was expected, Abe nodded stiffly. „Yes, sir.“
Chapter Two
Wednesday, February 18,
8:00 p.m.
Kristen jabbed the elevator button. She was late leaving the office again. „Go home and rest, my ass,“ she muttered. John wanted her fresh for tomorrow, but he’d also wanted a „quick check“ on a case. One thing led to another, just like every night. And just like every night she walked out of the office after everyone else had gone home, including John. She rolled her eyes even as she noted the burned-out bulbs in the hallway that connected their offices to the parking garage elevators. She fished her dictating recorder from her pocket.
„Note to Maintenance,“ she murmured into the recorder. „Two bulbs burned out at elevator entrance.“ Hopefully Lois would type up that note and the twenty others she’d recorded in the last three hours. Lois never refused, it was just a matter of getting her attention. All the prosecutors had staggering caseloads and every request coming out of the Special Investigations Unit was life and death. Unfortunately, Kristen’s caseload was mostly death. Which ended up taking most of her life. Not that she had much of one. Here she was, standing at the elevator to the parking garage, alone and almost too tired to care.
She let her head drop forward, stretching muscles strained from poring over case files when the hairs on the back of her neck lifted and her nose detected a slight shift in the musty smell of the hallway. Tired, yes, but not alone. Someone else is here. Instinct, training, and old tapes had her reaching for the pepper spray she kept in her purse while her pulse scrambled and her brain strained to remember the location of the nearest exit. Every movement deliberate, she spun, her weight evenly distributed on the balls of her feet, the can of pepper spray clenched in her fist. Prepared to flee, but ready to defend.
She had but a split second to process the sight of the mountain of a man that stood behind her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes glued to the digital display above the elevator doors before one of his huge hands was clamped around her wrist in a vise grip and his eyes were boring into hers.
Blue eyes, bright as a flame, yet cold as ice. They held her gaze inexplicably. Kristen shivered yet still she stared, unable to look away. There was something familiar about his eyes. But the rest of him was a total stranger, and the rest of him filled the hallway, his broad shoulders blocking what little light there was, throwing his face into shadow. She searched her memory, trying to place where she’d seen him. Surely she’d remember a man of his size and presence. Even wrapped in shadow, the hard planes of his face spoke of unmistakable desolation, the line of his jaw uncompromising strength. Each day she dealt with people in pain and suffering, and intuitively she knew this man had experienced a great deal of both.