The Shoal of Time
Page 27
But not tonight, not with Desiree, despite our sharing the danger. I would wait for Ashley.
She held the kiss, put a hand on my chest, down to my breast, and gently cupped it.
A moment more, then we both pulled away.
“Sleep,” she said. Then she turned from me and pulled back the covers.
I took the robe off and slid into bed, my back to her, and fell asleep within minutes.
Chapter Twenty-one
I woke in the morning with the utterly mundane thought of wondering where my car was parked. Would Emily spot it and notice it was close to where one of the Guidry brothers had been caught?
You gave your name to the police. All she needs to do is read the police report to know you’re involved once again.
I felt something warm against my back. I carefully turned over, leaning up on my elbow. Desiree was next to me, on her side facing away. Her ass had been against mine as we slept. She had thrown off most of the covers in the night. We were both naked.
She was gorgeous, her body still sculpted and generous, ample breasts, hips and thighs a perfect curve.
I wanted to turn her on her back and climb on top of her. Banish the terrors of the night with the pleasures of the morning.
But I turned away, quietly got out of bed, and went to the bathroom.
When I emerged, Desiree was awake, chaste in a white flannel robe.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” I remembered to ask, “Did you?”
“Yes. It was…comforting to have you here. I woke up several times, afraid he might come back. Was reassured to find you here.”
“I’m not protection against a madman like him.”
“You’ve done well so far.” She smiled her half-sad smile at me. “You saved us, that’s good enough for me. I want decent human beings, not heroes.”
“I’ll do my best to be decent. Speaking of, do you have any clothes I can borrow?”
“Yes, let me see what I can find.” She dug through her drawers and found a baggy pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt, socks, and a pair of slip-on shoes that I could get my feet into. Not a great ensemble, but it would be enough to get me to my car and home.
“Coffee?”
I was tempted. Her coffee was probably as good as her Scotch. But there were too many other temptations here. I needed to be gone. “Thank you, but no. I should head home and deal with whatever today is going to bring.”
“I understand,” she said as if she was used to people leaving her. She led me to her door.
“Let me know if you hear anything from your contacts.”
“I will.” She took my hand. “Again, thank you, Micky, for your courage last night. I don’t think anyone…has ever done that for me.”
I looked down at the ground. I couldn’t meet her eyes or I might get lost there. “I just did what I had to do. I couldn’t let him burn you or anyone.”
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I have to return your clothes.”
“They’re not important.”
“Yes, you will see me again.”
She opened the door.
I walked out. Turned and looked back. Waved good-bye.
She still had the smile on her face, the one that never let the world know what she was truly thinking. She couldn’t be just a person, instead always seen as a fallen woman or a sex worker, or a temptress. Her sexual history blotted everything else out—once a prostitute, people, including me, saw only that. I’d thought she was a game player, but maybe what she wanted—and couldn’t ask for since she’d been rejected so many times—was to be seen as a person, a woman not that different from me and you.
I needed to call Ashley, to remind myself she was not a dream, but a real, breathing person, one I could be happy with.
Luck was with me. My car was parked in a No Parking Eight AM to Six PM zone. It was just after eight and the meter maid was already on the block, but hadn’t made it to my car yet. I managed to drive away before she was close enough to see my license plate.
I was home quickly and the parking gods were kind enough to give me a place right in front of my house.
I had remembered to retrieve my phone, wallet—needed my driver’s license even for the short drive home—PI license, and gun. I wiped them all down with a damp, soft cloth, trying to get rid of any lingering gas scent. The fireman had disposed of the bullets in the gun. No, not a good idea to fire bullets soaked in gas.
One of the first things I did after the fuel cleanup was look at my phone. Ashley hadn’t called. Maybe she’d had a long night and was now sleeping.
I took another shower, only washing my hair twice this time. Then changed into real clothes, jeans, a T-shirt covered by a sweatshirt and fixed the all-important coffee.
I checked the local news and they had picked up the story but had few details other than a man had attempted arson in the French Quarter.
I kept waiting for my favorite FBI agent to come harass me, but maybe both of the Guidry brothers were in custody by now and she had her hands full with real criminals.
I stayed at home, didn’t feel like going to the office, but kept my phone charged and near me.
Lunch came—another turkey sandwich, I had to use the turkey before it went bad—and went and I still hadn’t heard from Ashley. I was beginning to worry.
Finally around two in the afternoon, I called her, but only got voice mail.
The crooks had been caught, everyone was busy. I should be glad. I could take it easy, let my bruised spots heal, and justice would be taken care of while I sat with my feet up.
At four I called Ashley. Still got voice mail. I left a message again, just to let her know I was thinking about her. I have to admit I also wanted her to know what a big hero I was. Maybe have her take care of me for a bit.
Just as I was contemplating what I might cook, my cell rang.
Ashley.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering about you,” I greeted her.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a crazy day.” There was noise in the background. I could barely hear her.
“Where are you?”
“Sorry,” she said again. “I’m in New York.”
“What?”
“They called us back. I wanted to call you, but it all happened so quickly.”
“You’re in New York?” I said stupidly. “Like New York City?”
“Yes, we just got in. I’m waiting for my baggage. This is the first chance I’ve had to call you. I’m sorry. I wanted to call sooner.”
“That’s okay. I know it’s been crazy lately. I’m glad you called when you got a chance.”
“I can’t talk long. I know I shouldn’t ask this, but can you come here?”
“You want me to fly up there?”
“Yes. Can you?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not sure how soon I can get a ticket.”
“I’ll pay for it. Can you come this week? Tomorrow even?”
“I’ll try,” was all I could offer.
“Please try hard. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I’ll call you—” But the phone was dead.
I stared at my phone. I felt bereft and alone. I had wanted to see Ashley, was looking forward to being with her, telling her about my brush with death and have her hold me. Not this. She was a thousand miles away and didn’t tell me until she was already there.
Stop whining, I told myself. If she was there, maybe it meant that someone in the Guidry family was spilling on the higher-ups. Maybe they’d soon have their man and Ashley would be up for some time off.
I was a good girlfriend and looked up flights. There were several left and the prices, at least on the ones that made several stops, weren’t too bad. I tried to call Ashley but only got her voice mail. I texted her a couple of the options to see what she thought.
About an hour later, I get a reply. Love to see you. Whichever works for you.
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I went ahead and booked the flight that had the best combination of inexpensive and reasonable flying time. I texted her the info but didn’t hear from her.
Okay, I’m on a plane tomorrow. To tidy things up, I headed for my office, picking up a shrimp po-boy on the way. I could eat salads in New York City.
After the all-important eating, I changed my voice mail to indicate I’d be out for a few days and my email to an autoreply that I might be slow in responding. I’d left the return trip open. Once I actually talked to Ashley, we could sort that out.
Emily’s words came back to me. She trusted me, but she was going to check and double-check.
Don’t lose your heart to a woman until you’ve at least done a criminal background check. I had checked both Emily and Desiree, but other than my phone conversation with Frank Mullen, hadn’t looked into Ashley. Ashley West isn’t an uncommon name, so the usual searches weren’t so helpful. I found about forty Ashley Wests. The kids on Facebook I immediately dismissed. I found an Ashley West from New York state, but she was a six-one African American basketball player. Or had been about seven years ago. Although it was evening, I called a friend in the Justice Department in DC. A simple favor, could he verify someone named Ashley West was an ICE agent? And also that Emily Harris was an FBI agent. I promised a Sazerac bar tour next time he was in New Orleans—and to introduce him to the man of his dreams. We both laughed at that.
I had told both Emily and Ashley about Desiree being the one with the police connections to go after the boat in Des Allemandes. I wanted to dismiss Ashley, but I told myself I needed to be a hard-nosed private eye all around. She would check out, but the only way to be sure was to check her out. Given the cost—what had almost happened to Desiree—I had to cover everyone, no matter how much I dismissed the possibility.
What about the people she was with? I only knew their first names. John, the older man; Jack, the younger one; Sandy, the young woman with Jack; and Cara, the older woman. Another man had been with them at the restaurant where we first met. That was the only time I saw him.
A memory slipped in. In the pizza place where we first met, the man introduced as John had been called Mel.
No big deal, people often have nicknames.
Bobbie Sue of the Guidry family said one of the crooks was named Jack and he had flirted with her.
Still no big deal, a lot of men are named Jack.
How had they lost me at the warehouse? Ashley said the tattooed man must have entered through a back door. But I hadn’t seen any back door. Maybe it was on the other side.
Emily was sure no one on her team was working as an informant. Ashley was equally sure. What if Ashley was wrong? It was her boss who quashed the information about the boat, insisting the trafficking route was overland.
I picked up the phone again and called Desiree.
She has such a beautiful voice, low and sultry.
“Can you do me a favor? You have surveillance outside your door, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The john that threatened you. Can you send me a picture of him?”
“Yes, I can. Roland was working on that for you, wasn’t he?”
“He was. Any word on how he is?”
“Doing much better than expected. I was just with him a little earlier. A big headache. But he’s awake and complaining about wanting to get out of the hospital. Thank you for asking.”
“Tell him to take care of himself.”
“He’s more familiar with the video equipment, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
Just as I hung up with her, my DC buddy called back.
“Yep, Ashley West is an ICE agent. She’d been in NYC but was just transferred to Seattle. As for Emily Harris in the FBI, so far nada. She new? Anything else you need to know?”
“She could be,” I answered.
“I’ll keep looking,” he promised. “I love me some New Orleans cocktails.”
I thanked him and promised the Sazerac of his dreams, if not the man.
Seattle. That was pretty damn far away. Maybe she could get transferred back to New York. Or down here.
I did the same searches on Ashley West that I’d done on Desiree and Emily, but found no property for an Ashley West that seemed to fit this particular Ashley West. I didn’t know what to make of Emily not showing up. The ID she’d shoved against my car seemed real enough. Maybe she was new and not in the database my friend had access to yet.
Finally, around ten p.m., I closed my computer. I had confirmed that she was an ICE agent. Emily had to be wrong—or not informed—about her being here. Or maybe Emily was deliberately misleading me, claiming ICE wasn’t involved.
Time to go home and pack.
Chapter Twenty-two
I was up early to finish packing. Since I wasn’t sure how long I was going to stay, I wanted to pack smart and light. If I flew back in two days—Ashley with me, I hoped—I didn’t want to have two weeks of clothes.
If I stayed, well, New York had plenty of stores.
As I closed my overnight bag, I mused there was one advantage about having lost the cats in the divorce. I didn’t need to worry about them if I went out of town.
One last check. I took my PI license with me because it’s always useful to have. Also my passport since the time I’d forgotten to get my driver’s license renewed and spent an entire week wondering if they’d let me fly back home on an expired license. I wore my black leather jacket. It was too heavy for here, but I’d need it in New York. An extra pair of jeans, one decent pair of black pants. And enough underwear to get me through heavy sex. That kept my bag small enough so not only was it carry-on, but I could easily tote it around. We hadn’t arranged a place to meet, so I could see hanging out for a while until we got together.
I hadn’t heard from Desiree but assumed she was either busy or not familiar enough with the video equipment to get a picture.
I called a cab to take me to the airport. I was so used to having one of my friends—or Cordelia—drive me that I hadn’t used a taxi in years. But I didn’t want to explain to the friends I’d ignored for the last few months that I was flying to New York to be with a woman I’d just met a few weeks ago.
The cab will do. It’ll get me there to see Ashley.
Once I was there and through security, I sent her a text message. She messaged back, See u soon.
Okay, I’m old-school and actually spell out words in text messages. But maybe she was busy and skipping two letters saves time.
But still, as they started the initial boarding call, I texted, About to board. See you as soon as the planes get me there.
She didn’t answer.
Just as I was about to turn my phone off another text message came through.
It was from Desiree. Sorry this took so long. Had to talk to Roland this morning to figure it out. Under the message was a grainy black-and-white photo.
Jack.
I stared at the photo as I boarded the plane.
I needed to tell Ashley. I thought of forwarding her the text, but didn’t. She could be with him right now. If he saw it, she could be in danger.
She was in New York, probably surrounded by all sorts of law enforcement. He couldn’t do anything to her there—unless he got desperate because he knew he’d been uncovered.
I’d see her in a few hours. Best to do it face-to-face when I knew she wasn’t near him.
I debated whether I was doing the right thing the entire time I waited in the Atlanta airport to change planes. Stuck to my original plan: tell her in person.
While up in the air, I cursed myself for not doing a better job of vetting her associates. Ashley had a winning smile; I hadn’t looked much beyond that in agreeing to work for them. I should have asked more questions, at least gotten full names.
Other than my frantic worry, the plane trip wasn’t bad, mostly on time and the screaming kids were on the other end of the plane.
I followed the crowd in the direction of baggage claim and ground transportation, but I needed to know where I was going to go anywhere. I didn’t want to go into Manhattan if it turned out she lived in Queens, three subway stops from the airport. I was at the point of mentally grousing the sex wasn’t good enough to strand me in an airport when she texted me back.
I was to meet her in a hotel in the Times Square area.
That settled, I headed for the appropriate ground transportation. I decided to do it the cheap way and take the subway. Given that it was just about four in the afternoon, going below ground would be faster than anything above ground.
I was glad I had packed light. I could sling my overnight bag across my chest and let it rest under my arm and carry it easily that way. I had to walk to the airport train, which took me to the E train and from there into Manhattan.
I got off at the Fiftieth and Eighth Avenue station. The hotel Ashley had directed me to was on Forty-sixth Street between Seventh and Eighth.
It was a small, boutique hotel. The lobby was on the second floor and barely big enough for more than three people with luggage. On the first floor was a restaurant and bar. I settled in at the bar, ordered a beer, and texted Ashley.
A few minutes later I got a reply: I’m on my way.
I had a cold beer, had reached my destination, and my girlfriend—I was starting to think of her that way—would be here soon. Couldn’t ask for much more.
She arrived before half the beer was gone.
I saw her first, walking down the street. The last glow of the sun caught her hair, bringing out the gold and red in it. She was dressed in dark-brown suede pants, deep-green boots, and a matching leather coat. Under it I got the hint of a black turtleneck sweater.
When she looked through the window and saw me, a big grin split her face.
I grinned in return.
She quickly came through the doors and embraced me, settling for a kiss on the cheek in this public place.