by Gina LaManna
“Charity project?” Russo perked up. “What sort of project?”
“Jonathan was a really good guy. He loved his job, but he always said work and money weren’t everything. He wanted to give back to the community, do something more creative or whatever. Well, he arranged for a pen pal project with inmates.”
My breathing felt shallow. “How long had this project been going on?”
She shrugged. “Seven or eight months? Give or take. I think he got the idea last Christmas or Thanksgiving, but it took a while to get organized. I think his first letter was in May or so.”
I didn’t need to calculate to know that the timeline worked out. Wilkes had already been safely incarcerated by that time. And knowing him, he would have jumped on the opportunity for any sort of contact with the outside world.
“Thanks, Jennifer. Can I have a minute with Agent Russo in private?”
Jennifer nodded, and the creak of her footsteps lingered as she left the room.
I turned to Russo. “I told you, Wilkes can crack the psyche of anyone. We have to find those letters. Maybe he convinced Jonathan to help him out somehow—information, updates, I don’t know. Maybe he even helped set up the stash.”
Russo shook his head. “I don’t buy it. What’s the incentive for Jonathan?”
“Maybe not the stash. That’s a bit much, but Wilkes could’ve worked Jonathan over without his knowing it. Asked for details on specific people—said they were family, got dirt on the guards. Dirt that he’d eventually use in his escape.”
Russo ran a hand over the five o’clock shadow that’d popped up overnight. “I suppose it’s possible.”
I pulled out my phone and hesitated. Russo pulled out his own phone, pulled up a number, then handed it to me. I smiled gratefully at the number for the local police on it.
Stepping to the side, I hit dial and requested another CSU team. They were instructed to sweep both Jonathan and Jennifer’s houses respectively in search of additional letters.
I hung up and returned the phone to Russo’s outstretched palm. “It’s a long shot,” I admitted, “but if it turns up anything, it’ll be worth it.”
“Worth what?” Jennifer asked, returning to the bedroom. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but I ran down to grab you some water bottles.”
She offered the waters to us. We both accepted because there didn’t seem to be another good option.
“Did Jonathan ever talk about his correspondence with his pen pal?” Russo asked. “Even minor things over dinner?”
“Not really. He was a pretty quiet guy, and he kept personal things to himself. You know, he was a guy.” Jennifer appealed to me with a look. “Guys don’t talk about feelings and sentimental stuff.”
Russo gave a muffled grunt under his breath. “Neither do some women.”
I ignored him. “Are you sure he didn’t say anything at all?”
“Once in a while he’d comment broadly. Like, he’d say he was due to write or something, but that was it. Never about the content.”
“How often did they exchange letters?”
“I’m not sure. If I had to guess, once a month each? I’ve never seen the other end of the letters. And I haven’t read Jonathan’s—I just knew when he’d written one because he’d take a stamp from here.”
Jennifer crossed the room, pulled open the drawer. She showed me a sheet of stamps. “Actually, he must have written more than I thought. This was a full page of stamps when I got it.”
Only two were left on the entire sheet. I made a note of it, snapped a pic on my cell, then pulled it out and slid it into an evidence baggie.
“Why are you doing that?” Jennifer asked curiously.
“It might be important. You’re sure this was full when you got it?”
“Yeah, I picked it up specifically because he needed a stamp. I joked, you know, saying ‘Who writes letters anymore?’” She exhaled a shaky sigh. “Maybe he should have listened to me. Do you think... did this project get him killed?”
“We’re not sure of anything, yet, but this is helpful. We’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, CSU is on their way over to search your house and see if they can find anything of note. Sound okay?”
“Whatever you need. Of course.”
“We’ll wait for their arrival, but if you need anything else...” I pulled out a card and handed it over. “Call me. Anytime, day or night.”
We passed the time until the tech team arrived by chatting awkwardly over a pot of tea Jennifer boiled downstairs. When the others arrived, I gave them detailed instructions. Then Russo and I headed outside.
“So,” he said. “Surprised?”
“Nothing is a surprise with Wilkes,” I said. “The only question is whether Wilkes used Jonathan without his knowledge, or if Jonathan was actively helping him for some reason.”
“A Midwestern accountant teaming up with a serial killer in the Texas prison system?”
“I’ve heard stranger stories,” I said. “Don’t forget, Wilkes can be very persuasive. It’s possible Jonathan didn’t realize what he was getting into until it was too late. I’ll have Asha run some searches on Jonathan, peek through his bank accounts.”
“You think that Jonathan might’ve been blackmailed into helping Wilkes?” Russo asked. “Then what? Wilkes got out, decided he didn’t want a loose end, and wiped out his partner?”
“Again, I’ve heard stranger things. Where are we on the flight to Texas?”
Russo’s face fell. “About that.”
“Tell me there’s something this afternoon.”
“Hold your horses. Last night, you were ready to quit the case. What changed?”
My lips pulled into a thin line. Seeing Wilkes’s handwriting had snapped something deep inside me. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky. Turns out I hate Wilkes more than I’m annoyed by the fact that we have to work together.”
“I’m flattered.”
“When can you get us to Texas?”
“The bureau determined it wasn’t top priority. They didn’t give us the jet—we can hop on a flight tomorrow morning.”
I pursed my lips. It would have to do.
Unless...
I spun away from the car, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I’d never expected to call again. When Gem answered, I did my best to muster a sweet-sounding voice. “How serious were you about that plane?”
Chapter 7
“I cannot believe I agreed to this.” Russo ran a hand through his hair and glanced across the center console of his car. “Do you realize you drive me crazy? Or is that just a side effect of working with you?”
I glanced out the window as Jack drove us through the Twin Cities to a private airfield where Alastair Gem kept his private plane. The agent had been grumbling for three hours, ever since he’d heard the tail end of my one-sided conversation outside of Jennifer Kentwood’s house in LaCrosse. We’d driven back separately, in our own cars, and still he’d called me to complain while we were on the road. Then we’d combined into one car at the precinct before taking off toward the airfield.
“It’s part of my charm,” I said finally. “Ask my mother.”
Russo snorted a laugh. “Are you sure there’s no way we can pay Gem back for using the plane—under the condition he doesn’t come with us?”
“You can play nice for a few hours.”
“But—”
“Gem’s doing us a favor. Get over it. He wants to donate the use of his plane to help us get Wilkes.”
“That, and it’s a tax write-off.”
“Says the guy who expensed a fifty-dollar steak last night.”
“Two steaks,” he said. “I recall you didn’t mind me paying then. In fact, I recall you saying something along the lines about how I’d never seen someone eat as much as you?”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Wasn’t I right?”
Russo grinned. I hid my smile and watched the trees flick by the window. We hadn’t needed d
oggie bags at the restaurant, to put it mildly. And I hadn’t needed breakfast—or lunch—because I’d stayed full overnight. But thinking of the spread from last night had my stomach growling all over again.
“Shall we grab you a sandwich?” Russo asked.
“Let’s just get to the plane,” I said. “We can grab something to eat in Texas.”
“I suppose that means he’s coming with us.”
“You’ve barely had any interaction with Gem. What’s your problem with him?”
“I don’t like the way he treats you.”
My head felt like it was on a swivel as it spun to face him. “Which part do you have the problem with? The limo ride, the personalized coffee deliveries, or the fact that he shoveled and salted my walkway without being asked?”
“All of it.”
“Excuse me,” I said dryly. “I know you may think I’m an emotionally vacant robot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be pampered by a guy. What do you know? Maybe I like Gem.”
“If you liked Gem, you’d be dating him.”
“You don’t know anything about my private life.”
“Not a whole lot. And not by choice. I’ve been asking, but—”
“I’m an emotionally devoid robot?”
Russo’s face cleared of any smile as he gave a shake of his head and stared forward. His voice was soft as velvet when he spoke. “I most certainly don’t believe that, and neither do you. If anything, I think you feel more than the rest of us—you just hide it.”
“Yeah, right. I haven’t cried in years.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Why do you do it? The job, I mean.” Russo tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You could have a lot better company than dead bodies if you really wanted.”
“Dead bodies don’t pressure me to have feeling circles.”
Russo’s smile was an echo of the real thing. “You care deeper than anyone I’ve ever met, Rosetti. And if you decide to open up, I’m here for it. You don’t have to lock everything away to do this job.”
“You don’t know that.” My voice cracked. I tried again. “All it takes is once. I can’t do this job if I’m broken—and the only way to stay whole is to not let any fissures take root.”
“Porcelain will shatter,” Russo said. “But water won’t.”
“That’s stupid,” I spluttered. “Your analogies make no sense.”
“Maybe not. But water is open, it moves and changes and adapts. A porcelain jar can hold so much inside, but eventually, it will break. An ocean will never break.”
“I still don’t get it,” I said. “I think you underestimate my lack of empathy.”
“Someday, maybe, I’ll get through to you.” He gave a thin smile. “In the meantime, I still don’t like Gem. He’s using you.”
“That’s a bold statement, Agent Russo. Especially from someone who I haven’t talked to in weeks.”
“Gem is only after you because you’re different. He can have whatever he wants—his wealth, his accent, his status opens doors for him. Women fall at his feet. He’s after you because his normal charms don’t work on an emotionally devoid robot.”
I was tempted to smile, but I held it back. “You’re such a prick, you know that?”
“I’m looking out for you.”
“You just said the only reason Gem has pursued me at all is because I’m not interested. Have you even considered that he might like the fact that I’m different?”
“That’s exactly why I have a problem with him. You are different, and you’re special, detective.” Russo pulled into the parking lot as directed by his GPS. He found a spot and parked, glancing across the chilly silence toward me. “You deserve better than someone after you for the thrill of the chase, someone that’ll move on from you the second they’re bored.”
“Because I’ve had so much luck in the romance department thus far in my life.” I held up my hand and wiggled a bare ring finger. “Hence my happy marriage to the job.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Are you different?”
“I’m not saying—”
“Let’s just agree to butt out of my business. We’re on the job, got it?”
I stomped out of the car, grabbed my sister’s stupid floral overnight bag that I hadn’t had time to change out for something less frilly, and hauled myself across the cold tarmac toward a cluster of people standing outside of an aircraft that looked ready for takeoff.
“Good afternoon, detective,” Gem said. “You look like you’re in a great mood.”
I’d picked Gem out from across the parking lot and studiously ignored him. He stood tall and broad, his lively hair curling with the wind. He wore a navy blue fitted suit and brown shoes, along with cuff links and a watch that likely cost half as much as the airplane. He was breathtaking. Which was the very reason I averted my eyes as I got close enough to smell the fresh scent of his cologne.
While I hadn’t appreciated interference from Russo on my love life, a part of what he’d said had wormed its way into my brain, and as I looked into Gem’s playful eyes, I had to wonder if it were true. It was the only explanation that made sense, really, because there wasn’t anything else that made me different—better, or more special—than any of the other women Gem had dated in the past.
“Any chance you can strap him to the outside of the plane?” I thumbed over my shoulder at Russo. “Preferably without a helmet.”
Gem’s happy eyes twinkled. “I think that can be arranged.”
“What about this thing?” I turned my thumb toward the airplane. “You got any sandwiches on there? And do you take credit cards?”
Gem barked a loud laugh. “You’re in for a treat.”
Without further ado, Gem reached out and hooked my arm through his. Normally, I’d have shoved him off with a sharp poke to the ribs, but this time, I didn’t. I knew it was petty, but as Gem gave me gentlemanly assistance up the stairs to the airplane, I glanced over my shoulder at Russo who was lugging his own suitcase through the snowy muck of the parking lot.
Russo looked up, caught my gaze, and glared. I returned the favor and added a satisfactory smirk at the end.
“Ah,” Gem said, watching as I turned my gaze forward. “I see.”
“See what?”
“Here we are.” Gem gestured to the cabin of his plane.
I held my breath, gaping at the sight before us. It was more impressive than my entire house. More impressive than any house I’d ever stepped foot inside. Beige and black furniture lined eggshell-white walls, the starkness of the angular corners offset by a fluffy carpeting throughout the seating area. I glanced down at my muddy shoes, then kicked them off.
“I don’t think I can afford to be in here,” I said. “What happens if I break it?”
“Break what?”
“I don’t know, the plane?”
Gem’s lips twitched. “I assure you, it’s Rosetti-proof. Or near enough. May I get you something to drink?”
“Alastair Gem, offering to make me a drink? I thought you had people to do that.”
The billionaire glanced over his shoulder where one or two members of the crew had appeared. He looked annoyed. With a practically unseen gesture, they vanished into another room.
Meanwhile, I wandered across the plane to examine the seating area. I ran my fingers over leather as soft as butter and was startled when Gem appeared by my side. He stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, a serious expression on his face.
“Did I do something?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You seem to suddenly have a problem with my money.”
“I’ve always had a problem with your money.”
“I don’t believe that’s true. You had a problem with me.”
“That, too,” I admitted. “But you’re sort of the whole package. Who is Alastair Gem without billion
s of dollars behind his name?”
My question struck a chord with Gem. His face went as hard as granite, and his eyes sparkled with coolness. “If that’s how you feel, then I’ll not bother you once we’ve returned from our trip. Are you ready for takeoff? I’ll alert the captain.”
My heart thudded and strings of guilt weaved through my ribcage. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just...”
I trailed off, looking for an explanation. But I had nothing. I’d just reamed out Russo for effectively saying the same thing. Yet here I was, unable to overlook Gem’s riches.
“I’m not used to this,” I said, my arms wide. “To be honest, I don’t understand the reason you were...”
“Interested in you?”
“I was going to say speaking to me. I’m not sure if we’re quite friends, or what.”
Gem’s lips pulled into a smile. “Would you like to be friends?”
“I haven’t thought about it that much.”
“Okay, then.”
I could tell he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t need to know about the late nights I’d spent lying awake in bed, my thoughts torn between Russo and Gem. The FBI agent who truly understood the demands of my career, and the billionaire who intrigued me more anyone I’d ever met.
“I’m ready for takeoff,” I said abruptly. “Thank you again for the generous use of your plane.”
“It’s my pleasure. Though...” Gem hesitated, a hand coming up to his clean-shaven chin. “I assume you were joking when you asked about strapping your partner to the exterior of the aircraft?”
I heaved a huge sigh. “It’s probably illegal.”
“Only just.”
“If we must, then I suppose we can allow Russo inside.”
Gem gave an amused nod, then returned to the door and looked out. He made a few motions with his hands, and a second later, the crew burst to life preparing the cabin for departure.
I was offered drinks and sandwiches, complimentary slippers, and a blanket. They hung a robe behind me—just in case, despite my repeated refusals—and were just bringing out a tray of fresh fruit when footsteps from outside signified Russo’s arrival.
