The word was the first that actually took on some significance for Keenan.
Someone to come up with bail.
Keenan had no family in town, no friends, not even close acquaintances he knew well enough for him to go to for money. There were several ex-girlfriends, but he was certain they’d all just hang up on him. The only people he could think of were his next-door neighbor (fat chance) and Mike, the other graphic designer that sat in the cubicle next to him. Since Keenan had less than forty bucks in his pocket until Monday, and even less in the bank, Mike would have to do.
Just then, the door opened and a man in shirtsleeves and slacks sauntered through it. Under his arm was a clipboard with a yellow tablet attached to it. He was tall with pale skin, fishy eyes, and rumpled dishwater hair. He looked about as threatening as a sponge.
The man leaned on the wall across from Keenan and pulled a piece of paper from the back of the clipboard. Keenan didn’t say a word while he examined it.
“Keenan Swanson, right?”
Keenan nodded and the man tucked the clipboard back under his arm.
“Sergeant Thompson read you your rights, correct?”
Keenan nodded again, but he couldn’t look into those bulging eyes anymore, so he bowed his chin toward the floor.
“Good,” the man continued. “I’m Detective Johnston, Mr. Swanson. Before we start any questioning, I need to know if you would like to waive your right to have an attorney present during an interview.”
Keenan blinked back at him and didn’t know what to say.
Mac floated to stand next to him and turned to the detective. “Tell him you’d like your phone call.”
“I’d like my phone call,” Keenan repeated dutifully.
Johnston put his lips to one side and gave him a single nod. “Okey, dokey. I’ll check with Thompson.” He ambled out the same way he came in and locked the door behind him.
Keenan was convinced he’d never get that phone call, but five minutes later, Johnston reentered the room without comment and handed Keenan his own cell phone, then leaned against the furthest wall, watching him with bored, half-closed eyes.
Keenan stared down at the familiar instrument as if it were some kind of poisonous snake. He had no idea what Mike’s number was. All he could remember was the office number. Reflexively, he dialed it. The two rings didn’t give him any time to think it through.
You’ve reached General Graphics and Designs. Our normal business hours are 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., Monday thru Friday. Please leave your name, number, and a reason for the call, and someone will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day.
Keenan had one second to think of what to say before it beeped into his ear.
“Uh…” More sweat trickled down the left side of his neck. “This is Keenan Swanson and I’m trying to get in touch with, uh, Mike Albertson. I am at the…” He threw a panicked look at the detective.
“Southeast Precinct, Forty-Seventh and East Burnside,” the man mumbled.
“Southeast Precinct, Forty-Seventh and East Burnside,” Keenan repeated. “I’ve been arrested, but it’s all a mistake. I need him to come down and bail me out.” He fumbled for an additional explanation, but it evaded him. Instead, he stammered, “Th…thank you.” It was brainless, but that was the state of his mental dexterity at the moment.
Without hanging up, he handed the phone back to the cop.
When the man left, Keenan buried his face in his hands. He was very tired.
“All right, son,” Mac said. “Let’s work out a strategy for your defense.”
Keenan lifted his head and cocked it to one side. “Just leave me alone. I’ve had all the help I can stand for one day.”
“Sure thing.” Mac slammed the book shut. “I was only trying to assist.” Keenan heard the faint swoosh of the man disappearing.
He closed his eyes and let his mind slip into exhaustion. It was going to be a long night.
After several hours of silence and staring at four blank walls, Keenan convinced himself he would be there forever. Had they forgotten him? What time was it? What day was it? The stress from the night before and no sleep was making him twitchy. Various apparitions floated through to pay their respects, make fun of him, or ignore him completely. Keenan didn’t mind; without the distraction, his brain would have been on its own. That was always a dangerous scenario. He occupied most of his time trying to figure out what would come in next in the parade of specters.
Finally, he heard the buzz at the cell door and turned around.
A stout little man crossed the cell to remove cuffs then wiggled a finger at him. Keenan followed him out the door where the cop stopped him, indicating Keenan’s shoes with a nod. Keenan slipped them onto his feet.
“Come on,” the officer said, motioning Keenan to another door.
Three specters slid through the cell door and waved goodbye to him and Constance, who cropped up right in front of him, waved hello. She searched him up and down but said nothing.
The short man led Keenan down a long hallway with empty offices on either side, passed a break room, and along a short hallway with a door at the end. Keenan thought he was taking him to get fingerprints, photos, or something, since they didn’t do that the night before, but to his astonishment the man moved through the metal door out into a spacious lobby where Keenan blinked against bright sunshine coming through high windows.
Keenan stopped dead in his tracks and his blood turned to ice. Standing in front of a glassed-in reception counter, looking like an angel in sweats, stood Isabella.
“Fuck,” whispered Keenan.
“You’re free to go,” whispered the cop.
“Oh, honey,” whispered Constance.
Chapter Eight
Spirited Away
Isabella turned to regard the two of them, and Keenan was amazed she was smiling. She gave him a wink, shook her head, and looked down to finish signing something. The little man grabbed Keenan’s arm and propelled him toward the girl. On the way, he snatched the “Evidence” envelope from the reception desk and pressed it into Keenan’s arms. The familiar jingle of his car keys gave him little comfort.
“Thank you, miss,” the receptionist was saying when they came up. “Just make sure he stays out of trouble.”
Keenan saw a mischievous grin lighten Isabella’s face when she said, “Absolutely. I intend to make certain he behaves himself. I’ll see to it personally.”
As if handing off a wayward dog, the man gave Keenan a little push and Isabella grabbed his arm.
Keenan was too numb to resist her insistent pull as she led him through a glass door and out into a crisp, bright morning.
He tried to speak once they were on the sidewalk, but she beat him to it.
“Sorry, Keenan.” Isabella let go of him and fished her keys out of her purse. “There was no way to get word to you that I was coming over. I was checking messages early this morning when I heard yours. I thought it best if I came over to get you out myself. No need to get another employee mixed up in all this.”
Mortification saturated every muscle turning Keenan’s knees into blocks of gelatin. His heart sank. She’s protecting the company. I’ll be a laughing stock… if I’m still gainfully employed.
“Look,” he said running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t do anything last night. It was a terrible mistake. I never…”
“I know.” She clicked a button on her keychain toward a waiting sedan parked at the end of the lot. The tinny beep grated against his throbbing head.
“You know?”
“Sure…they told me they weren’t pressing charges. Said one of the other cops wanted to teach you a lesson.” She opened the passenger door and motioned for him to get in. “Said they didn’t have enough to keep you. Lucky.”
Keenan’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out, and Isabella gave him another one of those special smirks he was starting to like. She slammed the door, glided around the front, and got into the driver’s seat. Sweeping pr
etty brown eyes at him, she put the key in the ignition and started the car.
“Don’t worry. This is between you and me. It never happened.”
“I’m really sorry. I appreciate your taking me home. I’ll never darken your doorstep again…”
“Not on your life, mister.” She barely glanced at her side mirror when she turned right onto Burnside, cutting in front of another driver, who honked his horn. “You and I had a date, remember? You owe me breakfast.”
What with his house demolished, his life threatened not once, but twice, and the arrest, the date had completely slipped his mind. Her nonchalant acceptance of the situation floored him. It had to be a mistake…or he had died and gone to flasher heaven.
“Listen, you don’t have to…”
“You’re not worming your way out of it, so get comfortable. You want to go home first to change?” She watched the road and Keenan watched her. The silhouette of her jaw line made him almost forget the last twelve hours.
“Yeah,” he replied absently.
“Great. I’d love to see your place. I’ve never been to the Hawthorn District. I’ve heard the old houses are awesome.”
That brought him back to reality with a jolt. His house was a war zone and he knew he couldn’t explain it. He thought as fast as his idiot brain would allow him and said, “On second thought, maybe we can skip the house tour today. It’s a mess. How about I take you on one later this week?”
Her amused look was difficult to read… a cross between smug and embarrassed. It took her face beyond the beautiful range and brought it up a notch to magnificent. Keenan fought back the urge to touch her.
“Deal,” she said and looked behind her to slide into the left lane.
She just missed three other cars as she sped through Southeast Portland like a maniac. Keenan grabbed the “oh, Jesus” bar until his knuckles went white. Isabella swerved around another car that obviously wasn’t going fast enough for her tastes and said, “Don’t worry, Kee. Haven’t killed anyone…yet.”
The nickname startled him and he tightened his grip with purpose. “Okay…Is,” he said pointedly. “Promise me I won’t be the first and I’ll let go.”
A frightening chuckle escaped her lovely lips. “No promises, my friend. Hang on!” The car careened through traffic and Keenan closed his eyes. His hand stayed put.
When they arrived at The Hotcake House, the lot was packed, but there were still a couple of slots open, so Isabella shoehorned the car into one. Keenan knew if they could get into the lot, they could get into the building and have breakfast. The place was one of the most popular in Portland and had been the size of a shoebox for fifty years, despite that. The owners had no interest in expanding.
Keenan opened the door for Isabella and a waft of pancakes, syrup, bacon, and chatter closed in around them.
“Two?” a young woman asked.
“Yes.”
A flush of embarrassment ran through Keenan’s arms when he looked down at his clothes; they were wrinkled and dirty from the previous night’s adventure. In a sudden panic, he realized he didn’t know where his wallet was, but then remembered. He opened the clear envelope still clutched in his arms and saw it snug inside, along with his keys and cell phone. With nimble dexterity, he pulled them out and tucked them into his pockets. The rubbing bulges felt good, familiar, the first normalcy of the day. When he tossed the empty evidence envelope on the reception counter, the hostess gave him a patient nod. Obviously, she had seen it all.
She escorted them to the front of the building next to an immense plate-glass window facing Powell and handed them menus. The menus were a single laminated sheet with food items on only one side; all they served were eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, toast, steaks, hamburgers, french-fries, and the best hotcakes in the country.
When the woman left, Isabella leaned across the table and touched Keenan’s hand. The heat of her fingers went straight to his core. All his muscles, except one, relaxed at her touch. That one was doing aerobics.
“Are you all right?”
He placed his hand on top of hers and a flicker of satisfaction spread like wildfire through him. Despite everything that had happened the last twenty-four hours, none of that mattered when he was with her. He surrendered without a fight.
“Fine,” he said, examining the soft features on the back of her hand. “Just tired.” He searched her eyes and had to smile. “Sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass.”
“Apology accepted. Don’t worry, Kee…my lips are sealed.”
I’d love to seal your lips.
Keenan shook the thought out of his head and sipped his coffee.
“You’re good,” he said. “If it were me, I doubt I’d take the risk on a relative stranger. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, I think if I were busted for exposing myself you’d be the first in line.” Isabella’s eyes softened and Keenan’s mouth fell.
“Naughty girl.”
The enigmatic smile that dusted her lips made her look like a goddess in the early morning light. “Oh, much worse than that. You’d be surprised.”
“I guess so.” Was there a hidden hot cauldron of desire buried under that professional façade? Keenan only hoped. “Why’d you do it?”
Isabella took in a deep breath of coffee fumes and tilted the cup. Watching the clouds of cream swirl through the dark liquid, she wrapped both hands around the cup. “Not sure,” she said, and Keenan thought he saw a moment of regret pass through her face. “I’ll lose my job if they find out. Not exactly professional to bail out an employee, even if I ended up not having to. I’m supposed to report it.”
“They’ll have to torture the truth out of me,” he said gallantly. The sound of Isabella’s laugh was like a drug.
“You’d probably like that.”
Another surprise. Keenan loved surprises. “Torture’s a little over the top. A short beating usually gets my attention.”
“I’ll remember that.” There was that twinkle in her eyes again. Her smile faded and she sat back. “Seriously, you need to be careful. The company has a strict policy against being arrested. If the cops had actually pressed charges, I’d have to report it. I’d hate to do that, especially to someone I really like.”
Alarm bells (or was it bird song) went off in his head followed by a waitress sidling up to the table.
“Good morning, folks. What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have a short stack,” Isabella said, handing the waitress the laminated sheet.
The woman took the menu and nodded. “And you, sir?”
“Same, thanks.”
The woman gave him a quick smile, took his menu, and scooted back to the open kitchen.
“You like me?” Keenan tried not to sound anxious and failed miserably.
“Can’t stand you. I bail out every man who asks me,” Isabella said with a saucy tilt of her head. “Honestly,” she added with a huff. “Not very bright, are you? I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for two weeks. I was beginning to think my womanly wiles weren’t going to work on you. Thought maybe you might be gay.” She paused. “You’re not, are you?”
“Nope. Flaming heterosexual.”
“Thought so. Anyway, this was a golden opportunity I just couldn’t resist. I took the chance you weren’t a serial killer or something. Surprised even me, to tell you the truth. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Bewilderment was a two by four smacking him in the back of the head. He couldn’t speak.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked.
“What?”
“I saved your life. You’re my bitch now.”
This was just getting better and better. Funny, Keenan was sure this was going to be the worst day of his life. Just goes to show, you never know what’s going to happen. He knew the shit ass grin on his face was coming across as desperate, but at least it was honest.
“Oh, great mistress,” he said, bowing low over the table. “
I am your humble slave. Do with me what you will.”
She paraded those brilliant white teeth at him and raised an eyebrow. “Trust me…that’s exactly what I had in mind.”
Keenan’s cock jumped up and did the happy dance all by itself under the table. Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy! The rest of his body followed right behind.
“Check please,” he said to the room. Isabella laughed.
It was just at that moment that the pancakes, and Reggie, appeared.
The pancakes were silent, but Reggie broke the mood with, “Just had to see it with my own eyes. What a lovely creature.”
Keenan had never been more irritated. He tossed his napkin on the table and said to Isabella, “I’ll be right back,” then headed for the john. Skating through the tables, he made his way to the door and slammed against it with both hands to open it. Fortunately, the john was empty.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked Reggie who was floating in front of the urinal swinging a phantom walking stick back and forth.
“Where are your manners, boy? I just came here to tell you something.” He laughed and twirled the stick over his head. “I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. That girl just took it clean away. Maybe I’ll get her to try to feel me…”
“You stay away from her, Reggie.” The words came out with force and Reggie’s smile deepened.
“Much too good for the likes of you,” he teased, but there was something simmering behind his eyes that Keenan didn’t like.
“Look…,” he replied, trying to keep his temper. “…just leave me alone right now. I’ve got a real chance here and I don’t want to blow it. I’ll do anything you want, I promise.”
The glare in Reggie’s eyes was almost tangible now and it gave Keenan the willies.
“Anything?”
Keenan hesitated before saying, “Yeah. Anything. Deal?”
A huge grin split Reggie’s lips and with a flip of his hand, everything disappeared, except his lips. “Deal.” They blinked out of the room. Keenan splashed water on his face before leaving.
When he got to the table, Isabella had a good start on the pancakes. He loved a girl with a healthy appetite.
A Ghost of a Chance Page 7
