“I’m aware of how the police can twist the truth to build their case.” Martin turned to me and smiled gently. “Good night, my Lily,” he said, curling a strand of my hair around his finger. “I’ll get you to come home sooner or later,” he said, his voice low yet loud enough for Bruxton to hear.

“Goodnight, Martin.”

He turned and started towards the curb, then stopped dead in his tracks. “Where’s my car?” Crosby Street wasn’t long or broad, so there was nowhere for an idling town car to hide.

“Oh, was that your driver who was sitting there with his engine running?” asked Bruxton. “I guess you didn’t know the city has a three-minute idling law.”

“In the dead of winter?” Martin seethed. He wasn’t wearing a coat; why would he when his only exposure to the elements was between curb and building?

“Unless it’s forty below.” Bruxton shrugged. “It’s not.”

“Where is my driver?”

“He went that way.” Bruxton jerked his head. “He could be on Lafayette. But if you don’t find him, the subway’s on Spring Street.”

CHAPTER 17

“You’re evil,” I said, walking with Bruxton to his car. Martin had stormed off in a wordless rage and disappeared around the corner of Broome Street. I’d never seen him so angry. “How did you figure out I was here?”

“I’m a detective.” Under the force of my skeptical glare, Bruxton added, “You mentioned flamenco when you were making plans to meet that guy. There are two places with flamenco music and dancers near your old building. I tried the other one first. Then I came up here, spotted you at the bar, and waited.”

“So you’re a stalker. Nice to know that about a guy with a gun.” I buckled my seat belt.

“We’ve all got our flaws. Speaking of which, mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead.” I stared at the open pack. Whether it was the near-miss with Martin, or a more general frustration with my sister, I was suddenly overcome with craving. “Do you mind if I have one?” Bruxton’s eyebrows shot up, but he handed the pack over and lit me up with the same match he used for his own. Bruxton smoked Camels, which were stronger than the cigarettes Claudia and I used to steal from our mother’s purse. In college and after I’d stuck with the thin ultra-lights that were targeted at women. After my second drag on the Camel I felt light-headed.

“You want to grab something to eat?” he said as we pulled away from the curb.

“Aren’t you taking me to the precinct?”

“Only if your old friend was coming along. I’d love to get him into an interrogation room.”