Page 80 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

I put my lips to her ear. “Can I take that as a yes?”

“Theo’s in the kitchen. Can we do this quietly?”

“Like a pair of randy church mice.”

She kissed me. “And you don’t think you’re setting a bad example for someone who could be your son?”

“The jury is still out,” I said, my hips undulating in response to her touch. “But even if he is, at his age he’d be proud of his old man.”

I moved my hand, and she responded with a gasp. Her legs parted, and she let out a long, throaty moan, the universal language fordon’t stop now.

I didn’t.

It was quiet. It was gentle. It was glorious.

And if Theo heard anything, he didn’t let on. When I came out of the bedroom, he was sitting at the kitchen table, AirPods in his ears, MacBook at his fingertips, the sugary remnants of a teenage boy’s idea of a healthy breakfast still in front of him.

He’s not a morning person, but today was different. Today, Theo was meeting with Martin Sheffield’s lawyer, hearing the details of his will, and, most importantly, taking possession of the sealed envelope Sheffield had left behind. With luck, something in that envelope would lead us to the man who killed Warren Hellman, Eldon Winstanley, and God knows how many others.

Theo’s head was moving to the rhythm of whatever he was listening to. I leaned over and popped out one of his earbuds. “You all ready for your big day?” I said.

“Psyched.”

“You working on your movie?”

“Nah, I’m just reading some bullshit on the Internet,” he said. “It’s all about theseso-calledhero cops who chased after a deranged killer in a bloodmobile and brought him to justice.”

I grinned. “And that’s bullshit?”

“Yeah, man. There’s not a single word about the cool young filmmaker who clued the cops in to the five hit men, took them to Golden Grove, tipped them off when Barbara was about to ambush them at the funeral parlor, then wrecked his bike and almost got himself killed trying to do their job.”

“That totally sucks for you,” I said. “Those cops hogged all the glory and didn’t let the news media pick up on your connection to the case.”

“Exactly.”

“They’re probably thinking Carol is still out there, and he can shoot the nut sack off a fruit fly in a hailstorm, and you’re a hell of a lot safer if your name isn’t in the news.”

“I guess they want me to keep a low profile,” Theo said.

“More like no profile,” I said. “They want you invisible until anyone and everyone who could possibly want to kill you because you know too much about the Sorority is locked up or dead. Until further notice, you don’t exist.”

“That is so fucking cool,” Theo said.

“Don’t take this personally, kiddo,” I said, “but not many people would think that the possibility of a trained assassin with a .50-caliberrifle coming after them is all that fucking cool.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think like other people. Life is full of great stories, and if you have the opportunity to be in the middle of one, shut up and make the most of it.”

“That’s a hell of a philosophy,” I said.

“I think I probably get it from my mother.”

I smiled. I knew he got it from his mother.

CHAPTER 54

I’m sure Martin Sheffieldwas as methodical about choosing a lawyer as he had been about planning his murders.

Forrest Nivens was a perfect choice. After spending three decades at a top corporate law firm in Manhattan, he packed it in at the age offifty-five. Instead of retiring to the golf course or a life of leisure, Nivens took a different path.

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