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He grinned and brushed back the light-brown cowlick over his brow. “Of course not,” he said. I thought I saw a glimmer in his green eyes. Unspoken desires?
“I can offer you dinner. I hope you like leftover moo goo gai pan.”
“But what will you have?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Bread and water, maybe?”
Duvall went to the kitchen and opened the frig. “You’ve got eggs. I see cheese and ham. I’ll make us omelets.”
“Duvall, you don’t have to cook—”
“Shut up. Sit down. Let me handle this.”
I sat at the breakfast bar, answering occasional questions about the location of my pans and bowls, and watched as Duvall made magic in the kitchen. While the eggs sizzled, he grated the cheese, shredded some deli ham, and retrieved a few slices of green pepper from the salad-in-a-bag I kept in the produce drawer. He diced them, added them to the other ingredients and folded the eggs over the filling. The place smelled heavenly.
As he toiled, I described the events of the past week and a half in greater detail, noting how much Little D had helped.
“He didn’t tell me about Tina,” I said. “But I understand his reasons.”
“I told you he has his own way of doing things, didn’t I?” Duvall said. “You can count on him, though, when things get rough.”
As he slid the omelets onto plates, I said, “That stove will need a vacation. It’s not used to working that hard.”
“I should bodyguard you more often.”
“Thanks for dinner. And thanks for coming over. I’m still feeling shaky.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. He placed his hand on mine. I thought about moving it, but didn’t. “I’m here for you.”
I thought about Ray and the difficulties of getting involved with a business associate. His touch conveyed concern, maybe more. I told myself that Duvall and I should remain friends.
“But you can’t look after me day and night,” I said. “When the hell is that detective going to call?” I added, trying to change the subject.
“I’ll do what I can. Maybe we can go to the cops tomorrow and insist on seeing someone. I know people there. I can pull some strings.”
“I can’t rely on you all the time to protect me and pull strings for me,” I protested.
He looked at me. “Why? That’s what friends are for.”
Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“For friendship,” I said. “And a great omelet.”
My phone rang. Detective Harris relieved us of the need to say anything further.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“We’ll bring Powell in for questioning,” Detective Harris said, after I explained what I’d seen in his office. “And get a warrant to seize those photos. We’ll need a statement from you, too.”
“Okay.” I’d have to remember to bring in my copies of Cooper’s calendar and the ITN invoices, which I still had stuffed in the file. “The question is, if I give a statement, will you have enough to hold him?”
“It seems likely. It’s the most solid evidence we have of a connection between Powell, Cooper, and the child porn operation. It provides a strong motive for murder, if we can show Shanae Jackson knew about it.” It was one big “if,” and not the unqualified “yes” I was looking for. But it would have to do.
“Have you made any progress in finding Don Diezman?” I asked.
“Detective Willard is trying to track him down.”
