Page 39 of Blood Money

Nicky held up one hand with all his fingers extended, and his other hand with his index finger sticking out. “I’ll be seven soon.”

“You’re a very big boy,” Gray said, smiling.

Nodding, Nicky touched his hand to Gray’s jaw. “Your beard is rough. How old are you?”

Gray laughed. “I’m thirty-six.”

Nicky twisted his face into a grimace. “Wow, you’re old.”

Again he laughed, and caught Alex watching him with what looked like amused shock. “What, you didn’t know I was that old?”

“It’s not that.” Alex reached up to smooth Nicky’s hair from his eyes, and as she did, her perfume wafted to Gray’s nose. “I haven’t seen you smile in the last few days, except when you and my son are having very grown-up discussions about your ages and shaving.”

Gray uttered an acknowledging grunt. He hadn’t felt the urge to smile since the day he’d discovered that twenty grand in Alex’s bank account. Keeping his distance from Alex had turned him into a cranky bastard. His change of thoughts must have shown on his face, because Alex had stopped grinning.

“Time for bed, sweetie.” She slipped past Gray through the open door and waited for him to carry Nicky inside.

“Nooo, Mommy.” Nicky tightened his arms around Gray’s neck. “I want to stay up with you and Mr. Policeman.”

“I thought I told you to call me Gray.” He stared down into Nicky’s wide, innocent eyes.

“I want to stay up with you and Gray,” Nicky insisted as Alex shut the door behind them.

“Not tonight.” She reached out to take Nicky from him.

To his amazement, Nicky clung so tightly to him that Alex couldn’t extricate his little arms from around his neck.

“If I tuck you into bed, will you be a good boy and go to sleep?” Gray asked.

Nicky brightened. “Okay.”

Gray tipped his head to Alex, indicating she should lead the way to Nicky’s bedroom. “Then we have to talk.” About things he wasn’t sure Alex would like, but it was in Nicky’s best interest that she at least listen.

After following Alex to Nicky’s room, he watched her help Nicky into his New York Yankees pajamas then down to fold back the covers on the bed. With his unintentional birds-eye view of her mounding swells of cleavage beckoning to him, the synapses in his brain crackled like gunfire.

Nicky grabbed Alex’s sleeve. “Mommy, can we finish the book before I go to sleep?”

She smiled and picked up a thin children’s book, The Littlest Yankee. “Of course.” Her gaze slid to Gray. “We only have three more pages. He’s a die-hard Yankee fan.”

“I remember.” He glanced at Nicky’s Yankee pajamas. “Good night, Nicky.”

“’Night, Gray.” Nicky yawned as Alex kicked off her shoes and settled next to her son on the bed.

Gray turned at the doorway to watch them. For a moment, he pictured himself on the other side of Nicky, the boy snuggled against his chest as Alex read him a bedtime story.

Was the money payment for her to get close to him? To learn what the NYPD knew about the Pyramid?

The loving, maternal picture before him began chipping away at his doubts. Then again, Nicky could be exactly why Alex took the bribe. She needed money for her son, and nothing would stand in the way of her getting it. Even him.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

As Gray walked around the rest of the apartment, he could hear Alex’s smooth, even voice reading to Nicky. He had to admire her ability to shield her son from the ugly truth. Gray could only imagine how protective he’d be of his own child, but getting married and having children seemed like a remote possibility at the moment. With all the messed-up memories banging around in his head, getting hitched was the last thing on his mind.

He headed to the kitchen, where he’d draped the coveralls over a chair earlier. He grabbed a pair of latex gloves from one of the pockets then took out the plastic baggie containing the note left in Nicky’s mitt. Carefully, he pulled the note from the baggie and unfolded it. With only a few typed words, the veiled threat against Alex and Nicky was obvious. Still not sufficient for him to put in another request for official police protection for them but enough to confirm his decision to protect them himself.

After refolding the note and putting it back into the baggie, he stuffed it inside his duffel and tossed his latex gloves into the kitchen garbage can. As much time as he’d spent in Alex’s living room yesterday, he’d been distracted and was now getting his first real look at the kitchen.

The walls were pale yellow, contrasting with the deeply golden oak table and chairs. Hung here and there were framed photos of flowers and vegetables. Wrought-iron shelving held copper pots and dishware. The floor of the kitchen and hallway was covered in what appeared to be old but clean Kashmiri-style rugs. He recognized them from his time in the Middle East and wondered how Alex could afford them. An old girlfriend once told Gray that genuine, antique Kashmiri rugs were very expensive.