The Man Behind The Badge

He almost managed to make himself drive straight past her building. He would have, except for the empty parking space directly across the street. In Manhattan, if that wasn’t an omen he didn’t know what would be.

He wheeled into it, cut the ignition and got out of the car—glancing up at her living room window, half expecting to see her standing there.

She wasn’t, but she was home. And just the sound of her voice, when she responded to his buzz, was enough to make his pulse skip.

Telling himself he was here on police business, he started up the stairs to the third floor.

She was waiting for him in the doorway again, wearing a pale yellow sweater and jeans.

As absurd as it might be, the mere sight of her warmed him. Then she smiled and his temperature rose another couple of degrees.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi. I’ve been to see Evan Reese, so I figured I’d stop by for a minute.”

“I’m glad you did.”

As he passed her on his way into the apartment, he caught the faint scent of her perfume. It put him in mind of a sultry summer night—which did absolutely nothing to cool him down.

“Coffee?” she asked, gesturing him toward the living room.

“No, thanks. I won’t stay long. I just wanted to tell you about Reese face-to-face, because...”

He paused, gathering his thoughts. There was a fine line between warning someone to be careful and scaring the wits out of her.

“Because?” she prompted.

“Because he told me it never even occurred to him that he’d make you nervous by calling. And that since he had, he wouldn’t do it again. But I don’t think you should count on it.”

“Ah. And is he...should I be seriously worried about him?”

“It’s hard to know. He lied when I asked why he’d told you we gave him your number. So we obviously can’t believe anything he says.”

“What was his story?”

“That he didn’t say a word about how he’d gotten it.”

“He did.”

“I know. But that’s not what he said this morning. He claimed he simply got it from Information.”

“Did you tell him it’s unlisted?”

“Uh-huh. He just shrugged and said they must have given it out by mistake.”

“Is that possible?”

“It’s very unlikely. And...look, he didn’t mention anything about why he was seeing a psychiatrist. And I can’t go rummaging through your brother’s medical records without a search warrant, but...”

“Should you get one?” she asked quietly.

He’d love to. But it wasn’t really an option.

“That’s not as easy to do as TV makes it seem,” he told her. “I’d need a good reason. One specifically related to the case, I mean. But even without knowing exactly what his problem is... Well, I think he’s pretty unbalanced.”

“Then I should be seriously worried.”

“You should be seriously careful. If you notice anything suspicious... He’s in his late thirties, short and slightly built, with dark hair and glasses. If anyone who fits that description shows up here or seems to be following you, phone me right away.”

“Following me,” she murmured.

“I’m not saying he will. I’m only saying it’s possible he’ll call again. Or try to see you. With any luck, though, you’ve heard the last of him.”

Celeste slowly pushed her hair back from her face. “What about his saying he’s a writer? Is he? Or was that just part of his cosmic gibberish?”

“It might be true. At least it’s consistent with what he told Hank and me yesterday. He said his work’s published in small, esoteric magazines.”

“They don’t pay much.”

“No, we already thought of that. He probably tips the concierge in his building more at Christmas than that sort of writing would bring in. So whether he actually writes or not he must have another source of income. A trust fund or something was our best guess.”

Celeste said nothing more, and as the silence grew Travis made himself say, “I’ve got to go. I just wanted to bring you up to speed.”

“Thanks,” she said, rising when he did. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. And...I did what you suggested and made the basic arrangements for Steve’s service. But until I can tell them...I guess you still haven’t heard when the autopsy will be?”

“No. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

“Thanks,” she said again. Then she led the way to her door.

“I’ll call you.” He stepped out into the hallway. “Take care.”

“I will,” she promised, giving him a wan smile.

He started away, silently congratulating himself. He’d handled that pretty well for a guy with a short circuit in his brain.

After closing the door, Celeste watched through the peephole while Travis strode down the hall. Then, unable to resist the temptation this time around, she walked over to the living room window and stood waiting for him to appear on the street below.

When he did she felt a funny little flutter in her chest. She liked the man. Really liked him.

As he reached his car, he turned and looked up at her.

Her face suddenly felt warm. Then he raised his hand and smiled, making her a little less embarrassed about being caught watching.

Once he’d driven off she headed for her office, glad she had that deadline looming. It was forcing her to work, and even though she’d been having trouble concentrating, once she finally managed to lose herself in a manuscript she stopped thinking about other things.

Like her mother’s accident. Or Steve’s murder. Or the fact that her husband had been screwing around on her for who knew how long before she’d caught him at it. All in all, this hadn’t been the best year of her life.

Telling herself dwelling on that would be a bad idea, she sat down at her desk. She hadn’t even reached for her pencil when the phone rang.