Cuff Me(2)

“Get there faster,” Vincent said as they stepped into the elevator.

“So can I—”

“Bring her in for questioning?” Vincent finished for him as he pulled out his cell phone. “Do it. And don’t go easy on her. She’ll slip up within minutes, all tangled up in her own guilt.”

The younger man snapped his notebook shut. “It’s really annoying when you do that. Finishing other people’s sentences.”

“K,” Vincent said distractedly, already striding off the elevator.

The lobby was crawling with reporters, and Vincent glared at Dansen, who held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t call them.”

Vincent gritted his teeth. He hated hotel cases. There was always some bellhop or housekeeper who couldn’t keep his or her damn mouth shut, and the result was a media circus that made the police work a thousand times more complicated than it needed to be.

Not that it really mattered in this particular case. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the wife had pulled the trigger. Vin would bet his pension on it. He’d been doing this too long not to see the signs immediately. The too-fast way of speaking. The awkwardly forced eye contact in an unconscious effort to minimize nervous blinking. Fidgeting hands.

The vic’s wife had all of the above. This murder was practically the definition of open-and-shut case.

“You care if I leave you to finish this one up on your own?” he asked Dansen as they headed toward Vincent’s unmarked patrol car.

Dansen skidded to a halt. “Seriously? You even have to ask? I’ve been begging you for three months to let me take point, and—”

“All right, calm down,” Vincent said, jerking open the door of the driver’s seat. He hesitated before getting in, realizing that there were things to be said.

He rested an arm on the roof of the car and glanced at Dansen, who was…

Smirking.

“Wipe that shit smile off your face,” Vincent said without any real heat.

“You’re gonna miss me,” Dansen taunted.

Vin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t push it, kid.”

“Kid? I’m thirty-one.”

“Exactly.”

Dansen gave an incredulous laugh. “You’re thirty-three. Two years’ difference hardly makes you my senior.”

Not in years maybe. But in experience…

It wasn’t about who was youngest or oldest. It was about who was best.

And Vin was confident that was him.

Vincent was damn good at his job. It was why he’d been assigned a trainee during Jill’s leave of absence despite the fact that his lack of people skills was as legendary as his ability to sniff out even the most clever of murderers.

In truth, Vincent had been dreading his three months with the near-rookie, but it had been less painful than expected. Dansen was a good cop. A little green, but when Dansen was assigned his new partner tomorrow, Vin had no doubts that the guy would be able to handle whatever came his way.

And then Vincent’s life would finally get back to normal.

Not that these three months without Jill had been abnormal, precisely.

He still worked the same backbreaking schedule. Still saw death more days than not.

Still went to breakfast with his family after Mass every Sunday, and argued with his brothers and occasionally with his sister during said breakfast.

He still watched sports most evenings, still worked out most mornings.

So really, his life wasn’t different without Jill at all.

Except that it was. Wildly, horribly different.

He glanced at his watch. Two hours until her plane landed. Three hours, maybe four until he’d see her again.

Not that he was counting.

“So you’re good from here?” Vincent asked. “If you need anything, I’ll be…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya. You never did tell me where you were going.”

“Probably because it’s none of your Goddamn business.”

Dansen put a hand to his chest. “I’ve come to love these heart-to-hearts of ours. The way we count on each other. Confide in each other—”

“My cue to leave,” Vincent grumbled.

He started to get in the car, when Dansen called his name again.

Vin shot him an impatient look and was surprised when the usually confident Dansen looked away briefly before meeting his eyes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say…” Dansen cleared his throat from across the hood of the car, and Vin tensed, knowing what was coming.

God, he hated shit like this.

“You can drop the detective,” Vincent said roughly. “Just call me Moretti. Or Vin. Whatever.”

Dansen’s smile flashed white across his dark face. “Do you know how many cops dream of the day when they’re given permission to call one of the members of the royal family by their first name?”

“Oh Jesus. Don’t start that again.”

For the most part, Dansen had done a remarkable job of not irritating Vincent to the extreme over the past three months. But Dansen’s ridiculous hero worship of Vincent’s last name grated on his nerves. Yet another reason he couldn’t wait for Jill to get back.

Jill, who’d never cared that Vincent’s father was the recently retired police commissioner. Or that his older brother was a captain. Or that his younger brother was the NYPD’s most famous officer.