“He’s an electronics geek?”

“I think they prefer the term ‘forensic specialist.’”

“Huh,” D.D. said.

“You seize some computers and ask for state assistance?”

“I seized some computers and asked for BRIC assistance, thank you very much.” BRIC was the Boston Regional Intelligence Center at BPD headquarters, basically BPD’s geek squad, because like all good bureaucracies, the Boston police believed they needed to have all their own toys and specialists. It went without saying.

“Well, call someone in BRIC, then,” Bobby grumbled. “They’ve probably worked with Wayne. I haven’t.”

“Okay. Good night, Bobby.”

“Crap, it’s already morning. Now I’ll have to get up.”

“Then good morning, Bobby.” D.D. hung up before he could swear at her again. She clipped her cell to her waist and contemplated her empty mug. Wayne Reynolds was a professional nerd with an amateur nerd nephew. She refilled her cup. Interesting.

Wayne Reynolds walked through the door of Mario’s at precisely eight A.M. D.D. knew it was him by his burnished red hair, not so unlike his nephew’s. All resemblance to a thirteen-year-old boy however, began and ended with the coppertop.

Wayne Reynolds was tall, six one, six two. He moved easily and athletically. Definitely a guy who worked in a daily run, despite the pressing demands of ripping apart various hard drives. He wore a camel-colored light wool blazer that set off a forest green shirt and dark-colored slacks. More than one head turned when he walked in, and D.D. felt a slight bit of thrill when he headed for her, and only for her. If this is what Ethan Hastings was going to grow into one day, then maybe Sandy Jones had been onto something.

“Sergeant Warren,” Wayne greeted her, extending his hand.

D.D. nodded, accepting the handshake. He had calloused palms. Short buffed nails. Positively beautiful fingers that didn’t wear a wedding ring.

Honest to God, she was going to need some bacon.

“Want food?” she asked.

He blinked his eyes. “Okay.”

“Great. I’ll get enough for both of us.”

D.D. used her time at the order counter to control her breathing and remind herself that she was a trained professional who absolutely, positively was not affected by having breakfast with a David Caruso look-alike. Unfortunately, she didn’t believe herself; she’d always had a weakness for David Caruso.

She returned to the tiny table with napkins and silverware for both of them, as well as a cup of black coffee for him. Wayne accepted the oversized white ceramic mug with his beautiful fingers, and she bit the inside of her lips.

“So,” she began tersely, “you work for the state?”

“Computer Forensic Unit in New Braintree. We handle the majority of the electronic analysis, as you can guess by the title.”

“How long you been there?”