The Arranger

by L. J. Sellers

  The detective leaned forward. “What is it? You know something. I saw it on your face.”

  Lara mentally kicked herself. Her expressive nature often worked against her. “I was just thinking that with the hood and sunglasses he looked like that image of the Unabomber. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Don’t try to distract me. I need your help, Lara. If I don’t close this case soon, it’ll get shuffled to the back of the workload and Kirsten will never get justice.”

  Lara hesitated. Was there a way to tell him about Blondie without mentioning the commissioner? “If I tell you what little I know, will you drop the charges against me?”

  “It’s not up to me. But if you give me another suspect, I can push the DA to shift his focus.”

  Law enforcement still in her heart, Lara had to tell him something. She knew how frustrating it was to come to a dead end and feel like she’d failed the victim. “I looked at the hotel footage and the guy seemed vaguely familiar. Then I remembered seeing someone dressed like him at the back of the auditorium during the Gauntlet orientation.”

  “Dressed how? Give me the details.” Harper tapped his Dock, preparing to take notes.

  Lara repeated Blondie’s description. “He also had the same body type and clothes as the man in the hotel hallway.” She shrugged. “He’s on the camera footage for the auditorium. Would you like to see it?”

  “You’ve been doing our job for us.”

  “Somebody has to.” She smiled to soften the sting. “I had some free time this afternoon.”

  “Show me.”

  Lara uploaded the images side by side on the big screen. “He has the same nose and chin, but the hoodie makes it hard to get a positive ID.”

  Harper tapped the auditorium photo. “Send this one to me.” He recited his number and Lara quickly sent the files to his iCom.

  The detective stared at her for a long moment. “You’re the prettiest suspect I’ve interviewed in a long time.”

  “Does that line ever work for you?”

  He laughed. “I like you, Lara. Will you have dinner with me?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “Will you join me anyway? Have a drink and keep me company while I eat? I have a long night of work ahead.”

  She remembered what that was like. Sitting in the conference room at the department looking through bank statements and phone records until two in the morning. Eating cold Chinese food by herself while she worked. He seemed like a good man.

  “Why not? It’ll be a relief to get out of this room for a while.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “I can’t leave the property without permission, so how about the restaurant downstairs?”

  “Is it fancy? I’m not dressed for anything upscale.”

  Lara laughed and pushed off the couch. “They cater to Gauntlet contestants and tourists. I doubt they have a dress code.”

  “You haven’t eaten there?”

  “No.” She had no intention of explaining her dietary peculiarities. “I’ll meet you down there in ten minutes.”

  Lara changed out of her camera-happy competition clothes and into a pair of faded jeans. She put on a snug sleeveless blouse that she almost hadn’t packed. Slipping on some earrings, she chided herself for acting like she had a date and changed her mind about going. She picked up her iCom to text him, then reversed her decision, thinking it couldn’t hurt to have the detective on her side. Lara slipped on a pair of sandals and touched the ankle monitor. Maybe she could convince him to let her off surveillance.

  The hostess led her to a cozy corner table. Detective Harper had put away his Dock and ordered a beer. An unexpected surge of pleasure filled her body. She hadn’t sat down to dinner with a man since Ben had been killed. She’d had a brief thing with her chiropractor a few years back, but that had been meaningless sex just to keep her from exploding. This dinner was meaningless too, Lara reminded herself. Just filling some time with an attractive man…who happened to be detective. Why were they always cops?

  He stood when she arrived. “Lara.”

  She loved the way he said her name, drawing out the first vowel like a caress.

  He looked relieved to see her. “For a minute, I thought you had changed your mind.”

  “For a minute, I thought I had too.” Lara smiled and sat.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  She almost never drank alcohol and tomorrow was possibly the most important day of her life. “A glass of red wine, please.” A couple of sips, she told herself. To help her sleep. With no body fat and no solid food in her stomach, an entire glass would go straight to her head.

  “I’m having a steak sandwich. What about you?”

  “Just the wine. I already ate.”

  “Okay.” He signaled their server and placed the order.

  When the waitress was gone, he took a long drink of beer, then blurted out, “I’m jealous that you’re in the Gauntlet. Anybody who works out and considers themselves reasonably intelligent has a fantasy about competing in the contest…and winning.”

  “I suspect that’s true. I was fascinated after watching it the first year and I started training immediately.”

  “You must be incredibly dedicated. I know you beat out five firemen from Oregon to win the spot.”

  “I can be a little obsessive.”

  “I assume you know you were only one of twelve women in the competition.” Harper sipped his beer, then continued. “Eight were eliminated in the Challenge and so far, you’re the only one to make it out of the Puzzle. I’m betting you’ll be the first woman to survive the hand-to-hand tournament too.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’ll be the smallest and oldest person to enter the Battle stage. I’m a little worried.” Lara hadn’t admitted that even to herself, and she didn’t know why she’d told Harper. The Battle was the only part of the Gauntlet that had a live audience. Hundreds of wealthy people paid a premium to watch the contestants go one-on-one with a variety of nonlethal weapons.

  “Size and youth won’t win this,” Harper said, touching the back of her hand. “Speed and agility are more important in both the Battle and the Obstacle. After that, your self-discipline and determination will get you through the Marathon.”

  Lara smiled. “Thank you. I feel better.” She sipped her wine. “But I probably shouldn’t drink much of this. I need to be at my peak tomorrow.”

  “You need to stop worrying. You’ll be great.” He leaned forward. “I hated having to arrest you. It was one of the worst moments on the job for me. Right after one of the best moments, meeting you in person. I’ve been following your blog for a year.”

  Stunned, Lara could only ask, “Why me?”

  “Because you’re a pretty ex-cop and I always root for the underdog.”

  She burst out laughing. “The odds against me are shrinking. I’m not such a long shot anymore.”

  Jason and another contestant followed a server to a nearby table. When Jason spotted her, he rushed over. “Did you hear about Jodie Hansen in the Puzzle?”

  Lara’s stomach knotted in dread.

  “She beat your time by sixteen seconds.”

  The news was crushing and Lara swore out loud. Now she wouldn’t earn the 50 extra points for winning the phase. She mentally played back her performance in the Puzzle and kicked herself for wasting time on the obvious. It had cost her the win. But she wouldn’t let Jason see her agonize. “It’s not over yet. I still plan to win both of my rounds in the Battle.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

  “But you can’t win the overall contest without those 50 Puzzle points.” Jason looked happy. “Unless you also win the Marathon.” He clearly believed that wouldn’t happen and Lara suspected he was right.

  Harper spoke up. “She can win. If Texas loses his first round in the Battle, Lara has a shot.”

  “That won’t happen.” Jason shook his head. “I’ll let you get back to y
our drinks. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “He’s a jackass,” Lara whispered after he left.

  “Yep. I could see that before he opened his mouth.” Harper grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t let it worry you. I still think you can win this if the voters keep giving you 20 or more popularity points for every phase.”

  Their server stepped up with the food and wine. “I hear they posted the lineup for the Battle tomorrow.”

  “Who am I up against and what time?” Lara had to know.

  The server grimaced. “Sam Duggar from Texas at noon.”

  A heavy silence followed. Crap on a stick. Sam was six-feet-two and over two hundred pounds. Her next thought was that someone, possibly both the commissioner and the director, wanted her out of the competition. Her arrest had been a liability, and Morton probably wished he’d never met her. Aside from keeping him from bleeding to death, Lara mused.

  Finally, Detective Harper said, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

  For the next hour, Lara put the Texas giant and the mysterious shooter out of her mind and simply enjoyed the company of a charming man. At one point, she caught herself checking to see if he wore a wedding ring. He didn’t. She figured he was likely divorced. Law enforcement was hard on family life, which was part the reason she’d never married or had kids. It was time to ask. “Is your family here in D.C.?”

  “I’m a widower and my daughter lives in Portland.”

  “Oregon?”

  “Yep. We’re both rooting for you. She’ll finish her two-year degree next year and hopes to get a job with the new AmGo facility.” He grinned. “No pressure.”

  “Have you ever visited the state?”

  “Once. What about you? Any family?”

  Lara shook her head. “I was married to the job for sixteen years and my only brother died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lara pushed aside her half glass of wine. “I should go. It’s been nice talking with you.” She pulled a ten from her wallet to pay for the wine and stood.

  “Did I offend you?” Harper looked upset.

  “Not at all. I have to prepare mentally and physically for tomorrow.”

  “Let me pay the check and I’ll walk you to your room.”

  Lara started to protest, then realized she wanted another five minutes with him.

  They left the restaurant and crossed the hotel lobby in silence. Lara felt a little giddy from the wine, another pleasurable feeling she hadn’t experienced in a while. They stepped into the elevator. When the doors closed, Caden Harper turned to her. “Lara.”

  She looked up, and he gently took her face in his hands and pressed warm soft lips to hers. Lara surrendered to the kiss.

  Chapter 24

  Three and a half months earlier: Fri., Jan. 27, 7:50 a.m.

  Paul strode through the security station, smiling boldly at the guard. Go ahead and harass me, he thought. He was too happy to care. He had a girlfriend! Plain, nerdy Paul Madsen was dating a smart, gorgeous, sophisticated woman. Amazing what removing a little flesh from the nose could accomplish. The guard smiled back, seeming a little surprised by his exuberance.

  Paul caught the elevator upstairs and thought about stopping in Camille’s office to say good morning. Would that be too much? He wanted to be careful and not scare her off by being too clingy too soon. Especially in their workspace. He instinctively understood that he needed to reel her in slowly, one date at a time, while he simultaneously transformed himself into someone more physically attractive. Paul patted his stomach. Down eighteen pounds.

  At his desk, he dove right into a new task, checking every line of code and every entry as he went along. He’d vowed to never again give his bitchy boss a reason to criticize him. For now, he’d set aside the idea of trying to find a replacement for Stacia, because the mission was too close to home. He hadn’t given up, he just planned to take his time and find a foolproof way that couldn’t be traced to him.

  At noon, he turned away from his NetCom, took a MetaboSlim, and retrieved his chicken salad sandwich from its thermal bag. The salty aroma reminded him of the tuna sandwiches Isabel used to make for him as a kid. The ache of her loss threatened to burst his happy bubble, so Paul pushed it aside.

  He reached for his Dock and opened the novel he was reading, a sci-fi political thriller, but he couldn’t concentrate. He burned with the need to contact Camille, to reassure himself their relationship was real. He tapped open the message folder on the Dock and sent a text to Camille’s personal number. He kept it short and non-needy. I had a great time last night.—Paul.

  A few minutes later, Camille stepped into his office and closed the door. Paul put down his lunchtime pleasures, concerned by her serious expression. “Hello, Camille.”

  “I have to talk to you about this situation.”

  He waited, heart quivering with the fear of rejection.

  “We have to keep our relationship private and not let others at work know about it.”

  Paul let out a tiny sigh. She’d called it a relationship. “I understand.”

  “That means you shouldn’t text me at work, even on my private number.” She slunk into the guest chair and kept her voice low. “Nothing about our behavior in this building should change. No one can know about the time we spend together outside of work. We have to be professional.”

  Paul went along, trying to sound levelheaded and sincere. “You’re right. We don’t want to risk our jobs.”

  “I’m so glad you understand.” Her relief was palpable.

  It pierced his heart. “I do hope we can see each other again.”

  “We will. I enjoyed our time together too.” Camille clutched her purse and stood. “I have an errand to run on my lunch hour, so I’ve got to go.”

  Paul started to suggest they see a movie sometime, then held back. “See you at the Monday meeting.”

  After she left, Paul played back the conversation, trying to evaluate the subtleties. Camille had implied they would spend more time together, so she must like him a little, he thought. He knew she was right about keeping their relationship from co-workers, but he also worried she was embarrassed to be seen with him. He could change that, though. A chin implant would make a world of difference. He’d looked at before-and-after photos online. Even female actresses made themselves more beautiful by extending their chins. He would win Camille over—he just had to be patient.

  By mid-afternoon, Paul’s right leg vibrated under the desk, his mind drifted from his task, and he felt irritable. The restless leg syndrome was new in the last few days, and he wondered if the symptom was related to his diet. He hated to think his jitteriness was connected to the pills because they were working well.

  He took his afternoon break early and walked around the block. The cold wind was relentless, and he felt like he’d run a mile by the time he arrived back in his office. At five, he shifted out of his software maintenance task and opened the replacement database. Because of Olbert’s threat to report him, Paul had no choice but to abandon the beleaguered Robert Morales in the DOE. If Olbert had followed through, federal agents might be watching for anything suspicious that might happen to DOE employees. Paul decided to start over and look for a new position to target. He needed to make one more arrangement to pay for a chin implant, then he would stay out of the database.

  But first, he had something personal to take care of. He keyed in employment commissioner and waited for the names to come up. He scanned the details of the three replacements and decided Lisa Hutchinson was the least qualified. She’d been president of a teacher’s union back when unions still existed, and now she was a freelance labor arbitrator. Paul worked up his nerve and deleted her files. Uploading Camille’s information took a little longer, but not much. Now his girlfriend was on a list to replace the commissioner should something unexpected happen to him. Paul couldn’t wait to tell Camille. Yet he knew he should wait. This was a gift she desperately wanted and the timing could
be critical. He would save it for the next time she kissed him and it just might get him laid.

  After forty irritating minutes of keying in search words and scanning personal information, Paul finally found a possibility. Allen Brentwood worked for the Department of Transportation, which had been consolidated into three small units that regulated trains, planes, and cars. Brentwood was the director of the vehicle and road safety administration. What first caught Paul’s attention was Brentwood’s performance reviews. The last one had unsatisfactory ratings in seven out of ten categories, and the one before it was only marginally better. The DOT secretary had to be looking for an excuse to fire him. The other interesting factor was that Brentwood belonged to the gym Paul had joined, so Paul had access to him.

  Paul checked the replacement database. All three candidates were men and Paul had to rule out two. One already had a Level C position, and one was Brentwood’s assistant. Paul settled on Terrance Kettering, a man with degrees in engineering and business, who’d been unemployed for a while.

  Paul left work at six, spent an hour in the cold looking for a street vendor who sold prepaid iComs, then finally took the bus to a shop in the mall. With his merchandise in his pocket, he caught a bus home. On the ride, he watched the snow and had second thoughts. What if Olbert had reported him? Had they launched an investigation? Was he being watched?

  Paul shivered, then scolded himself for being paranoid. The possibility was remote. Law enforcement budgets were a fraction of what they used to be, and unless violence or major theft was the issue, most crimes were given cursory investigations, and prosecutors only went after suspects with evidence against them. His little missions were small-time and under the radar.

  Still, Paul promised himself it would be the last arrangement and he would be more careful this time. He would only ask for fifteen thousand and demand it all up front. That way he’d only have to conduct one cash transfer, cutting the risk and stress in half. The money would be enough for his chin implant, which now felt essential. The surgery would radically improve his appearance and his chance of a sexual relationship with Camille. The thought of an intimate encounter gave him an idea for how he would get Brentwood fired.