NYPD Red 4 Read Online Free

past and my fears of the future disappeared.
    There were no words. Just the calming peace of being with the only person in the world who really mattered. It truly was life affirming.

CHAPTER 5
    I got to Gerri’s Diner the next morning and settled into my favorite booth. Gerri herself came out from behind the counter and brought me coffee.
    “I saw you on the news last night,” she said.
    “How’d I look?”
    “You looked like you could use a good night’s sleep, but from the way you dragged your ass in here this morning, I’m guessing you didn’t get one. Breakfast will help,” she said. “What would you like?”
    “Eggs over easy, bacon, toasted English.”
    “Would you like anything else with that?” she asked.
    “No, thanks.”
    “It doesn’t have to be on the menu,” she said. “I take special care of my special customers.”
    “Oh, for crying out loud, Gerri,” I said as soon as I realized I was being snookered.
    Gerri Gomperts is a take-no-prisoners, abide-no-fools Jewish grandmother who serves up home cooking along with a side order of her sage but snarky wisdom on what makes relationships work.
    “Do I look like I need therapy?” I asked.
    “Who said anything about therapy?” she asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. “All I know is that Cheryl moved in with you three weeks ago, last night you didn’t get home till God knows when, and then you showed up this morning looking more stressed out than a virgin at a lumberjacks’ convention. So I’m going to go out on a limb and say that your troubled mind is more troubled than usual. If therapy would help, then you’ve come to the right diner.”
    “You couldn’t be more wrong,” I said.
    “Sounds like I struck a nerve. I’ll be right back.”
    She returned with my breakfast, topped off my coffee, and sat down. “You do this all the time,” she said. “You show up with that needy-guy look on your face, I offer to help, and you play hard to get. Either tell me what’s going on, or I’ll find someone else who appreciates what a woman with my life experience brings to the table.”
    I told her.
    She shrugged. “So you’re busy. It goes with the territory. Cheryl’s not going to move out because you’re on a high-profile case and have to work late.”
    “Don’t be so sure,” I said. “I know too many cops whose relationships imploded because they put the job first.”
    “Your job isn’t the problem, Zach.”
    “Then what is?”
    She picked up the sugar packet dispenser and dumped it on the table.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “It’s the diner version of a PowerPoint presentation.”
    She picked up a pink packet of Sweet’N Low and a blue packet of Equal. “The blue is you, and the pink is Cheryl,” she said. “And here you are, together at home.” She put both packets back into the empty dispenser.
    “Over here is work,” she said, picking up a saltshaker and putting it on the other side of the table.
    “Now, every day, you go to the salt mines,” she said, moving the Zach packet from home to work, “where you are joined by a lot of your fellow men in blue.” She surrounded the saltshaker with Equal packets.
    “And your ex-girlfriend Kylie.” She added a single pink packet to the blue pile. “Then you and Kylie go off and spend the next ten to fourteen hours together.” She moved the Sweet’N Low and an Equal to a vacant spot on the table.
    “So,” she said, “do you still think it’s about working overtime, or are you apologizing to Cheryl for spending those late nights with Kylie?”
    “I hope you’re not charging me for this,” I said, “because your entire analysis is based on old news. I’ve moved on. Kylie is the past. Cheryl is the future. The Zach Jordan soap opera is over.”
    “I’m sure you believe that, but you forgot one thing. When you moved in, you and Cheryl went from dating to cohabitating. You’re living with her now, and I’ll bet that every night you’re out late playing