Making of Them

by Lexy Timms

  “I did not.” He looked appalled at Chrissy’s accusation.

  Chrissy closed her laptop and lifted her head, smiling evilly at Saks. “Yes. You did.”

  “You are a wicked, wicked woman. A man can’t appreciate someone else’s cooking?”

  “Nope. Either it’s your mother’s or your wife’s. Every other woman’s you say nice things, but you never ever admit it comes close at all to either your mom’s or the wife’s.”

  “Well, tell me you can cook like your mother, then.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a twist of her mouth.

  “You can’t?” Saks' mouth hung open in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine an Italian girl who didn’t learn the craft at her mother’s side. Even his sister was a fair cook when pushed to it.

  Chrissy laughed. “Got you! Who filled your fridge with food when you first came home from the hospital? Why would I do that if I didn’t intend to cook?”

  “Yeah,” said Saks. “That would have been nice. Too bad that got interrupted. Then I’d know what I’m getting in this deal.”

  Chrissie stood and threw her arms around his neck. “Well, there’s one kind of cooking I am good at.”

  “You think so, eh? You aren’t giving credit where credit is due.”

  “Hmm,” Chrissy purred. “Let’s see who gets whom to a boil first, and we’ll see who’s a better cook.”

  A squeak left her as Saks lifted her from the floor by her rear, and in a fit of laughter the pair fell into bed. In a tangle of lips and limbs, their breath quickened and their temperatures rose, but neither could claim ultimate victory. Instead, it was deemed a tie, and when morning came far too quickly there was barely enough time to make it to the airport, so a rematch was off the table.

  “You’re not nervous?” Chrissy asked curiously as they waited at the gate.

  “No, of course not,” Saks lied. In reality, she seemed a cool cucumber, all calm and under control, while he fought down his jittery nerves at the mere prospect of getting on a plane.

  Chrissy’s lips pulled into a smile. “I mean, it would be weird that a guy who zips around Connecticut’s highways for fun on a bike would be nervous about getting on a plane.”

  “What’s to worry about?” Saks shrugged. “Flying high in the air? Falling out of the sky? Going splat on the ground? Nah. Not worried a bit.”

  “That’s what I like about you,” Chrissy said. “Such bravado.”

  One glance out the window to where giant aircraft were pushed around the tarmac built his nerves up again. At least on a bike, he was the one in control. Here, he had to trust three or four strangers to get him safely over a broad ocean. So, it wasn’t until they were in the air he thought of a critical question.

  “Chrissy?” he said as he fidgeted to try and adjust his cramped legs. “How do we know that Pearson is in London?”

  “We don’t,” she said.

  “But what if he’s in the U.S.?”

  “He isn’t. I checked the airports where we usually land, and his plane hasn’t arrived at any of them.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only agitated traveler of the pair. They were both relieved when they landed in the UK and cleared customs. Outside, as they waited for their ride, Saks shivered. It was at least ten degrees colder than Connecticut’s spring weather, and he quickly pulled his Hades Spawn jacket from his duffle.

  “Will this cold snap last long?” he asked.

  Chrissy smiled. “This isn’t a cold snap, babe. This is the warmer weather.”

  “Noted,” Saks remarked with a shiver. Though Connecticut could be cold, this time of year was pleasantly warm. With the chill and overcast sky, London wasn’t as pleasant as he thought it would be.

  A black town car drove up to them, and a bulky man came out of the driver’s side and opened the door. “Welcome back, Ms. Serafini,” he said.

  “Thank you, Robert. This is my fiancé, Anthony Parks.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Robert’s reserved manner threw a chill on Saks, and he didn’t offer his hand. The chauffeur opened the back door, and they climbed in while Robert wrangled their bags into the trunk.

  “The apartment, Miss?” Robert asked as he settled behind the wheel.

  “Yes, Robert. Can you tell me, have you driven Mr. Pearson anywhere the past few days?”

  “No, Miss. I took a few days off, and some other fellows drove him. Had a bit of the flu.”

  “Sorry to hear. I’m afraid Mr. Pearson is such a stickler for details, but my assistant didn't update his schedule. Can you ask the office to send me copies of his calls for rides? He uses the diary to check the bill.”

  “Ah, right,” Robert replied. “I’ll see what I can do, Miss.”

  “Thank you so much, Robert.”

  It was a bit of a shock seeing Chrissy in her element and realizing just how well she’d been handling a high-profile job requiring chauffeurs and limos. Saks had known she was a highly-capable woman, but the car ride somehow really put it into perspective.

  Eventually they pulled up to a four-story modern glass and metal building that seemed to be in the middle of the city. High-rises captured the charm of the old world that rose up around them, while the sidewalks were busy with those passing under the spread of umbrellas. Without fanfare their driver opened the back door, offered a hand to Chrissy, and then went to grab their bags.

  “I can take mine,” Saks offered.

  “Not necessary, Mr. Parks. It’s all part of the service.”

  Saks was left to follow along as Chrissy took the lead and went inside. The modernity of the building continued on, with gleaming floors and sleek surfaces. It was expensive, he could tell that much, and his brow wrinkled at the sight of Chrissy gathering a key from the desk with nothing more than a smile. Had he been back home, he would’ve needed to show a driver’s license in anyplace as fancy as this.

  In a hurry he followed Chrissy into a nearby elevator, and couldn’t help the feeling of eyes boring into the back of him. “Is there a problem?” Saks asked when he realized Robert had been staring.

  “That’s an unusual jacket you have there.”

  Saks shrugged. “It’s my club jacket. I belong to a motorcycle back home.”

  “Like the Hell’s Angels?”

  “No,” Saks snorted, “not like them.”

  “Sorry, sir. I was just curious. I’d never seen anything like it, except in newspapers.”

  “Saks’ club is a social one, Robert,” Chrissy explained. “They spend time together and organize road trips and other events.”

  “Pardon?”

  Saks pointed to his name patch.

  “That’s my club name,” he said with a grin. Robert stared at him with confusion.

  Chrissy laughed. “When I met him, he said they called him Saks because he dresses so well.”

  Saks laughed. “I did.”

  Robert’s brow furrowed. “So, you don’t, you know—”

  “Break the law?” Saks nearly burst out laughing. “Not if we can help it. Though I do have a fearsome reputation for going a few miles above the speed limit.”

  “I think it’s more than a few,” Chrissy joked.

  “But, begging your pardon, sir. How do you know if a club is social or otherwise?”

  “It’s in the patches,” Saks replied. “But if you look at the back, you’ll get the story. Social clubs like mine have a one piece or sometimes two patches. One-percenters always have three pieces. We call the top and bottom semi-curves rockers.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  “Yes.”

  “Imagine that. You do learn something new every day.”

  With a single ding the elevator door slid open, leading Chrissy to step out. Except, her usually confident steps slowed to a sudden halt.

  On high alert, Saks’ muscles grew taut. “Chrissy?”

  “Robert,” she called back
, fear strung in her voice, “call the police.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When the police finally left, Chrissy sagged against the breakfast bar. She was entirely drained of energy and somehow riled up for action all at the same time. All the while they’d been there, the inspector had lobbed uncomfortable question after question at her as if she’d had something to do with it all. Saks had stood passively against the wall outside the apartment with his arms crossed, even after the police inspector questioned him as if he were a suspect, too. Chrissy supposed the Hades Spawn jacket he wore didn’t help. But a quick check of the airports records confirmed that they were nowhere near the apartment when whatever happened did.

  The entire thing was a damn mystery.

  The apartment had been ransacked as if someone was looking for something, but Chrissy couldn’t answer the officer’s question as to what that could be. Pearson rarely kept items of value, aside from his personal jewelry in the apartment.

  They’d found Jessica’s bags, still packed, and the tux Pearson had worn the night before she’d left hanging in the closet. It hadn’t moved an inch from where she’d left it.

  “And that’s significant how?” the police officer asked.

  “The dry cleaners would have picked up his dry cleaning yesterday.”

  “He gets his formal wear cleaned after one use?”

  “All his clothes, Officer, yes. He’s very fastidious.”

  Chrissy confirmed that nothing was missing. In fact, she found the iPad on Jessica's bed; more than anything, that one item left her stomach churning with worry.

  The officer wrote up a statement, and Chrissy signed it. But it was apparent that this burglary, as the office called it, didn’t spark the same concern in the police as it did in Chrissy.

  “Okay, Miss. We’ll canvass the building and check the cameras. This will get turned over to an inspector for further investigation. Here’s my contact information. How can we contact you?”

  Chrissy gave the officer the contact number of the New York Office. “They’ll call me right away and relay any messages.”

  “Then we’ll be going now. If you realize anything is missing, or you hear from Mr. Pearson or Miss Saunders, please call us.”

  “You got everything you need?”

  “Yes, Miss, we’ve taken your prints and dusted throughout. But you’re right. Aside from the toss, everything here is very clean. We found no prints.”

  Chrissy thanked them, and motioned Saks further into the apartment. With her arms perched across her chest she let out a hefty sigh and stared. Seat cushions had been tossed to the floors, drawers were pulled open and dumped out, tables had been upended, and every last bit of mail had been sliced open.

  Whatever had happened was violent, yet the police seemed to be treating it like it was nothing.

  “So, what now?” she asked aloud, without expecting an actual answer.

  “I need to make a call home and I don’t have international coverage on my phone.”

  Chrissy handed him her phone. “If you did I’d think you had some Ukraine sweetie who you had phone sex with at night.”

  “No. I prefer saucy Italian girls.”

  “For phone sex?”

  “No. The real thing,” he murmured as he hurried on making his call. “Yeah, Louis, this is Saks. I’ll put you on speaker. You know Chrissy, right?”

  “Yes. She was at the apartment when—”

  “You got it right. Say hi to Chrissy.”

  “Hi, Chrissy,” Louis sing-songed over the speakerphone.

  “Hi, Detective Anglotti,” Chrissy called back.

  “He’s family, babe. Don’t ‘Detective’ him.”

  Chrissy snorted.

  “So, Chrissy and I are in London, and we found her boss’ apartment broken in to. He’s gone. Chrissy’s assistant, who was here helping, is missing, too. The place has been torn apart, but it doesn’t seem like anything is missing, and the police don’t seem to care much.”

  “There isn’t much they can do except file the paperwork.”

  “But I have on good authority that Chrissy’s boss is into high-level criminal activity. Now Pearson and Jessica, Chrissy’s assistant, is missing.”

  “Who gave you the information on this Pearson guy?”

  “An unimpeachable source. This is why I came to London with Chrissy.”

  “Then maybe you should call your unimpeachable source.”

  “I will. But what sort of things should we look for?”

  “People, when they aren’t in trouble, usually have their cell phones.”

  “We didn’t find them here,” Chrissy said. The knots in her stomach twisted tighter. Something bad happened in this apartment.

  “Look in unusual places, or if you can get a hold of the cell phone company records, that can help. You might find phone numbers that are out of place, or many of the same number at a specific time. That can be helpful. And...” Louis let out a breathy sigh, “make sure you’re careful. If someone went through a lot of trouble to cover their tracks, then they’re going to be watching their backs, too.”

  “Of course,” Chrissy said. “And I'll try that for Mr. Pearson’s phone. Thanks.”

  “No problem, but now I have to go fight Westfield’s crime.”

  “Then say hello to the family for me,” Saks told him.

  “I’ll be sure to send your regards to Uncle Vits.”

  “Don’t eat too many hot wings.”

  “’Bye, Anthony.”

  Chrissy snickered as Saks hung up the phone.

  “What?”

  “Anthony,” she muttered, her tongue stuck partially out.

  “It’s my name. You going to harass me for what my parents did to me, or are you going to make some phone calls?”

  “Weren't you going to call the unimpeachable source?”

  “I will, after you see if we can get some more information. But Rob is more the ace up our sleeve.”

  “He is?”

  “I hope so. He has connections I never will.”

  “You hope.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chrissy hurriedly set to logging into the cell phone account to hunt for the bills. Unfortunately, they weren’t quite what she needed. “This isn’t going to help. What I need isn’t on the billing.”

  “Call the company,” Saks said over his shoulder as he scoured the apartment again, looking for anything helpful.

  Why didn’t she think of that? Her jumbled nerves seemed to be interfering with the thinking part of her brain. She was glad Saks was here to help, but was also frustrated at herself for not keeping it together.

  One quick call to the phone company later, and Chrissy had a document detailing Pearson’s calls. Nothing really jumped out at her.

  “Hey, babe,” Saks interrupted. “Why I didn’t think of this before? Call Jessica’s number.”

  “All right,” Chrissy murmured as she pulled up Jessica’s number and hit send. It went to voicemail and she was about to give up when Saks shouted out at her.

  “Again! Keep calling it!”

  Over and over Chrissy called Jessica’s phone, hopeful that one time she’d suddenly pick up, when Saks’ voice jolted her back to reality.

  “Found it!” He ran triumphantly from Jessica’s bedroom with the phone in question. “It was on the charger, but stuck between the mattress and the wall.”

  “Wow,” Chrissy breathed, entirely deflated. “That means she left here without it, and she wouldn’t do that. That means she’s in trouble. And I can’t access her phone.”

  “What’s her number? I’m calling my unimpeachable source.”

  Within a half hour they had a list of Jessica’s calls since she’d arrived in London.

  “Wait.” Chrissy’s finger tapped on the screen. “Here’s one that’s on both Pearson’s and Jessica’s list.”

  “Call it.”

  “Are you sure?” The mystery of who would pick up left her stomach entirely uneasy.


  “Yes. If the police call them, and this unknown person has information, it will scare them off. But if you call them, and talk in that sweet voice of yours, then you might find something out.”

  Nervously, Chrissy put the phone on speaker, dialed the number, and sucked in a breath while she waited for an answer.

  “Kovel,” said a gruff voice, sending ripples of surprise down her skin.

  “Hi, Alexi!” she said brightly as she forced herself to keep it together. “It’s Chrissy from the Embassy Ball, remember me?”

  “Chrissy?” He took a moment to clear his throat. “Yes, Ms. Serafini, what can I do for you?”

  “Well,” she said coquettishly, “it seems I don’t have any plans tonight. I was wondering if we could get a drink?”

  “A drink?”

  “Yes. I just got back from the States, and it seems I have some time on my hands. And I remembered this very handsome man I met a few nights ago.”

  “I don’t...” Voices in the background came across the line until something muffled them. “Well, yes, Ms. Serafini. That would be lovely. Where would you like to meet?”

  They agreed to a place and time. Chrissy clicked off the call, to find Saks glaring at her.

  “What was that?” Saks demanded. He frowned and looked uncomfortable at the same time. He crossed his arms as he tightened his jaw.

  She had to suppress a smile, because Saks acting jealous was just too adorable for words. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m not used to my fiancée flirting with other men.”

  “I mean nothing by it. It’s all in the line of duty.”

  “I don’t have to like it. But what gives you the clue this guy knows something?”

  “We don’t say guy in England. Instead we say bloke.”

  “You keep teasing me and I might resort to something drastic.”

  “Like what?”

  “Grabbing you and kissing you up one side and down another.”

  “Ooh. That would be cruel and unusual torture.”

  Saks stepped forward and swept her up in his arms. “Where’s the rack in this place? I’ll start on that right away.”

  “I’ll have you know my boss is a progressive man. There isn’t a single rack in the place.”