“That didn’t turn out so good the last time.”
“I’ll be more careful. Besides, I have you to look after me.”
“So I’m your bodyguard now, is that it?”
“You’re one for one so far. That’s a pretty good track record in my book.”
“I’m here for my own reasons. Remember that.”
“I noticed you’re not wearing your gun.”
“I’m off duty. Don’t worry. It’s in my bag.”
“Good to know.”
“A table’s opening up. I’m going to grab us a place.”
“Sure you don’t want anything?”
“Fine,” said Nikki, giving up. “Get me whatever you’re having. I’ll put my lunch plans on hold.”
She left the line and took a seat at the vacant table. She looked at Riske. He was dressed once again in business mode. Blazer, white shirt, tan trousers. The vulnerability she’d glimpsed the night before, sitting outside the urgent care clinic, was gone, all intimations of mortality along with it. He’d pushed his brush with death out of his mind. Not once had he mentioned Falconi either. It wasn’t an act. He’d seen a lot in his life, certainly more than she. The difference, of course, was that he’d lived it firsthand, while more often than not she was a witness after the fact.
Her phone rang. She checked the screen and answered at once. “Hello, Commissaire?”
“Hello, Nikki. How are things going? Did Riske find his man?”
“Not yet, but I think he’s on the right track.”
“Good. I hope he didn’t put you out too much.”
“He can be demanding, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“All the same, I owe you one. How are things over there? I heard it was a nasty one.”
“Pardon me?”
“Delacroix. I heard it was messy.”
“Delacroix…from the hotel?”
“Who else?” There was a pause, and Nikki realized she’d blundered. “Aren’t you at the crime scene?” continued Dumont. “I know the lieutenant had you on administrative detention, but given the circumstances, I thought he might need you. Word was you had Delacroix pegged as an accomplice.”
“Actually, I’m feeling sick. I took the day.”
“Delacroix’s dead. He was found in his apartment an hour ago, killed execution style.”
“I see,” said Nikki. It was the Russian. Evidently, the PJ wasn’t the only one to mark Delacroix as a suspect. She signaled Riske to come join her. “When?”
“Last night sometime. When he didn’t show up for work, his colleagues sent someone to his place.”
“Any leads?”
“None, but you might want to call the lieutenant.”
Nikki waved again, but Riske was looking at the dining attendant. “Thank you, Commissaire.”
“Nikki?”
