“Detective Winter has some serious pull in the NYPD,” I said casually. “Keeping his fiancé safe during this investigation would definitely put you on the right trajectory for a promotion to detective.”
Rossi met my gaze in the mirror.
His silence was… loud. But when he ultimately didn’t rise to the bait, I dropped the line of inquiry. It was stupid, bureaucratic bullshit anyway. If I had the patience for those kinds of games, I wouldn’t have taken the chance at opening my own business. I did make note to myself that Calvin would need a heads-up about Rossi’s personal motives. However, considering Quinn’s choice of words yesterday regarding him, I figured Calvin already knew the angle being played. He was much better at reading people—dead or alive—than I was.
I shut my eyes and sagged back against the car seat. The drive took a while as we fought the morning rush. The taxi raked in waiting fees as we sat in gridlocked traffic until finally managing to get out of the hell that was Midtown. When the car came to a sudden halt that suggested it really needed to get its brakes checked, I cracked open one eye.
The woven metal gate was rolled down over my storefront, and the Snow’s Antique Emporium lettering stood out against an otherwise dark window display. Good Books was already open for morning business. I shifted in my seat to pull my wallet from my back pocket.
“Here you are,” I said, passing a bill through the window to the driver. “Keep the change.” I opened the door, took Dillon’s leash, and climbed out of the taxi.
Rossi shut the passenger door and turned to me as the car pulled onto the road. “May I speak freely to you, Mr. Snow?” Breath puffed around Rossi as if he were an angry dragon.
“Knock yourself out.”
“I volunteered for this duty because when a psychopath attacks a cop or a cop’s—”
I smiled.
“Significant other,” he finally decided upon, “it’s an attack on all of us.”
“That’s very noble of you,” I answered.
“It has nothing to do with Detective Winter.”
I made a sound that was more snort than laugh. “Either way, at least I know you’ve got a vested interest in my overall well-being.” I opened my messenger bag, fished out my ring of keys, and walked to the gate. I unlocked it, crouched down, and hoisted the gate up and over my head.
“Mr. Snow?” a third voice broke in.
I turned to my right.
Rossi moved across the sidewalk and stood between me and some guy straight out ofMad Men. “I’m going to need you to step back, sir,” he said, hand going to his coat.
The stranger had a perfectly parted and slicked haircut combined with round tortoiseshell glasses. He was clean-shaven. And based on his trousers and expensive-looking oxfords, he had a suit on underneath the winter jacket. Even though he looked as if he’d stepped off the set of a period film, I could see the family resemblance now. The shade of hair was the same gray as Calvin’s. The height, the build, and while not quite as many—the freckles.
“Wait, hold on,” I protested, reaching a hand out for Rossi. “Marc?”
Confused, wary, and on the verge of raising his hands up like he’d been told to freeze, Marc said, “Yes.”
“It’s okay,” I told Rossi. “He’s Calvin’s brother.”
Rossi lowered his hand from reaching for his concealed weapon.
“Is this how you always greet people?” Marc protested, looking at me but pointing at Rossi, as if he were hired muscle.
“Not typically,” I answered.
Even if Rossi hadn’t nearly drawn a gun on Marc, the man seemed wound especially tight. A palpable, edgy mood. It was a curious thing—how familiar his bulk was, and yet how incredibly foreign his characteristics were. Marc had none of Calvin’s usual cool or calm. He didn’t have that sort of relaxed stance Calvin would often assume when he was listening—the one that still conveyed he was the man in charge and to be respected. Marc’s energy was much more…in your face.
It made me feel forced into a corner.
I’m sure Patrick Swayze would have had something to say about that.
“So,” Marc continued, “you wanted to speak with me. Here I am.”
I glared a little, turned to the Emporium, and unlocked the door. I leaned inside to tap the code on the security panel, then silently held the door for both men to enter. Rossi did so without question. Marc was hesitant but ultimately stepped past me and into the store.
I knew I could have been more polite. More thankful that he came to speak with me before Calvin… but I wasn’t an ass-kisser. Not even—no. Correction.Especiallynot to Calvin’s family. They’d abandoned him last Christmas. Left him alone after being shot, with no one to care about his life but me. And where had they been when I got wrecked by Pete White in May and Calvinneededan emotional crutch? Not here, that was for fucking sure. A real family makes themselves known in times of need. And my ex-boyfriend was willing to come by the hospital and make sure Calvin was resting and feeding himself as he stressed at my bedside, while Calvin’s own flesh and blood had no idea. Because they hadn’t cared to know.
