Chapter Text
Frederick Chilton had been a resident of Manhattan for approximately forty-three minutes when he decided New York City was personally hostile to automobiles.
“This is absurd.”
Rafael Barba closed the trunk of his car and looked across the sidewalk.
Frederick stood beside the gleaming red Mercedes-Benz convertible with one hand resting on the roof, staring down the street as though several city officials had conspired overnight to inconvenience him.
“What is?”
“Parking.”
“You moved to Manhattan.”
“I’m aware.”
“Apparently not.”
Frederick looked at him.
The expression would have been more intimidating if Rafael hadn’t become so familiar with it after they found each other at Harvard.
“There is nowhere to put a car.”
“That’s generally how Manhattan works.”
“There are millions of people here.”
“Yes.”
“With cars.”
“Some of them.”
“Where do they put them?”
“New Jersey.”
Frederick’s mouth flattened.
Rafael picked up one of the boxes from beside the curb.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“People who like me.”
Frederick reached for another box.
“That considerably narrows the field.”
Rafael glanced over.
“There he is. Forty-three minutes in New York and already making friends.”
“I had friends in Baltimore.”
“You had colleagues.”
“I had friends.”
“You had people who tolerated you professionally.”
Frederick followed him toward the entrance of the building.
“I’m beginning to regret telling you where I live.”
“You gave me a key.”
“For emergencies.”
“You called me because you couldn’t figure out where the building superintendent wanted the moving truck.”
“That was an emergency.”
“It was a loading zone.”
“The signage was unclear.”
“It said loading zone.”
“There were arrows.”
“Those tend to clarify signs.”
Frederick gave him another look.
Rafael smiled and kept walking.
He had missed this.
He wouldn’t have admitted it aloud. Frederick certainly wouldn’t have made the admission easy.
Their relationship had never been built around making anything easy for each other.
They had learned one another in fragments.
Half brothers born fifteen months apart to the same father, they had grown up in separate homes without knowing the other existed until mutual friends at Harvard noticed the resemblance and introduced them, forcing Rafael to go home and ask his mother questions she had never expected to answer. Rafael had already learned how to make himself small around anger by the time Frederick entered his life, though small had never lasted long on Rafael. Frederick had been younger, sharper around the edges, hungry for attention in a way he later learned to disguise beneath expensive clothes and longer words.
Somewhere along the way, irritation had become affection.
Competition had become loyalty.
And Rafael had developed the particularly unfortunate ability to look at his younger brother and know when Frederick was lying.
Frederick hated that.
At the moment, Rafael suspected Frederick hated several things.
The parking situation.
The moving company.
The humidity.
The fact that his apartment was on the eleventh floor instead of the twelfth because apparently the twelfth had an inferior view.
And Baltimore.
That last one Frederick had yet to complain about.
Which told Rafael considerably more than any complaint would have.
The elevator doors opened.
Frederick stepped inside.
Rafael followed with the box.
“You could have hired people to do all of this.”
“I did.”
“Yet I’m carrying books.”
“I hired movers. I didn’t hire strangers to unpack my library.”
“They’re books, Frederick.”
“They’re organized.”
“They’re going on shelves.”
“In a particular order.”
Rafael looked down at the box in his arms.
“Psychiatric journals from 2003 through 2008.”
Frederick took a protective step closer.
“Put those down carefully.”
“I’m suddenly tempted to throw them from the balcony.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“No?”
“No. You lack the upper-body strength.”
Rafael stared at him.
Frederick’s mouth twitched.
That was closer.
Rafael had seen remarkably little of that expression since Baltimore.
The doors opened on eleven.
The apartment was exactly what Rafael had expected Frederick to select.
Expensive.
Immaculate.
Slightly excessive.
A corner unit overlooking the city with tall windows, dark hardwood floors, cream walls, a marble fireplace Frederick had already explained was decorative, and enough square footage to make any ordinary Manhattan resident consider violence.
Boxes filled most of the living room.
A black baby grand piano occupied one corner.
Rafael stopped.
He looked at it.
Frederick walked past him.
“What?”
“You brought the piano.”
“Yes.”
“You never play it.”
“I play.”
“You abuse Chopin twice a year.”
Frederick set his box on the dining table.
“I took lessons.”
“You were nine.”
“Musical education does not expire.”
“That depends entirely on what you’ve done to Debussy.”
Frederick ignored him and began cutting through packing tape.
Rafael set his box beside the others.
The apartment was beautiful.
It also felt wrong.
Too clean.
Too prepared.
Too ready to become a life before Frederick had actually decided what that life would be.
Rafael watched his brother pull books from the box one at a time.
“You can still change your mind.”
Frederick didn’t look up.
“About the piano?”
“About New York.”
That got his attention.
Frederick straightened.
“I signed a lease.”
“You’ve broken contracts before.”
“I have never broken a lease.”
“Congratulations on discovering ethics.”
Frederick’s expression sharpened.
Rafael held his gaze.
Eventually Frederick turned back toward the box.
“My private practice will do very well here.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“There’s considerable demand for someone with my background.”
“Your background being psychiatry or attracting serial killers?”
Frederick’s hand stopped on the spine of a book.
Rafael regretted the joke immediately.
He saw it happen.
The change lasted perhaps two seconds.
Frederick’s shoulders went rigid. His face emptied. His fingers tightened against the hardcover.
Abel Gideon had carved through most of Frederick’s arrogance with a surgeon’s blade.
The arrogance had grown back.
Rafael knew better than to mistake that for healing.
“Frederick.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
“You were making the face.”
“What face?”
“The concerned one.”
“I have several.”
“This one is particularly irritating.”
Rafael moved closer.
Frederick placed the book on the table with unnecessary precision.
“Baltimore State Hospital had become professionally limiting.”
“That your official position?”
“It’s my position.”
“You ran the hospital.”
“And now I don’t.”
“You spent years trying to get that job.”
“Ambition is allowed to evolve.”
“Since when?”
Frederick’s eyes flicked toward him.
There was the irritation again.
Better.
Rafael leaned against the table.
“You want me to say moving here was a good idea?”
“I don’t require your permission.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I’m aware.”
“Frederick.”
“I wanted a change.”
Rafael waited him out.
Frederick exhaled through his nose.
“A fresh start.”
The words sounded rehearsed.
Rafael had heard better performances from defendants with blood on their shoes.
“You could have gone anywhere.”
“Yes.”
“You came here.”
“New York has an excellent patient base.”
“You came here.”
“Do you intend to repeat that indefinitely?”
“Probably.”
Frederick finally looked at him.
For all the ways they differed, there were moments when the resemblance between them became impossible to ignore.
The same sharp eyes.
The same expressive mouth.
The same stubborn tilt of the chin when cornered.
Frederick’s features were softer in places, his vanity encouraging careful grooming and expensive skincare Rafael had mercilessly mocked for years. Rafael carried himself with the guarded economy of a man accustomed to courtrooms. Frederick carried himself as though entering any room required an audience.
Right now, none of that mattered.
Rafael saw his younger brother.
Scared.
Pretending otherwise.
“You don’t have to explain it,” Rafael said.
Frederick’s brows lifted.
“That would seem contrary to the entire interrogation you just conducted.”
“I’m saying you can stay.”
“I had gathered that from the lease.”
“With me.”
Something shifted in Frederick’s expression.
Rafael continued before either of them could become uncomfortable enough to ruin it.
“If this place doesn’t work. If the practice takes longer than you expect. If you wake up one morning and decide you hate Manhattan more than you hate Baltimore, you have somewhere to go.”
Frederick looked down at the open box.
“You have one bedroom.”
“I own a couch.”
“I’ve seen your couch.”
“It folds out.”
“I’d prefer homelessness.”
“There’s my gratitude.”
Frederick picked up another book.
Rafael reached for the box cutter.
Frederick caught his wrist before he could take it.
Their eyes met.
“Thank you,” Frederick said quietly.
Rafael nodded.
Frederick released him.
Rafael let the moment survive approximately three seconds.
“You still can’t keep the car on the street.”
Frederick’s face closed immediately.
“You are pathologically invested in this.”
“You’re going to get twelve tickets a week.”
“I will rent a garage space.”
“You’re going to pay eight hundred dollars a month to house a thirty-six-year-old Mercedes.”
Frederick looked genuinely offended.
“It is a 1990 Mercedes-Benz 300 SE.”
“That doesn’t make it younger.”
“It is exceptionally well maintained.”
“It’s old enough to have opinions about Reagan.”
Frederick pointed the box cutter at him.
“Leave.”
“You called me.”
“I’ve reconsidered.”
Rafael laughed.
This time Frederick smiled too.
By twelve-thirty, Rafael had unpacked four boxes, mounted one shelf, been criticized twice for his use of a screwdriver, and discovered Frederick owned seven separate decanters.
He was considering taking one home as compensation.
Frederick disappeared down the hallway and returned wearing a different jacket.
Rafael looked at him.
“What?”
“You changed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Frederick glanced down at himself as though the answer were obvious.
“We’re going out.”
“We’re getting lunch.”
“And?”
“You changed jackets for lunch.”
“This one is lighter.”
“They’re both gray.”
“One is charcoal.”
Rafael stared at him.
Frederick picked up his keys.
“I’m beginning to understand why you’re unmarried.”
“I’m beginning to remember why Baltimore didn’t fight harder to keep you.”
That earned him another narrow look.
Rafael retrieved his own jacket from the back of a chair.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“SVU.”
Frederick stopped.
“Why?”
“You wanted referrals.”
“I want referrals from physicians.”
“And law enforcement never encounters people in need of psychiatric care?”
“I said private practice, Rafael. I’m not opening a walk-in clinic for traumatized detectives.”
“You could use the practice.”
Frederick gave him a cold stare.
Rafael grinned.
“Olivia knows people. So does Carisi. You’re new in the city. Networking won’t kill you.”
“Your touching confidence in my social skills is appreciated.”
“You’re good at networking.”
“I’m excellent at networking.”
“You just annoy everyone after.”
“That sounds considerably more like your problem.”
Rafael opened the apartment door.
Frederick followed him out.
“You told them about me.”
“I’ve mentioned you.”
“What exactly did you say?”
“That I have a younger brother.”
Frederick pressed the elevator button.
“That’s all?”
“You’re a psychiatrist.”
“Yes.”
“You ran a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been stabbed.”
Frederick slowly turned his head.
Rafael met his eyes.
“I left that part out.”
“Rafael.”
“I left it out.”
“Good.”
“I told Fin you’re short.”
Frederick’s expression became murderous.
Rafael laughed all the way into the elevator.
~~~~~~
The Manhattan Special Victims Unit was louder than Frederick expected.
He disliked that immediately.
Phones rang.
Detectives spoke across desks.
Somebody was arguing about a warrant near the copier.
A uniformed officer hurried past carrying three coffees and looking as though all three belonged to someone else.
Frederick stepped through the doorway behind Rafael and adjusted the cuff of his shirt.
Nobody noticed.
He disliked that too.
Rafael, infuriatingly, looked completely at home.
A detective with a closely shaved head and a steady, assessing expression glanced up from his desk.
“Counselor.”
“Fin.”
Fin Tutuola looked at Frederick.
His eyes moved between the brothers once.
Twice.
“Huh.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow.
“Huh?”
Fin leaned back.
“Barba said you looked alike.”
Rafael set his briefcase beside a desk.
“I said unfortunately.”
Frederick looked at him.
“You neglected to mention the resemblance is more flattering to you.”
Fin smiled.
“Yeah. You’re definitely his brother.”
Another detective approached from the far side of the squadroom.
Amanda Rollins.
Frederick knew the name from Rafael.
Blonde, observant, already studying him with the quick assessment of someone accustomed to sorting people into categories before they finished introducing themselves.
“You must be Dr. Chilton.”
“Dr. Frederick Chilton.”
Rafael closed his eyes.
Amanda looked at him.
“I said doctor.”
“Precision matters.”
“I’m gonna like this guy.”
“No, you’re not,” Rafael said.
A man carrying a case file came out of the conference room and caught the last part.
“Who aren’t we liking?”
Rafael glanced over.
“Carisi.”
Sonny Carisi looked at Frederick, glanced at Rafael, and stopped.
His eyebrows went up.
“Wow.”
Frederick’s expression tightened.
“Is that the customary greeting here?”
Sonny pointed between them.
“Sorry. Barba said you were brothers. He left out the part where somebody could put you two in a lineup.”
“I’m taller,” Frederick said.
Rafael turned toward him.
“By what scientific measurement?”
“An accurate one.”
Sonny grinned.
“Yeah, okay. I see the family resemblance now.”
“Detective Dominick Carisi,” Rafael said.
“Call me Sonny.”
Frederick shook his hand.
“Frederick Chilton.”
“I know who you are.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Sonny caught it.
“Barba talks about you.”
Rafael immediately looked offended.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Name one time.”
“Last month. The restaurant argument.”
“That was relevant.”
“To what?”
“The restaurant.”
Amanda looked at Frederick.
“He talks about you.”
Frederick smiled slowly.
Rafael pointed at all three of them.
“I regret bringing him here.”
“You invited me,” Frederick said.
“I’m reconsidering several decisions.”
A woman emerged from the office at the end of the squadroom.
Captain Olivia Benson carried herself differently from the others.
Frederick recognized authority before Rafael introduced her.
“Captain.”
“Dr. Chilton.”
She shook his hand.
“Rafael’s told me about you.”
Frederick glanced sideways.
Rafael suddenly found something fascinating near Fin’s desk.
“I hope selectively.”
Olivia smiled.
“He said you were relocating.”
“Relocated. Past tense.”
“How are you finding New York?”
“Hostile toward automobiles.”
Fin snorted.
Sonny looked at Rafael.
“How long’s he been here?”
“Three hours.”
“Forty-three minutes before the first parking complaint,” Rafael added.
“You timed me?”
“I checked my watch.”
Frederick drew himself up.
“The city’s parking infrastructure is indefensible.”
A voice came from behind him.
“You brought a car to Manhattan. That sounds self-inflicted.”
Frederick turned.
Everything in him stopped behaving normally.
The woman approaching them carried a folder under one arm and a coffee cup in the other hand.
Chestnut-brown hair had been pulled into a braid that fell down the center of her back, thick enough that Frederick’s attention caught on it before he could stop himself. She wore dark slacks, boots, and a fitted black jacket over a deep blue blouse. A gold shield hung at her waist.
Her eyes were the greater problem.
Hazel.
No.
Green around the edges, warmer toward the center.
Frederick realized he was staring.
He also realized Rafael had noticed.
That was intolerable.
The woman stopped beside Olivia.
Her gaze moved from Rafael to Frederick.
She looked back at Rafael.
Back at Frederick.
“Well.”
Rafael’s mouth curved.
“Cara Mae Callahan, Frederick Chilton.”
Her eyes returned to Frederick.
“The brother.”
“You’ve heard of me.”
It came out smoother than he felt.
Cara took a sip of coffee.
“I’ve heard there was a brother.”
“That sounds disappointingly vague.”
“I’m coping.”
Amanda turned away, already smiling.
Rafael looked delighted.
Frederick ignored him.
“Dr. Frederick Chilton.”
Cara extended her hand.
“Lieutenant Cara Mae Callahan.”
Her grip was firm.
Frederick noticed that.
He noticed the faint callus along the side of her index finger.
He noticed the small scar near one knuckle.
He noticed her nails were short and unpainted.
He noticed she smelled faintly of coffee and something clean he couldn’t identify.
He noticed far too much for a handshake lasting barely two seconds.
“You’re staring,” Cara said.
Rafael made a choking sound behind him.
Frederick released her hand.
“I’m observant.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“It is part of my profession.”
“Psychiatry?”
“Yes.”
Cara glanced at Rafael.
“Does he diagnose everybody this fast?”
“Usually before dessert.”
“I do nothing of the sort.”
Rafael looked at her.
“You diagnosed one of my professors at Harvard.”
“You told me the man kept dead insects in his desk.”
“He taught entomology.”
Frederick stopped.
Cara’s mouth curved.
Fin started laughing.
“That detail would have been useful at the time,” Frederick said.
“You never asked.”
“I had formed a very compelling theory.”
“You wrote three pages.”
“It was thorough.”
Cara laughed.
Frederick looked at her.
The sound did something inconvenient to his concentration.
Rafael saw that too.
His brother was becoming intolerable at astonishing speed.
Cara tipped her head slightly.
The motion shifted her braid across one shoulder.
Frederick followed it with his eyes.
She caught him again.
He looked back up.
Her expression had changed.
Amusement remained, joined now by curiosity.
“You really do look alike,” she said.
Frederick glanced toward Rafael.
“I’m sorry.”
Rafael gave him a flat look.
Cara studied them both.
“Same eyes.”
Frederick looked back at her.
“His are more judgmental.”
“His are more tired.”
Rafael frowned.
“Excuse me?”
Cara ignored him.
“Same mouth, though.”
Frederick’s attention sharpened.
Cara seemed unaware she had done anything at all.
Rafael was watching her now.
His mouth twitched.
Cara caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I know that face.”
“That concerns me.”
“You’re about to say something irritating.”
“I would never.”
She laughed again and nudged his arm with the folder.
The familiarity between them was effortless.
That bothered Frederick.
The realization arrived with enough force that he nearly frowned.
He had known Cara Mae Callahan for approximately three minutes.
Rafael had apparently known her for years.
There was no rational reason for this information to annoy him.
It annoyed him anyway.
“How do you two know each other?” Frederick asked.
Rafael looked at him.
Cara answered first.
“He tried a case I worked about six years ago.”
“She tried to tell me how to prosecute it.”
“You needed help.”
“I won.”
“Barely.”
“There are no style points in criminal court.”
“You tell yourself that.”
Frederick watched them.
Rafael laughed.
Actually laughed.
His brother didn’t do that easily.
Rafael smiled often enough when amused and weaponized sarcasm as a substitute for several basic emotions, but this was different.
Relaxed.
Familiar.
Frederick disliked it.
Which was ridiculous.
He redirected his attention toward Cara.
“What sort of case?”
Cara looked at him.
“Homicide connected to a sexual assault.”
“You testified?”
“Twice.”
“Good witness?”
Rafael answered.
“Annoyingly.”
Cara gave him another small shove.
“She challenged defense counsel during cross,” Rafael added.
Frederick’s eyebrows went up.
“Did she?”
“He asked a stupid question.”
Cara drank her coffee.
“What was the question?”
Rafael groaned.
“No.”
Frederick looked at him.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Cara’s eyes warmed.
“The lawyer asked whether the suspect might have interpreted the victim’s fear as flirtation.”
Frederick’s expression cooled.
“And?”
“I asked whether he generally found terror difficult to distinguish from sexual interest.”
Fin coughed into his fist.
Amanda looked delighted.
Rafael pointed at Cara.
“The judge threatened to hold her in contempt.”
“The judge liked me.”
“The judge threatened you.”
“Affectionately.”
Frederick smiled despite himself.
“That was an excellent answer.”
Cara looked at him.
For the first time since meeting him, her teasing expression softened.
“Thank you.”
Frederick felt absurdly pleased.
Rafael noticed.
Naturally.
His brother’s eyes narrowed with the unmistakable calculation of a man who had just discovered material he intended to exploit for years.
Frederick changed the subject.
“You’re a lieutenant?”
“Senior detective lieutenant.”
“She refuses a desk,” Olivia said.
Cara looked at her captain.
“You promised to stop bringing that up.”
“I promised nothing.”
“Administrative work builds character,” Rafael said.
Cara pointed at him.
“You stay out of this.”
“See?” Olivia said. “Years.”
Frederick smiled again.
Cara caught it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing his face now.”
Rafael looked offended.
“He wishes.”
Frederick turned toward him.
“I assure you, Rafael, nobody wishes for your face.”
“You spent half of Harvard trying to copy my haircut.”
“I was experimenting.”
“You were impressionable.”
“Your haircut was criminal.”
Cara laughed hard enough that she had to lower her coffee.
Frederick watched her again.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
He liked that.
An uncomfortable amount.
She recovered and wiped at one eye.
“I didn’t realize meeting Rafael’s family was going to be this entertaining.”
“Family is a generous description,” Rafael said.
Frederick’s attention flicked toward him.
Rafael saw it.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Cara saw that too.
Frederick could tell.
She was observant.
Dangerously observant, perhaps.
Olivia’s phone rang.
She glanced down.
“I have to take this. Rafael, you know where everything is.”
“Unfortunately.”
Olivia looked toward Frederick.
“Welcome to New York, Dr. Chilton.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
She moved back toward her office.
Amanda returned to her desk.
Fin received a call.
Within moments, the little circle had narrowed to Frederick, Rafael, and Cara.
Cara looked down at the folder under her arm.
“I’ve got paperwork.”
“You always have paperwork,” Rafael said.
“Because I finish mine.”
“I finish mine.”
“You complain for forty minutes first.”
“That’s part of the process.”
Frederick looked between them.
“How long have you known each other?”
Cara glanced at him.
“Six years.”
“Seven,” Rafael corrected.
She frowned.
“No.”
“March.”
Cara considered.
“Seven.”
Frederick hated how readily Rafael knew that.
Cara’s eyes settled on him again.
“So private practice?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Psychiatric consultation, trauma, personality disorders, complex forensic cases where appropriate.”
Her gaze sharpened at the word trauma.
Frederick felt it.
He had grown accustomed to that reaction.
People knew.
Some knew Gideon’s name.
Others remembered the coverage.
Hospital administrator attacked in his own home.
Surgeon abducted.
Improvised abdominal surgery.
Survivor.
He hated that word most days.
Cara said nothing about it.
That surprised him.
“You still doing forensic work?” she asked.
“Selectively.”
“Good.”
Frederick blinked.
“Good?”
“We need people who understand what they’re looking at.”
Rafael leaned back against the desk.
Cara continued.
“Half the experts we deal with either want to turn everything into a textbook or start giving interviews before the arraignment.”
Frederick nearly smiled.
“I would never give an interview before arraignment.”
Rafael looked toward the ceiling.
Cara saw him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Frederick pointed at him.
“Do not.”
Cara looked between them.
“Do I want to know?”
“No,” both brothers said.
Cara laughed.
Frederick liked that they had spoken simultaneously.
He liked less that Rafael looked pleased about it.
A detective called Cara’s name from across the room.
She turned.
“Coming.”
She looked back at Frederick.
“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Chilton.”
“Frederick.”
Rafael’s head turned sharply.
Cara noticed.
Her mouth curved.
“Frederick.”
The sound of his first name in her voice had no business producing that reaction.
“And you’re Cara?”
“Usually.”
“Cara Mae?”
“Only if you’re my grandmother or trying to annoy me.”
Frederick smiled.
“I’ll keep that information somewhere safe.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She turned away.
Frederick watched her walk across the squadroom.
The braid swayed between her shoulder blades.
Rafael stepped beside him.
“No.”
Frederick didn’t look away.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seven years in court taught me how to recognize obvious evidence.”
Frederick finally looked at him.
“She’s attractive.”
“She’s my friend.”
“So?”
“So whatever is happening in your head, shut it down.”
Frederick stared at him.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’re protective.”
“Very.”
“Why?”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed.
“Because I know you.”
Frederick’s expression hardened.
“That’s insulting.”
“It’s accurate.”
“I’m capable of speaking to an attractive woman without creating an international incident.”
“Your history is mixed.”
“What history?”
Rafael picked up his briefcase.
“We’re getting lunch.”
“You cannot make accusations and walk away.”
“I just did.”
“Rafael.”
Rafael headed for the elevators.
Frederick followed.
Behind them, Cara looked up from the file she had just opened.
Her eyes followed Frederick across the squadroom.
He was absurd.
That much had been obvious within a minute.
Expensive suit. Immaculate shoes. Carefully controlled voice. The kind of man who introduced himself with his title even after everyone already knew it.
Arrogant enough to be irritating.
Pretty enough to know exactly how much he could get away with.
Except she had seen something else.
Twice.
The first time when Rafael mentioned Baltimore.
Frederick’s face had changed so quickly Cara might have missed it if she hadn’t spent most of her adult life watching people try to hide fear.
The second time had happened when Rafael described him as family.
Frederick had looked at his brother before Rafael looked back.
Something vulnerable had opened between them before both men covered it with irritation.
Cara knew men who performed confidence.
She knew men who wore it because they had nothing underneath.
Frederick Chilton was different.
His arrogance was real.
So was whatever he was protecting with it.
That interested her far more than she wanted it to.
Frederick reached the elevator and turned.
His eyes found hers from across the squadroom.
Caught.
Cara lifted her coffee cup toward him.
Frederick smiled.
A slow, pleased little smile that told her he enjoyed being caught.
The elevator doors opened.
Rafael looked from Frederick to Cara.
His expression became deeply suspicious.
Cara smiled wider.
Rafael pointed at her from across the room.
She raised her eyebrows innocently.
Frederick looked between them again.
There was that tiny flash of irritation.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Rafael shoved his brother into the elevator.
Cara laughed and went back to her report.
Inside the elevator, Frederick straightened his jacket.
Rafael stared at him.
“What?”
“You were staring at her again.”
“She was staring at me.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I fail to see how.”
“She noticed you staring.”
“I noticed her noticing.”
Rafael closed his eyes.
“You’ve known her four minutes.”
“Closer to twelve.”
“That’s your defense?”
“I’m merely correcting the record.”
“You liked her.”
Frederick looked at the floor indicator.
“She’s interesting.”
“You liked her.”
“She’s intelligent.”
“You liked her.”
“She’s attractive.”
“You liked her.”
Frederick turned.
“Are you twelve?”
“You were exactly like this at Harvard.”
Frederick scoffed.
The elevator continued downward.
Rafael watched him for another moment.
“Cara’s good people.”
Frederick looked over.
The teasing had disappeared from his voice.
“I gathered.”
“She’s had my back more times than I can count.”
Frederick nodded.
“I gathered that too.”
Rafael’s gaze lingered on him.
Frederick understood what he was being told.
Take her seriously.
Whatever you do, do it carefully.
Oddly, that didn’t frighten him off.
It had the opposite effect.
The doors opened into the lobby.
They stepped outside into bright afternoon sunlight.
Frederick immediately glanced up the street toward where he had parked the Mercedes.
Rafael noticed.
“It’ll survive lunch.”
“I’m checking.”
“For what?”
“Damage.”
“You’ve been gone forty minutes.”
“This city is lawless.”
“You were just inside a police precinct.”
“My point remains.”
Rafael shook his head and started walking.
Frederick followed.
After several steps, Rafael glanced sideways.
“You know Cara drives a Mustang.”
Frederick looked at him.
Rafael smiled.
“You’re interested now.”
“I was listening before.”
“A Shelby.”
Frederick slowed.
“What year?”
Rafael laughed.
Frederick glared at him.
“What year?”
“2025.”
“What color?”
“Red.”
Frederick’s eyebrows rose.
“White racing stripes.”
Frederick looked back toward the precinct.
Rafael saw it.
“No.”
Frederick started walking again.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re already thinking about her car.”
“I appreciate good engineering.”
“You appreciate her.”
Frederick adjusted his sunglasses.
“She has excellent taste.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t need to.”
Rafael gave him a long look.
Frederick ignored it.
They reached the corner.
New York moved around them in its endless noisy surge.
Taxis leaned on their horns.
A delivery bike shot through an intersection.
Someone shouted at someone else from half a block away.
Frederick had spent years building a life in Baltimore.
A career.
A reputation.
A hospital.
He had believed permanence came from accumulation. Titles, offices, publications, expensive furniture, the right people knowing his name.
Gideon had changed the arithmetic.
Frederick had discovered how quickly a life could become a room you couldn’t bear entering anymore.
New York had been supposed to be clean.
Anonymous.
Professional.
A new office. New patients. New colleagues. A brother irritatingly close by.
Predictable things.
Manageable things.
He had been in Manhattan less than half a day and already found himself thinking about a woman with hazel eyes, a sharp mouth, and a chestnut braid hanging halfway down her back.
Worse, he was thinking about the way she had looked at him when the performance slipped.
She hadn’t pitied him.
Frederick shoved his hands into his pockets.
Rafael glanced over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Frederick looked straight ahead.
“Where are we eating?”
Rafael smiled to himself.
“I know a place.”
“If it has laminated menus, I’m leaving.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I’ve survived enough lately.”
The joke slipped out before Frederick could catch it.
Rafael’s expression changed.
Frederick regretted it instantly.
He kept walking.
A second later Rafael bumped his shoulder against Frederick’s.
Lightly.
No questions.
No concerned look.
No attempt to make Frederick talk about Baltimore on a Manhattan sidewalk.
Frederick bumped him back.
Harder.
Rafael scowled.
“Asshole.”
“Your affection overwhelms me.”
“Welcome to New York.”
Frederick looked up at the buildings towering over them.
For the first time since arriving, the city felt slightly less hostile.
Though the parking remained indefensible.
And several floors above them, Cara Mae Callahan sat at her desk trying to finish a report while wondering exactly how long it would be before Rafael’s impossible younger brother found an excuse to come back.