Free Driving Heat by Richard Castle Page A

first? Good times.” Raley tilted his head to Heat. “No offense, smack-talking your fiancé.”
    “I am truly offended,” said Nikki. Then she couldn’t resist. “I hope if he stayed in the car, he had the smarts to crack a window open for air.” They all enjoyed a
tension-release chuckle at Rook’s expense.
    But that got cut short when they saw him halfway up the block. All three drew their weapons and ran, shouting “NYPD, don’t move!”

“K eep your hands where they are!” shouted Heat.
    Roach joined in, both guns on Maloney, overlapping each other, barking, “Keep them where we can see them!” and “Not an inch, not a muscle!”
    Nikki said, “Rook, step back.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yes, step back—now.”
    Rook, who had been holding Maloney facedown on the hood of Heat’s car, wavered a beat, then did as he was told. Raley and Ochoa moved in to handle the suspect. He didn’t resist.
    “You hurt?” asked Nikki.
    “No, I’m fine. Piece of cake. Before they cuff him, tell me, how’d I do with the position?” He indicated Maloney’s hands, which were still clasped behind his neck.
He’d been splayed that way, cheek to metal, elbows out, legs apart, bent over the fender.
    She paused, then said, “Perfect. But how’d you…?” She studied him. “
You
?”
    “Please. Give me some credit. All these years of ride-alongs have some impact, Nik. A man learns a few things. Plus MeTV is rerunning
The Streets of San Francisco
. Surprisingly
authentic.”
    “How ’bout I didn’t resist,” grunted Maloney. He sized Rook up, shoes to smile. “Piece of cake, my ass. You think I couldn’t have had you any time I
wanted?” He winced as Ochoa squeezed the cuffs on him. “A little courtesy, Paco?” Then he fixed the detective with an intrusive grin.
    “Seriously, Rook,” said Heat. “How did you do it?”
    “The suspect returned to the scene unaware of my presence. When he attempted to retrieve his bag of onion rings and Louisiana Tenders, I made a citizen’s arrest, locking him into a
surprise hold, which proved very effective. Thank you, nineteen-seventies Michael Douglas.”
    A gentle breeze lifted Rook’s hair and set it back down in a tousle that could only be described as carelessly sexy. Perfect, thought Nikki, I want to be—in fact, I am—so
pissed at this guy that I want to kick his ass around every acre of St. Nicholas Park for taking such a risk, for acting so cavalierly, for hiding behind damned journalistic privilege, for seeing
my shrink on the sly, but instead, I can’t stop staring at the fall of his stupid bangs, or noticing the streetlight across his brow accenting that self-proclaimed rugged handsomeness, or
feeling a warmth inside that makes me want to throw myself at him and bury my face in his chest right here and now.
    He caught her staring and asked, “Is that a look of reprimand or adoration?”
    “Yes.”
    As Raley gave Maloney a once-over, he asked, “Did you pat him down?”
    Rook scoffed. “Please. Of course.”
    But then the detective came up from Maloney’s ankle holding a black Smith & Wesson J-Frame. “Oops,” said Rook. “Missed that.”
    “Five buddies in the cylinder.” Maloney winked at him. “Anytime I wanted.” Rook’s grin lost its cockiness. Raley dragged Maloney two paces back and planted him
against the side of the vehicle.
    Suddenly feeling the slither of his nerves in hindsight, Rook said, “I’ve been hollering for you the past fifteen minutes. Good luck with that over the chopper. I tried calling your
cell phone, Nikki, but then I heard it ringing. Where? In the car.” Heat patted her pocket for it, then saw her BlackBerry on the front seat, where she’d left it behind in the chase.
“A bit of a lapse, eh, Cap? Understandable given the hot pursuit. But what about you two? Don’t you answer your calls?”
    “Didn’t notice,” said Raley, checking his phone and spotting two misses.
    Ochoa got off a walkie-talkie