Larkin set the bag at his feet and said, while handing Doyle the rest of his personal effects, “Millett’s into the new ME.”
That was a sufficient enough distraction, and Doyle’s thick brows drew up as he clarified, “Dr.Baxter?”
“I’m uncertain if it’s only mutual attraction or something more—”
“Are you serious?”
“Was it not obvious.”
Doyle looked instinctively toward Clinton Street, then asked, “Anything else you want to share with the class?”
“It’s not polite to gossip.”
“Yeah, but I’m your work husband,” Doyle reminded him.“You’re morally and ethically obligated to keep me informed on matters of the heart.”
“I wasn’t aware the exchange of hot goss was part of my duties and responsibilities.”
Doyle’s smile was almost whimsical.“You’re so cute.”
Larkin’s mouth twitched.He slid his tie free, unbuttoned his shirt, dropped the bloody mess into the bag, and had started on his trousers when Millett returned with a set of folded clothes in his hands.
“I’ve got—okay, you’re not modest,” Millett stated.
“No, I’m not,” Larkin said as he maneuvered out of his trousers, standing on the side of the road in nothing but his mint-green derbies and a pair of low-rise black trunks.
Millett hastily offered the clothes.“Working CSU, you never know when you might find yourself in the garbage chute of a luxury high rise, helping to retrieve a decomposing body.”
“Your nine-to-five is full of surprises,” Doyle observed.
“You’ve no idea,” Millett replied.As Larkin accepted the jeans, he added, “They might be a little big on you, but they’re clean.”
Larkin pulled on the jeans, which, yes, were both too big in the waist and too long in the leg, but after rolling the cuffs twice, they were at least manageable.He accepted a navy T-shirt that had CRIME SCENE UNIT printed in bold letters across the back.
“What’s wrong?”Millett asked.
Doyle answered for Larkin, “He doesn’t like wearing blue-on-blue.”
Larkin pulled the T-shirt on.“A good wardrobe should have contrasting colors.Pink, orange—mustard pairs particularly well with dark blue jeans.”
“I just don’t see the NYPD adoptingmustardas an official color anytime soon,” Millett said.
“Thank you for the clothes.”
“No problem.”A van from the ME’s office pulled onto the scene, and Millett murmured, “Looks like my long-lost medicolegal is finally here.I’ll finish up with this DB and meet you guys at the house for the second one.”
Larkin watched Millett greet the approaching medicolegal, the two of them pulling back the sheet from Joe Sinclair’s body.He absently accepted his holster back from Doyle, strapping it on while saying, “He tried to interview me during the Regmore case.Joe Sinclair withOut in NYC.”
Doyle looked incredulous.“They write about how to pair jockstraps with summer fashion trends.”
“How’s that for intellectual stimulation,” Larkin said dryly.“Joe admitted to having been at Pier 34 last night.He admitted interacting, to some degree, with Noah.”
“But the shooter was in a Honda Civic.”
Larkin nodded stiffly.He’d been so happy, sorelieved….
Doyle looked toward the street where the Honda’s occupant had killed a man in cold blood, and wondered aloud, “Why would Adam Worth have a journalist from a gay entertainment press murdered?”
…since one intrusive little journalist wasn’t a threat—he was just an unrelated annoyance.
