was done she started a new design and was soon in the zone where her mind drifted while her creativity soared.
It was a while before she registered the primary colors she’d been automatically applying to the new card. Realizing that Darnell’s painting had inspired her color choices, it started her thinking. Maybe she should put together a proposal for a new grant—this one to teach kids how to make greeting cards with the intent to sell them. It was true she’d only sold one card to a national company, but she did okay marketing her others to trendy little boutiques around town. Her income from them was pocket change compared to the one that had gone mainstream, but it nevertheless gave her additional credentials and demonstrated that handcrafted cards were marketable.
Someday, when the mansion renovation was complete and she and her friends had sold it, she’d have access to some real money. Aside from getting a car that was more reliable than the heap she drove now, her own needs were few. But with Miss Agnes’s money, she could reach out to more kids—a lot more. The old lady would’ve loved that.
The pure, max coolness of that prospect made her smile. Life was good.
The telephone rang and she jumped up to answer it, ready to share her ideas and settle into a long, satisfying conversation with Jane or Ava or her mother.
Only it turned out to be none of them and by the time Poppy hung up fifteen minutes later, her heart was hammering the wall of her chest like an enraged carpenter. She didn’t know whether to laugh like a loon or bang her head against the nearest wall.
Because it turned out she was getting what she’d asked for. And that was good, right? Her three juvie taggers were getting a second chance, which meant so was she—to help. So, yes. It was good.
Excellent, in fact.
All except for the part about them being monitored for good behavior. By none other than her favorite cop: Jason de Sanges.
Chapter Four
Did I lie through my teeth? You betcha. Do I feel bad about it? Yeah, right.
THE FAINTEST GLIMMER of the connection between a recent spate of burglaries that Robbery had been fielding itched at the back of Jase’s mind. He couldn’t quite get a grasp on it, but it floated close to the edge of his consciousness then disappeared, floated nearer yet, then dove out of reach once more. He thumbed back through his notes, knowing that something in there must have triggered it, but the pale flicker of whatever it was retreated. So he emptied his mind and sat quietly in the noisy squad room in hopes that the association he sought would swim a little nearer to the surface of his brain. And the glimmer came closer, closer—yes, come to Papa, baby, almost there…
“Yo, de Sanges!”
And it was gone. Swiveling his chair around, he saw Bob Greer leaning out of the door to his closet-size office. “Something I can help you with, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah. Come in here a minute, will ya?”
He did as he was bid and knew he wasn’t going to like whatever was coming when Greer said, “Close the door.”
He did so and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he studied his superior. “What’s going on?”
“Take a seat.”
He took a seat.
His lieutenant perched on the edge of his desk. “I got a call from the commissioner, who got a call from the mayor.”
Oh, shit, he thought in disbelief, she wouldn’t have. Not twice. But a bad feeling crawled the nape of his neck. “And?”
“And apparently someone is seriously connected, because guess what you’ve just been assigned to?”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with those merchants’ tagger kids.”
“Sorry, Jase. You are now the official head honcho of the—get this—Neighbors United Through Art program.”
He slumped back in his chair. Breathed, “Fuuuck,” stretching out the single syllable until by rights it should have snapped beneath the attenuation.
“Look at it this way,” Greer said. “It puts you on the mayor’s radar. Do a good job and he’s gonna remember when it comes time for you to take that lieutenants’ exam. A word from him could mean the difference between a decent placement and Peoria.”
Right. Like the man was still apt to be in office by the time the next lieutenants’ exam rolled around. But he nodded as if that were a genuine consideration and said, “Yeah, there is that. So what does a ‘head honcho’ on one of these committees do?”
“Make damn sure those three kids toe the line. No screwups.”
He sat upright. “You’re kidding me, right?” Looking at the older man, Jase could see that he wasn’t. “Jesus, Lieutenant, we all screw up now and then—and teenagers more often than most. Are you seriously taking me off the streets to be their frigging hall monitor?”
Greer shrugged. “What can I say? The mayor wants to accommodate his friend by giving the kids a break. But he’s a politician first and foremost, so he’s also covering his ass by making sure they don’t do anything to get the merchants or general neighborhood up in arms. And you’re the lucky bastard who was nominated to ride herd on them.”
“Lieutenant, we’re dealing with that rash of burg—”
“Oh, you’ll get to work your burglaries, trust me. You didn’t think watching some baby taggers was going to be your only job, did you? Hell, no. But, hey, our Man in Office is all over sweetening the deal. While you might have to fit this in around your regular work, the mayor authorized up to—wait for it—twenty whole overtime hours.”
“Oh, well, then. As long as I can die a rich man.” Maintaining a neutral expression, he discussed what few particulars his lieutenant knew for a while longer. But by the time he left Greer’s office, he was steaming. The second he reached his desk he flipped back to the November notes in his tattered notebook, located the Babe’s phone number, then headed straight for a reverse directory.
IT WASN’T LIKE he was bending—never mind breaking—any rules here, he assured himself as he pulled up to an apartment house in the Fremont district a short while later. Miz Calloway thought she had a pet cop on a leash? Well, he was a paid public servant for the populace at large, not just her and her wealthy friends, and he was merely stopping by to let her know what she could expect from their upcoming association.
Hey, it was in her own best interest.
He frowned up at the old brick building as he climbed out of his car and locked up. This wasn’t exactly where he would have pictured little Miss Ritz living. He’d pegged her more as the renowned Epi Apartment type, with its views of the ship canal and artsy stainless steel curlicues wrapping the south tower. But what the hell did he know? Maybe this was one of those…what had he once heard Hohn’s wife call a piece of furniture that Jase had just thought needed a good coat of paint? Oh, yeah—shabby chic. Maybe it was one of those places.
But the joint had an elevator the size of a British telephone booth and that had an out-of-order sign on it. His brows drew together as he hiked up to the third floor, unable to visualize Calloway
