Three Fates

feathers, Jack dropped in on the Detectives Bureau. He’d have preferred leaving Rebecca in his apartment, but since locking her in was the only way to be sure she stayed there, he’d brought her along. He didn’t care to risk coming home to a trashed apartment, and had no doubt she’d make good on that threat.
    Bringing her had the added benefit of watching her absorb and file every detail of the cop shop. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as they climbed the stairs to the detectives’ bull pen. Just as he had the satisfaction of seeing cops give her the same once-over.
    He saw Bob at his desk, phone cradled on his shoulder. And watched his friend’s gaze shift over, scan Rebecca, then sweep up. There was a question in them when they met Jack’s, and the warmth of humor and appreciation.
    “Hang here just a minute,” Jack told Rebecca, then strolled to Bob’s desk. He sat on the corner, exchanged a few nods of greeting with other cops while Bob finished his call.
    “Hubba hubba,” Bob said. “Where’d you get the sexy little redhead?”
    “How’s your wife?”
    “Smart enough to know when I stop looking at sexy little redheads, it’s time to shovel the dirt over my cold, dead body. What do you want?”
    “More information about the cold, dead body we discussed yesterday.”
    “I gave you what I had.”
    “I need a photo.”
    “Why don’t you just ask for my badge?”
    “Thanks, I can get my own. I might be able to shake something loose on it for you, but I need to ID him first.”
    “Let’s try this. You tell me what you know, then maybe I can find a picture of the stiff.”
    “Want to meet the redhead?”
    Bob laid his fingers on his own wrist, nodded. “Yeah, I’ve still got a pulse. What do you think?”
    With a grin Jack motioned Rebecca over. “Detective Bob Robbins, Rebecca Sullivan, the woman I’m going to marry.”
    Bob’s jaw dropped, then he was on his feet. “Well damn, Jack. Damn. Nice job. Hey, good to meet you.”
    Rebecca smiled as Bob pumped her hand. “Jack has delusions of grandeur. At the moment, we’re in the way of being business associates.”
    “She’s a tough sell, but I’m working on it. Irish, why don’t you tell our speechless friend here what you found out about the warehouse in New Jersey.”
    “Of course. Doing a bit of digging last night, it came to light that that particular property, which most recently was the scene of a murder, was sold the day before that unfortunate event by Morningside Antiquities.”
    “And that should interest me because?”
    “Let me show the picture to a couple people,” Jack continued. “If my hunch plays, I’ll have an interesting answer to that question.”
    “You got a lead on an open homicide, Jack, you don’t dick around with it.”
    “Follow up on Morningside.”
    “Anita Gaye,” Rebecca said clearly, and had both men scowling at her. “Fortunately I don’t have any testosterone muddling my ego. Anita Gaye of Morningside Antiquities. You might want to take a look at her, Detective Robbins. There’s no point in going further until we’ve shown the picture and verified that the man who was killed is indeed the one we think he is.”
    She shot Bob a brilliant smile. “We’re all after the same thing in the end, aren’t we, Detective? But if you don’t trust this one here”—she jerked a head toward Jack—“I’ll figure you have good reasons not to. I’m still working on whether I trust him or not myself.”
    Bob sucked air between his teeth. “I’ll get you a picture.”
    “Ever heard about keeping an ace in the hole?” Jack grumbled when Bob walked away.
    “I have, yes. As I’ve heard about laying cards on the table when it’s time to deal. And my way worked.” She scooped her hair back, studied his face. “You throw marriage around pretty freely, Jack.”
    “No, I don’t. You’re it. Get used to it.”
    “Why, that’s so flaming romantic, I feel I might swoon.”
    “I’ll give you some romance, Irish. Just pick the time and place.”
    Not quite as sure of herself as she wanted to be, she folded her arms over her chest. “Just be keeping your mind on the job.”
    “Consider it multitasking again,” he said, then eased off the desk when Bob came back with a file.
     
     
    TI A DID THE best she could with her mother. A thorough stroking would have taken two or three hours at least, and she just didn’t have the time to spare. She had one more stop to