CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Where are we?” I asked as we pulled up to...not a honky-tonk bar like I’d expected. “Is this TBI?” I was itching to get a gun on me, but while this seemed like it might be a government building, it didn’t seem like the squat, blocky law enforcement offices I’d gotten used to in my travels.
“Ah, this is City Hall,” Chandler said, hanging a right into an underground parking garage. Once he’d pulled into a space marked RESERVED, I joined him in getting out of the car and followed him right into the building. He led me through a staircase and up a few floors to an office where a receptionist on the phone greeted us with a smile and let us pass without comment through a door marked MAYOR.
“Oh, man,” I said under my breath as Chandler held the door open into the Mayor’s office for me. Politicians. Hadn’t I had enough of these people for one lifetime? If not, my upcoming move to DC would certainly fill the quotient.
“Mayor Clea Brandt,” Chandler said, indicating a woman who was striding purposefully across the red-carpeted office toward me. “This is Sienna Nealon, as requested.”
Mayor Clea Brandt was probably 5’ 1”, maybe 5’ 2” if you pushed, which meant she was shorter than me. She was African-American, wearing a broad smile, and her greying hair was fastened back tightly. Her suit was pure white, almost glowing, and she was on me in seconds, shaking my hand quickly but warmly with both of hers. “Ms. Nealon,” she said in the kindest voice I’d heard since...uh...probably since before I’d come to New York, at least. “Such a genuine pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, a little flabbergasted. It had been a while since anyone had professed pleasure in meeting me. Basically since before Friday’s San Francisco debacle had wrecked my reputation and made me toxic for any public figures to stand close to. “Are you sure you should be meeting with me? I’m not, uh...popular right now.” I paused, eyes flitting as I considered that statement. “Again.”
She made a psh-awing noise with her lips, waving a hand dismissively at me. “I read about what happened. You didn’t even post anything.”
“Where did you read that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“In the twentieth paragraph of a twenty-one-paragraph article,” she said with a knowing smile. “Having been on the receiving end of a political hit or two in my time, I’ve learned to take the reportage of the professional press with a grain of salt. Maybe a pillar, actually.” She brushed my hoodie sleeve reassuringly.
“Well, thank goodness somebody does,” I said. I looked around the office briefly and realized I’d been thoroughly disarmed by her charm. “Ah...I’ll be honest, I didn’t know I was coming here or I would have dressed...” I looked down at my FDNY hoodie. “Well, more for the occasion.”
“Don’t you worry your head about it, sugar,” she said, retreating for her desk and beckoning me to follow. “We’re just so pleased to have you down here visiting us. Have you been to Nashville before?”
“Ahhh...” I racked my memory, but came up with very little. “Maybe on a layover a few years ago? I think we might have stopped during a flight to drop off a...friend.” Her office was tasteful, but not over the top.
“A ‘friend’?” Mayor Brandt’s eyes sparkled.
I froze halfway to lowering myself in my seat and glanced back. Chandler had left the room and closed the door without even a word of goodbye. Hopefully he was waiting for me outside. “I, uh...during the war I knew someone who lived in Nashville and—”
“You wouldn’t be talking about Senator Robb Foreman, would you?” Mayor Brandt’s smile had turned mischievous.
I settled in my chair uncomfortably. “I hate to name drop, but yeah.”
“You should drop that man’s name every chance you get,” Brandt said, still smiling. “He is an absolute delight. I saw him just last week at a fundraiser for the Baptist Children’s Home. His party is trying to get him to run for President again, and I’ll be honest—if he runs, he has my vote. He’s a good man.”
“That was my experience with him as well,” I said, feeling a little more at ease. “But I hate to say I know him because...well, not everyone wants to admit they know me these days. Again.” I felt a goofy smile spread across my face. “Because of the Socialite thing.”
“Is it causing you a lot of friction back home?” Brandt settled in, resting her face on her hand like we were old friends. I felt weirdly at ease, and a distinct lack of alarm. Brandt’s assistant opened the door and wheeled in a tray with tea and coffee that smelled fragrant and lovely, stopping at my elbow and indicating with a sweep of her hand that the world was my oyster here.
“Coffee, black,” I said, and turned my attention back to Brandt as the assistant bustled at pouring me a cup. “Uhm, yes. It has made things...uncomfortable for me in New York City. Not every time I walk down the street, but probably at least once a week someone shouts something...rude...at me.”
“That is genuinely unfortunate,” Brandt said. “I hope—and I doubt—that you’ll be subject to that sort of behavior here in Nashville, though I don’t control the minds of all our citizens.” She gave me a knowing sort of smirk that, given my history with politicians who did the mind control thing, should have had me either screaming with laughter or screaming for the hills.
Instead, I sort of laughed uncomfortably, which seemed like a genuine reaction. “I won’t hold it against you if anyone’s a dipshit.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “We want your visit to be as pleasant as possible. Nashville prides itself on the being the kind of place where anyone can come and just let their hair down.”
“You must be popular with the Medusas.”
“Hm?”
“Never mind.” I brushed a messy, frizzed hank of hair out of my eyes again. “My hair is definitely down. A choice I am currently regretting, but...it’s down. Going in a ponytail as soon as I find a binder, though.” A cup of coffee was steaming at my side and I lifted it to my lips. It smelled wonderful, a couple notes of chocolate buried in the smooth, mellow scent.
Brandt laughed. “Oh, that’s nothing, sweetheart. The humidity here in the summer will have you looking like you just stepped out of the shower in the middle of the day.” She sipped her own coffee. “It’s worth it for this time of year, though. Did you see the cherry blossoms on your way in?”
“I did,” I said, nodding. “Very pretty.”
“New York’s not exactly in bloom right now, is it?” She was still smiling, steam rising off the coffee cup under her chin.
“No, but the cold keeps the smell of garbage down, so it has its pluses,” I said, and she laughed again. “I’m, uh...about to be transferred to DC, though, so...I won’t be worrying about New York much longer.” I watched the assistant roll the tray out the door and wondered when it would be considered polite to make my own retreat. Not that the conversation was lacking, I just wasn’t sure what the point of it was.
“I had heard that,” Mayor Brandt said, nodding along.
I frowned. “You already knew?”
“Politicians gossip among themselves constantly,” she said, waving a hand. “Why, I was talking with the governor just this morning about your coming trip, in fact—”
“It’s so nice to be talked about.”
“All good things, sweetie,” she said. “But we were discussing you in glowing terms—I mean, I look at what you’ve provided to New York...and I’m just green with envy.”
I waited for her to snap a smartass quip on the end of that statement. It didn’t come. “Excuse me?” I finally asked, wondering if I’d missed some sarcasm. “How is that?”
“Do you know how much your presence has cut down on street crime in New York?” Mayor Brandt looked at me over her coffee cup. “I mean, we can’t attribute it solely to you. Gravity and that knucklehead with the ice powers are probably of some use, too, but my chief of police showed me the numbers just last night and...mmm!” She made a sound like she’d just eaten somethi
ng wonderful. “Down seventy-five percent since last summer when you got there.” She watched my eyes. “Did you know that?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “Nobody tells me anything. And, I mean, the NYPD does good work—”
“Oh, without doubt,” she said, nodding along. “But they haven’t changed their policing.” There was a gleam in her eye. “They are benefitting from what I like to the call the ‘superheroine peace dividend.’ And in City Hall, they know it.” She winked at me. “And are already sick about you leaving.”
“Wow.” I put my coffee cup down. I felt...weird, actually. Welch had never told me I had a tangible effect on the crime rate. He’d never even suggested me being available did anything but cause property damage. I mean, he thanked me and all, but I’d certainly never met the mayor of New York, or the police chief. They’d wanted to get together, but I’d put them off, and after San Francisco those invites mysteriously dried up.
Now it suddenly made sense why they kept calling me to help.
“That’s unfortunate for New York’s crime rate, I guess,” I said, coffee cup and saucer in hand. “I doubt I’d be allowed to intervene in DC as much either, which—”
“Do you ever get tired of the games they’re playing with you?” Brandt’s eye twinkle had just grown brighter.
I froze, feeling a lot like a deer squarely in the middle of headlights. “Yes,” I answered, because why lie? “Why do I have the sense you’re about to blindside me with something? Because I gotta warn you—I’ve already been hit by a train once in the last twenty-four hours—”
“Because you’re not stupid, and the last time you met with a governor he ended up jumping out a window a few days later,” Brandt said with a grin. “I’m going to guess most politicians are avoiding you like plague rats lately. But I parade you right in the minute you get to town. And you’re not stupid, so you see I’m cooking something up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “What is it?”
Brandt set her coffee cup down and leaned forward on her desk. “Like I said, I talked with the Governor of Tennessee this morning, and we came up with this—
“How would you like to be the official superheroine of Nashville, Tennessee?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Reed
“Mr. Mills?” Shirt and Tie’s quiet voice spoke into the dimly lit office. There was no admin assistant out here, or secretary, just an empty desk before an old, poorly maintained door that read LOGAL MILLS with CEO stenciled underneath it.
Shirt and Tie had the CEO’s door open and his face poked in. I had a feeling he was the one who usually manned the desk out here. I took a glance at it, and sure enough, a golden nameplate on it read BEN KELLY. Now I knew Shirt and Tie’s name. I filed that away for later.
“What happened?” a deeper voice came from inside, presumably the CEO’s voice.
“Ah, Reed Treston has arrived, sir?” Kelly made it sound like a question rather than a thing that had definitely happened. “From Minneapolis?”
“Is that Sienna Nealon’s brother?” Mills asked, causing me to sigh with impatience. But quietly. I was so sick of being ID’d that way. But I buried my Ringo Starr feelings quickly and moved on.
“Uh, yes, sir,” Kelly almost whispered. Like he could sense my annoyance, though he didn’t look back.
“What’s he doing here?” Mills asked. I’d yet to catch a glimpse of him, though I remembered what he looked like from the article Harry had given me. Maybe thirty, thick dark hair, a strong chin, piercing eyes focused on the future. Like you’d expect a young and hungry CEO to look.
“Uhm,” Kelly said, shooting me a quick glance. “He’s—”
I strode up to the door and yanked it wide, so Kelly didn’t have to speak through a little crack. “I heard you were having a hell of a time,” I said, looking into the darkened office. There were no lights on, but there was a bank of old-timey windows, each pane no larger than 2’ by 1’. Half the panes had been painted over so that you could see the lines left by the paint brush in the daylight where the sun shone through the thinner coverage. This was pure old factory décor, leftover from decades past, and evidence that Lotsostuff’s HQ and warehouse had been something else in its previous life, long before their CEO had even been born. “Thought I’d come stick my nose into your troubles.”
“Did you now?” Logan Mills was standing behind his desk, which was a beaten, battered old thing that looked like it was in such terrible condition that he wouldn’t have even sold it on his website. And the man himself wasn’t much better. He looked nothing like his photo; he’d easily put on thirty pounds since it had been taken, had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was thinning, and the office held a stale aroma, hints of booze and coffee, neither fresh, that seemed to fit the man I was looking at. He wore a shirt that was buttoned almost to the top, but the sleeves were rolled up, and a sport coat rested on the back of his chair. “Well,” Mills said, “I’ve certainly got plenty of those, though I’m not sure what a man of your skills would want to do here.”
I suppressed my surprise at how rough Mills looked. He seemed like he hadn’t shaved in a few days either, and when he spoke, the wafting scent from his words told me teeth-brushing and showering had maybe gone by the wayside, too, in this current crisis. “I always seem to find a way to do some good,” I said, “wherever I go.”
Mills let out a soft, mirthless chuckle. “Do you? I suppose that’s useful.” He looked out one of the unpainted windows. “To someone, anyway.”
“Are you not on the side of good here, Mr. Mills?” I asked, figuring I might as well go at him a little since he was being fairly uncooperative.
That caused a shroud of indifference to blanket his face. “I do what I can.”
It was an interesting reaction to my question. “Well, I’m just here to keep your dispute from turning ugly,” I said, figuring I’d trodden on his toes hard enough already with my probing question. His reactions, his very manner, were telling me a lot about how he saw himself.
“Good,” Mills said, seeming to snap out of a short reverie. “We could use that. Though I’m not sure how much good it’ll do, since it’s already turned sorta ugly.”
“But it hasn’t turned violent yet,” I said, fishing.
“No,” Mills said quietly, looking down at his desk. “Thankfully not.”
“Well, let’s just do what we can to keep it that way, shall we?” I asked, smiling tightly. I gave Ben Kelly a nod. “I’ll see myself out. Keep an eye on that line outside.”
“Mr. Treston,” Mills called after me, when I was halfway across his outer office. “I don’t suppose you might consider trying to figure out who flooded my warehouse?” I looked back, and the man was standing in the shadow cast by those painted windows. “They ruined a lot of merchandise, some of which was already sold and not shipped.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said to the man in shadow. “I’m here to keep this from turning violent.”
“Hm,” Mills said, and I saw his head bob. “Of course.” With a wave of his hand to Kelly, he said, “That’ll be all then, Ben.”
And with that, Kelly shut the door, frowning all the while. “That was...unusual,” Kelly muttered. “He’s generally a lot more talkative. Friendly. Charismatic, even.”
“Interesting,” I said, continuing my path toward the door. Here for five minutes and already the CEO of this company was freezing me out. I had a feeling I knew how this was going to go from here, and it was nowhere good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sienna
The words “Official Superheroine of Nashville, Tennessee” were bouncing around in my head as I looked Mayor Clea Brandt in her warm, twinkling brown eyes. Her desk was crowded with papers all organized into neat piles, but from the top of one stack she pulled up a single page and slid it across to me, still smiling to beat the band.
I pulled the paper from the desk’s edge and looked at it. It bore the seal of the State of Tennessee as well as that of Nas
hville city, that official look that documents have when government entities desperately want to impress upon you the officialness of something. I imagined angry letters from the EPA looked much the same.
Skimming the contents I found the points, very quickly:
First, a salary almost twice what I was making in the FBI.
Second, the ability to be cross-deputized by the state agencies so I could work anywhere in Tennessee, with a proviso that any other states that recognized my authority could solicit my help, either for money or charity.
Third...hell, what did I even need anything third for? The first two were good enough.
“Uhhh...” I stared at the page, blinking. No one had offered me anything like this since...well, ever.
Hell, no one had even acted like they wanted me around almost ever, with the exception of Heather Chalke and her blackmailing self.
“Say yes,” Brandt whispered, “and DC will never be a worry for you.”
For a moment I thought about it, and got caught up in the idea that I could hang out in a place that had cherry trees blossoming beautifully in February. That I could work in a place where, yes, they actually wanted me to fight crime. All the crime, in fact, not just the particular crimes that they fed me.
I could be far from the crazy bustle and insanity of New York City with its billion-population paparazzi, and maybe leave behind all the dirty looks from people who believed something about me that was widely reported but flatly untrue.
All these thoughts and more came rushing around me, whirling, really, because...damn. Sometimes I forgot how long it had been since someone had given me the simple act of kindness involved in saying, “You do good work. We want you to do it for us.”
But...
“I...can’t,” I said, pushing the paper back across the table toward her.
“You sure?” She took the paper but dangled it enticingly. “This is flexible, all right? We’re willing to let you work with other states as well. I know you’re a problem-solver. A crime-stopper. You don’t like to let injustice just go by. With this, you don’t have to. If California calls and they’ve got a problem? You go. But you hang your hat here at the end of the day, and...” She smiled. “You might find some other benefits. We’re centrally located in the country. The weather is pleasant most of the year. Gets a little hot in the summer, and our winters are nothing like what a Minnesotan would be used to—”
Music: Out of the Box 26 (The Girl in the Box Book 36) Page 7
