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“I can hardly wait.” She surprised herself with how easy it was to joke with Sean.
He got up easily enough and pushed her against the railing. His blue eyes sparkled with humor as he said, “You won’t know when or where, princess.”
“I’m so scared,” she said, suppressing a giggle.
He kissed her, opening his mouth slightly, warming her lips, sending a shiver through her body. His hands were on her face, his leather gloves cold but she barely noticed. He held her there, holding the kiss. His body pressed against hers and she was effectively trapped against the sidewall but didn’t panic, didn’t feel anything but the powerful presence of Sean Rogan.
He sighed, put his forehead against hers and whispered, “How about some hot chocolate?”
She nodded, because suddenly she couldn’t talk.
They left the rink and returned their skates. “Thank you, Sean,” Lucy said and kissed him spontaneously. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”
NINETEEN
Andrew “Ace” Shuman was a foul-mouthed ex-con and there was nothing Noah would have liked more than to find a reason to arrest him.
“Fucking Feds,” Ace said when he opened the door and saw Noah and Abigail standing on the stoop of his beat-up post–World War II cinderblock house. Noah hadn’t pulled out his badge yet. “My parole was up eighteen months ago, I don’t got to talk to you.” He leered at Abigail as his eyes skirted up and down her body.
Noah showed his badge. “Special Agent Armstrong, my partner Special Agent Resnick. We’re here to ask you questions about the murder of Roger Morton.”
Telling him right off the bat that this was serious—a capital offense.
Shuman scowled. “Roger Morton?” He leaned against the doorjamb. He didn’t invite them in, and Noah wasn’t sure he wanted to step into this pigsty. He’d spent a winter at Fort Dix in New Jersey, and this cold sunny day didn’t bother him, but Abigail was trying to stop herself from shivering, so Noah got down to business.
“When was the last time you had any contact with Morton? In person, email, phone?”
“That motherfucker’s dead?” Ace sounded skeptical.
Noah nodded curtly and waited for an answer. When Ace wasn’t forthcoming, he added, “You’re an ex-con. You have a history with Morton. Don’t make me come back with an arrest warrant.”
“Bullshit, you can’t arrest me for squat.”
“I can and will compel you to answer my questions. As I stand here, the FBI is reading every email sent to and from Morton in the last six months. We know you and Morton corresponded.”
“Then read them and get back to me,” Shuman said and started to close the door.
Noah put his foot forward to prevent the door from closing. “I’ve had a long week, and you’re making it longer. Deputy Chief of Police Richard Blakesly is a personal friend of mine. One call and he’ll make your life miserable. You won’t be able to step out without a patrol car on your ass. You won’t be able to go to a bar, the grocery store, or walk to the corner without a Baltimore P.D. officer asking you what time it is.
“Morton had child pornography on his computer. You emailed him something. And if there is any hint that you sent him illegal porn, we’ll raid this place top to bottom. One stray picture, and you’re back in prison. And everyone there will know you get off on naked kids.”
Ace stepped forward, his face dark and dangerous. “Fucking prick, I don’t go for kids.”
“Please hit me,” Noah said, not moving.
Ace wrestled with his anger.
Noah pushed. “I know you talked to Morton; I want to know what it was about. Why was he in D.C. last week?”
Ace spewed a chain of profanity that would have had the most foul-mouthed Marine blush, but Noah kept a straight face.
At the end of the rant, Ace said, “I didn’t know Roger was dead, but I thought something was up because he never came by when he said he would.”
“When was that?”
“He said he had a business proposition. He was supposed to come over last Saturday.”
“What did he say about the business proposition?”
