Raging Heat

Toweled and wearing one of the hotel’s plush terry robes, he joined her in the sitting area and poured them each a glass of Hautes-Côtes de Nuits from the bottle in the ice bucket. “Nice digs,” she said after they toasted.

“You kidding? It has everything. Electricity, electricity, and electricity. Plus, it’s an easy walk to the precinct. And check out the view.” He took her to the window and parted the drape, revealing the twinkling Upper West Side skyline, and more prominently, the Hayden Planetarium directly across the street. “Hm, makes it kind of a busman’s holiday, huh.”

“A little.” It had been just over a week since Fabian Beauvais crashed into that museum; now there was no trace of the event. The giant powder blue orb glowed as usual inside the glass cube that illuminated the neighborhood with its gentle glow. She found the couch and her glass of wine. “Thanks for picking out some clean clothes for me.”

“My pleasure. But just to be clear, this suite is clothing-optional. In fact, see this sash?” He waved the loose end of the robe’s belt and gave a licentious flick of his brow. “Guess what happens when you pull this.”

Heat smiled thinly. “Hey, now there’s a turn on.” She didn’t fault him for being playful. Nikki was busy feeling the weight of the confrontation on the horizon.

He joined her on the sofa and they talked, both deciding against any tube. Besides, Rook had watched the news all night and gave her the summary. Mostly it was about the devastation on Staten Island and along the Jersey shore. Little or no looting, in spite of the blackout. “Oh, and on News 3 @ 10, Opal Onishi was Greer Baxter’s guest on “Greer and Now,” showing clips from her Jeanne Capois interview.”

“That’s good.…I guess.” Nikki tried to balance mixed feelings about self-promotion versus getting the message out about human trafficking, and decided it wasn’t her call to make.

Of course the only other non-Sandy news was the rearrest of Keith Gilbert. “You know that cardboard crown I gave Raley for being the media king? I should do better than that after he found that flash mob video.”

“See? Early on I knew zombies figured into this case somewhere. And you dismissed me.”

“Rook, you’re like that broken clock you hear about that’s right twice a day.”

He grinned. “I’m sorry, the only thing I heard was something about me being right.” She gave him a swat. “What’s happening at the Twentieth with the interim dude?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there yet. We processed Keith Gilbert at the nearest precinct, the One-three. When I was finishing, I got a call to drive to the OEM headquarters in Brooklyn.”

“Office of Emergency Management? Why there?”

“Because everyone from One PP is over there. Commissioners, Commander McMains, The Hammer.…” Heat looked down and used a finger to scoop a cork crumb out of her glass. “I guess I got back on their radar today. They wanted to meet with me about the job on the task force.”

“And they offered it to you?”

She wiped the cork on a napkin and brought her eyes up to meet his, knowing how emotionally loaded this subject was, but getting it on the table, at last. “Yes.”

“And what did you tell them?” He held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I mean not yet. I just remembered. I want to show you something first. Don’t move.”

Rook dashed out of the room with his robe parting in a most undignified way. She heard the zip of his overnight bag and he came out, hiding something behind his back. Keeping his hand hidden he rejoined her on the couch. Nikki’s mouth felt dry. The wine wasn’t quenching it.

“OK,” he said, “where do I start? Recently, while I was in Paris, I made a quick side trip to one of my favorite jewelers in the Marais.”

“Oh, really?…” The college theater arts actress in Nikki hoped she sold ignorance to him.

“Why, you may ask? Because…last spring I had left him my mother’s antique engagement ring to put a bigger diamond in the setting, and I wanted to pick it up.” He brought his hand from behind his back and opened a bag — the one she had spotted in his kitchen trash can — and pulled out a small case that he opened and held out to her. “What do you think of the job he did on Mom’s ring?”

Nikki didn’t need to act at that point. “Rook…I’m, I’m speechless.”

“Édouard — he’s the master jeweler there. Been there forever. Probably designed those candlesticks Jean Valjean stole. Didn’t he do a great job?”

“Oh. Very, um, quite.” She was struggling to hold her composure, feeling foolish and, yes, crestfallen. “Very, very nice craftsmanship.”

“C’est très bon, n’est ce pas?”

“Ah.” Then she heard a wooden semblance of her own voice say, “…Oui.”

“Good, because otherwise you might not want to wear it.”