He was driving a ’53 Mercury two-door, hardtop, green and cream, a beautiful green and cream interior, an absolutely wonderful car. Automatic. He didn’t bother to answer her question. He wanted to stare at the stray hairs curling up at the nape of her neck. He loved necks. She watched him studying her. Straight lips, a wide mouth. Her turn to laugh. Lovely teeth. The eye contact continued. When it got as intense as this, Devlin, who was drunk so often, tried to remember to be bold. Now, because he was sober, he was timid.

“So? Are you going to answer me? What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a cop,” he murmured.

“Bullshit.”

He opened his jacket. Her eyes widened and her hand came up toward the gun before she saw what she was doing. He took her hand and put it against the gun before letting go. A couple of her friends were staring at them now, but Devlin kept his eyes on hers.

“Who are those people?”

“Leftovers from a cocktail party. I’m free to go.” She looked down at the floor. “Yes, I did say that, I guess.”

“How many drinks have you had?”

“This is my fourth. I just broke up with my boyfriend. He said I had too many problems. I could tell you stories about him.” Her eyes turned up to his. He took her arm. “Don’t you even want to know my name first? You really are a cop, aren’t you? I don’t want to get hurt.”

He showed her his shield. He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to hear her life story, but for all he knew, she was loaded enough to get nasty on him. “You’re going to have the time of your life,” he said.

“I believe it. Let’s go someplace nice. My name is Maryellen Brennan, by the way.”

8:42 A.M. …

8:42 A.M. …

He called Eileen at home. “I have a minute, I thought I’d spend it with you.”

“The news said there was another shootin’ …”

“Let’s talk about something else,” he said.

“That sounds fair enough,” she said. “All right, I meant to ask you, what took you so long to get to my place last night, when it was clear in me voice in the message I left that I was lonely and distracted?”

In Ireland, she’d told him long ago, “distracted” could be taken to mean clawing-the-walls horniness. “As a matter of fact, I was downtown on official police business. And I’ll be working until midnight tonight.”

“You haven’t remembered that dream yet, either, I’m sure. Too busy thinking about the pneumatic Lady Pamela. You’re not at the station. Where are you?”

“In a phone booth in a restaurant on Second Avenue. John is meeting me here, so we can go over some things without being interrupted.”

“Are you all right?”