“I take it that means you’ve no family plans?”

“Nope, just me and the Macy’s Parade on TV.”

“I’d invite you to share the day with me, but all I can offer is turkey TV dinners.”

“Sounds like heaven. Tomorrow?”

“It’s a date. But I will be here all evening pouring over this incredible skull. Can I keep it until our date?”

Should he have termed it a date? She was not going to sleep with the man. Seriously. She was no longer a blushing college girl.

“Certainly. You know of anyone in the area who can date it for us?”

“I’ll give Lamont a call. Not sure if they have the equipment, but it’s worth a shot. That is, if anyone is around and not packed off over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house. Annja, I must let you go. I got another clear shot from inside. I’m starting to paste things together to get the big picture.”

“Call me when it’s finished. Thanks, Professor.”

Annja slid the phone into her pocket, and entered Tito’s. The hostess knew her and directed her to a table near the back. Born that way? Incredible, she thought.

But nothing—as the holder of Joan of Arc’s sword should know—was impossible.

“I ordered for you,” Bart said as she slid into a booth. “I know you like the pulled pork with sofrito.”

“Mmm, all those peppers and onions. Thanks for agreeing to meet me today.”

She rubbed her hands together and blew on them to bring up the warmth. “Wine, too? You spoil me, Bart.”

“It’s on the house.”

The owner, Maria, knew them both and always made sure they were well fed and happy. This wasn’t the first time she’d gifted Annja and Bart with wine. It was almost as if she wanted to play matchmaker, designing a romantic setting with wine and food.

“Is that the evidence?” he asked.

She nudged the backpack toward his feet under the table. “All intact, save one very interesting skull. I just talked to the professor. He’s very excited about the inner carvings.”

“Sorry, I can’t relate to anything old and dusty like you do, Annja.”

“Sure you can. You must study cold evidence? Bones dug up from backyards? Old bloodstains? It’s all the same.”

“I leave that for forensics.”

Dinner arrived. Tito’s served generous portions designed to feed a small crowd or, at the very least, a hungry archaeologist.

“I’m so glad we changed our plans, Bart. I’m starving.” Annja dug in. The plantains nestled beneath the tender pork were sweet and, combined with the savory meat, absolutely sang on her palate.

Arms crossed on the table, Bart looked her over, smiling. A tiny scar at the right of his eye gave him a heroic visage, yet Annja knew it was from falling off the swing when he was seven. He’d been trying to jump higher than the cute neighborhood girl, and had failed miserably.

“You look great, Annja. I haven’t seen you in a while. Really good,” he drew out the compliment.

“Thanks.” She shoveled two more forkfuls and a hearty swallow of water.

“And famished. Pace yourself, or we’ll need another bottle of wine before you get to dessert.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff is excellent.”

“It is better than anything I’ve had lately.” He dodged his glance from the wine to her face. “Is that a bruise?”

She rubbed her jaw. “Slipped on a dig.”

“I doubt it.”

Annja shrugged and sipped the white wine. The man was a detective and possessed remarkable deduction skills. She couldn’t put a lie past him if she tried. So back to redirection. “This stuff is great. I wonder if I could get another order just to take home for lunch tomorrow?”

“Avoiding the subject as usual.”

Setting down her fork and settling against the hard chair back, Annja relented. “What isthe subject?”

“You and your current death-defying adventure. And me and my worries.”

“I’m a big girl, Bart.”

“You are. But big girls don’t swim in the Gowanus Canal with dead men.”

“I thought this was a reunion, not an interrogation.”

“Okay, let’s eat. But don’t fault me for caring about you.”

“I would never.” She drank more wine because it was easier when she had something to do with her hands than just sitting dumbly, open, allowing him into her personal space with his delving gaze. “So how’s it with the NYPD?”

“Great. Couldn’t be happier. Well, I could, but that’s personal.”

“Personal stuff! It’s about time. I want to hear some dirt. No girlfriends?”

“Not lately. You?”

“Girlfriend? Nope, I don’t swing that way.”

Bart chuckled. “I’m glad I got you out tonight.”

“I am, too.” She held up her wine and Bart matched the move. “To good friends.”

“Who worry about each other,” he said.

By the time they’d finished the meal and the bottle of wine Annja had learned Bart was considering online dating. Just to check it out. To learn the scene, he’d used the excuse, in case it ever came up on a case.

Why a good-looking guy like Bart had to resort to finding a woman online was beyond her. It must have something to do with his broken engagement. It had hurt him, she could sense. Bart was doing the rebound thing, looking for a replacement for his fiancée. Rebounds never worked out. Even he confessed that much.

So he was basically looking to get laid, though he’d never say it outright like that. She could understand. Who didn’t want a little human contact now and then?

They stepped outside into a light flutter of snow. Before Annja could say anything, Bart pulled her in for a hug. A good hug. Not flirtatious, yet it warmed every part of her body. She clung to his shoulders before gently moving away.

“How’d you know I needed one of those?”

“Really? That one was for me.” He winked as a snowflake dashed his eyelid. “This one is for you.”

The second hug was even better than the first. Yet Annja couldn’t enjoy it completely because, much as the close contact appealed, she did not want to be Bart’s rebound girl.

12

“Daddy!”

Ben swung his briefcase into the maid’s waiting arms and glided into the living room to greet his daughter. She didn’t rise to hug him. Instead, her attention was glued on the television.

“You got home early tonight, Daddy,” Rachel announced, without looking from the plasma screen.

“I wanted to spend some time with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Mommy?”

“No, you, silly.” He settled on the sofa next to her, and tucked the end of the pink scarf she wore tied about her scalp behind her ear. “Where is Mommy?”

“Upstairs, taking a bath. She put supper in the microwave for you. We had beets.” Rachel managed a second away from the TV to comment on supper with a distasteful wrinkle of her nose.

“Maybe I’ll forget they’re in there?” he teased. “I had salad again today. I think we need a new cafeteria at the office. It’s either salad or cold roast-beef sandwiches.”

“Mommy said to say good-night to you.”

She always did deliver that morsel through Rachel.

Attention still fixed on the television, Rachel asked, “Why does Mommy always go upstairs as soon as she hears you drive into the garage?”

He couldn’t explain that he and Mommy were not on best of terms lately. Linda blamed him for the impossible.

Ben glanced over the back of the couch. The box of roses sat on the kitchen table, unopened. Great. Not as if he hadn’t expected that reaction, though.

“Mommy gets tired early.” He summoned the lie easily because it had become rote. “I see her when I go upstairs after you’ve gone to bed.” As I grab my shirt and suit coat from the closet for tomorrow and sneak into the guest bedroom.