bites in a light, high voice.
Love and loss. Why do they always go hand in hand?
Gavenia grabbed the dessert menu and thumbed through it, desperate for a distraction.
“So what’s it going to be—tiramisu or crème brûlée?” she asked.
Ari delivered a mock glare, accepting the diversion. “You didn’t eat your dinner,” she said, pointing at Gavenia’s plate.
“You sound like Auntie Lu.” Ari continued to point, shaking her head in disapproval. “Okay, so if I eat most of the pork chop, can I have some dessert?”
“It’s a deal. We’ll share some tiramisu.”
Their eyes met, and Gavenia winked. Her sister winked back.
“I’ve missed this, Pooh. We’ve been apart too long,” Gavenia said.
“I know. We’ve both lost a lot in the last year. It’s hard to know what to say.” After a sip of wine, Ari added, “Right before I flew home, I went to Wales. I stopped at the place where you had your accident.”
Gavenia dropped her fork and it bounced to the floor. Her throat tightened as the sound of grinding metal slammed into her head and then receded. Unaware of the vivid memories her words had generated, her sister continued, “I left flowers for Winston. I thought he might like that.”
Gavenia’s eyes clouded. She pulled her napkin upward to stem the tide of tears. “It’s been a hell of a year for both of us,” she whispered.
Ari’s warm hand touched her elbow in a loving gesture. “It’ll get better. It can’t possibly get any worse,” she said.
Bart sighed, tented his fingers, and whispered, Wanna bet?
Chapter Six
Although O’Fallon hadn’t served in this particular precinct, a surge of memories struck him the moment he entered the building. Typical of most squad rooms in the city, it was awash in piles of paper and binders, half-filled cups and soda bottles. The electronic chirp of telephones echoed off the faded tan walls. Two cops huddled in front of a computer terminal while another struggled with a copy machine. The fellow swore at the recalcitrant device, gave it a jarring bump with the heel of his hand, and it promptly spit out paper. The detective pumped his fist in the air as if he’d just won the lottery.
The pungent smell of overheated coffee hung in the air, perfume to O’Fallon’s nose. He’d been part of this world for over ten years. Now he was the outsider, and that meant everything to those on the other side of the line.
If they’re dirty . . . He shook his head at the thought and headed for the desk sergeant.
After explaining his purpose, O’Fallon wove his way through the desk jungle. A few of the detectives glanced up as he passed, but he didn’t recognize any of them until a familiar face appeared in the distance—a young man studying a pile of papers.
It was impossible to see the young cop’s trim figure and angular face without thinking of the first time O’Fallon had met his father. O’Fallon had been the nervous new detective, eager to prove himself, and Avery Elliot the old salt, the one with the sharp mind and a body of experience that kept O’Fallon from making a complete ass of himself. Too often it was a near thing. Now Adam Elliot was a homicide detective, just like his old man had been before Avery’s wife had died and he’d become a priest.
Adam’s partner slouched at an opposite desk, talking on the telephone, his feet in the aisle. He had graying hair and a bulldog look, in direct contrast to Adam’s handsome features.
The young cop glanced up and his eyes flashed in surprise. A grin spread across his tanned face.
O’Fallon halted by the desk and stuck out his hand. “Your dad said you’d been transferred to this precinct. I didn’t think I’d catch you in.”
Adam rose and shook his hand, his grip strong. “It’s been forever,” he replied.
“Your father’s retirement party, if I remember right.”
Adam nodded in agreement. “What brings you here?”
“I’m doing some private work for the Callendar
Love and loss. Why do they always go hand in hand?
Gavenia grabbed the dessert menu and thumbed through it, desperate for a distraction.
“So what’s it going to be—tiramisu or crème brûlée?” she asked.
Ari delivered a mock glare, accepting the diversion. “You didn’t eat your dinner,” she said, pointing at Gavenia’s plate.
“You sound like Auntie Lu.” Ari continued to point, shaking her head in disapproval. “Okay, so if I eat most of the pork chop, can I have some dessert?”
“It’s a deal. We’ll share some tiramisu.”
Their eyes met, and Gavenia winked. Her sister winked back.
“I’ve missed this, Pooh. We’ve been apart too long,” Gavenia said.
“I know. We’ve both lost a lot in the last year. It’s hard to know what to say.” After a sip of wine, Ari added, “Right before I flew home, I went to Wales. I stopped at the place where you had your accident.”
Gavenia dropped her fork and it bounced to the floor. Her throat tightened as the sound of grinding metal slammed into her head and then receded. Unaware of the vivid memories her words had generated, her sister continued, “I left flowers for Winston. I thought he might like that.”
Gavenia’s eyes clouded. She pulled her napkin upward to stem the tide of tears. “It’s been a hell of a year for both of us,” she whispered.
Ari’s warm hand touched her elbow in a loving gesture. “It’ll get better. It can’t possibly get any worse,” she said.
Bart sighed, tented his fingers, and whispered, Wanna bet?
Chapter Six
Although O’Fallon hadn’t served in this particular precinct, a surge of memories struck him the moment he entered the building. Typical of most squad rooms in the city, it was awash in piles of paper and binders, half-filled cups and soda bottles. The electronic chirp of telephones echoed off the faded tan walls. Two cops huddled in front of a computer terminal while another struggled with a copy machine. The fellow swore at the recalcitrant device, gave it a jarring bump with the heel of his hand, and it promptly spit out paper. The detective pumped his fist in the air as if he’d just won the lottery.
The pungent smell of overheated coffee hung in the air, perfume to O’Fallon’s nose. He’d been part of this world for over ten years. Now he was the outsider, and that meant everything to those on the other side of the line.
If they’re dirty . . . He shook his head at the thought and headed for the desk sergeant.
After explaining his purpose, O’Fallon wove his way through the desk jungle. A few of the detectives glanced up as he passed, but he didn’t recognize any of them until a familiar face appeared in the distance—a young man studying a pile of papers.
It was impossible to see the young cop’s trim figure and angular face without thinking of the first time O’Fallon had met his father. O’Fallon had been the nervous new detective, eager to prove himself, and Avery Elliot the old salt, the one with the sharp mind and a body of experience that kept O’Fallon from making a complete ass of himself. Too often it was a near thing. Now Adam Elliot was a homicide detective, just like his old man had been before Avery’s wife had died and he’d become a priest.
Adam’s partner slouched at an opposite desk, talking on the telephone, his feet in the aisle. He had graying hair and a bulldog look, in direct contrast to Adam’s handsome features.
The young cop glanced up and his eyes flashed in surprise. A grin spread across his tanned face.
O’Fallon halted by the desk and stuck out his hand. “Your dad said you’d been transferred to this precinct. I didn’t think I’d catch you in.”
Adam rose and shook his hand, his grip strong. “It’s been forever,” he replied.
“Your father’s retirement party, if I remember right.”
Adam nodded in agreement. “What brings you here?”
“I’m doing some private work for the Callendar
Similar Books
