Careless Rapture

by Dara Girard

  His eyes turned cold. “What?”

  Mack held up his hands. “It’s just a theory.”

  “That makes a lot of sense. What else could he be doing with those pictures?”

  Both men were quiet a moment as they pondered the many uses of the evidence they’d provided. Clay swore. “We’re contributing to some guy’s fetish? I knew there was something weird about him.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Nearly a year of evidence? Something’s going on here. That’s way past curiosity or even denial. Did he explain why he wanted us to do it?”

  “Same excuse: he wants to ‘make sure.’”

  “He wants to make sure,” Clay repeated with disgust. “Does he want us to give him a room key or perhaps bring back some used condoms?”

  “Clay, I don’t see why you’re upset. This is easy money. Who cares the reason why? You get too involved.”

  “I don’t like when people do foolish things.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong business.”

  Clay entered his password into the computer. “Perhaps, because I’m the biggest fool of all.”

  Mack stood and leaned against Clay’s desk. He began to grin. “All right. Who is she?”

  Clay scowled. “I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  “Only a woman can tie you up like this. I should know.” He sighed with regret. “It’s over with me and Verona.”

  “She didn’t like you seeing Patrice on the side?” Clay said in a dry tone. “Silly woman.”

  Mack ignored his sarcasm. He tapped him on the shoulder. “You know what? Women should be taught how to share.”

  “They don’t mind sharing if they’re told that’s what they’re doing. You shouldn’t let women think you’re dating them exclusively.”

  “Why not? You get more devotion that way.”

  Clay shook his head, amazed at his partner’s logic. “Perhaps you should get married again. Cheating never got you into too much trouble.”

  “Yeah, imagine that.” He folded his arms in bewilderment. “Ten years of marriage, four with my mistress, and my wife divorces me because I don’t want to have another kid.”

  “So how is Megan?”

  “Greatest kid on the planet.”

  “That kid is twenty.”

  “She’ll always be a kid to me. Her mother wasn’t such a bad woman.”

  “Which is why you treated her with such respect.”

  Mack took no offense used to the subtle jabs. “What else is a wife for, but to cheat on? Once women become mothers you can’t do certain stuff with them. It seems wrong. Why are you smiling?”

  “It’s always interesting to hear people justify bad behavior.”

  “You’ve never been married.”

  Clay raised a brow. “Never been divorced either. What’s your point?”

  Since he didn’t have one, he let his arms fall. “I did love her, but—”

  “Not enough.”

  “No, that’s not it. I think I was just selfish.”

  “You’re going to pay eventually.”

  “Yeah, I do pay sometimes. Most times I don’t have to. . .” He stopped at Clay’s expression. “Oh, you mean a different kind of pay.”

  Clay pointed three fingers in the shape of a gun. “Yes, and you’d better not get caught—”

  “Don’t worry, that was back when I was a cop.”

  Clay couldn’t help a grin. “That’s a relief.”

  Mack winked. “I was doing my job, buddy. Getting them off the streets.”

  Clay shook his head.

  “So why do you think I’ll pay?”

  “You have a daughter, yet you’re every father’s nightmare.”

  “Hey, if a guy like me comes into my kid’s life, I’ll be able to spot him.”

  “And that will be the one guy she wants to marry.”

  Mack narrowed his eyes. “Are you offering a future scenario or a wish?”

  “l’m just saying you can’t keep this up.”

  “Hmm. I wonder . . .” He stopped, then suddenly punched his palm. “Damn it, Clay! I hate when you do that.”

  Clay lifted a mocking brow. “Do what?”

  “Get me to start talking about myself.”

  “You seem to like the subject.”

  “What happened this weekend? And if you don’t tell me, I’ll investigate and find out. It’s Jackie, isn’t it? You’re worried about the case.”

  “I’m not worried about the case, but it does concern Jackie. She wants to take me to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”

  Mack stared, waiting for more. When nothing else came, he shrugged. “So? Go.”

  “Did you miss the part about this being her ex-boyfriend’s wedding? She wants to take me to prove that she’s over him or something equally absurd.”

  Mack shrugged again. “Yes, I heard you the first time. I don’t understand the problem.”

  Clay covered his eyes and groaned. “Oh, god, it’s happening.”

  “What?”

  “Everyone else in the world is crazy, except me.”

  “Your problem is you’re not seeing this in the right light. Do you know what kind of women there are at weddings?”

  “Don’t start. She presented me with that same argument. It didn’t work then.” He sat back in his chair. “I’d suggest she take you, except I wouldn’t want you within twenty miles of any women I know.”

  Mack rested a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

  “You’ll recover.” Clay leaned forward, reading something on his computer. “I think we’re closing in on the Tanya case.”

  Mack wasn’t ready to talk about work yet. “I once met this bridesmaid.” He briefly shut his eyes, a smile on his face. “What a night. Did I ever tell you about the bridesmaid at my sister’s wedding?”

  “Many times.”

  “And it bears repeating.” He held his hands out, cupping the air. “I mean, this woman—”

  Clay shot him a cold glance, his patience fading. Mack stopped, recognizing the warning. He cleared his throat and switched topics. “So basically Jackie is still driving you crazy.”

  “She doesn’t drive me crazy.”

  “After every holiday and family gathering, that’s the only name I hear.”

  “Possibly because she’s the only single female there. Your subconscious blocks out the rest.”

  Mack thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I think it’s because you’re interested.”

  Clay finished his coffee.

  “Take her to the wedding.”

  Clay leaned back in his chair and bit his lower lip, thoughtful. “You’re absolutely right. I should chuck all common sense and go along with a shallow, childish deception for a few hours of my life that I will never recapture again. Thank you for making that clear to me.”

  Mack patted him on the back. “That’s the spirit.” He sat at his desk. “I’m impressed how you Brits make sarcasm an art form. We Yanks catch it more often than you think.”

  “How amusing.”

  Mack sent him a look, unsure whether he was jesting or not. “Gabriella’s parents paid us, by the way. They dropped by after you’d left Friday.”

  Clay hit the PRINT icon on his computer. “You can keep my half.”

  He sighed. “You couldn’t have saved her.”

  That fact still tore at Clay. It had been a case he’d wished they hadn’t taken in the first place. Most PIs got odd cases. Theirs was Gabriella Anderson, a young woman raised a Catholic on Boston’s South Side, who’d ended up homeless. She’d received a degree in museum studies and a masters in anthropology. Her family had paid them to check on her every week. See that she was still alive. That was all. He’d wanted to do more and had gotten too close in the process. He’d wanted to get her off the streets. Get her safe. He’d failed.

  At quiet moments he could still hear the thrilling sound of her voice, more eloquent than her haggard appearan
ce would suggest. He could remember the expression in her eyes—a color between brown and gray—full of a knowledge about a life few people would admit to. He’d gained that same knowledge as a teenage runaway. She would have turned twenty-nine in three months if she hadn’t been found dead in a street alley. It wasn’t supposed to end that way. He couldn’t get the what ifs to stop. He almost welcomed them as ready punishment.

  “Let it go,” Mack urged. “Take the money. You worked for it.”

  “She had her whole life ahead of her. She had a master’s—”

  “Yeah, and she also had a nervous breakdown at twenty-six and continued to spiral down until her family had given up on her. Stick with the facts. We’re not in the job of storytelling or of making happy endings. If you want your insides ripped out, start caring too much. I know it’s your instinct that gets cases solved,-but be careful not to get too involved. She made choices.”

  So had he, the wrong one. It wasn’t the first time. He’d put Cassie’s life in danger by underestimating a predator’s affections. The decision to wait so long before interfering still haunted him; he hadn’t been focused then. He’d been worrying so much about her relationship with Drake that his real target nearly succeeded.

  “You’re good,” Mack said. “You don’t give yourself credit. If you’re not careful, you’ll burn out.”

  Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I’m already burned out.”

  “You had a bad weekend. You’re just tired.” Mack changed the subject, “Tell me about Tanya.”

  Clay nodded, relieved to focus on work. “Vincent thinks he saw her in Germantown. At least she’s still in the metropolitan area.” Tanya was the daughter of a prominent family who’d disappeared with her boyfriend a week ago. It wasn’t her first time. At fourteen she’d run off with a teacher. At seventeen she’d at least run off with a guy closer in age, but with the misfortune of having a ten-page rap sheet. He stood. “I’m going to Dupont Circle to talk to him.”

  Brent came into the room. “I have Evans on the phone,” he said with pride.

  Clay didn’t readily reply. When he did, his tone was without inflection. “Why?”

  Brent suddenly looked unsure. “I thought you said you wanted to meet him in an hour.”

  “No,” Clay said patiently. “I said get him on the phone for me in an hour.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s on the phone now.”

  Clay waited.

  “Uh . . . what should I say?”

  Clay sighed. “Check my schedule and make an appointment. Better yet, tell him to pay or I’ll have to meet with him and I won’t be happy.”

  Brent nodded. “Okay.”

  “Write that down.”

  He grinned, pleased. “That’s all right. I heard what ...” His words trailed off at the look on Clay’s face. He grabbed a pad and wrote down the message. Once Clay looked it over he left.

  Mack shook his head. “You realize that kid’s an idiot.”

  “He’s not an idiot. He’s still learning.”

  “You’d think a college graduate would know how to think.”

  “You hired him.”

  “Yeah?” Mack frowned, remembering his mistake. “He seemed bright and interested. Felt like a good idea at the time. Now I’m not so sure. Let’s fire him and get ourselves a coed. Preferably one with a nice—”

  “No. He’ll learn his way around soon enough.” Brent had made a few errors, but Clay was certain that with the right guidance Brent would make a fine investigator.

  “Before you leave, I have one more piece of advice.”

  Clay slid into his jacket. “What?”

  “Take her to the wedding.”

  ***

  Dupont Circle was an area of lively entertainment and impromptu rallies that would descend down Connecticut Avenue and gain momentum. A neighborhood of galleries, unique stores, and nonprofit organizations, it held its own particular charm. Clay walked down the sidewalk filled with all types of people as the scent of international dishes floated through restaurant windows. Gabriella had called a side street home. As the only woman for blocks, she had been the sole source of people’s sympathies and disdain. He briefly stopped at the empty place where she had lived, welcoming the pain of her death.

  Loss and death had been a constant shadow over his life. Pain had become a familiar companion—he wasn’t sure if he would feel completely alive without it. Clay turned and continued walking, stopping briefly when he saw a homeless man. He dropped five dollars in his cup, waved away the “God bless you,” and continued to his destination. Clay had no illusion that the guy could own a home in the wealthy Potomac area and make a living off suckers like him, but it was a habit. One that reminded him of the days he had desperately wished someone would have handed him some money.

  An hour later, he left the restaurant brooding about the information Vincent had given him. It wasn’t going to take him far, but it was better than nothing. And he could assure Tanya’s parents when they called. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked past a bridal shop, and thought about Jackie’s crazy scheme. She probably would convince some poor git to take her to the wedding. He softly swore, then shrugged. It might as well be him.

  ***

  Jackie went through her closet, searching for something to wear for tomorrow. She knew she couldn’t match Faye’s elegant style, but she did her best to look professional. Since she’d grown up with only two brothers to guide her, she’d never had the benefit of a sister or mother to emulate. She would wear jeans all the time if she could get away with it, but also knew the importance of projecting the right image. Jackie grabbed a maroon blouse. It reminded her of her third date with Brian—he’d taken her on a boat luncheon and she’d wanted to look casual but elegant. She tossed it aside. Brian was getting married and she had to find a date for the wedding. She couldn’t let him think she was someone he could use. She’d show him she could attract other men. Clay was right—it was juvenile, but she wasn’t above being a tad immature. The phone rang. “Hello?”

  “You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” The voice was cool in its delivery and precise in its intention. It scared her.

  “Who is this?”

  “I could give you careless rapture. Do you believe in that? No, not yet, but you will. Don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch.”

  He hung up before she could reply. Jackie put the phone down, then rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. Her first instinct was to label him as some pervert. But she knew otherwise. He was the man she was looking for. Melanie’s man. And he knew more than she’d suspected. Naturally, the number was blocked. He wouldn’t be that stupid. She paced. Had he meant to scare her or warn her? Or perhaps persuade her? But the call hadn’t sounded spiritual. She stopped pacing and frowned. He wanted to give her “careless rapture”? It sounded like some disgusting sexual act. He was probably a nut. She jumped when the phone rang again. Instead of fear, she felt anger.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “I’ll take you,” Clay said.

  “You’ll take me? Take some lessons in obscene phone calls, you pervert.”

  He groaned. “Jackie, its Clay.”

  Jackie fell onto the bed, relieved. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice. You should have said that first.”

  “Yes. So, if you still want to go to the wedding, I’ll take you.”

  She pumped the air with her fist, but kept her voice level. “That’s great. Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

  “I doubt that.” He paused. “Did Brian call you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You sounded scared when you picked up the phone.”

  “I wasn’t scared, I was angry.”

  “Why?”

  Jackie hesitated. “A man called me. He asked if I was looking for him. He said he could give me careless rapture. Sounds disgusting doesn’t it?”

  “You mean, does it sound like our invisible man or a pervert?”r />
  She sighed, relieved that he understood and didn’t make fun. “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure. Tell me if he calls again.”

  “I will.” She stood, feeling more relaxed. “Now, about the wedding.” She gave him instructions, then said, “Be prompt. It’s a late afternoon wedding. I don’t want to be tardy.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  Chapter Five

  Of course he was late. Twenty minutes, to be exact. Jackie checked her watch again, then continued to pace her living room. When she saw him, she would strangle him or, better yet, use his, sleeves as a garrote. He was ruining her entire plan. If they arrived late, she’d bring more attention to herself. Having a giant like Clay as her escort it was hard to “slip in” anywhere. She had wanted to appear composed, refined, as though she was like all the other guests who had received the invitation months ago. Not as the perpetually late ex-girlfriend Brian had dumped a week ago.

  Jackie checked her hair for the third time. It was pulled up in a bun and clasped by a silk flower with a sterling-silver center. She adjusted her moss-green gown then reapplied her lipstick. She checked her watch again. Yep, it was decided. She would kill him.

  When someone knocked, she stormed to the door and swung it open. She stared at the man standing there and took a hasty step back as though she’d received a strategic blow. In a way, she had. Clay stood there looking devilishly sexy in a tux with a little yellow and blue budgie on his shoulder.

  She pointed. “What is that?”

  “It’s a bird.”

  “I can see it’s a bird. Why is it there?”

  “It won’t leave me alone.” Clay glanced at the bird who was preening its feathers. “I tried to get rid of it, but it kept coming back.” He looked at her. “Reminded me of someone.”

  She opened the door wider. “Can’t imagine who.”

  “It’s probably a pet bird that’s lost or escaped from a pet shop. You don’t see birds like this flying wild.”

  “Poor little thing. It has probably mistaken you for a tree.”

  “Yes, well, she’s why I’m late.”

  Jackie stepped closer, peering at the bird for any telling signs. “How do you know it’s a she?”