Appearances, Jake knew now, were too often deceiving; women weren’t always what they seemed. The sexy waitress attracted him more strongly than his ex ever had, and if that wasn’t enough of a warning to steer clear, he had his current case to focus upon. He couldn’t risk the distraction.
Rina waved a hand in front of his eyes and grinned. Obviously she knew his mind had been not on her words, but on the waitress who fascinated him. Considering he’d insisted on meeting at this place, at this hour, on the same night for the past few weeks, Jake figured his thoughts were pretty much transparent.
“As I was saying,” she reminded him, “I had to walk Norton before meeting you, and he didn’t want to go. I mean, he’s trained to go on command, but you have to get him out onto the street, first. The poor thing hates the hot concrete on the pads of his paws. There I was, literally dragging him down Park Avenue, while he was trying to drag me back home. Can you imagine the sight?”
Jake shook his head. “The dog’s a wuss,” he muttered. He glanced over her shoulder, looking for the woman of his fantasies, but in the moment he’d refocused on Rina, she had disappeared. Disappointment gripped him as hard as the desire had earlier.
Rina patted his hand. “She’ll be back. And Norton’s not a wuss, he’s just particular about what he likes, who he likes…”
“And who he doesn’t,” Jake said, recalling the puddle that had ruined his new sneakers on their first meeting.
“Well, regardless, he was Robert’s dog, and I’m all he has left now.”
Jake leaned forward in his seat. “So how are you, really?”
Rina had decided not to accompany her husband on a business trip, and he’d died in a car accident while rushing home to avoid an overnight stay. She’d been consumed with guilt and grief, and Jake had made it a priority to keep her spirits up. That included meeting her for dinner or drinks a few times a week. Almost a year had passed—a year in which Jake had kept up the routine because he enjoyed it, too. Rina was stronger now. Even the jokes had come more freely to her of late. Jake’s mission had been a success. It had also recently led to his obsession with a woman he didn’t know.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How I’m doing. I’m going to take a vacation. A friend invited me to spend the summer with her in Italy. And I really need the break. I need to get away and…”
“I think it’s a great idea.” Jake didn’t hesitate. Not only would the vacation do wonders for Rina’s mental health, but it would keep her out of the country and safe until Ramirez was behind bars. “Anything that gets you out of that mausoleum of an apartment is good by me.” Besides, all that marble and china made Jake nervous. Every time he turned around in the penthouse, he felt in danger of breaking something.
“I’m glad you think so. But about the penthouse?”
“Mausoleum.”
“Whatever. I need you to stay there while I’m gone and watch Norton—and before you say no, think about the whirlpool and the pool. They’ll do wonders for your rehabilitation.” She opened her brown eyes wide and fluttered her thick lashes.
Not a good sign, he thought, and he knew he was in deep. “I don’t need physical therapy. I’m doing some exercises the orthopedist recommended, and my shoulder’s just fine.” He caught her stare and realized he’d been subconsciously rubbing the muscle with his hand. He quickly wrapped the hand around his glass, which had grown warm to the touch.
She raised an eyebrow. “The department says otherwise.”
Much as he loved Rina, no way could he let
her in on the fact that he had been undertaking strenuous rehabilitation. Her well-meaning concern often translated into talking at inopportune moments and generally butting into his life. He couldn’t risk her informing the department that he’d be in shape sooner than they thought.
“The department has no say unless I choose to go back,” he told her. And he was no longer sure he wanted to. Getting hit by a bullet and damaging his shoulder while diving out of harm’s way had nothing to do with his uncertainty. The circumstances surrounding the episode did.
Louis Ramirez, who had been drug trafficking on college campuses and had access to major dealers, had been ripe for the picking. As a detective on narcotics detail, Jake had invested all his time and energy on the scum. He’d seen one too many co-eds in the morgue thanks to Ramirez’s tainted goods, too many once fresh-faced kids now addicted. Jake had sworn he’d nail the crook, and had skirted the edges of proper police procedure to arrange a bust that would put Ramirez away for a long time. He’d trusted a snitch, something he regretted the instant the first bullet was fired and he realized he and his fellow officers had been set up.
But they’d gotten their man, anyway. After the hail of bullets that had stolen Frank’s life and sidelined Jake, Ramirez had been taken into custody. And he would have stayed there, too, if Jake hadn’t been down for the count. If some rookie hadn’t screwed up and failed to give proper Miranda rights. Ramirez had walked, on a technicality. It wasn’t the first time Jake had seen a criminal go free but it was the proverbial last straw. Jake was disgusted, disillusioned with his role in bringing in the dregs of the earth only to have his efforts thwarted courtesy of America’s judicial system.
The detective Ramirez killed had been a good man—a man with a wife and kids—and though all cops knew the risk, Jake would have preferred to take the fatal bullet instead. He had no little ones who needed a father. Jake’s weekend visits and phone calls to Frank’s family were a poor substitute for the real thing.
“The system pisses me off and I’ve had it with the whole routine,” he said, giving his sister the gut-honest truth.
“So Frank’s gone and you’re just going to give up?”
Her tone conveyed disbelief, possibly because she knew Jake better than anyone. She knew his friendship with Frank and his family ran deep and she understood the pain of losing someone. But she also knew her brother. Jake Lowell didn’t throw in the towel, and he never left a job undone without a fight.
“I’ll redirect my energies,” he lied. He didn’t want to upset Rina by admitting he planned to get Frank’s killer on his own.
Jake couldn’t bring Ramirez in on any of the charges stemming from the original bust, but no doubt the guy was still selling drugs and somehow he’d slip up. Between Jake’s off-duty digging and the official information two of his detective buddies continued to feed him, Jake would nab Ramirez. It was only a matter of time. But he wouldn’t have the freedom to follow up leads if he was constrained by his superiors and newer cases he’d no doubt be assigned.
Jake also needed personal R-and-R. Time without the pressure and restrictions of the job to find out what direction he wanted to take in life. To decide what the restlessness he’d been experiencing lately meant. Was it the gritty life of a cop and the disillusionments that came with the job that had worn him down, or something more? Jake didn’t have any answers. And he had a hunch none would be forthcoming until his mind was free of Ramirez.
His lieutenant would jump on him if he thought Jake was ready, so allowing a prolonged recuperation provided the perfect excuse. “Can we change the subject?” he asked his sister.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Let the muscle atrophy until you can’t make it work. Then when you want to go back, you’ll flunk the physical and—”