“Yeah, you do.”
Devon was silent for a moment. “Okay. I got one other favor to ask,” he began.
“Of course you do.”
“There’s a woman in my apartment. It’s a little fucked up with her.”
“You never change, do you Devon.”
“Like you said, not in any way that’s important. I didn’t call her when I got pinched, so she’s probably a little twitchy. She’s gotta go down to her ma’s place in Providence today.”
“You want me to get her a message?” Finn asked.
“It’s not that simple.”
Finn frowned. “Why isn’t it that simple, Devon?”
Devon looked hard at Finn. “I trust you,” he said.
“You’d better,” Finn replied. “I may end up being your lawyer.”
“You don’t understand; there’s no one else I trust. I’m not in the right business for trust-not when it comes to shit that really matters. You know that better than anyone, right?”
Finn didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking. “Crap,” he muttered. “What’s this about, Devon?”
Devon sighed. “It’s about my daughter.”
Chapter Two
Detective Paul Stone drove. He and Elorea Sanchez had been partners for two weeks. Though he’d been a cop for five years, he was a rookie on the homicide squad, and she had every right to take the wheel, but never did. They walked out of the station house that first day to the dented, unmarked Lincoln and Sanchez had tossed the keys onto the driver’s seat. She’d never said a word about it, and Stone had driven ever since. He’d joked once that she must like having a younger man chauffeuring her around the city, but it hadn’t gone over well. She just stared at him with a hard look that was effective at cutting off conversation.
She wasn’t easy to figure out. They’d spent nearly ten hours a day together for two weeks, but they seldom spoke more than a few words to each other at a time. Her idea of conversation was to tell him where to turn. Most of what he knew about her he’d gotten from her personnel file and station gossip.