Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“And it won’t stop you from investigating.”

“No comment.” Sighing, she gave the cat one last pet, then straightened, her dark eyes opening. “I keep trying to figure out who the hell he is ... It has to be someone I’ve met ... but ...” She shrugged. “So far, I’m out of ideas.”

“We’ll work on it together.”

“Because you’re moving in.” It wasn’t a question.

“Temporarily. Until we get this nut job behind bars.” He tried to keep the desperation out of his tone, didn’t want to freak her out any more than she already was, but they both knew that she was in danger. The killer was becoming frustrated, not getting the attention he craved, so he’d sent the card. Who knew what his next move might be?

“Do I get a say in this?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Just like everything else. So you ... what? You think you’re going to be my self-appointed bodyguard or something?”

“Or something.” He opened the plastic bag he’d picked up at the hardware store and pulled out a new doorknob and dead bolt. “I supposed you heard that Gabe was going to be transferred tomorrow.”

“No.” She lifted a shoulder, but he could see in her eyes that she was bothered. “Just one more loop I’m clearly out of.” He realized that it made her a little crazy to think that homicide cases were being solved without her and that her own son’s situation was being withheld from her.

“Don’t suppose I can see him first?”

“Aggie doesn’t want you to have contact with him. Or me, for that matter, I’m off the case.”

“So we both got fired.”

“Essentially.”

“You know, I think Aggie can go ... jump in a lake!” Her cheeks turned a little red and her eyes snapped as anger obviously surged through her. O’Keefe figured it was the first time in a long while she’d been thwarted or felt so impotent.

“Anyone ask Gabe what he wanted?”

“I doubt it.”

“Damn.” She walked into the kitchen and found a bottle of sparkling water, opened it and took a long swallow.

“Hit the spot?” he asked.

“No, but it’ll have to do. For now.”

“I’ll take you to dinner,” he offered, turning to look at her in the kitchen.

“Now?”

“No, not now, as soon as I’m finished.”

“Finished with what?”

“Changing all the locks. I thought we’d start fresh. Just in case someone has a key.”

“Nervy,” she said but didn’t offer up any objection. Though she was trying to disguise it, she was anxious, forcing herself to appear calmer than she really felt.

“The slider has a lock, right?”

She was nodding. “It’s a dead bolt screwed into the track and floor and can’t be accessed from outside.”

“Good.” Nonetheless, he checked and tested the screw knob that fastened the slider into place. Satisfied that it was secure, he straightened. “So I’ll put the new lock into place on the front door and then double-check the windows and make certain they all latch. You”—he motioned at her with a screwdriver—“might want to change into something a little less casual. Dinner. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” She was already heading for the stairs but stopped on the second step. “I don’t think the killer will come back here.”