High Noon

the word flies around. Gets the weapon, then gets lucky and finds a solid sniper spot.”
    “Let’s find out if they’ve pulled the LUDs from this apartment—this building. See if any calls were made out of here after it was supposed to be cleared. Cell phones are more likely, but you never know.”
    She stepped to the window in a small bedroom obviously shared by the children. From that angle she could see the diner where she’d sat at a four-top, talking Charlie down, and out. “I wonder how many gang members could resist taking out cops. Resist until the specific target’s out—or taken out, yeah, I can see that. But why not try to take a few cops out, too, once you open up? More blood, more confusion, more goddamn points, come to that. But the only other hit is a stray that injured one of the hostages inside. That’s just odd, isn’t it?”
    He pursed his lips. “That’s a puzzle. Any reason to think it wasn’t gang retribution?”
    “I’ll let you know.”
     
    She did her own runs on the tenants of the building, and filled her briefcase with files for the trip home. She made certain she was home before dark.
    Phoebe wanted all her family tucked inside before sundown, in case the rumblings in the city turned to a roar. In case those blocks between Jones and Hitch weren’t enough to hold back the flood if it came.
    She broke her own hard-and-fast rule, and though she put her weapon up on the high shelf in her closet, she kept it unlocked and loaded.
    Once Carly was settled for the night, Phoebe checked the locks, the alarms, then settled at her own desk. She kept the TV on low, in case of a bulletin, and began reading through the logs, the reports, the witness statements.
    When her cell phone rang, she answered it absently, her mind on the diagram of the apartment building on Hitch. “Phoebe Mac Namara.”
    “Duncan Swift. Hiya, cutie.”
    The idea of being called “cutie” when she was surrounded by ballistics, diagrams and various crime-scene reports made her smile. “Hello, Duncan.”
    “Just checking to make sure I still have a crew for tomorrow.”
    “I think you’d best use the term ‘crew’ loosely, but yes, we’re on for that. Carly would give me the silent treatment until her eighteenth birthday if I pulled out of this.”
    “Silent treatment’s a formidable weapon. It makes me beg every time.”
    “Good to know.”
    “And stupid to admit. Anyway, I was meeting with Phin earlier today, and ended up asking his gang to come along tomorrow. That all right with you?”
    “Absolutely. Carly’ll be thrilled to have someone her age around. She loves me, but I will bore her after a bit.” She leaned back from the work, rising to walk to the terrace windows. “It sounds more like a party. I could use a party, I think.”
    “Figured you had a rough one. I caught you on TV this afternoon. Is it shallow of me to say you looked hot?”
    She laughed. “Yes, and thank you. It’s a god-awful mess, Duncan. God-awful.”
    “Why don’t I come over for a bit? I’ll be shallow again, sneak up to your room and distract you with heroic sex.”
    She had one silly and delightful fantasy image of him scaling the wall to her terrace. “Oh God, that sounds amazing. But no. Are you home? On the island?”
    “Yeah, I had some stuff, so I’m here. But I’ve dealt with a good chunk of the stuff, and the rest can wait. If heroic sex is out, we can just neck like teenagers in the parlor, or watch a bad movie.”
    “I’d love to do any of that. Possibly all of that. But I don’t want you coming into the city, not tonight. Things are bubbling tonight. You’re good where you are, should they boil over.” She disengaged the alarm on her zone so she could step out onto her terrace. “It’s warm tonight. Not hot but warm, and that’s good. Heat can set these things off.”
    “How about if I tell you besides looking hot, you handled yourself really well in that press conference? Anybody looking at you during it who didn’t see you cared had to be blind.”
    “A lot of this kind of thing is about blindness. And could I be any more depressing?”
    “What are you wearing?” he asked after a beat.
    “What?”
    “I’m cheering you up with phone sex. What are you wearing?”
    “Oh. Hmmm.” She looked down at her cotton pants and tank. That would never do. “Oh, nothing much, just this little black slip I picked up in a vintage shop.”
    “Nice. Anything under it?”
    “Just a few dabs