Page 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rav visits Mo in hospital two days later and finds the bodyguard sitting up in bed, his arm bound in a sling. They chat for a while, and Mo seems to be in good spirits, so Rav asks if he feels up to talking about the shooting.

“This an interview, Detective?” Mo eyes the newly restored badge on Rav’s belt.

“Not officially, but Miller is still out there.”

Somehow. It’s hard to understand. By now, half of New York must have seen his face in the news. How does a guy like that stay hidden? How does he get away in the first place, especially in a park full of cops—cops on foot, cops on bikes, cops on horseback and in bloody golf carts? Central Park is big, but it’s not that big.

“I’m not just going to sit around while this maniac runs free,” Rav says, “especially with you laid up like this.”

“I won’t be laid up for long. Security is mostly about this anyway.” Mo taps his head. “As for the physical stuff, Erika reached out to an ex-colleague from Langley to take over Ryan’s detail for a few days, and she’ll look after Jack personally. Unless you’re interested in taking it on?”

“Tempting, but I’m not on the off-duty protection roster. Besides, I’m not sure it’s the best idea for Jack and me to be spending that much time together.”

Mo studies him with that unnervingly keen gaze of his. “I’m not usually one to offer hot takes on my clients’ relationships, but it looked to me like you guys were on to something.”

“Is that so.” Rav’s tone says drop it , but Mo has other ideas.

“For a while there, it seemed like every time I stuck my head in to check on Jack, he was on the phone. Laughing, shooting the shit. That got my attention. Jack doesn’t say much. Seeing him unwind like that is pretty rare. Wasn’t hard to work out who was on the other end, especially when it was over all of a sudden. I was sorry for that. It was good for him.”

“What’s done is done. There’s too much water under that bridge.”

“I get it. You’ve had the rug yanked out from under you once already, and it sucked. You’d rather not put yourself in that position again.”

“Did you learn that fortune cookie psychology in spy school?” Rav says irritably.

Mo shrugs. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I’m just… trying to put it behind me, that’s all.”

“So that’s why you’re here, asking questions about Joe Miller?”

“This isn’t just about Jack. I don’t like loose ends, especially when I’m partly responsible for them. If I’d done my job, maybe you wouldn’t be lying here right now.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, man. The only person responsible for this is Joe Miller.”

“Bottom line, he’s still out there.”

“True, but every cop in town is looking for him, not to mention half of TikTok. If he has two brain cells to rub together, he’ll find a deep hole and never come out.”

The cop in Rav agrees, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. “I didn’t really believe it, you know. That he actually wanted Jack dead. I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but not this time.”

“Wouldn’t be too hard on yourself there, either. You might not have been totally off base.”

“Oh?” Rav frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“Couple of things.” Mo sits up straighter, the hospital bed rattling under his bulk. Rav helps him reposition some pillows behind his back. “For one, Miller spouted some stuff before he pulled the gun. We know who you are. We know what you did. So I’m wondering, who’s we ?”

Rav takes out his notepad to write that down; too late, he realizes the hot-pink elastic from Jack’s notebook is wrapped around it. Of course it draws Mo’s eye, and there’s precisely zero chance he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. Rav feels as exposed as if he just inadvertently flashed a pair of hot-pink knickers.

“Second,” Mo says smoothly, as if he’s not fully aware that Rav is dying , “I’ve been keeping an eye on the conspiracy theory forums. Miller’s back to posting again. Under a new username, but it’s definitely him. Mostly the same old stuff—details about Tommy’s accident, the mystery car following him the night he died, blah blah. Until a couple weeks ago. Now all of a sudden, he’s ranting about yours truly. How I offed his roommate and tried to kill him, too.”

Rav glances up from his notes. “Come again?”

“He thinks I murdered his roommate. And Dick Vanderford, and Tommy Esposito. Never mind that I wasn’t even in the picture at the time of Tommy’s death.”

“He mentioned you by name?”

“Knows about my intelligence background and everything. Which fits his conspiracy theory nicely. The CIA is everyone’s favorite bogeyman. First I took out Tommy, then Vanderford, and now I’m coming for Miller. I broke into Greg Watson’s place looking for him, and when he wasn’t there, I shot Watson.”

“ We know what you did ,” Rav murmurs. “Hold on, does that mean you were the target?”

“Kinda looks that way, doesn’t it? So maybe your instincts were right, and he wasn’t gunning for Jack after all.”

Rav swears softly. “You say he mentioned Vanderford as well? I wonder what the FBI makes of that.”

“That he’s blaming me for killing a guy he supposedly murdered?” Mo shrugs. “They probably think he’s just trying to pin it on someone else.”

“Is that what you think? Because the way you’re describing it, it sounds like he genuinely believes the things he’s saying.”

“Oh, he definitely believes them.”

“But you’re still planning to go through with the show this weekend?” It’s none of Rav’s business, but he had to say it.

“We had the conversation, including with the NYPD and the FBI. The consensus is that the show itself is low risk. Big venue like MSG, security will be crazy tight. Metal detectors, facial recognition, the works. Ironically, Jack’s probably safer there than just about anywhere else in the city. It’s the rest of the time I’m worried about. If I had my way, Jack wouldn’t be in New York at all.”

“Then why not just get on a plane? Head to Europe a few days early?”

“We had that conversation, too. The band is against it. They don’t want to disappoint their fans.”

“That’s worth risking Jack’s life over? And yours?”

“Trust me, I tried. But I get where they’re coming from. Jack, especially, doesn’t want his life to be defined by some QAnon crank.”

Rav understands it too, but he doesn’t like it any better than Mo. “These usernames you’re tracking, the ones Miller posts under. Can you give them to me?”

Mo rattles off the ones he can remember and promises to have his digital team forward the rest. “Surprised you don’t use your phone for that,” he remarks, watching Rav scribble them down on his notepad.

“I find I remember things better if I’ve written them down.”

“Plus, that pink elastic wouldn’t look as good wrapped around a phone.”

Rav glances up to find the bodyguard grinning at him. “Having fun?”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for the sentimental type, Detective.”

“It keeps the pages from getting dog-eared,” Rav says tartly. “Reuse and recycle, right?”

“Totally. We all gotta do our part for the planet.”

“You know, I think that’s my cue.” Rav snaps the notepad shut and rises.

“I’ll tell the boss you dropped by. Guessing you don’t want me to mention the rubber band, though.”

Rav flips him off on the way out.

He’s just walking into his flat when he gets a text.

MESSAGES

Jack Vale????????????????????????????????????????????????????????1m

Thanks for going to see Mo today

I wish I could go myself but it’s hard to get out right now

Rav is surprised to be hearing from him like this. He figured the hospital was a one-off, and they’d go back to their regularly scheduled program of not talking. He types:

Of course. He seemed to be in good spirits.

And he wouldn’t want you putting yourself at risk.

You have nothing to feel guilty about.

Except almost getting him killed

That’s his job, Jack.

He’s doing just fine.

Yeah but it’s not over. Tell me you really think it’s over

This doesn’t sound good. Rav wonders if he’s alone.

Are you OK?

…

…

…

Fuck it. Rav hits the call icon.

Jack picks up straightaway. “I’m okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed a second.”

“You don’t sound okay. Are you alone?”

“Erika’s around here somewhere. She’s trying to give me space. But I’m not having a panic attack, I promise.” Rav hears a set of sliding glass doors being opened, a rustle of wind against the phone’s mic. “This is just a run-of-the-mill freakout,” Jack says with a rueful laugh. “So, you know, no cause for alarm.”

Someone took a shot at you two days ago. There’s nothing run-of-the-mill about it. Rav doesn’t say it aloud; it’s not like Jack needs the reminder. “What about one of your bandmates? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“We’ve seen enough of each other today. Besides, I’m not alone, I’m talking to you. You’re my hotline, remember?” A pause. “Sorry, that’s not fair. I should let you go.”

“What’s not fair?”

“Me, leaning on you again. I know we’re… you know, supposed to go our separate ways or whatever. You’ve already gotten into enough trouble on my account. You and everybody else.” He blows out a breath. “Really, Rav, I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

“Please don’t hang up. I’m worried about you, Jack.”

“I know. I know you are, and it’s not fair. This isn’t your problem, and I have no idea why I’m making it your problem, except…” He trails off. He’s clearly climbing the walls, and Rav isn’t about to let him sign off in this state. He thinks back to that day on the terrace at the Palace Hotel, when he distracted Jack with talk of champagne and skinny-dipping. If it worked once…

“Except my velvety voice is practically a sedative in its own right, and you just can’t help yourself. I can’t blame you, really. It’s one of my finer qualities.”

He doesn’t quite get a laugh, but he can hear the smile in Jack’s voice. “You seem very aware of your own fine qualities.”

“The unavoidable result of being raised by a pair of raging narcissists. One learns to be one’s own cheerleader.” He goes on like that for a while, babbling lighthearted nonsense, and inevitably he finds himself out on the balcony, gazing in the direction of the Palace Hotel. He imagines Jack out there on the terrace, pant legs rolled up, feet dangling in the glowing blue water. “You’re sitting by the pool, aren’t you?”

“I am, actually, but not where you think. The security team decided to move me someplace quieter. I’m in Brooklyn now.”

Smart. Rav doesn’t ask for details; the fewer people who know where he’s staying, the better. “Still medically luxurious, I trust?”

“The pool isn’t as big, but it’s still pretty great. You could come over. Perfect weather for skinny-dipping.”

Rav squeezes his eyes shut and tries very hard not to picture this.

“Sorry,” Jack says, “that was inappropriate. For a second there, it felt like old times, you know?”

He really does.

“Are you even allowed to talk to me? The last thing I want is to get you in trouble again.”

“I got myself into trouble, Jack. It’s not on you.”

“I pushed you.”

“You didn’t push me anywhere I didn’t want to go.”

Jack is quiet for a while. Then he says, “Did you believe it?”

Rav winces. He was afraid this question was coming.

“When you came over that night. Did you think I killed him?”

“No.” Rav sighs. “And yes.”

There’s a long pause. “I’m trying to understand that answer.”

“In my heart, I didn’t believe it. But I also knew that didn’t matter.”

“How could it not matter?”

Rav’s not sure he can explain this to a civilian, but he tries. “Because I’ve seen it too many times. The wife. The best friend. The brother. People who’ve known a suspect their entire lives, who believe with their whole hearts their loved one couldn’t possibly be a murderer, and they’re wrong. No matter what my gut was telling me, I know from experience that anyone can be deceived. How could I not entertain the notion that this man I barely knew, this man I was so infatuated with, was deceiving me?” He shakes his head, wandering over to the bar cart to fix himself a drink. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I certainly don’t expect you to forgive me. It’s not the sort of thing you can just get past.”

“How do you know?”

Rav pauses, gin bottle poised over the shaker. “Sorry?”

“How do you know whether it’s the sort of thing you can get past?”

“How could you possibly? Why would you even try?”

“The second part’s easy. I like you. Pretty sure I told you that.”

“That was before I accused you of being a murderer . I rather thought that would put a damper on things.”

“Do you want it to? If you’re looking for a reason, Rav, you have plenty to choose from. In your place, I’d probably be looking for something a lot less complicated.”

It’s similar to what Mo said earlier—so much so that Rav wonders if there’s some truth in it. Maybe he’s the one pumping the brakes here, however subconsciously. Jack’s life is a lot , even without the homicidal stalker. Tabloids. Fans. The ghost of Tommy Esposito. He’s a walking land mine, and the closer Rav gets, the worse the fallout will be. Is that what he’s really afraid of?

He puts the gin bottle back down, drink forgotten. “How would you ever be able to look at me and not see someone who believed, even for a second, that you might be a cold-blooded killer?”

A thoughtful silence. Then: “Ryan, when he found out we hooked up—he couldn’t understand it. A cop, seriously? ”

It’s not the first time Rav has heard this. It feels like shit, every time. “What did you say?”

“I told him about you. How amazing you’d been, right from the start. How you were there for me even when it made things complicated for you. I wasn’t the only one who saw it, either. That day at the hotel, when you confronted Ryan about the video… After you left, Charlie really let us have it. Do you all realize what just happened here? That guy just blew up his life for you, and all he got in return was an earful of shit. ”

“Really?” Rav is touched.

“That’s when Ryan got it, I think. He apologized for messing things up for me. He figured the same as you, that there was no way back from that. And I guess I thought that too, right up until the other day, at the hospital. You walked in, and I didn’t think about the way we left things, or any of the shit that happened before. All I thought was how good it was to have you there, and how much I wanted to see you again.

“Maybe you’re right, and we can’t get past this. Or maybe we do, and it takes us to another level. I guess there’s only one way to find out. I’m up for it if you are.” There’s a swish of water; Rav was right about him dangling his feet in the pool. “In the meantime, I’d love for you to come to the show this weekend, if you’re interested. No pressure. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Jack, wait.”

“Still here.”

“I’m still here, too. If you need a hotline.”

“Thanks. Really, I appreciate it. Goodnight, Rav.”