Chapter Nine
*Steven*
Sunday morning, as I was wheeling my suitcase into the living room, there was rapid, insistent knocking.
Approaching the door, I said, “Alright! Alright! I’m coming!”
I heard Elizabeth say, “Don’t think about ignoring us, we have fritters.”
I laughed, delighted with her ploy. She was adorable and smart. She wanted information and knew Nico-delivered apple fritters was the perfect way to persuade me to give it to her.
I opened to find the couple grinning at me. Nico’s was the dimpled grin of the happy and contented, eager to spread joy to fellow man. Elizabeth’s grin, however, had a more pointed message that said, I’m going to work you over and you will succumb.
I hadn’t called her back after I’d talked to Ken on Tuesday. Nor had I responded to the two voicemails she’d left since then. She was here for the scoop.
“Please, please, do come into my humble abode.” I made a broad, sweeping gesture toward the living room then made a motion to relieve Nico of the fritters as he passed.
But Elizabeth, the tiny, evil ninja, inserted her body between me and the treats. “Hold them high, Nico. Don’t let him have them!”
For his part, Nico did her bidding, raised the plate as high as he could and continued into the apartment.
I sighed in exasperation. “So, you’re here for an interrogation, I see. Determined to bring torture into it, hmm?” I squared my shoulders and smoothed my T-shirt, as if readying myself for battle. “While I applaud your cunning, I’ll have you know that you are a monster who is in direct violation of the Geneva Conventions.”
Nico laughed. I always felt a sense of accomplishment when I made him laugh. “I’m nearly as tall as he is, I could have them in an instant,” I boasted, snapping my fingers.
“Ah, but he’s wily and plays dirty,” she said. “You’ll never get them.”
“Ugh. Alright. I have not had my coffee yet and I’m starving, so I’ll acquiesce this time and tell you whatever you want to hear,” I capitulated. “Just please give me the doughnut.”
As I prepared our coffees and dished up the fritters, Elizabeth spied my suitcase. “Going somewhere?”
I nodded. “Tomorrow Dan and I are going to Hamburg for meetings with a client for potential expansion.”
“Who’s watching Wally?” Nico asked.
Wally was Dan’s dog. He was a four-year-old black lab mix, and, in my completely unbiased opinion, the best dog on the planet. Dan had been doing a lot of traveling—more than his normal amount—due to Janie’s bedrest and Quinn’s need to be home with her. That meant Wally needed a dog-sitter. Alex and I were the usual sitters.
“Alex and Sandra are taking him,” I replied.
“I’m home this week. If Alex needs a break, I’ll take him,” Nico offered.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” I said as we sat on the couch. “Now, for the house rules,” I announced.
“Don’t spill, or I’ll have to kill,” we three said in unison. Nico said it loudly with a smile, while Elizabeth’s recitation was delivered in a robotic monotone.
My couch was a large, white, curved sofa that meandered in a lazy, reverse S shape. One end had no backrest, but instead, spread into a wide, circular cushion. It was soft, but firm enough that it retained its sleek shape after use. It was furniture art and fit the space of my apartment as if it were perfectly created to inhabit it. Also, it was obscenely expensive.
Did I mention it was white?
It was white. Snow white.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and said, “You’re the one who’s going to be spilling. So, spill.”
“It was no big deal,” I explained. “I called him back, he wanted to see a movie,” I said the words plainly, casually, and sipped my coffee. I hoped she’d be disappointed in Ken’s mundane motivation and lose interest. I didn’t know whether it was because she knew him and apparently didn’t like him, or because maybe at one point, she more than liked him, but whatever the reason, I didn’t feel like sharing the story with her. I felt oddly protective of my time with DKM.
“He asked you to a movie?” She blinked, nonplussed.
“Who are we talking about?” Nico asked, leaning around Elizabeth to look at me. His green eyes held a mischievous twinkle, no doubt eager to hear a new chapter of farce and lunacy in Steven’s Big Book of Dating Disasters.
“Ken Miles,” I replied.
Nico’s twinkle and dimple disappeared. Whether Elizabeth disliked Ken or not, I was sure Nico loathed the man. I couldn’t blame him; it was his prerogative to hate men who used to lust after his wife. He arched one raven eyebrow and asked, “How’d that come about?”
“Yeah,” Elizabeth said. “How, Steven?” Her tone was curious, but I thought I detected a little tinge of disapproval that I didn’t like.
Not wanting to make an issue of anything, I replied with an easy nonchalance. “I ran into him at Buzzy’s. We started talking about Mystery Science Theater 3000—”
“That show’s a riot,” Nico asserted, reaching for his fritter. “The reboot is pretty good, too.”
“That’s what I told DKM.” I took Nico’s lead and grabbed my own heavenly pastry. “Then, when he found out the movie was playing at the Music Box, he asked me if I wanted to see it. So, we went.” I shrugged.
“There’s a movie?” Nico asked. “How did I not know this?”
I mumbled around my fritter bite, “You’re not missing much.”
“Stinker, eh?”
“Little bit.” I shrugged again. That had been two, overly casual shrugs in just a few seconds and I worried I was playing it too cool. Elizabeth’s powers of observation surpassed my own. If I wasn’t careful, she’d have me giving her every last detail of the evening.
“So,” she broke in. “Are you thinking this might have been like, you know, a date?” Her brows were drawn together in concern, her words tentative.
I tilted my head in stern exasperation. “Puh-leeze. The man didn’t know who McSteamy was. I got the memo that he’s straight.”
“Who’s McSteamy?” Nico asked.
I pursed my lips together, raised my eyebrows and gestured to Nico. “I rest my case.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea or anything. He’s”—she looked at her husband in apology—“he’s very good-looking, and I could see how asking you to a movie could get your hopes up.”
“Nah,” I waved dismissively. “I know what’s up. But I think we could hang out,” I volunteered without thinking. I instantly regretted my slip.
“Good luck with that,” Nico said with a laugh.
“We had a good time. He’s kind of funny,” I defended.
“Not possible,” he declared. Nico was a comedian, and a very successful one at that. He knew what was funny and wasn’t about to give the odious Dr. Miles any benefit of the doubt where humor was concerned.
Inexplicable annoyance spurred me to continue. “I think I might make hanging out with him a regular thing.”
“I don’t think a stiff like that knows how to have fun.”
Elizabeth grimaced at her husband’s uncharacteristic snark, then issued me a sympathetic smile. “Well, it will be good for Dr. Ken Miles. He’s not the most colorful person in the city, that’s for sure. Maybe you’ll broaden his horizons.”
After breakfast, I said my thanks and saw them out. When I closed the door, I let my smile drop, feeling suffused with irritation. I knew they had their own history with Ken and were allowed to have feelings about him. But that was all wrapped up in romantic drama and had nothing to do with me. I didn’t want that negativity souring my enthusiasm for our budding friendship.
I got the feeling there was so much more to Ken left to suss out. His dispassionate demeanor and model good looks didn’t immediately evoke imaginings of depth or warmth. But it was there. And when I returned from Germany, I was going to learn more about the intri
guing Dr. Ken.
Chapter Ten
*DKM*
ME: Hi. How are you doing today?
Ugh. The text sounded stilted. I deleted it and tried again.
ME: Hey, how’s it going?
Better. More natural. But how’s it going? That wasn’t a great way to word a greeting. What was ‘it?’ How’s it going was starting to look wrong, the more I stared at it.
Delete.
ME: Hey, how are you?
Cripes. Why did every word look and sound stupid? Just say it, Ken. Man up.
ME: Hi Steven, it’s Ken. Do you like jazz? There’s a jazz trio playing on Friday night. I was going to check them out. Would you like to come along?
There. Done. Sent. No more second-guessing.
It was the Monday following our Friday night movie date, and I had spent the weekend trying to think of things Steven and I could do together that we’d both enjoy.
I loved jazz, and Club Tremolo was the kind of place where you could dine and see a great performance any night of the week without having to purchase tickets in advance. I thought it seemed like the perfect place for a low-key date. I only hoped Steven liked jazz, too.
I pocketed my phone and started my rounds. For the first hour, I obsessed about a call back from him, reaching in my pocket several times to touch the phone, imagining I could feel a vibration. But the morning became busy with clinics and two transfers from the emergency department, so I didn’t get a chance to check my phone until after two.
I had one missed call from Steven. I stepped into the lounge to call him back. Thankfully, there was no one inside.
“Well, hel-lo, McPretty MD,” came Steven’s chipper greeting.
“Hi, sorry I missed your call.”
“No problem,” he assured. “I just wanted to tell you that I love jazz, but unfortunately, I’m going to be busy with work this week and by Friday, I’ll be tuckered out from riding Manuel. Any chance we can do this Saturday or any other day next week?”
Riding Manuel? What the hell? Who was Manuel and what exactly was his job? I was taken aback and couldn’t hide the reaction.
“Who’s Manuel?” I nearly growled the words.
Steven laughed. “Ah, Manuel,” he sounded wistful. “Manuel is gorgeous. Sleek and posh. He’s ruined me for all other planes.”
Now I was confused. “Planes?”
“Yes, Manuel is the name I’ve given to the company jet. We’ve been parted too long. But this afternoon, one of my bosses and I will be headed to Hamburg for a few meetings. Manuel and I will have ample time to become reacquainted.”
Relief coursed through me and I laughed. “Of course, you’d name the plane. Why Manuel?”
“I have a thing for Spanish men. It seemed fitting.”
And just like that, I was irritated again. I was demonstrably not Spanish or of Spanish descent. The idea that I maybe wasn’t physically attractive to Steven hadn’t crossed my mind until this point, and I felt my confidence waning.
“Oh,” I said quickly, ready to end the conversation. “I hope you have a good trip.”
“Wait, wait. Don’t try to hang up,” he insisted. “That is, unless you have very important doctor business to do, then, of course, hang up on me.”
“I’m not busy just now, I can talk.” When I realized I was smiling again, I had to shake my head at myself. Steven had the unnerving ability to make my emotions vacillate wildly.
“I’d love to listen to some jazz,” he continued. “But I really will be tired on Friday. We’ll be back in Chicago sometime Thursday, but I’ll have to go into the office on Friday and probably stay a bit later than normal. Does Saturday work with your schedule?”
“Yeah, no, that’s fine!” I said too loudly, flinching at my over-eager reply. I lowered my volume and continued. “I’ll be off, so it will work out great. The club has performances every night and this trio is scheduled for the entire weekend. I checked.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get in touch with you later this week and we can iron out the deets, okay?”
“Okay, have a safe trip. Talk to you soon.” I disconnected the call, Manuel and Spanish men forgotten. He wanted to see me again, so I took that as a very good sign.
I realized, with some shame, that I didn’t know much about Steven’s life. He was a great conversationalist, skilled at getting me to talk, but he hadn’t volunteered much about himself.
I should have been more attentive and asked questions instead of letting him lead. I had no idea that his job necessitated traveling by plane to far off places. I didn’t have a clue what his job was. I needed to dig deep with Steven and know all about him. Saturday, I was going to find out what made him tick.
Chapter Eleven
*Steven*
“He flies in beauty, through the night,” I improvised, stroking the butter-soft leather backrest of my seat.
“In cloudless climes and starry sk—” My phone chimed with a text message. It interrupted my ode, which was rude, but also convenient, as I had no idea how to work the next line.
“And soars the best…?” I questioned quietly, pulling out my cell. “Whether dark or bright.” Fully cognizant of my lack of creative talent, I facetiously boasted to the empty cabin, “Boom! Poet Prowess, right here.” Somewhere, Byron was tossing in his grave.
QUINN: Do not bring back any cheese that is over 175 mg sodium per ounce.
“Oh, for Thor’s sake,” I snarled at my phone. “I get it, man. I get it.”
Dan, just coming aboard the plane, asked, “Quinn?” He wore a similarly frustrated expression and waved his phone.
“Listen to this shit.” He shook his head and scrolled his screen until he found the message. “If Steven attempts to bring any unpasteurized cheese home for Janie, I’m ordering you to ‘lose’”—Dan held up his free hand to air-quote lose—“his luggage.”
I felt a slight heat rise to my face. I was embarrassed that Quinn felt the need to enlist Dan to police me. He already laid out the rules of the cheese in explicit detail. “Gee, I’m beginning to think he doesn’t trust me or something,” I said lightly, unwilling to allow the sting to bleed through.
“He doesn’t,” Dan retorted. “Not where Janie is concerned.”
My phone chimed again, and as I glanced at it, Dan’s chimed as well.
In unison, we read aloud, “I’m serious.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered as he dropped his laptop bag on the seat. “All my life, I’ve never seen him this way. He’s lost his goddamn mind.”
Daniel O’Malley was Quinn’s business partner and best friend since childhood. As his business partner and best friend, he’d been picking up all of Quinn’s slack since Janie had been put on bedrest. So, in addition to his position as Chief Security Personnel Coordinator, he’d been doing Quinn’s more public tasks, like the traveling and meetings.
Unlike Quinn, who seemed to have shed some of his street-tough upbringing, becoming a more urbane and polished businessman, Dan’s previous life was evident by his thick, south Boston accent, frank manner of speaking, and neck tattoos playing peekaboo at his collar.
His daily uniform consisted of an expertly tailored black suit and black tie. My initial impression when I met him six years ago, was that he was Tough Guy Level: Federal Agent Meets Mob Enforcer. You wouldn’t know it at first glance, but Dan was laid-back and funny.
At the moment, he didn’t appear laid-back. He was clearly frustrated with his friend.
“I know he’s worried about Janie and the baby, but she knows—better than he does—what she can and cannot eat.”
“It’s my fault,” I admitted, sullenly. “I should have never brought up the cheese.”
“You dumbass,” Dan said lightly. “Why’d you say you’d bring her cheese? Why not yarn or thread or whatever the hell she knits with?”
I sighed and settled into my seat. “I mentioned that I wanted to get Kat some cheese as a present. It snowballed from there.”
&nbs
p; At the mention of Kat, Dan stilled. After a moment he said, “Yeah, she likes cheese, that’s a good idea. But don’t get her any of that shit with maggots in it.”
Horrified, I said, “What the hell? Why would I give her maggoty food?”
“It’s a thing. I swear.” He raised his right hand. “Some black market shit. I heard Janie tellin’ Kat all about it, how the larvae can do damage to the stomach. She wrinkled her nose all up and said she’d take a pass on that one,” he gave a shrug. “So, no maggots.”
He selected a seat in the row across the aisle from mine and busied himself by digging in the side pocket of the laptop bag. I debated for half a second on whether or not to give him shit about Kat. I couldn’t let it pass. My inner devil was strong, my angel, weak.
“Ooh, eavesdropping, huh?” I issued him a meaningful eyebrow wiggle once he turned back to me. “I know you security guys love to get your information on the sly, but I could, you know, just give you her number and you could ask her about herself.”
“Hey, you try bein’ in the same room with Janie talking about cheese maggots and see if you can ignore it,” he deflected. The expertly executed way he so completely sidestepped the implication about Kat, made me want to give him a standing ovation and slow clap. Bravo, Bro. Bra-vo.
I didn’t entirely understand the dynamics of what was happening between Kat and Dan or why they avoided each other when both clearly wanted to do the horizontal mambo. Despite our friendships, it really wasn’t my business. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t mess with them once in a while, right?
“Maybe you could buy Kat the cheese, since you know so much about her.” I shrugged, then began buckling my seatbelt. “Nothing says love like a wheel of cheese. I’ll just get her yarn.”
Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2 Page 7
