Blue Smoke

have inadvertently struck you.”
    Nerves turned to insult, with a good dose of self-disgust. She turned her injured cheek. “Take a good look. Does that look inadvertent to you? It happened the way I said it happened. Yes, we had both been drinking. I was not intoxicated. He was angry because I’d refused to relocate with him. I broke up with the son of a bitch, I didn’t torch his car. I haven’t left this apartment since I got in at approximately ten last night.”
    “Let’s see if we can verify that,” O’Donnell began.
    “I can verify it.” Her hands were no longer clutched in her lap, but gripped the arms of her chair. The only way she could stop them from balling into fists of rage. “I called a friend at about eleven. Because I wasfeeling sorry for myself and my face hurt and I was supremely pissed off. Just a minute.”
    She rose, strode to the bedroom. “Gina, put on a robe and come out here, will you? No, it’s important.”
    Reena closed the door, stepped back out. “Gina Rivero—Rossi,” Reena corrected. “Steve Rossi’s wife. She came over. I told her not to because she’s a newlywed, but she came over, with a half gallon of Baskin-Robbins, and we sat around until, I don’t know, after midnight. Eating ice cream, bitching about men. She insisted on staying in case he came back and tried to get in.”
    The bedroom door opened and a tousled and irritated Gina came out. “What’s going on? Do you know what time it is?” She focused long enough to stare at the men. “What? Reena?”
    “Gina, you know my partner, Detective O’Donnell, and Captain Brant. They just need to ask you a couple questions. I’ll make coffee.”
    She walked into the kitchen, then braced her hands on the counter and just breathed. She had to think, and she had to think like a cop whose ass is on the line. But she was struggling to get past the idea of someone setting Luke’s car on fire. How was it done? Why? Who would target Luke? Or was it random?
    She pulled back, forced herself to go through the routine of coffee preparation. Beans out of the refrigerator, into the grinder. An extra measure for the pot, a dash of salt.
    She didn’t drink the stuff, but she kept it on hand for Luke. Thinking of that brought on another wave of disgust. She’d pandered and pampered the bastard, and what had she gotten for the trouble? A black eye and the strong possibility of an internal investigation.
    She stared at the glass carafe as it began to brew and heard Gina’s voice spike up in the other room. Heard the insult and the outrage.
    “That bastard probably set it himself. Just to take another shot at her. Did you see her face?”
    Reena got down cups, poured half-and-half into a little white pitcher. Crisis didn’t mean a lack of hospitality, she reminded herself. Her mother had drummed such things into her from birth.

    O’Donnell came to the doorway. “Hale? You want to come back in?”
    She nodded, hefted the tray. Gina’s cheeks were still pink with temper as Reena set the tray on the coffee table. “It’s routine,” Reena said, and touched a hand to Gina’s before she poured coffee. “It’s procedure. They have to ask.”
    “Well, I think it’s bullshit. He hit you, Reena. And it’s not the first time.”
    “This individual’s assaulted her before last night?”
    Reena shoved down the embarrassment. “Slapped. Once before, and I thought it was an accident, as he claimed. I don’t now. It was during an argument—a fairly minor one. It was quick, and there wasn’t much behind it. Last night was different.”
    “Ms. Rossi’s verified your statement. If Chambers pushes, it may be necessary to inform IAB.” Brant shook his head before Reena could speak. “I’m going to discourage him from pushing.” Brant took the coffee, added cream. “Do you have any idea who else might want to cause this guy trouble?”
    “No.” Her voice wanted to break. Internal Affairs. She’d just gotten her detective’s shield, was just beginning to do the work she’d trained to do, dreamed of doing more than half of her life.
    “No,” she said again, struggling to stay calm. “He just got a promotion. I imagine he beat out several other candidates for it. But it’s hard to imagine one of the brokers figuring out how to torch a Mercedes.”
    “You can read just how to do the job on the Internet,” O’Donnell reminded her. “What about clients? He ever talk to you about a client who was upset with how