Page 13 of Clumsy in Love

“Go ahead.”

“Detective Adams was shot last night in Central Park. He was deep undercover with the Fire Vipers and, among other things, trying to identify who killed Lambert. He musta got made. They put two in his chest. DOA at the scene.”

Cole sat up straight. Lambert was Cole’s old partner. He’d made detective, only to be shot and killed on his first assignment. “I’m on my way. Just tell me where.”

“Thought it might be personal,” Flanigan said. “I’ll text you the directions and meet you there. I’ll bring the coffee.”

Cole hung up and scrubbed his hands over his face. Two years. For two years, they’d been trying to catch the bastard that killed his friend. And now, another good cop who’d been working with the gang was dead. The coincidence couldn’t be ignored. This was why Cole was so desperate to make detective. Someone needed to pay.

Within ten minutes, he was dressed and on his way. Another twenty, and he was at the park. He flashed his badge at the patrolman guarding the area and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Flanigan and his partner, Detective Espinoza, stood by a folding table they were using as a makeshift HQ.

“What happened?” Cole asked, taking the coffee Flanigan offered. “Thanks.”

“Took two at almost point-blank range. Jogger found him this morning, but it went down sometime last night. We’re canvassing the area now.”

Cole nodded. “Point me in a direction.”

He got his marching orders and set off. Carefully, he searched the ground near the trees, thinking this was pointless, but knowing he was merely a grunt for the real detectives. A faint noise made him stop and listen. Was that a cough?

“Anybody here?” he asked to the empty area.

“Up here,” a raspy voice said from above.

He walked toward the noise and looked up. It was a woman, sitting in the tree about twenty feet up. “What are you doing up there?”

“I’m stuck,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I hurt my ankle climbing up, and now I can’t get down.”

“Look, lady,” Cole said, no patience for this kind of thing right now. As a police officer, he often thought he’d seen everything, but there was always something new. Something like this that had him scratching his head. New Yorkers were different, sometimes weird, but a grown woman in a tree?

“Please,” she said. “I’ve been up here all night, and I’m freezing.”

“Why would you spend the night in a tree?”

“Well, I didn’t want to,” she snipped impatiently. “I climbed up here to get away from amurdererand then, like I said, can’t get down.”

“A murderer?” Cole perked up. Now she was talkin’ his language.

“Yes,” she practically screamed. “I watched a man get shot! Are you going to frickin’ help me or not?”

She witnessed the murder? No way. He set down his coffee, radioed for help, and approached the base of the tree. In the minute they’d been talking, she’d made her way down to the lowest branch.

“Jump. I’ll catch you.” He held out his arms.

“Are you crazy? I’ll flatten you.”

Her voice sounded familiar, and when he looked closer, he realized it was the out-of-towner from the Sip and Swirl. “Holly?”

From ten feet up, her eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

“We met last night. After your beer bath? I drove you back to your hotel.”

She muttered something about terrible luck.

“You probably weigh a buck forty at most. I’m tough. Just jump.”

Staring down dubiously, she didn’t move at first. Then she crawled farther from the trunk and lowered herself down on the branch, hanging like a piece of ripe fruit. Long, lean legs dangled a few feet above his head. Close enough, he could see a tattoo of the number four next to a basketball on her ankle.

“You sure about this?” she asked.

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