94
The next morning, Stevens found Derek Mathers waiting for him in the hotel lobby with two cups of coffee and a sheepish smile. “Howdy, partner.”
Stevens looked around. “Windermere?”
“Gone.” Mathers shrugged. “Called me this morning, said she was hopping the early flight to Hollywood. Left us Manhattan and more goddamn rain.”
“Sure.” Stevens hoped his disappointment didn’t show. “The Big Apple. Let’s do it.”
Mathers smiled and handed Stevens a cup of coffee. “Consolation prizes,” he said. “For both of us.”
MATHERS DROVE the Crown Vic up Interstate 95 and into New Jersey. Stevens sipped his coffee and stared out the window. Figured he was a fool to feel so surprised. He’d crossed a line last night.
What would you have done? he wondered. How far would you have pushed it?
I love Nancy. I’m not just some asshole who cheats.
Fine, but there was something there with Windermere. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe he was an asshole like the rest of the men who hit on her, delusional, and he’d proved it last night. He’d chased her away.
“Guess Windermere heard from the state cops in Jersey,” said Mathers. “Delaware, too. Nobody knows anything about this O’Brien character. We’re going to have to find him the hard way.”
Mathers was silent. Then he glanced over. “You really like her, huh?”
“What?” Stevens turned. “Windermere?”
“Yeah, Supercop. You guys are damn tight.”
“Just partners,” said Stevens. “Professional stuff. We work well together.”
“She’s hot, though.”
Stevens held up his left hand. “So’s my wife.”
Mathers glanced at him again. “Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “Uh-huh.”