“Why? So you can get all the glory?”
“So I don’t have to have another innocent person’s death on my conscience.”
“Maybe you’re not giving me enough credit.”
“There is no one more I’d trust with the welfare of this city than you,” he says, sounding as if he means it. “But this isn’t your battle to fight. If you or any of your fellow officers try, you will lose. Then where will we all be?”
I have absolutely no idea what to say right now. He’s genuinely concerned and downright scared for me. Me, who passed around a petition to stop supers from being granted law enforcement status, and never said a pleasant word about him in ten years of interactions. I’d be weirded out if I wasn’t so touched. I can’t help it. My old hero is actually living up to my expectations. And he likes me. He really likes me. Thinks I’m great. More than that, he respects me. Damn.
“Well, um, thank you,” I say unevenly.
“I mean every word. I know that when the time comes, you will do the right thing. You always do. Good hunting, Joanna.”
He speeds out in a blur, the papers on my desk flying around in a swirl. I grab a few, but the rest fall on the ground. Underneath the second one is a dark blue card with a white “J” on it. On the other side is a local telephone number. His phone number. First a coat and now his private number. If I didn’t know better I’d swear he was into me, but I didn’t get that vibe at all. I have no idea what’s going on.
But I don’t hate it.
CHAPTER TEN
SHINDIG
There was nothing of use in the zip drive or at the Moore house. I get to leave the station twice, one time when Ryder was spotted at a bodega and the other time he was seen at the library. Neither pans out, but it feels great getting away from my desk and all the chitter chatter. Teenage girls got nothing on cops when it comes to gossip. Justice hadn’t even left the building when the tongues started wagging. Pretty sure we’re engaged or we were making out on my desk by now. Everyone who walked by gave me a sideways glance, Harry included. I cornered him in the locker room and planted one on him for reassurance. Tomorrow they’ll really have something to talk about.
It’s about five and the party begins at seven, so I have to get the hell out of here. I need to shower, shave, eat, straighten my hair, apply make-up, and try to get a cab on a Friday night. Ugh, girly things. Kill me now. I shut off my computer and put on my coat. Tomorrow I get the whole day off and that comes straight from the top. We’ve spent too much money on this investigation already with too few results. Harry’s off too, so we’ll just spend the day in bed or go to the movies. Get some needed rest. Or not, wink wink.
My boyfriend’s on the phone again when I poke my head in. He waves me in, and I shut the door. “No sir, we’ll take it on a case by case basis.” He listens and tosses files in his satchel. “I’ve already taken care of that.” He pauses. “I’ll do that. You too. Bye.” He hangs up then looks at me with tired eyes. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah. So, do you want to get ready at my place? How do you want to do this?”
“I have a few errands to run before,” he says.
“Well, your place is on the way to the hotel. I’ll swing by and pick you up around seven.”
“That sounds perfect. I’ll be ready.”
“Okay.” I blow him a kiss before leaving.
Cam holds the elevator for me. “You looking forward to your shindig tonight?” he asks.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“You going stag, or is Justice picking you up with a corsage?”
The elevator doors open and we step off. “I have someone much better lined up, thank you very much.”
“Who?”
“It’s a surprise. See you Sunday!”
The streets are clogged so it takes forever to get home and almost as long to find a parking spot three blocks away. I shower first, and then eat a tuna sandwich over the sink in my towel before starting on my mop of hair. Blow-drying forty-five minutes, straightening thirty. Then I realize I don’t have any pantyhose and have to run out to get some. Of course there is a line almost to the door. I get back at seven and call Harry, telling his machine I’ll be a half hour late. It ends up being closer to forty-five when the cab pulls up to his building.
Bruce, the doorman, whistles as I approach. “Looking sharp.”
I do look quite spiffy. The dress fits perfectly, my hair is sleek and shiny, and make-up flawless. I clean up real good. “Thank you.”
“But if you’re here to see Mr. O’Hara he left half an hour ago.”