Espresso Shot

“Thanks. I’ll get back to you if the whole law enforcement thing doesn’t pan out.”

I finished my cup and placed it next to his on the faux-mahogany nightstand-part of a set from the Crate and Barrel catalog that I’d helped him pick out. I thought the dark, sober finish suited his rugged personality. Mike thought the faux part made it easy on his public servant-size wallet.

“Anyway, sweetheart, as far as your future nightmares, I think I can ease your worries. I had called the precinct to arrange for a plainclothes officer to watch your back-”

“That’s not necessary-”

“You’re right. But not for the reason you think. The Jersey state police arrested Stuart Winslow at three fifty-five this morning.”

I closed my eyes. “Thank God.”

“And guess what? He had rental papers on him, and keys to a storage space in Wayne, New Jersey. They opened it up as soon as a judge issued the warrant, found the man’s stash of illegally imported narcotics.” Mike smiled like an alley cat who’d just snagged his rat. “Winslow won’t be getting out of jail for a long time. Congratulations, sweetheart, you did it.”

“We did it.” I hugged Mike again, and then we were doing more than hugging. I was wearing the matching top to his navy-blue pajama bottoms, and I seriously considered removing both.

“Damn,” he murmured against my lips. “Some of us have to report to work.”

I sighed. “I have work, too. Matt’s wedding’s tomorrow, and I have so much to do, including a final batch of beans to roast-the trickiest ones yet, and the most expensive. Kopi Luwak sells for three to five hundred a pound-”

“Dollars? You’re kidding?”

“Drop by early this evening, say eight o’clock? I’m brewing samples for my baristas on the Clover.”

“Free coffee? I’m there.”

He rose up off the bed and crossed to his new faux-mahogany bureau. As my eyes watched him dress, my mind strayed back to the Brea

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“With Winslow in custody, do you think Brea

Mike glanced up from buttoning his shirt. “She hired a bodyguard. You know that, right?”

“Right. I spoke with her yesterday.”

“And I spoke with your ex-husband while I was making our coffee, filled him in on everything.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He shrugged. “Well, like him or not, I guess we’re all in this together.”

“Yeah, that’s basically what I told Brea

Mike pulled on his pants, tucked in his dress shirt. “It’s the angle that makes the most sense, doesn’t it? Winslow’s scum. He paid off Monica Purcell in drugs to commit a crime. He probably did the same with the man who attacked Brea

“I’d have to come to the same conclusion-at least based on what we know. I’ve been thinking about Randall Knox, and I can’t make him as a murderer.”

“The gossip guy?” Mike grabbed his wallet, cell phone, and gold shield off the dresser. “You think he’s i

“I wouldn’t call him i

“Good bet. After I spoke to you, I ran a background check. No felonies. No outstanding warrants or restraining orders. Just a lot of unpaid parking tickets. Whereas you can see what kind of nut job Winslow is.”

“Exactly. If I had to guess, I’d say Knox and Miriam Perry were toasting something other than Brea

“The one on Brea

I nodded. “He claims Brea

“And what does that mean?”

“It might mean they shared Matt, in which case the gossip column will be about a particularly embarrassing episode in my ex-husband’s playboy past.”

Mike tightened the knot on his tie. “Will something like that hurt his new marriage?”

“I don’t know. Brea

“Then maybe they’ll just get their first lesson in making a marriage work.”

I met Mike’s eyes. “Forgiveness?”

He winked. “Got it in one.”

I smiled. “The thing is… I found something else out last night, something that makes me think the story has nothing to do with Matt.”

He slipped on his shoulder holster. “I’m listening.”

I climbed out of bed, crossed to the new computer desk, and opened his old laptop.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

I logged onto my Internet account and called up Brea

“So?” Mike said.

“So it doesn’t add up. Brea

“Wait. Who’s Nunzio?”

“An Italian sculptor-he’s not important, but what he said is. Brea

Mike leaned over my shoulder to read the computer screen. “Yeah. There’s a lot of spongy language here.” He pointed. “ ‘Studied at the Sorbo

“If it’s just résumé enhancement, it’s no big deal, right?”

Mike laughed. “If that were a crime, I’d have to arrest half the city-and all the politicians.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” I said. “But with Knox threatening an exposé, and my own investigation turning up facts about Brea

Mike began to massage my shoulders. “Joy’s about to get a stepmother. Is that it?”

“I’d just like to know what Brea

“Will she tell you if you ask?”

“Doubtful. She’s got the brick wall thing down pretty well.”

“You know, Cosi, whenever I hit a brick wall, I go the other direction.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said Randall Knox implied there was some kind of link between Brea

“Right.”

“So look at Hazel to find out what they shared. Call the Fish Squad. Ask them what they dug up on the girl. Maybe you’ll find a co

A horn honked outside, and Mike glanced at his watch. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got to go. Sully’s picking me up down on the-”

The horn honked again. Mike poked his head out the window. “Knock if off, Sully!”

“You’re late!”

“I’m coming! Stop disturbing the peace!”

He brought his head back in. “Don’t forget, you have a change of clothes here in the top drawer. Your sneakers are in my closet. Now kiss me good-bye.”

I did (and for a lot longer than was probably prudent, given Sully’s third horn blast). Mike slipped out the door, and I sighed. It was hard to see my man go. I hung out the window, waited for him to hit the street-one last look.