The Art of Murder

by Claire Ripley

  Inside the building, I pushed him back gently against the wall, neither one of us breaking eye contact. Later I would have vague memories of him kicking the door shut and trembling as his hands spanned my waist, running up my body to cradle my jaw as he tipped my head back. His hands were in my hair and I was kissing him back just as frantically. Finally, some sweet relief to all that tension.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. His tongue was on my lips, neck and collarbone. I dragged my nails through his hair, discovering that it was indeed as thick as I had guessed.

  Then all that glorious touching and kissing came to an abrupt halt.

  "Look at me, Alabama." His voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. His hands had stopped their descent, resting at my waist. His intense gaze probed my own. He didn't speak but I found my own words, his name both a request and a plea.

  "Connor."

  Resting his forehead against mine, he took a deep breath. A sense of foreboding filled me and I knew it wasn't going to happen.

  "Not like this, Emma. You've had a lot to drink."

  "I know what I'm doing."

  "Believe me, I want to. You're my witness and I'm a federal agent...Annalina's here." He stepped back from me, lacing his fingers behind his neck in a frustrated gesture.

  Embarrassment and fury rose to the surface as his words sunk in. I stomped upstairs to Annalina's apartment, too mortified to say anything further. I wouldn't beg and I couldn't admit he was probably right. What was I thinking in the first place?

  Twenty

  Morning came, and with it, a considerable hangover and a healthy dose of regret. My eyes were stinging. I threw an arm over my face and cringed, realizing it was morning light flooding the windows in a strange room. I didn't recognize the stark white space, the futon I was curled up on and the blank canvas of a room gleaming with blinding sunshine. My head was drumming a cruel beat, bringing me into the real world.

  Then it hit me.

  New York City.

  Agent Kasten.

  Agent Jackson--no, Connor.

  Oh.

  I stumbled into the bathroom and pinched the bridge of my nose, sweating and willing the room to stop spinning. Did I really drink that much last night? The last thing I remembered was the meeting with Alexander Campo.

  And the bar.

  Vague memories flitted through my head. Flirting with Connor. Surely that was part of my dream? And what in the world was I wearing? A shirt and no pants. Dread settled in my gut.

  "Em, you okay in there?" Connor's concerned voice called to me from the other side of the bathroom door.

  I swallowed and nodded briefly at my reflection in the mirror before realizing he couldn't see me. "Yes," I croaked.

  "We're leaving for the airport in an hour and stopping by Campo's gallery for your portfolio beforehand. Get dressed."

  "I'll be ready," I called back in a weak voice. I stared back at my pale reflection in the mirror, my eyes dull and sleepy.

  Feeling more like myself after a shower and a clean set of clothes, I threw the rest of my things in my suitcase and hauled it out to the front door. The muffled conversation in the kitchen abruptly halted. Agent Kasten and Connor were standing close together, Connor's arms crossed and frowning in concentration, while Agent Kasten was standing just a little too close to him, her hands on her hips. I'd obviously interrupted something private. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the unwelcome and intrusive vibes from the other woman.

  "Hey, y’all," I mumbled.

  Agent Kasten glanced at me. "Morning. Late night?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

  "Good morning," I replied to her, keeping my face blank. What happened last night was none of her business.

  Agent Kasten was already dressed in another pair of black skinny jeans and black sweater, looking perfectly put together. White blond hair hung loose over her shoulders and her face was makeup-free.

  "Good morning, Emma." Connor’s crisp greeting broke through the fog in my head, my body shamelessly reacting to him.

  I nodded back in greeting , not wanting to make eye contact with him and helped myself to a glass of orange juice from the jug on the counter. I took a seat in the adjacent living room, watching as she brewed coffee and resumed her conversation with Connor. I couldn't hear what they were saying but watched as she suddenly threw her arms around his neck excitedly, pressed her body against his, and held on longer than necessary. Annoyed, I turned away.

  Now that the fog in my head was clearing, something was niggling at me about last night. The gallery meeting had gone well. My first big sale, with a request to show some of my paintings in the gallery. Afterwards, at the bar, we drank bourbon...and more bourbon. Waves of nausea flooded through me as images flashed in my head.

  Flirting at the bar.

  His hand on my leg.

  Laughter. Dancing. Talking about his family. I remember bits and pieces.

  He kissed me in the cab. No, we'd made out. The memory had me touching my fingers to my lips, deep in thought. For the life of me, I couldn't remember anything else. Even hungover, I could feel that kiss in the cab. Vivid. Hot. How could I face Connor? I'd have to tell him it was a drunken mistake, nothing more.

  "Oh my God," I whined, closing my eyes and dropping my hands to my head. Cringing, I peeked over at him, where he was still engaged with Agent Kasten.

  He looked at me from across the room and I flinched, embarrassed at the new memories of me propositioning him came flooding back. From the expression on his face I could tell he had known all morning.

  "Bastard," I whispered to myself, shame heating my body. How could I have gotten so drunk?

  Agent Kasten was saying something to him, but Connor's eyes remained transfixed on me.

  "Bagels would be great, Annalina. You said it's right around the corner?"

  "It is, thanks."

  "Actually, do you mind? I need a minute with Emma."

  Her smile disappeared, and she frowned as her glance shifted from Connor to me. "Sure." She left, slamming the door behind her.

  "Emma—” He crossed the room in two quick strides and was beside me on the couch.

  "What happened last night?"

  I tried not to admire how good he looked even unshaven.

  "Emma, you had a lot to drink last night—”

  "I know. I know what I had last night," I snapped. "You were drinking just as much as me. What happened between us?"

  He shook his head. "I wasn't drinking. I had Coke. I was wearing my weapon. I can't drink when I'm armed," he said.

  "Oh my God. I was drinking alone?" New waves of embarrassment swept over me. He had a clear account of my behavior last night, while he was completely sober.

  "Emma," he chided lightly. "Its not a big deal. You did nothing wrong; it was a big night for you, and I was happy to celebrate with you."

  "So...did something happen between us?" I watched his face for clues, but he gave nothing away.

  "Nothing happened between us. You had a few drinks to celebrate, and I made sure you got home safely."

  I wasn't so drunk that I didn't remember our kiss. And there was something else. I could feel it. "That's it? What about that Led Zeppelin shirt I woke up in? How did I get that way?"

  He looked away and said nothing.

  "Why won't you tell me what really happened?"

  "Nothing happened between us, Emma. You had a successful night, and I think with the stress of the investigation, you blew off some steam and had a few drinks. I made sure you got back to Annalina's apartment." Elbows were propped on his knees and his hands clasped together, he peered at me, his creased forehead showed concern. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

  If only he knew. I would be okay with what happened, drunk or sober. "Connor, cut the FBI talk and say what you really mean."

  "Your safety is my number one priority. I was looking out for you."

  That's it? That's all he would say about last night? I
waited, as silence past between us. "I'm an idiot. I drank too much and came on to you. I'm sorry." The words rushed out. "It won't happen again."

  I groaned in frustration. I had wanted our makeout session, but he didn't. I wanted to take things further and act on the attraction between us. He lied about what happened last night to save both of our feelings.

  Twenty-One

  Agent Kasten had returned by then with bagels, her blond features pulled into a frown. She tossed the bag on the counter and placed her gun next to it with a quick but unmistakable look in my direction. She wasn’t happy being told what to do.

  "Let's get this show on the road," Connor announced, rubbing his hands together and helping himself to a bagel and cream cheese. "I want to leave in ten minutes." For an FBI agent, he was oblivious to the noiseless tension between me and Agent Kasten.

  "Why is she coming? We can pick up the portfolio ourselves," she suggested to Connor. She was ignoring me completely.

  "Emma's staying in the car." He responded as he loaded one gun and stowed a second in his waistband.

  "No, I'm not!" I protested.

  "I better not be on babysitting duty," Agent Kasten responded as she squeezed in the corner of the kitchen next to Connor. She was standing way too close to him for them to have merely a professional relationship. Jealousy reared its ugly head, coiling in my belly and making my skin grow hot with irritation.

  "C'mon, Alabama, get something to eat before we head out," he called.

  "I'm good," I said, turning away and studying the stack of Architectural Digest magazines on the coffee table. What was her deal? I was ready to get out of here, away from Agent Kasten and her flirting, away from Connor and his confusing signals.

  Connor carried our bags downstairs, and we followed Agent Kasten into the garage, where she explained where her car was parked. From the gallery, she would then drive us to Teterboro. The private plane Connor had borrowed for this trip was a bit of a relief, as at least I would not have to deal with security or crowds when we flew back.

  I followed the sound of the door unlocking and stopped short. Of course she drove a nice car too. Standard government-issued black Suburban, identical to Connor's. I told myself it was larger and nicer than she probably needed.

  "Nice car," I said sarcastically.

  "It sure is," she responded sweetly.

  "Total package," I muttered to myself once climbing into the backseat. I'd be glad when Agent Kasten wasn't around and I didn't have to deal with her snark and flirtatious behavior. Was there anything wrong in her impossibly perfect life? Tall and Swedish, a badass FBI agent with with a mysterious history with Connor that I didn't understand, and a beautiful New York apartment. Oh, and she carried a gun. What was there to be intimidated about? I was the literal version of a starving artist, a plain version of her glittering beauty. All her comments and body language were succeeding in making me feel as unwanted and small as possible. I envied the translucence of her skin and Swedish beauty, with a killer body to boot.

  Agent Kasten didn't stop with the bitch vibes, making her claim on Connor clear. Any chance she could, she was touching him, flashing huge smiles. I didn't miss the long looks she gave him when he wasn't aware and the hints of emotion across her face. On the drive to the gallery, I tuned out their conversation. I didn't understand half of what they were saying, since they conversed mostly in FBI jargon. I was looking forward to seeing Alexander's gallery, even if only for a quick moment. My mind raced with all the things to do once back in Charleston, like prepping and shipping the canvas Alexander purchased, discussing with Nina how to go about getting my own website. I itched to check my phone, wondering idly about Nina and if Caty had tried to reach me.

  Agent Kasten navigated the Suburban neatly next to another car and threw it in park. "Ready for this?" she asked us.

  "You're double parked, Annalina," Connor told her.

  She shrugged. "They can wait. We won't be long." She got out and discreetly looked around the street and building before giving Connor a slight nod.

  "Five minutes," he said, opening the back door for me to get out.

  I nodded and looked up at the sleek sign depicting Alexander Campo's gallery, the place that would soon house my art. Connor and I followed Agent Kasten inside, entering into a bright, large room. The walls were brick and felt super trendy and so New York. The gallery was quiet, with no one manning the reception desk though the front door had been open.

  I was thrilled at the knowledge that my work would be here soon. This place was gorgeous. I studied a black and white on one wall—a nude woman smoking a cigarette. She wasn't exceptionally pretty, but the look in her eyes was hauntingly beautiful.

  "Last night, you told me about your new series of nudes," a deep voice said in my ear.

  I didn't have to turn around to know it was Connor. My body sensed him, and the simple awareness of his proximity made me smile.

  "Did I? Evidently, I'm a little fuzzy this morning," I said, still not looking at him.

  "Move it along, Alabama. Five minutes," he reminded me, his voice still a low timbre in my ear.

  I flashed him a smile and walked towards the back of the gallery. "Mr. Campo?" I called. I wanted to at least offer my gratitude and say goodbye.

  I approached what I could only assume was the office space for the gallery, and tentatively pushed the door open.

  I froze. Blood was everywhere. I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Alexander Campo's body slumped over his desk, red pooling on the papers.

  I screamed, as nausea bubbled up and I stumbled back into arms that immediately yanked me up on my feet and away from the room.

  Twenty-Two

  Connor’s arms were like a vice grip under my ribcage as he hauled me away from the office. I glimpsed of Agent Kasten with her gun drawn before he spun me around and pressed my face to his chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled the clean, male scent of him, willing my breathing to slow down and doing everything not to think about the dead body.

  This was the second person that had died because of me.

  Because I had insisted on coming to New York.

  My breath was coming in short gasps. Panic was encroaching upon me rapidly. My heart pounded in my ears.

  "Breathe, Emma," his voice commanded in my ear. He tucked us into a corner, still holding me tightly, even as he drew his gun. We waited in a tense silence. I was trembling and sweating, Connor's hand folded over both of mine between us.

  "All clear," Agent Kasten's voice said, returning to us. "I'll call it in." I listened to her speak in acronyms and codes over the phone, heard her request for an ambulance and her reply: no, resuscitation would not be needed.

  "It's okay," he murmured in a low voice. I nodded dimly, the shaking and heart pounding and sweating began to subside.

  The next few hours were a blur and yet, somewhat now familiar. Police and FBI took over the gallery in a matter of minutes. Yellow tape barred the entrance, and I was ushered into a cruiser, Connor gone from my sight. The body was draped and removed on a stretcher. I looked away, willing my emotions to disappear.

  A young policeman with a thick New York accent asked me how I knew Alexander Campo and what I'd seen. Thankfully, Agent Kasten interrupted us just as the officer appeared to be getting started.

  "Officer, here's my card. She's a witness to another federal investigation; I can bring you up to speed, but Ms. Elliott needs to leave."

  "It's just routine questioning," he protested, clearly not wanting to let me go so easily.

  "Officer, we're done here," she responded firmly. "Let's go, Emma."

  She took me by the arm and once we were outside on the street, let go to face me.

  Towering over me, she said, "Connor will be out in a minute, and you guys can go to the airport. It's safer this way."

  Putting my jealousy aside, I replied. "Thanks for your help with everything." Even if I didn't like her, I was still grateful.

  "There's one more
thing." She crossed her arms and studied me with a shrewd gaze. "I checked your juvenile records and know what you did. If you don't stop, your recklessness is going to get both of you killed. Straighten out and stay away from him. He's way out of your league anyway."

  My jaw fell open and I stared at her, dumbfounded. How did she know about T.R.? That file was supposed to be sealed, wiped, or whatever. I opened my mouth to respond, but Connor joined us then, and she was hugging him goodbye before I could get a word in.

  ✽✽✽

  The flight back to Charleston was quiet. Connor worked on his laptop and I had no desire to strike up a conversation. It was unfortunate I couldn't appreciate the luxury surrounding us on our way to Charleston. Flying in a private plane was a once in a lifetime experience and I wasn't appreciating it fully. Wearing my headphones, eyes closed, I hovered in that space between sleep and consciousness. There was so much going on in my head that my anxiety for flying barely registered.

  My emotions were already raw from the last twenty-four hours and I had an awful hangover. Alexander's death rocked me, magnifying all the recent events under a harsh light. Agent Kasten was right about one thing. I was putting the people around me in danger just by knowing and being with them. From Connor to Nina to Alexander. Even Caty, though she'd been MIA. The best thing I could do would be to lie low, and hope the FBI would catch the Sgambatis so I could move on.

  Then, there was that gnawing tension between me and Connor. I couldn't help but admit to myself that I had feelings for him. The chemistry between us was palpable, and kissing him had only ignited something inside me. There was something else as well. He had been so easy to talk to at the bar, giving me a brief glimpse of the man, and not the federal agent on an investigation.

  I was still angry about last night. I knew I had a lot to drink, but I was aware enough of what I had wanted, namely, him. Agent Kasten's presence the next day took the situation from bad to worse. The jealousy I harbored for this gorgeous woman was undeniable. I didn't know exactly what kind of relationship she and Connor had, but felt there was once something between them. Did he love her or was it merely a convenient hook up? I didn't expect him to be a saint. I prided myself on my judge of character, I had honed it quickly growing up and hoped I wasn't wrong about Connor.