19
The crime scene unit’s forensic report on the explosion on Moss Brannigan’s cruiser was hand-carried to Rebecca’s desk. Plastique, apparently near the engine, had been set off by a cell phone signal. Her eyes narrowed. That might have explained how it exploded when no one was so close they might have been killed. But it didn’t tell her who did it. Or why.
She was pondering those questions when she heard footsteps approaching her desk and looked up.
“Richie.” She felt as if she’d become a stop on the Italian hotline with all the visitors she was getting.
He looked one way and then the other. “Nobody else is here,” he said and then leaned forward to give her a brief kiss, then a longer one.
And, since no one was there, she stood and kissed him back. “I was so worried about you.”
“I
