Heat Gauge

Chapter Two

Rook bit off the end of his sentence and concentrated on wiping excess liquid off the surface of Hinesburg's desk as Heat retraced her steps and picked up her phone. “Detective Heat,” she said into the receiver, cradling the phone between her jaw and the hollow of her shoulder as she reached for her notebook.

“Oh good, I've got the right number,” came a breathy female voice down the line. The quality of the call was static. “You have to help me, Detective Heat, there's been a murder.”

“Can you tell me your location, please?” Nikki asked, pen poised over a fresh page.

“In Central Park. I don't know exactly where. I was out for my morning jog when I came across this circus and they were all in a panic. They said somebody had been murdered.”

“Okay, ma'am. You just sit tight for a moment, we're going to get a trace on your call to find your location,” Nikki said, making rolling motions in the air with her finger to get Roach moving. Thirty seconds later they had a location.

“Let's roll,” Ochoa said, he and Raley rushing for the door.

Nikki quickly cradled the phone receiver, then pushed her chair back and grabbed for her keys, fumbling and dropping them to the floor with a loud chink of metal on linoleum. Muttering expletives she ducked to retrieve them, and as she stood up Rook collided with her, falling as he tripped on the laces of his expensive Italian shoes. They both hit the ground hard, the back of Nikki's head cracking against the edge of Rook's desk.

“Oh em gee, I'm so sorry! Nikki are you alright?” he asked, getting on his knees to help her sit up, a picture of concern.

Nikki winced as her head throbbed. She raised her hand to gingerly test the lump and her fingers came away with blood.

“Pinuppers,” she mumbled, screwing up her face in pain.

“Wait … what?” Rook said, rocking back on his heels.

She fixed him with her piercing eyes and repeated the sentence more clearly: “Pineapples.” And then she laughed as the expression of worry melted slowly off his face and realisation dawned in its place. They were both chuckling as he helped her to her feet.

“But seriously … ow,” she said, tenderly holding the side of her head.

“Consider that revenge for the air-horn prank,” he told her.

She pulled a face and then reached for her jacket draped over the back of her chair. “Come on, Roach are spinning wheels.”

The pair of them rode the elevator down to ground level and walked out into the brisk winter air. Nikki spotted the Roach Coach at the end of a long-line of double parked police vehicles and gave them a nod. Wheels crunched ice as Ochoa backed out.

Nikki beelined for her own champagne Crown Victoria but Rook cut across her path. “Nuh, you're not driving after that knock to the head.”

Nikki opened her mouth to argue but shut it again. There was no time to be petty, she and Rook had already wasted precious minutes upstairs. Somewhere a body was growing cold and the Roach Coach was steadily pulling out of sight down 82nd.

“Fine,” she said, “go.”

Rook snatched the keys from her with boyish glee and attempted to slide across the hood of the car, almost assing over. Nikki just rolled her eyes and wrenched the passenger door open.

There would be no living with him after this.