Our cinnamon rolls appear on the table in front of us, and after a brief conversation with Rose, we’re alone again, an awkward pause between us that isn’t us. We aren’t awkward. Greg picks up a fork. “Sugar makes it all better.” He eats a forkful and gives a moan. “Holy fuck. Set aside your pissy mood a minute and just take a bite.”
I grimace but pick up my fork and dig in and do as ordered, mimicking him with a moan. “Sugar does make it better.”
He laughs, and we both tear into another bite and another, that awkwardness fading into the comfort of silence we’ve always shared. “So. Did you call me over here this morning to lecture me on good vs. evil or just to see my pretty, clean-shaven face?”
I want to talk about Laney. I want to trust him just like old times. But I am reminded of something my father says often: You can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results. I trusted Greg. Laney died. “I was worried about you,” I say, and that’s the truth. I was. I am.
He narrows his eyes on me. “And what else?”
“Nothing else.”
“Bullshit. Talk to me. Is it your family? Your case? Kane?” He holds up a hand. “Not that I’m assuming a set of balls is your problem.”
“Well actually, on that, I was wrong and you were right. Someone with a set of balls usually is my problem. Which is why me and Moser don’t get along.”
“Right. You kneed him to his knees.”
I laugh. “It was fucking beautiful, too.”
“Damn, I wish I could have seen that.” He scoops up icing with his finger and licks it off before adding, “You know how to bust some balls. Like mine, the first time we met. Oh fuck. You called me a ‘wimp-ass baby.’”
I give him a disbelieving look. “You threw up at the crime scene and contaminated evidence.”
“I didn’t contaminate evidence. And the damn eyes were missing. I still have nightmares about that scene. Sick fuck. I was wishing the death penalty still existed when we arrested that bastard.” He gives me a keen eye. “And you didn’t even act affected.”
“I have a place I put things. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know, and it’s kind of scary sometimes. But you catch bad guys. We did good things together.”
“Yes,” I say, and seeing an opening, I take it. “And you want to know part of the reason I left? Part of my more?” I don’t wait for him to reply. “Two of three of our last cases went unsolved. I felt stale. Like I’d lost my touch.”
“Are you fucking with me, Lilah? We had a bad streak that had nothing to do with us. We had a cold case that should never have been reopened, and our call-girl case ended in suicide.” He starts lightly running his pinkie finger over the table. It’s his nervous twitch, his tell. Wherever that pinkie is, if he’s nervous, it will move.
“Laney was the call girl,” I say. “And you know I never believed she killed herself.”
“The evidence said she did.”
“She didn’t want to die, and what’s pathetic is that when she did, a whole lot of people breathed a little easier.”
“On that you won’t get an argument from me. That case was the window to enough dirt to funk up a hell of a lot of people. We would have needed a task force to manage the funk, it would have reeked so badly.”
His cell phone buzzes and he digs it from his pocket. “And that would be Misty,” he says, reading the text message without replying. “She has some tour staff she wants me to meet.” He sets his phone down on the table, his attention on me. “Apparently, at least one woman misses me when I’m gone.”
“I missed you,” I say, and it’s not untrue, which is why the sledgehammer of doubt about him is pounding on me so damn hard.
“We’ve talked, what? Two times since you left?”
“Three. And that’s only because I really like you.”
“Fuck, Lilah. I’d hate to be hated by you. And that’s for real.” He tosses money on the table. “It’s on me. I got a big payday this week. And damn it feels good not to be the broke one of the two of us.”
“How big a payday? Because I have plans to buy a pie I need to pay for, too.”
“Big enough for pie,” he says, tossing a fifty on the table and picking up the twenty. “When are you leaving?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Does that mean your case hasn’t closed or home is calling you back?”
“The only thing calling me is that pie I ordered. It’s the only thing in this town I can’t live without. And maybe these cinnamon rolls, too.”
“I hear that New York City case you were asking me about is ready to close, right along with the East Hampton case. That Woods character is your guy, right?”
My eyes narrow on him. “You hear a lot for a guy who resigned.”
“I’m still connected. So yeah. I hear things.”
“From Moser?”
“Yeah, but I called my ex-partner, the one who got shot before I landed Moser as a partner, and asked about the NYPD case for you.”
“And?”
“He heard the same about Woods being guilty, but he didn’t have anything else to add.” I grimace. He narrows his eyes on me. “You aren’t sold on Woods as the killer, are you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You aren’t calling it done and over. And you haven’t packed up and left town again.”
“My boss is making the call,” I say. “That’s the joy of the FBI. I don’t say when I come. I don’t say when I go.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really,” I say, downplaying it. “There’re more power plays in the FBI than with that Colin dude we arrested a few years back.”
“Colin? Which one was he?”
“That pimp we took down three times before he finally got fucked in jail instead of getting everyone else fucked.”
He laughs. “Right. Fucking Colin.”
Sensing his guard is down, I dive on past it. “Resigning won’t stop IA from looking into your case.”
His glower is instant. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Lilah, if that’s what you’re getting at.” His phone buzzes again. He grabs it, and this time he types a reply before looking at me. “I need to go.”
He starts to get up when a realization hits me. “Wait,” I belt out.
He gives me a narrow-eyed look. “What?”
I lean close to him. “The Romano chick. You were working on a Romano case when you were suspended. You’re using her to prove your innocence, aren’t you?”
“I quit, Lilah. I’m not doing anything but getting off on living. And if that comes in the form of a hot Romano chick, so be it.”
He looks me in th
e eyes when he says those words. He makes me believe him, but I don’t want to believe him. I don’t want Greg to be dirty. “I need to go, Lilah.” He stands up.
“I’ll walk out with you,” I say, grabbing my briefcase and pushing to my feet.
He walks on ahead of me, almost like he can’t get away fast enough, but I stay the course, on his heels with each immediate step of my own. He’s stalled at the bakery counter, which bottlenecks the door, a cluster of people blocking our exit. And that line ruins all interest I have in my to-go pie. We literally can’t get to the door, and Greg turns to face me. “You said a diner. Not a Black Friday fucking extravaganza.”
It’s in that moment that a woman shoves through the bodies and steps between us. “Samantha?” I say of my brother’s prissy, rich bitch of a girlfriend, who just happens to be Kane’s fuck buddy.
“Lilah,” she greets stiffly, and then, glancing at Greg, she asks, “Who are you?”
“Lilah’s other brother,” Greg says.
She frowns and glances at me. “You have two brothers?”
“He’s a brother from another mother,” I say, and before she can ask what the hell that means, I look at Greg. “Samantha’s dating Andrew but fucking Kane.”
Greg’s eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Not really,” Samantha snaps, bristling, her arms folding in front of her and hoisting up the deep V of her black T-shirt. “I’m with Andrew now.”
“Except for the other night,” I say to Greg. And then to her, “What are you doing here?”
“Your brother likes the strawberry pie. It’s famous here, you know.”
Greg chooses that moment to touch my shoulder and motion toward the door. “I’ll call you,” he says and turns away.
“Wait,” I call after him, not even close to done with the bombshell or ten I’m thinking he has going on right now, but he’s already disappeared behind several big bodies.
I take a step, but Samantha maneuvers in front of me. “I know you don’t believe this, Lilah,” she says, “but this thing with Andrew and me is real.”