God, yes. But when it comes time to start a family…”
It was hard to think of coolheaded, tough Kate as a mother. “Have you met someone?”
“Not really met. More like reconnected. Remember Conner Lowery?”
“Sure.” Lowery was a detective at the NYPD and their paths had crossed a few times during her year at the precinct. He had Irish good looks and an easygoing temperament. Lindsay remembered him as competent and hardworking, though very charming.
“We’ve just moved in together.”
“Well…that’s great. I’m happy for you.” She tried to make it sound as if she really meant it, but commitment was something she ran from in her own life, so it took a leap of imagination to consider this good news.
“Thanks. We should get together for lunch or coffee. But right now I’m super busy—”
Lindsay could tell she was about to hang up. “One second. I have something else. A question. It’s about Nathan Fisher. Did he really quit?”
“You’re kidding, right? Everyone in the precinct—hell, in the city—knows about Nathan. It was so unfair what happened to him.”
“What?” Lindsay sat upright, her muscles tensing. “Tell me everything.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this. It’s been in all the papers.”
“I’ve been busy. I must have missed it.”
“Well, then. This story goes back several months. Nathan was on the street, busting up a drug deal and making an arrest when the perp pulled out a gun. Shots were exchanged, both guys were injured.”
This was sounding familiar. She had heard something about the story, but had never seen a name or a photograph. “That was Nathan?”
“Yeah. The punk shot him two times in the leg. Fortunately the wounds were minor. He could have been back at work within a few weeks. But the kid’s injuries were more serious and he happened to be the son of a high-powered attorney who made a huge stink, insisting his kid was innocent, that Nathan fired first, etc., etc….”
Lindsay felt the familiar burn of injustice. “Innocent, huh? So why was he packing a gun? Why did he resist arrest?”
“Exactly. Ask me, the punk is lucky not to be dead. And you know Nathan…he followed procedure to the nth degree. Still, Internal Affairs got all sticky during their investigation. At one point they even laid charges against him. Nathan was sidelined for several months and not one of the big brass said a word in his defense.”
“No balls,” Lindsay said with contempt. “God, one of their men takes bullets and still has to defend firing in return? It’s crazy.”
“Charges were dropped eventually, but Nathan was put through the wringer. Just last week his name was finally cleared. The next day, he handed in his resignation.”
“Good for him.” Lindsay felt like cheering.
“Yeah, who could blame him, right?”
“Hell. I can’t believe I didn’t know that was him.”
She was just too damn busy. And right now she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather share office space with than the woman she was talking to. “Are you sure you aren’t ready for a change in careers?”
Kate laughed. “Call me back when you can offer a full benefit package.”
“Well, thanks for the info, anyway. And good luck with Conner.” Lindsay replaced the phone, then stared at the file on her desk, not really seeing it, but instead remembering Nathan’s expression when he’d told her he’d left the force. He’d been calm, impassive, but now she knew that had all been an act. It had to have been.
Unlike her, Nathan had loved being a member of the NYPD. He’d been a natural at the job, clearly a superstar destined to go far. Until he’d had the bad luck to try and arrest a spoiled rich kid with an influential father.
She couldn’t imagine how bitter he must feel at having his career sidelined so unjustly. And it was so like him not to have said a word about this during their meeting. Or maybe he’d assumed she would have heard.
Lindsay made a note to start reading the newspaper more regularly.
MANY HOURS LATER, LINDSAY swirled the ice in her paralyzer and tried to believe it was a coincidence that Nathan Fisher had just walked into her local bar.
He was wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored pullover sweater, thick enough to keep a fisherman warm on a cold day at sea. As she watched, he brushed a hand through his hair, creating a stylish, messy look. Had he done that on purpose? He was scanning the crowd, searching for someone—she didn’t need to guess who.
She shrunk into the corner of her booth seat at the back of the Stool Pigeon. This was going to be tough. She had better prepare herself.
Since Kate had explained the story behind Nathan’s departure from the NYPD, she’d been battling the urge to call him and offer him the job.
Despite his “by-the-book” mentality, Nathan was an excellent investigator and quick on his feet, too. She’d be lucky to have him on her team, the only hitch being that she wasn’t willing to take him—or anyone—on as partner.
Lindsay took a sip of her drink, then lifted her head for a second look. The pub was about half-full tonight. Several men were seated at the bar. The booth across from hers was empty, but an elderly couple sat in the booth ahead of that one. Four tables were lined up along the front window. A group of twentysomethings had pulled two of the tables together. They were mostly guys, with a couple of dolled-up girls along as sidekicks.
Though she didn’t know all their names, Lindsay recognized most of the faces. The local joint was tired, and small, but the clientele was loyal.
Or perhaps, like her, they simply lived nearby. It was nice not to worry about hailing a cab when you were finished drinking for the night.
“Cute place. I like the ambiance.”
Lindsay sighed with resignation as Nathan slid into the bench seat opposite from her. From their days of working together, she knew Nathan was into health food, a borderline vegetarian. This was the last sort of establishment he would choose to visit.
Of course he wasn’t here for the food.
The guy had definitely done his research if he knew enough to find her here. That fact alone was enough to make her want to hire him.
“What did you have for dinner?” His gaze dropped to the dish she’d pushed aside a few minutes ago. “It must have been delicious. That plate is almost clean enough to put back on the shelf.”
“Chicken potpie. You wouldn’t like it. It’s about a thousand calories, most of them saturated fat.”
Nathan flagged the server. “I’ll have what she had. Plus a mineral water if you have any.”
Wendy Pigeon, who co-owned
