I think the pizza thing might've been Lynn's idea, but I don't remember for sure.

Chapter 3: A Flirtation

It had been two days since the break-in at Olivia Gable's, and they were no closer to catching Herky Jerky than they'd been before. The DNA wasn't back yet, of course, and neither were the fingerprint results. The building's security cams were on the fritz (something that horrified Olivia when she found out; they were part of why she'd chosen that building in the first place), so they had nothing there.

Liv encouraged them to check in with the previous victims, see if they'd remembered anything new or had seen anything suspicious since their break-ins.

Nothing. Big fat bunch of dead ends.

"He's got to fuck up sometime," Rollins said. "How did he luck out with the cameras in the latest vic's building?"

"Maybe it wasn't luck," Fin said. "Maybe he knew they were out. Stalked her ahead of time."

"It would make sense," Carisi said. "That's how he knew to be there during that real small window she was gone."

"Yeah, but if he knew she had a date, or that she was going to be out that night, how did he know to clear out so fast? Two hours? It can take longer than that to get a goddamn cab sometimes," Rollins said.

"Maybe he just didn't wanna stay long." Carisi took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "Maybe he never planned to be there longer than an hour or so. I mean, we got no idea how long he was there. He ate some cookies, drank a glass of milk, looked through her underwear, and masturbated."

"A normal Saturday night at Chez Carisi," Fin remarked.

Carisi rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the comment. He was the new kid: constant heckling was par for the course, and he was used to it by now. He kind of liked it, really. If your squad didn't give you shit, your squad probably didn't give much of a damn about you. He'd spent too long as the "annoying new guy we can't wait to transfer out of here;" he knew the difference.

Rollins stole a chip off his desk and then made a face. "What the fuck are these, Carisi? They're green."

"Kale chips! Try it. They're good."

She set it back down with a little grimace and wiped her hands. "We've gotta talk about your diet sometime. I worry."

"What?" He blinked big, innocent blue eyes. "That I'm healthy?"

"That you're so skinny because you eat bean sprout and hummus sandwiches and fucking kale chips!"

"You never complain about my food when I'm cookin' it for you," he tossed back.

Fin's brows shot up and he leaned forward in his chair. "Now things're gettin' interestin'. Amanda?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but Carisi held up his finger to stop her as his phone buzzed. He recognized Olivia's number. "Hang on, sec. It's the latest vic."

He stepped away from his desk to answer. "Carisi."

"Detective Carisi? Hi, it's Olivia Gable…from the, um. The thing. The break-in."

"Of course, yeah. How you doin', Olivia?"

"I'm…okay, I guess. All things considered. Have you gotten any…leads? Or whatever? Is that really the way people talk? I watch a lot of cop shows, but I've never actually dealt with anything like this before," she said in a nervous rush.

He grinned. Glanced over his shoulder to note that Fin and Rollins weren't paying him any attention. Good. He leaned against the counter that held the coffee machine, one arm crossed over his stomach. "Yeah, I guess. Mostly. And I'm sorry, but no. We're still waitin' on forensics from your apartment."

"Hm. Well…I kind of figured. You said you'd call if you found anything, so…"

"Yeah, and I promise you I will. Anything at all, you'll be the first to know," he said.

"That's great, but listen…I might be able to help. I mean, I'm not sure, but…" She cleared her throat. "Do you think you and Detective Rollins could come by my gallery this afternoon? I have something I'd like to show you."

"About the case?" The second it was out of his mouth he rolled his eyes. No, dumbass, about art. Of course about the case.

"Um…yes. About the case. It's some photographs…I'm not sure, but I think I might have taken a few pictures of him."

That got his attention. He straightened up, frowning. "Seriously?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure. But if you could come by this afternoon, I could show you."

"Yeah, yeah, definitely. Detective Rollins has court at two, but I can stop by around then."

She let out a long breath. "Two sounds perfect. Thank you, Detective."

"Sure, Olivia. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Detective Carisi, I'm Ms. Gable's assistant. She's with a client at the moment. Would you care to wait in her office, or peruse the gallery?"

He glanced around, pocketing his badge. "I'll peruse," he said.

"Wonderful. May I offer you something while you wait? Water, coffee, tea?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though."

The slender young man nodded. "If you need anything, I'll be at the desk up front."

"Great. I'll come find you." Carisi offered him a brief smile and wandered off, deeper into the gallery. Currently there were two exhibitions: black and white photos punctuated by splashes of color, and some weird abstract paintings. He studied each of the photographs carefully, entranced by the small, everyday moments the photographer captured. He grinned at a group of young girls, all in colorful hijab, playing one of those clapping games his sisters loved as kids.

"That one's my favorite," a familiar voice said from behind him.

He studied it a bit longer before turning to face her. She was dressed hipper than she'd been the other night, in a chic black blazer and trousers. No blouse underneath. Tall black heels with red soles. Hair smooth and bright as it fell around her shoulders. He glanced back at the photo to avoid staring at her too long.

"They remind me of my sisters," he said. "I've got three, all older. I mean, they're Italian Catholic, from Staten Island, and these girls aren't, but it's the same." He shrugged, blushing a little. "Kids are the same everywhere, I think."

"People, at heart, are the same everywhere. We all want the best for the people we love. We want to be safe, have food to eat and a home to live in." Her eyes drifted to the picture. "Those girls want to go to school, go shopping, play sports, gossip, whatever. Learn and grow and one day do amazing things. Just like your sisters did when they were that age."

She gave a brief shake of her head and her gaze focused on him. "I'm sorry. You're not here to talk art or politics. Thanks for coming by."

"Yeah, no problem. And I don't really mind talkin' art or politics, either."

Her mouth quirked. "Noted. Follow me to my office, Detective. I'll show you what I found."

He fell into step behind her, being careful not to notice the way her trim black slacks hugged her ass as she walked. He had no interest in Olivia Gable's ass. She was a vic, and sure she was cute and all, but it was definitely better not to notice things like a victim's ass.

"This is a real nice space you got," he said, largely to distract himself. "But, uh, who's Jameson?"

Her eyes flicked to the logo and she smiled back at him. "I am. Olivia Jameson Gable. I liked the sound of Jameson on Franklin better than Gable on Franklin."

"Huh. Yeah, it's a good name. And I like that little red bird on your sign."

"That was my grandpa's idea. It's from his family's crest. He's Scottish," she said, as though that explained everything.

It pretty much did.

"He said it would bring me luck and success."

"Has it?" Sonny said.

"I think so. Though I think hard work brings more success than luck. This way, Detective."

They passed through a storage area and a tiny break room before she turned and paused before a dark wooden door. She unlocked it and let him in ahead of her.

The office was neat as a pin, which didn't surprise him after seeing her apartment. There were several prints (and maybe a few originals) on the wall, most from artists he didn't recognize. But he paused in front of one and shook his finger at it.

"Hey, I got this same one at my place," he said, turning toward her with a grin.

It was a print of Marc Chagall's The Dream. In it, a winged figure flew over a sleeping, blue-tinted village. In the foreground a man and a woman sat on a bed. They were both fully clothed, and the man leaned his forehead down to rest against the woman's hair. A chicken watched them from the right; Olivia had always enjoyed that odd touch of whimsy in an otherwise serious painting.

"Oh yeah? Hm. Chagall, huh? I wouldn't have pegged you as an expressionist man."

"Nah, I like it. The couple seem so…tender, I guess. It's an intimate moment, but it's not sexual. And the angel's overhead, watchin' out for 'em. It's all quiet, everybody asleep, but they're there, together." His dimples flashed as he shot her a grin. "Plus I like the chicken."

She laughed. "I always liked the chicken too."

"So, just outta curiosity," he said as she stepped behind her desk and opened her laptop, "how exactly would you peg me?"

Her head came up fast, her eyes widening just a little, and after a long quiet moment she gave a low, soft laugh. "I guess I hadn't pegged you at all, Detective Carisi."

"Good," he said, the tension leaving his shoulders. "I usually like dinner first."

She lifted a brow, her bright green gaze and smooth face betraying nothing. Finally she cleared her throat and ducked her head back to the computer on her desk. "I'll keep that in mind," she said with the hint of a smile.

This was why Carisi needed Amanda: she kept him from doing stupid shit like making pegging jokes with a woman he not only just met, but who was also a victim. He wanted to apologize if he'd offended her, but he thought that would just make things worse. She didn't seem offended; more amused than anything; and that was what he'd been going for.

"Uh. So." He tucked his hands in his pockets. Pulled them out again. Grabbed his pen just to have something to fidget with. "What did you find?"

"Ah, well. Maybe nothing. I don't know. Come around here so you can see."

He shuffled nervously around her desk and behind her, peering over her shoulder at the laptop's screen. This close, he couldn't help but notice how nice she smelled. Not like perfume, exactly—it wasn't as strong as that—but maybe lotion or her shampoo. Citrusy and spicy, with a hint of mint.

"It's funny you were studying the photos outside. Photography is sort of a pet hobby of mine. I'm not very good, but I keep trying. I spend a lot of weekends at the park, or evenings after work just walking around the city snapping pictures. Maybe one out of a hundred is worth the effort," she said with a self-deprecating twist of her lips.

"I doubt that."

"Hmm. That's sweet, but you haven't actually seen them yet." She waved a hand. "Anyway, I was looking through a group I took earlier this week—like, Monday through Wednesday—and I kept noticing…"

She clicked on a picture to enlarge it, and circled her mouse pointer around a figure in the foreground. His face wasn't clearly visible, but he wore a red beanie and dark peacoat. Navy, maybe? Carisi couldn't quite tell.

Olivia flipped to the next and pointed him out again. Then again. And again.

"Okay, so, these are all in the same area on the same day. Just a coincidence, right? He's walking around and happens to get in a bunch of my frames."

He nodded, following her line of reasoning. "I'm guessin' you see him again."

"Yep," she said. She swapped the folder for another one, dated the next day, and opened the first file. "Look. You still can't quite see his face, but that's the same hat and coat. I know it is. And look at the way he's standing. Kind of…bowlegged? And the wide shoulders. It's the same guy." She opened several more from that day, pointing him out over and over.

"Seems weird that even if it's not the same guy, he's just hangin' around all your pictures," Carisi said. "Two different guys who like to loaf on the sidewalk? Nobody else in these appears so many times."

"Exactly. They're not, like…people lounging somewhere. They're walking. Moving. But there he is. Hovering."

"Did you see him in any others?"

She shook her head. "Not that I can find, but there're so many. Sometimes I just set my timer and let it shoot." She sighed, running a hand through her coppery hair. "I didn't notice him at the time. Not at all. But now it's like he's everywhere. How could I have missed him?"

"Hey, don't do that. Don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault. That guy blends in. Hat, dark coat. Just another guy bundled up for winter. If you didn't have all these photos, and him in so many of 'em, there's no way you would've noticed him at all. He's dressed to not be noticed."

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered once, hard. "God. How long has he been following me?"

"How far back did you look?"

A brief, restless shrug. "Not any further. I got too weirded out."

"Okay. That's fine, Olivia, really. You findin' this is a huge help."

"Is it?" She looked up at him, searching his face carefully. "You can't even really see him. There's no way you can ID him from these."

"Nah, not from these, but look. Now we know where he was at these times on these days. We can look at traffic cams and security cams from businesses around there. They might've gotten a good shot of him. He was avoidin' your camera, but he couldn't avoid all of 'em."

Her expression brightened. "Oh! I didn't think of that." She smiled, a dimple in her chin peeking through as she did. "That's why you're the fancy NYPD Detective and I own an art gallery."

"Hey, gotta have art galleries. Otherwise what's the point of havin' cops?"

Her smile deepened, and she glanced away. Her teeth sank into her lower lip for a second, and then, as if coming to a decision, she looked up again. "Have you had lunch yet?"

He blinked, surprised. "It's two-thirty."

"Yes, it is," she said, her tone bland.

"I mean—I ate a few hours ago. At lunchtime."

"Ohhh, lunchtime. Right. Sometimes I get busy around here and forget things like that." She sighed. "It's too bad. There's a great pizza place around the corner."

"Oh yeah?" He narrowed his eyes. "What makes it so great?" A true pizza connoisseur, Dominick Carisi, Jr. was not going to take the word of someone named Gable about great pizza.

"Whoa, okay, Mr. Italy. Calm down. Possibly you wouldn't like it. It's sort of arty farty."

"Never woulda guessed, with all the artist types around here. What defines pizza as arty farty?"

She held back a laugh at the way he pronounced it: punching down the r's like they'd personally offended him and giving the a's way more weight than they'd earned. God, he was pure New York Yankee through and through. If he turned out to be a Mets fan she would feel personally betrayed—and that was coming from someone who hated the Yankees just on principle.

"The toppings, I guess," she finally said. "Shit like goat cheese and broccoli."

"Goat cheese?" he said. "I love goat cheese on pizza."

"Really?" She gave an amused shake of her head. "You are just full of surprises, Detective."

He blushed and fiddled with his pen. "You can call me Sonny if you want."

"I think I'll stick with Detective," she said. "I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Detective Carisi."

His eyes drifted down to her mouth without him even thinking about it. It was pure reflex. Her lips were full, soft-looking, and painted a warm, rosy red. Behind those lips was a tongue. A tongue his name rolled off of, apparently.

Oh geez.

His tie suddenly felt too tight, but he resisted the urge to step away from her. He didn't want to make the moment awkward. Instead he smiled a little. "What else is good there? Besides the goat cheese."

Another brief lift of her brow before her expression smoothed. "I like the kalamata olives and salami, personally. With fresh mozzarella and goat cheese. Sometimes I add fresh garlic if I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"That sounds real good," he said, his voice soft.

"Mmhmm. It's so good. Just the right mix of salty, creamy, and spicy."

He licked his lips. Jesus, was he drooling over the pizza or the girl? He had no idea.

Now it was his pants that felt tight and he needed to get the hell out of here.

"I gotta get back to work," he said. "Otherwise I'd stay for a slice."

"Too bad, Detective. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, definitely. I'll keep it in mind." He cleared his throat and finally managed to step back. "So, listen, if you get me a copy of all those pictures, I can have our guys look through 'em to see if he's in any more. Go back maybe…two weeks." That was how long it had been since the last break-in.

"Sure, it'll just take a sec." She sat down in the desk chair and dug in a drawer until she found a thumb drive. A few clicks later and the files were transferring.

"Uh, so…I guess since Mrs. Barba set you up with, uh. Barba. You aren't seeing anyone."

"Are you asking me out, Detective?" she said with an amused tilt to her mouth.

He felt the tips of his ears burning. "No! I mean—you're very…that is…I might, if I weren't—and you weren't—but as it is—I mean, if things were different—"

She took pity on him and lifted a hand. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

"I was just askin' because if he's been followin' you, he would've seen you with a boyfriend…or, uh…girlfriend. And you might wanna warn 'em. That's all."

"Good point," she said, frowning. "No, I'm not seeing anyone. The gallery keeps me busy, and when I'm not here I'm either volunteering or trying to carve out some alone time. I only went on the date with Mrs. Barba's son because she's such a nice lady and seemed so enthusiastic about it."

The computer gave a soft beep. She tugged the flash drive from the port and offered it to him. Her look was steady and cool, but something in her eyes burned. "If things were different, I would definitely say yes."

He let his thumb brush across hers as he took the drive from her. Her skin was as soft as it looked. "Good to know," he murmured.

Will Sonny Carisi, Eagle Scout, violate certain professional ethics because of a pretty girl with soft skin?! Find out next time!

And thanks for the review, Kind Soul. I feel #valid.