The Profiler Page 11

  “I’m not bedridden, Severo. The way you make it sound, I should be counting my lucky stars I can even stand up.”

  “I’m just saying there’s no need to treat me like a guest.” His voice is childlike in defense. “You don’t have to entertain me or anything.”

  “Good.” I nod toward the fridge as I begin to pick up stray newspapers and toss them into the few packing boxes I have managed to empty. “Then you can make me something to eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” When Severo opens my fridge, though, he grunts something inaudible, then turns to face me. “Hey, Angie? You may want to call 911. It seems there’s been a robbery. Someone apparently ran off with all your food.”

  “Very funny.” I reach his side and look at the sparse contents of my fridge. “Look, there’s…well, there’s some pickles. And yogurt. And there, what’s that?”

  “Some strange lump of flesh?” he says, holding out a tinfoil wrapped plate. “What is this, a science project?”

  “That,” I say, pulling the plate from his grasp, “is my leftovers from Thanksgiving. It’s turkey.”

  His laughter erupts and he watches as I peel back the foil. “No it isn’t. Turkey isn’t gray, Ange. That boneless, burned lump can’t possibly be a proper bird.”

  I feel my cheeks flush a bit as I pick it off the plate and toss it into the trash. “If you must know, it was one of those precooked meats they do now. It’s all about convenience, Detective. You think I have time to fool around in the kitchen?”

  “I’m not making any judgments,” he says, backing away from me slowly and playfully, as though I may attack him for making accusations against my culinary skills. “Perhaps, though, we should order in and see to it that you get some real food in you. You need your strength.”

  “Fine, you choose,” I say, then return to tidying the main living space. My grandmother will undoubtedly scold me for keeping such a messy apartment, as she was always so nutty about order when we shared a place during my college education. I’d hate for her to show up and start cleaning this place herself, even if she swears she feels fine. If her hip is bothering her, the last thing she needs is a messy apartment to tempt her stubborn nature.

  As Severo makes the call for takeout, my thoughts turn to curiosity. It’s only been a few days since I met the detective, and I really know very little of him. Where he’s from, why he chose to work in homicide, and what he does when he’s not working.

  I don’t need his whole life story, but knowing a bit more about him will maybe make it easier to understand those mood swings he gets. Mind you, he’s been very accommodating today, and I have to appreciate that.

  As I push a sweeper across my floors, attempting to nab the little bits of hair and dust, I ask, “Why homicide?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you choose homicide? I’m assuming you could have worked in any number of fields, so why this one?”

  The detective shrugs a bit as he speaks, and I watch as he loads my sink with the empty coffee mugs my counter has accumulated over the past few mornings. “Why not? It’s got everything a man could hope for. Lies, deceit, betrayal. And let’s not forget murder.”

  “That’s a given.”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice dry. “But it’s an interesting lesson in the human spirit. Why people kill one another, how they do it. It’s all so dramatic. Then again, you come across some clean-cut cases, too.”

  “Clean-cut?”

  “You know, your basic shot-in-the-heart case, with the killer still at the scene. The confessionals. The wives who turn themselves in even before we find their poor excuse of a husband. Good old homicide. Those are the ones that are open-and-shut cases. You know?”

  I take a seat at the kitchen table, resting for a moment to ease my muscles after the day I’ve had. With the painkillers settled in, I’m not hurting too much right now, but my bones are arguing the artificial sense of strength. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Plus, it’s not just homicide I deal with. There’s the links surrounding murder. Drug rings, counterfeit ops. That’s what I tend to work with. It usually ends in murder, though.”

  He piles the now clean mugs to the side, looks under the counter, then back up at me. “You got some all-purpose cleaner or something? This could use a good wipe,” he says, running a finger along the countertop.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” I say, getting up from my seat.

  “Yes, but I want to. So sit down and tell me where your cleaning stuff is. Or are you as adverse to cleaning as you are to cooking?”

  “Aren’t you just full of compliments,” I joke, pointing to a side cupboard where I’ve stashed the few supplies I own. “I think tomorrow I’ll head out and pick up some things so this place is presentable when my grandmother gets here.”

  “How’s her health?”

  “Oh, she’s fine.” My fingers wrap through the mug of my hot beverage and I think of how lucky we are that she is okay. “I guess Simon is just worried about her hip problems, but otherwise she’s the same as always. Stubborn and direct.”

  “Sounds like I know someone just like her,” he laughs, and I toss one of Muddy’s chew toys in his direction. Of course, Muddy trots along after it, settling down at Severo’s feet to gnaw on the rubbery plastic.

  “What about you, Severo? You’re pretty tight with your family, aren’t you?” He hasn’t actually mentioned them in conversation, but with the introduction I got last night at La Costa, I could see he has a lot of love for them.

  “They’re the best. Truly. My sisters, my niece. My little brother. All of them. Great.”

  My memory drifts to the night before and I recall the numerous excited faces, so proud when the detective walked into the room. “What about that one guy? Antonio, I think. He had a cane. What happened to him?”

  “Yeah, that’s Antonio. Maria’s husband. Good guy. Four years ago he was working late with Maria.” Severo turns his head toward me as he scrubs down my countertop, and I simply nod in agreement. “It was late, nearly midnight, and in comes this guy, walking through the restaurant doors, and he’s got a gun.”

  My brows arch as Severo explains, and I try to imagine the scene within the walls of the quaint establishment.

  “So, he comes barreling through, aims this shotgun, of all things, and wants the cash. But they ain’t got none. Nothing substantial, anyways. The restaurant’s not exactly a hopping joint, but it does well enough to keep afloat.”

  “What happened?”

  “Antonio tells Maria to go to the back safe, which they don’t have. Nothing more than some shoe boxes in the upper apartment,” he adds, leaving no detail behind. “And while she’s gone, he’s trying to talk the thief out of the situation, calm him down. Naturally, the shooter ain’t so complacent.”

  “And?”

  “The guy starts panicking, but Antonio keeps talking to him, wanting to get him out of there as fast as he can. When Maria comes back in, she says she can’t find the key to the safety box—which doesn’t even exist. You know, trying to stall the guy, but it doesn’t work.”

  Severo ties a knot on a kitchen garbage bag, then searches for a fresh replacement as he continues to explain the situation, which I already know won’t end well.

  “He gets in a fuss and aims the gun at my sister, threatening her if she doesn’t take him to the money. But Antonio, he hops over the counter and tackles the guy. Maria calls 911, but my brother-in-law gets shot in the leg as he wrestles with the thief.”

  “No one else got hurt?”

  “Nope. My niece was upstairs, fast asleep, and she was too young to remember it well, thank God. Antonio got hurt pretty bad, but he did what he did to protect my sister.”

  “Sounds like a great guy,” I say, feeling the respect Severo has for his sister’s husband.

  “Yeah, he’s a good man.” Severo twists around as a buzzing noise interrupts our conversation. “What’s that?”

  “The door. Must be our food.
”

  He motions for me to stay put as he buzzes in the delivery guy and then waits at the door for our takeout. Although I wasn’t expecting the detective to stay this long, his company has been pleasant and I’m glad I have a chance to get to know him a bit better, seeing how we’re evidently going to be working together for a while longer. At least until we get this case wrapped up.

  On his return, he balances multiple cardboard cartons and a plastic bag of treats. My nose takes in the aromas of curry and spice and my stomach wakes up from its slumber.

  “Indian?”

  “You bet,” he says, laying out the cartons along the kitchen countertop. “You need some fire in you if you’re going to get back out there and get all that experience you need.”

  Reaching his side, I open a container of butter chicken, eyeing its gooey goodness. “So what do you think of it all?”

  He pours butter sauce over a scoop of rice, then leans back against the counter to address me. “The case? Hard to tell. I don’t like the looks of it, though. Especially with you being followed today. How ya feeling?”

  I dip a finger into the butter sauce and lick it before saying, “Considering? Not that bad, really. I mean, I was freaked out about it at the time, that’s for sure. And even now, I suppose. But hopefully Cain’ll get something from Devlin’s students, and if the lab comes back with anything from the scene, we’ll be on our way.”

  The detective places a peeled-off piece of naan bread on my plate and we settle onto the living room floor to spread out files and relax a little as we review our data to date.

  “I’ve brought as much as I could from the office,” Severo says before spooning a large portion of saucy chicken into his mouth. Sliding a few official documents toward me, he lifts a finger to wipe his chin free of curry. “Pass me a water?”

  I hand him a bottle from behind me, and grab one for myself to wash down the spicy tastes. Other than last night at La Costa, this is probably the best meal I’ve had since returning to New York.

  Severo leans back to rest on his arms, his legs crossed in front of him, knees slightly touching mine as I sit opposite him, cross-legged.

  “What do you make of the Devlin coat of arms?” he asks, and my attention diverts from his presence to his question. “I get the whole crusade theory, mind you, but this guy has to be after something tangible. He’s gotta be making a point.”

  “Wait.” My memory is foggy and the painkillers aren’t helping, but I think I may have something to work with. “You know when I was down there, in the crematorium, I could swear he said something about revenge. I think.”

  Severo rubs a piece of naan bread along his buttery plate. “Revenge? Well, that’s common enough, I guess. If it’s not money or power they’re after, it’s usually revenge. What did he say?”

  “That’s the problem. He didn’t really have much to say at all. Just something about revenge and me understanding it or… I don’t know that I really remember all that well.”

  “Maybe it’ll come back to you,” he says encouragingly, his eyes soft and relaxed. The more I get to know Severo, the more I see his less edgy side. It may take some time for him to turn off that cocky detective attitude, but when he does, it’s worth it. “I don’t think we should discount his trying to get close to you, though. He seems to have taken a liking to you, ya know?”

  Severo gets up from the floor, taking our plates to the kitchen, and I, too, get up to stretch out my legs. Standing motionless in my kitchen doorway, as though contemplating the wonders of the world, he traces his eyes over me as I walk to the living room balcony doors. Clearing his throat, he speaks softly. “About last night, Angie. At the restaurant? Why’d you take off like that?”

  “Oh, I was just tired. And cranky.” I realize now I may have overreacted a tad. It’s just that I was having such a good time with Severo and his family. I didn’t really want to call it a night as quickly as he suggested.

  “Okay. If you want to drop it,” he says, approaching me now. As he rubs his hands along the sides of his pants, I’m not sure if he’s wiping them free of curry or busying them in a state of boyish nervousness. “I just want you to know I wasn’t blowing you off.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  In the hush of the night, I can hear my pulse beating beneath my layered clothing. I doubt Severo can hear it above the whistling wind outside the glass doors of the balcony, but to me, it sounds like a million drums rapping against my skin.

  “I think you do.” His words are soft as he closes the distance between us. I’m not sure if I want to step back a foot or step forward and close the space between us.

  The sound of his breathing has overpowered my own and I grow conscious of his smell. Severo has this spicy scent about him, though I’m not sure if it’s from a cologne or his genes. Either way, it’s welcoming, like warm cinnamon toast.

  With a hand raised in front of him, he slides his fingers down the side of my face, slowing against the curve of my cheekbone, then again under my jawline. With the other hand, he threads fingers through my hair, and the lingering scent of my citrus shampoo wafts through the air.

  “Detective,” I say softly, knowing the answer before I ask. “Are you trying to kiss me?”

  His lips curl upward, a devious smirk spreading over his face, and his gaze skims across my shoulder, up my neck, then focuses in on my eyes.

  “Could be.”

  He centers the pad of his thumb on my bottom lip, and with a slight pressure, leans into me so I can feel his warmth. I twist a few inches, resting my back against the shockingly cold balcony doors, and the contrasting sensations send shivers across my skin.

  With his opposite hand, Severo smooths my skin like he’s buttering toast, letting the slight roughness of his fingers contrast with my own softer flesh. Then he reaches downward, along the side of my rib cage, and even through my old college sweatshirt, the tickle causes my skin to react.

  Leaning into the detective, I guide my lips and nose along his neck, taking in his woodsy scent. It’s overwhelming, as I have not been this close to a man for a number of years. I guess I wasn’t one to engage in social entertaining during college, especially with my grandmother as a roommate. Since then, my social circle hasn’t expanded much, what with my constant training.

  Oh, I’ve had a few flings, but nothing worth remembering. But here, now, with my body close to Severo’s, there’s a gentle reminder of my less professional needs. Needs that haven’t been met in some time.

  I raise my chin, again facing him. Our heartbeats have combined, or overlapped, and I cannot distinguish which is mine and which is his. Severo’s eyes, half closed, peer at me as he leans closer.

  My lips part and I instinctively lick them, but he soon pushes his own against mine, pressing warmly, then gently sucking them closer. He pushes my mouth open, flicking my upper lip with delicate dabs, and I close my eyes to savor the moment. He begins to explore the inside of my mouth with care and precision, and I find myself drawing in his breath.

  Leaning my body into him, I wrap my hands around his neck and offer him my whole mouth as I tilt my head upward.

  There’s an aroma of body heat between us and I slow my pace to inhale the intoxicating scent. When my eyes open, I run my gaze along Severo’s neck, up his jawline, then meet his eyes. The dark centers are serious now, the pools of chocolate still for this moment.

  Looking directly at the detective, I sense the worry he has recently developed for me, and though it bothers me that a part of him thinks I may be in danger, I can at least appreciate his concern.

  With a slightly devious smile, I lean in to place my lips on his again. But he pulls back, just enough to strike me as odd. “Severo?”

  Straight-faced, he glances into my eyes and then at the files of paperwork scattered about on my living room floor. “Angie, I don’t think—”

  I step back, sliding from between the glass doors and the detective. “Yeah, you’re right,
” I say, as our professional connection kicks some reality into my stuttered senses.

  “Angie?” Severo says, a bit of a plea in his voice. But I can’t figure out his motives in the context of this situation. “Would you just hear me out? We should think about this. With everything that’s happened today, I just don’t know the timing is right, is all.”

  “I get it, Severo.” My voice rises to cut him off, but I try to gather some composure by straightening my clothing. I turn toward the hall leading to the door, and look at Severo once more before opening it. “I think you better go,” I say, gesturing to the passageway. “The drugs are starting to wear off and I need my sleep. Good night, Detective.”

  He brushes my arm as he passes me, avoiding eye contact as he collects his belongings, leaving me to an empty apartment.

  Chapter 10

  “Come on, Muddy!” His aging body trails beside me as we head out onto the street to enjoy a bit of early morning shopping in Chelsea. I’m eager to discover the new developments of the neighborhood and revisit old favorites from my youth. If Cain wants me to relax, Chelsea is the place to do it.

  Artsy folk have always taken up residence in this area, but recently it seems more and more professionals, like doctors and lawyers, are finding a home here as well. Can’t blame them. From Fifth Avenue to the Hudson River, this area has some of the best independent shops on this side of the city. I learned early that I could go without the department stores of Lower Manhattan, finding everything I need right here within walking distance.

  The farther south you go in Chelsea, the pricier real estate seems to get. In my corner, though, along Tenth Avenue north of West Twenty-ninth Street, prices remain reasonable, probably on account of the proximity of the Lincoln Tunnel Expressway. But with Chelsea Park and a plethora of shops within a few blocks, my street is just as good as the next.

  Muddy and I head south along Tenth Avenue, but I look behind me when I hear my name being called.

  “Angie, wait up,” Severo says, jogging toward me from the east side of the street. Great. Just when I was about to enjoy my day off.