“Okay, Lucy. I have an important question for you. What in hell are we going to do about this goddamn Detective Blumenthal?”

Phew! I guess. I am a little scared that Blumenthal is the subject, but I’m pleased at the question. It mirrors my own concern.

“You mean, what are we going to do about Blumenthal dragging his ass on this case?”

Sarkar’s response is fast and eager. “You said it earlier. Child snatching. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. This is not a stolen bicycle or a purse snatching. This is the horror of horrors.”

This passion from Sarkar is pretty unusual. All I’ve ever known is his joking, teasing.

“It’s all I could think about while I was stitching up that poor woman,” he says.

“That’s all I could think about while you were stitching up that poor woman.”

“By the way,” he says. “I got a text message from Blumenthal’s assistant, some detective type, Bobby somebody or other. Two of the surgical nurses during the op do remember my asking Helen Whall to leave the room during the procedure. I apologize for not having remembered properly.”

“Pressure. Tired. A million things,” I say. “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.” As a joke, I add, “Oh, wait, it was nothing. But yesterday it was Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds.”

His smile is small but warm. He leans toward me—no, not for a kiss, just for closeness. Secret. He’s going to tell me secrets. Or so I hope, but I have to admit, as he moves closer to me, I am not unaware of the fact that he has the cleanest, sharpest features I’ve ever seen, that the bronze color of his skin is completely irresistible, that…God damn you, Lucy, get back into the conversation. Blumenthal. Katra. Babies. Blood. Shift gears, Lucy.

Sarkar starts the car up again as I begin to talk. “I don’t know. One thing is, Blumenthal seems very slow and unconcerned, but I think that could just be his style.”

Sarkar gives a little shrug and his eyes widen. “I don’t know, either. I should tell you that I have checked him out.” When we pull up in front of Sabryna’s little store on Nostrand, the GPS announces, “You have reached your destination.”

Before I say thank you, I say, “Rudi, did I give you my address?”

“No,” he says. “I confess, I looked it up. I was hoping I would use it someday.”

I am flattered—and not a little bit turned on—but it also makes me a tiny bit nervous.

“Lucy,” he says. “How about we continue our conversation about Detective Blumenthal right now, over drinks, or even dinner?”

I tell him the truth. “My son, Willie, is waiting for me. I’ve got to feed him, and I need to spend some time with him…I want to spend some time with him.”