The color had drained from Andie’s face. “Did we just get paparazzied?
“Is that a word?”
“I don’t care if it’s a word or not,” she said, then quickly lowered her voice so only Jack could hear. “Jack, I work undercover. The absolute last thing I need is for a magazine photograph of me to go viral over the Internet.”
She’d just flagged the proverbial white elephant in their relationship. “Andie, it’s not like I started working on this case yesterday. You knew how much media coverage it’s gotten.”
“I knew that my fiance was attacked and ended up in the emergency room. I came to help you.”
“And I love you for that. But this is why I didn’t want to involve the police. No police report, no news coverage.”
“Oh, so you’re saying it’s my fault because I called Detective Rivera?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Just, let’s not overreact.”
“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting,” she said, again realizing that she was too loud. She took it down a few decibels. “I’m not even allowed to have a Facebook page. How do you think the bureau is going to react when they see this?”
“See what? Some random guy snapped a picture. You’re acting like he works for Associated Press.”
“Sydney Bennett’s lawyer is walking out of the emergency room at midnight wearing a neck brace. It doesn’t take Pulitzer Prize credentials to sell that shot to Faith Corso. The woman will have an orgasm-with or without erotic asphyxiation.”
Jack had no rebuttal, but he needed to do something about the negative energy between them. He took a feeble stab at humor. “Don’t worry. Knowing BNN, they’ll Photoshop you out of the picture and insert Sydney Bennett.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
Andie breathed in and out, saying nothing.
Jack moved closer. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
“This will work out,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
Andie didn’t answer.
“Let’s go home,” he said, taking her hand.
She didn’t move.
“Andie?”
Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, no eye contact with Jack.
“Andie, say something.”
Finally, their eyes met.
“I think I should stay at my place tonight,” she said.
That put Jack back on his heels. They hadn’t officially moved in together, but only because Andie’s lease had yet to expire. Even Max had come to expect her on a daily basis and whimpered when she was away.
“That’s not necessary,” he said.
“It’s the smart thing. You were exactly right: It’s not like you started working on this case yesterday. I should have taken this precaution a long time ago. As it stands now it’s just for a few days, until Sydney Bennett is completely behind you and the media coverage goes away.”
“And what happens the next time I handle a high-profile trial?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really? You don’t know? I thought we had talked about this.”
“We did, but on a whole different level. A little bit of local media coverage is one thing. This case is in the news nationwide, twenty-four/seven. The problems are on a different scale for me. I need to step back and think.”
“Step back? You mean from us?”
“No,” she said, struggling. “Just, step back from. . things.”
Jack was having trouble seeing a difference, but her proposal didn’t seem negotiable. “Okay then. We’ll step back.”
Andie dug her car keys from her purse. “I’ll drive you home. I’m glad you’re okay with this.”
I’m glad you think I am.
“Sure,” said Jack. “Perfectly okay.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tennis anyone?” said Jack, grumbling. He was still in bed, too tired to fight off the fuzzy yellow ball that Max was trying to insert into his master’s left eye socket.
“Max, down!”
In golden-speak, Jack’s words translated to something along the lines of Please hop your eighty-pound carcass right up here on the mattress and maul me until I take you outside. Jack rolled out of bed before Max landed his battered body back in the emergency room.
Damn, I miss Andie.
He’d managed to be awake for all of thirty seconds before the thought crossed his mind. Not bad.
Jack stepped in front of the mirror and checked out the bruise on his neck. It was indeed high, like a hanging, just as Detective Rivera had pointed out. Whether it matched the bruising pattern on Celeste Laramore’s neck was a question beyond Jack’s pay grade. He’d be interested in the opinion of the forensic experts, which was simple enough to find out. All he had to do was call Andie and-
No. Give her space. Call Rivera.
A banging on the front door interrupted his thoughts. Jack knew only one person rude enough to come knocking so early in the morning, but then he checked the time and discovered how late it actually was: 11:09 A.M. The painkiller he’d taken before going to bed had knocked him out for ten hours. He pulled on a pair of jogging shorts and answered the door. His suspicion had been on the money; it was Theo.
“Dude, I been calling your cell for an hour. You all right?”
“Yeah, fine. I was just out of it.”
Theo smiled. “Good drugs?”
“Mi vida,” said Abuela. Jack’s grandmother was a few steps behind Theo, shuffling through the open doorway as quickly as she could. “Mi vida”-literally “my life”-was what she always called Jack, what he meant to her. They embraced, and Jack tried to say something reassuring in her native tongue, which, as usual, he mangled. She winced and covered her ears.
“Ay. English, por favor.”
Jack’s Spanish was notoriously bad. The death of his Cuban American mother in childbirth left him “culturally challenged,” a half-Cuban boy in a completely Anglo home with no link to his Hispanic heritage. Decades later, when Jack was in his thirties, Abuela had finally fled Cuba. For a time, her mission in life had been to give her gringo grandson a crash course in everything Cuban. He’d worked his way up to a C-minus before she’d virtually given up on making him fluent.
“Your neck!” said Abuela.
“It looks worse than it feels,” Jack said.
“When you last eat?” Her English was only slightly better than Jack’s Spanish.
“I don’t remember.”
Abuela shook her head and went to the kitchen. Keeping him fed was the one aspect of his cultural education that had not failed. Jack closed the door, and he and Theo sat in the living room while Abuela searched the cupboard for something that in her book even remotely qualified as “food.”
“Thanks for staying with Abuela last night,” said Jack.
“No problem. What’s the plan going forward?”
“I don’t know. We can’t leave her exposed. The threat was against ‘someone you love.’”
“And you assume that means Abuela, not me?” Theo said with a cheesy grin.
Jack ignored it. “I don’t assume it’s Abuela. We’re just being cautious. Andie thinks the threat is directed at her.”
Theo glanced around the place. “Where is Andie?”
“Work.”
“Everything good between you two?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Theo chuckled. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Jack was taken aback. “Did you talk to her?”
“Nah, I read the blog.”
“The blog?”
“BNN: no-blood-money.com.”
“Bonnie showed that to me. What are you reading that trash for?”
Theo shrugged. “I take my bodyguard role seriously. Gotta suck up all the information I can.”
“That’s even less reliable than Faith Corso.”
“What are you talking about? It is Faith Corso.”
“No, it’s not. Bonnie showed me the site. Corso was just a guest blogger, and there was a link to BNN.”