pizza day,” Jake reminded her. That was the one day of the week when he liked to buy the cafeteria lunch.
“Right. I forgot. But I’m still going to make myself a lunch.” She did most days; their budget was too tight to allow for a lot of eating out. “Your dad liked patrol. He said that’s where the action was, but he figured eventually he’d move to the detective division.” He’d also talked about applying to the Tactical Operations Division SWAT team, but she wasn’t about to tell Jake that. Matt hadn’t taken her terror at the idea seriously.
“It’s not any more dangerous than what I already do,” he’d said blithely, which was scarcely reassuring.
She sent Matt off to grab his pack, counted out lunch money from her purse for him and gave a private shudder as she wondered if Ethan had ever aspired to be on the SWAT team or—maybe even more frightening—the Gang Enforcement Team. Or undercover with Vice or Drug Enforcement.
What am I worrying about? she thought drearily. It wasn’t as though Matt had been killed on the job.
Ethan remained in the back of her mind all day. As, she privately admitted, he was too often most days.
That didn’t mean she was interested in getting involved with him. He was good for Jake. Full stop.
But when her phone rang that evening, after Jake had already gone to bed, her pulse bounced at the sight of Ethan’s number. Chagrined, she thought, Not interested? Remember?
Somehow, the reminder failed to slow her accelerated heartbeat.
“Hi,” she said. “I read about you in the paper this morning. Is that little boy all right?” She carried the phone to the living room in hopes Jake couldn’t hear her. Choosing her favorite chair, she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her.
“Yes, but it was a close thing.” Ethan sounded grim. “They have three kids. Each parent thought the other one had him. Dad tore back into the house, grabbed the boy and had to break the window because it was the only way out by that time.”
“Thank God he got to him in time.”
“Amen.”
“They were Jewish, too?”
“Fischman. This isn’t for public consumption, Laura, but this guy—or gang, we’re not sure yet—is going in alphabetical order.”
“But...why?”
“There’s the question.” He made a rough sound. “I really shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I won’t tell. I promise.” She frowned. “The last two victims both had names that started with F , too. Do they all?”
“No, we started with Eckstein and Eichler.”
“Eichler sounds German to me. I wouldn’t have assumed it was Jewish.”
“Yeah, whoever this is has done some research.”
The restraint in his voice had her eyes widening. “Or knows these people?”
“That’s a possibility, too. Again, not one for—”
“—public consumption. I get it. But...do these families know each other?”
“So far, only two do. They attend the same synagogue.” He talked then, his voice already hoarse, telling her that some of the targeted people weren’t practicing Jews, and that the geographic cluster suggested other possibilities.
She speculated on that. “That whoever is doing this is staying close to home.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you have any witnesses?”
A moment of silence suggested he might be regretting having said as much as he had, but then he replied, “A couple of people running away. Probably young guys. One with a leather jacket and possibly a shaved head.”
Skinhead.
“But you’ve sounded as if you’re only looking for one guy.”
“Chances are, even if there’s a gang, one member is the driving force. He’s the one with a big-time grudge.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Damn, I hoped we’d get them this time,” he said with sudden force. “I’ve been warning people, speaking to Neighborhood Watch groups, hoping we’d get lucky.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, aware of the silent house and the intimacy of this conversation. Had he
“Right. I forgot. But I’m still going to make myself a lunch.” She did most days; their budget was too tight to allow for a lot of eating out. “Your dad liked patrol. He said that’s where the action was, but he figured eventually he’d move to the detective division.” He’d also talked about applying to the Tactical Operations Division SWAT team, but she wasn’t about to tell Jake that. Matt hadn’t taken her terror at the idea seriously.
“It’s not any more dangerous than what I already do,” he’d said blithely, which was scarcely reassuring.
She sent Matt off to grab his pack, counted out lunch money from her purse for him and gave a private shudder as she wondered if Ethan had ever aspired to be on the SWAT team or—maybe even more frightening—the Gang Enforcement Team. Or undercover with Vice or Drug Enforcement.
What am I worrying about? she thought drearily. It wasn’t as though Matt had been killed on the job.
Ethan remained in the back of her mind all day. As, she privately admitted, he was too often most days.
That didn’t mean she was interested in getting involved with him. He was good for Jake. Full stop.
But when her phone rang that evening, after Jake had already gone to bed, her pulse bounced at the sight of Ethan’s number. Chagrined, she thought, Not interested? Remember?
Somehow, the reminder failed to slow her accelerated heartbeat.
“Hi,” she said. “I read about you in the paper this morning. Is that little boy all right?” She carried the phone to the living room in hopes Jake couldn’t hear her. Choosing her favorite chair, she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her.
“Yes, but it was a close thing.” Ethan sounded grim. “They have three kids. Each parent thought the other one had him. Dad tore back into the house, grabbed the boy and had to break the window because it was the only way out by that time.”
“Thank God he got to him in time.”
“Amen.”
“They were Jewish, too?”
“Fischman. This isn’t for public consumption, Laura, but this guy—or gang, we’re not sure yet—is going in alphabetical order.”
“But...why?”
“There’s the question.” He made a rough sound. “I really shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I won’t tell. I promise.” She frowned. “The last two victims both had names that started with F , too. Do they all?”
“No, we started with Eckstein and Eichler.”
“Eichler sounds German to me. I wouldn’t have assumed it was Jewish.”
“Yeah, whoever this is has done some research.”
The restraint in his voice had her eyes widening. “Or knows these people?”
“That’s a possibility, too. Again, not one for—”
“—public consumption. I get it. But...do these families know each other?”
“So far, only two do. They attend the same synagogue.” He talked then, his voice already hoarse, telling her that some of the targeted people weren’t practicing Jews, and that the geographic cluster suggested other possibilities.
She speculated on that. “That whoever is doing this is staying close to home.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t you have any witnesses?”
A moment of silence suggested he might be regretting having said as much as he had, but then he replied, “A couple of people running away. Probably young guys. One with a leather jacket and possibly a shaved head.”
Skinhead.
“But you’ve sounded as if you’re only looking for one guy.”
“Chances are, even if there’s a gang, one member is the driving force. He’s the one with a big-time grudge.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Damn, I hoped we’d get them this time,” he said with sudden force. “I’ve been warning people, speaking to Neighborhood Watch groups, hoping we’d get lucky.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, aware of the silent house and the intimacy of this conversation. Had he
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