Free Heat Rises by Richard Castle Page B

hell to make of what you’re doing today. You’re half a day late to interview a key witness, and that’s after your poor judgment sending Hinesburg. That’s right, I said it, your poor judgment.”
    Don’s feet bicycled the sky on his flight over Heat’s shoulder. She rounded her back and dropped on one knee as she released him, keeping her head down and tucked toward her tummy in the follow-through. Twisted that way, she couldn’t see him land. But the floor shook.
    “I agree I should have been to the rectory sooner.” Heat had halted there, saying no more about it. She reflected on her OCME round trip, heavy traffic included, getting delayed by that phone call from the administrative assistant at 1PP, and of course, that file she stopped to read about the old homicide. But to go further, to explain herself, would only be to sound defensive. This was hard enough. Hard enough trying to pretend she hadn’t seen what she saw in that file. That the lead detective on the 2004 Huddleston murder had been Detective First Grade Charles Montrose.
    “Yes, you should have been there but you weren’t. That’s not like you, Detective. Are you distracted by all this business of your promotion?” Then after he had let that work on her, he leaned forward on his blotter, hands clasped so she couldn’t avoid seeing the Band-Aid right there. And then he lobbed out, “Or is it that you were too busy with other things? Like blabbing to newspaper reporters.”
    Station House Privacy Rule #1: There is no privacy in a station house.
    “Let me assure you of one thing, Captain. The extent of my conversation with that reporter was basically different ways to say, ‘No comment.’ ” She held his gaze so he could see the truth written on her. In that moment, she also made a decision. She concluded that this was not the meeting to ask him about the old Huddleston case. For now, as far as her boss was concerned, she had never even asked for that file. Whatever storm this was, she just hoped it would pass so she could focus on the work and operate in the open again in her own house.
    “Make sure you keep it that way,” he had finally said. “I know what the press can be like. Especially the Gotcha Press. You don’t think I have them all over me? And the community pressure? And the jerkoffs downtown? I’ll tell you what I don’t need, Detective Heat, and that’s one more reason for someone to climb up on my ass, and it better not come from you.” His tone had been measured, which made his words sting all the more. “Know this. I will pull you off the case if you don’t focus. Stay on the BDSM path and nothing else. Am I clear?”
    She had no words and only nodded.
    When she reached for the doorknob, he added, “Blow this case and it’ll be bad for me. Bad for you, too.”
    Heat left wondering if that was advice or a threat.
----
    Don, who had asked her to spar that night, had made an additional in vitation. And that was to sleep together. They had a history of that, but it had become a dimming one. Somewhere along the line, years back and without much fanfare, Nikki’s Brazilian jujitsu trainer had become her trainer with benefits.
    When it started, they were perfectly matched for that. Neither was in a committed relationship; they liked each other, were intensely physical, and equally happy to let their grappling go no further than the gym or the bedroom. Their sex was occasional, energetic, and mutually passionless. It all changed for Nikki when Rook came into the mix. It wasn’t even about serial monogamy for her so much as something else. Something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—exactly put into words. Since the heat wave, Don and Nikki had confined their wrestling to the mat. He had floated invitations from time to time, which she had declined without explanation, also part of their unspoken rules.
    That night, after the drubbing she gave him, before they parted for their respective locker rooms, he asked her again.