Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [95]
Gazing up at this elegant and impressive iron framework hidden here on a forgotten, overgrown hilltop in a city park, I was in complete agreement with Lopez. I just loved New York.
“You must get to see a lot of stuff like this, as a cop,” I mused. “Hidden things, obscure pieces of the city that most other people just walk past.”
“Back in the days when I was on patrol, I did. Sometimes I kind of miss that. Getting to know a neighborhood and its people really well.” Still gazing upward as he strolled around the tower, he said, “Since I became a detective, though, I mostly just see crime scenes when I’m on the job. And they’re usually not very scenic.”
“This structure looks sort of familiar . . .” I realized what it reminded me of. “It’s sort of like a starter-kit for the Eiffel Tower, isn’t it?”
He chuckled at the description, then said, “Here’s a gate. This must be how the watchman got in, in the old days.” Lopez gave it an experimental tug. He looked a little disappointed when it didn’t open. But, like a responsible police officer, he said, “I’m glad to see there’s a good lock on it. Kids might try to get in there to climb around.”
“Kids of any age,” I noted, coming around the tower to join him at the gate. “I can see I would have trouble keeping you out of there, if not for that lock.”
“Well . . . yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “And I was the kind of kid who would have found a way in there anyhow.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Looking at the lock on the gate, I remarked, “That looks shiny and new. Maybe someone did get in here.”
“Or maybe the parks department is just being smart and making sure it doesn’t happen.”
Lopez’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the LCD panel. “It’s my dad. He doesn’t call me very often.”
I knew that, by contrast, his mother called him all the time.
“I should probably take this. Excuse me.” Lopez set down my daypack and flipped open his phone. “Hola, papá. Que tal?”
Lopez started to relax and lean back against the iron bars of the tower. Then he made a face and moved away from them when he realized how hot the bars were, having been in the sun all day. “Bueno . . . Sí . . . Por qué? Cuál es el problema?”
I knew his father was from Cuba, but I hadn’t known that the two of them spoke to each other in Spanish.
As Lopez stepped away from the tower, he frowned a little at something his father said. “Yo? No, no . . . No puedo, papá.” He said more emphatically, “Porque estoy muy occupado.”
Actually, I realized, I hadn’t known Lopez spoke Spanish at all, though it probably should have occurred to me. Indeed, listening to him arguing gently but firmly with his dad about something now, it was clear that he was completely fluent in the language. His parents must have raised their three sons to be bilingual.
It was a reminder of how little Lopez and I actually knew each other.
I also realized, as I listened to him speaking fluidly in a language I didn’t know, that I found him incredibly sexy at the moment. The Spanish words flowing musically from his mouth sounded mysterious and romantic to me . . . even though, based on the few words I understood, I had the impression he was trying to refuse to do something his father wanted him to do. His speaking in a foreign language seemed to fit so perfectly with his exotic looks. His black hair gleamed like onyx under the harsh sunlight, his dark golden skin glowed in the heat, and his long-lashed eyes flashed with blue fire as he started arguing more fiercely. His shoulders moved with oiled grace beneath his thin cotton shirt as he paced around the sun-drenched stone plaza . . .
Okay, I needed to look away now.
I took a sobering breath of muggy air and reminded myself that this was guy who wouldn’t even date me! In fact, this guy had dumped me.
He was, I was pretty sure, talking to his dad about his mom now . . . and here I was, getting turned on by the conversation. Just because his words were all in Spanish . . . rolling off his silken tongue like melting honey and—
“Oy.” I turned away.
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