“What?” Kelly sounded breathless and a little panicked.
Nick headed for the steps, buttoning his dress shirt as he went. “That’s not my theory, it’s your theory!”
“Not according to the report I’ll be submitting!” Nick called back.
“Don’t you dare put my name to a time-traveling Knights Templar librarian, you crackpot!”
Nick laughed as he slid his feet into his shoes and headed for the door.
Chapter 3
hat are you doing here on a Saturday? How “Wthe f**k long have you been here?” Hagan asked Nick as he tossed his coat onto his desk chair.
Nick looked up from the files he was studying.
“Oh my God,” Hagan said as he saw Nick’s face. “You look like a feral cat in an alleyway. What have you done to yourself?”
“Found a case of energy drinks in the break room,” Nick answered, his words clipped and precise. “I think I got something on this case, man.”
“Is it contagious? ’Cause I’d rather not do . . . this,” Hagan said as he waved his hand at Nick.
“No. Okay so, we have the books they went after in the shop, right? But why take books you can’t hope to sell? Discounting the highly unlikely scenario that they had a buyer for those specific rare books, which could be true I guess—”
“O.”
“I mean they could just be front men for someone with money, but still, it had to be the books themselves they were after and those books specifically.”
“Dude, can you feel your tongue?”
Nick picked up the book he’d been examining and turned it so Hagan could see it. “Look. This one has a complete surveyor’s map of Boston from 1819, and a copy of an earlier reproduction from 1779.”
Hagan raised an eyebrow. “What happened in 1819?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. But that’s what all four have in common.”
“1819?”
“No. They’re all contemporary reports from Boston in the years after the Revolution.”
“Vive la révolution. So . . . a crew of highly trained thieves broke into a rare bookstore, stole four books and two as yet unknown objects, and then kil ed a man, all because they’re planning a heist of Revolutionary War era Boston?”
Nick glanced up at his partner, nodding.
“Where are they hitting next to get their time machine parts? We should put a few unis on that shit.”
Nick glared at him for several seconds, then his eyes darted over Hagan’s hands. “Where’s my coffee?”
“Oh, f**k no.” Hagan threw both cups of coffee in the trash can, shaking his head. “No more caffeine for you.”
Nick stared at them, seriously thinking about reaching in after one of them, when Captain Branson paced over to their desks. Nick and Hagan both watched him expectantly. He stood over them with his hands behind his back. Nick was pretty sure he and Hagan hadn’t done anything to draw their captain’s ire, but you never knew.
Branson pursed his lips and peered into the trash can, then back at Nick. “Correct me if I’m misreading you, Detective O’Flaherty, but were you about to go after that cup of coffee in the trash bin?”
Nick’s eyes darted to the trash can, then back to his captain’s again. “Yes, sir.”
Branson nodded sagely. “How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
Hagan cleared his throat. “Please don’t ask him to explain his current theory.”
Nick pressed his lips tightly together, self-aware enough to know when not to speak. He avoided Branson’s eyes for all of two seconds before he gave in, though. “I have a consultant I’d like to bring in on the case.”
“For?”
“Hunting treasure.”
Branson frowned, gave Hagan one last sideways glance, then cocked his head at Nick. “Okay. Make sure he signs the waivers.”
Nick and Hagan watched him walk away, aiming for his office with a steaming mug of coffee in hand.
“What just happened?” Hagan finally asked.
Nick shook his head, still frowning at his captain. Then he turned back Hagan and straightened up. “Where’s the witness?”
“I left him in the break room with a uni.”
“How’d he do last night?”
“After you left, he was fine. You got the Midas touch, my friend.” Hagan reached to his desk like he was grasping for a cup. He looked confused for a moment before seeming to realize he’d tossed his own coffee in the trash as well. He and Nick both leaned over the edge of the desk to eye their trash can.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Nick offered.
Hagan gave a single nod, then stood up and coughed, making a show of fixing his tie and smiling around the squad room as Nick fished the cups out of the trash.
Kelly had to get directions to Nick’s desk, and it was like trying to find his way through a rabbit warren as he navigated the department. When he finally saw someone he recognized, Nick’s partner Hagan, Kelly could have hugged the man.
“Hey, Doc, how they hanging?” Hagan asked as soon as he saw Kelly.
“Um . . . they can’t complain with the current situation.”
Hagan laughed. “Sorry, O always calls you Doc. I don’t remember your real name,” he admitted. He gestured toward the desk opposite him. “Have a seat. Want some coffee?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” Kelly eased into the chair, Nick’s chair, watching Hagan suspiciously. He actually reminded Kelly a little of Nick; he was so deadpan you could never tell when he was joking.
Hagan was alternately tapping at his computer and reading a notepad on his desk, probably filling out a report or transferring notes. Kelly glanced around the room. There were more pods of desks like this one, in various degrees of organization. Nick’s desk, in comparison to the others, was very clean. It was almost empty, in fact. There was a large doodling pad in the center with notes and rough sketches all over it. There was the regular desktop fare, such as a stapler and a cup of pens and a computer. Nick had been back at work for several months, but most of that time had been spent doing desk work. Kelly could imagine him sitting here, bored to tears, organizing everything again and again.
A single photograph adorned the desk, in a simple black frame. Kelly reached for it, letting a finger run across the faces of his brothers-in-arms. It was a photo of the six men of Sidewinder, all of them ten years younger, all of them grinning at the camera, dressed in their combat gear.