by Karen Rose
She slinked forward, her hips seeming to move independently. “Please, call me Monika.”
Max sat down in his chair and steepled his fingers together atop his desk, hoping he looked unapproachable. “Then, can I help you, Monika?”
“I certainly hope so.” God, she was purring. He thought of a cat waiting to pounce on a poor mouse. Too bad they didn’t make mouseholes six and a half feet tall. “I was hoping you’d let me take you out to dinner.” She paused and perched one hip against the corner of his desk so that she was leaning toward him. Her perfume was overpowering to the point of gagging him. He swallowed hard as she smiled again. “To welcome you to the department.”
“Well, thank you for the offer, Monika, but—”
She leaned a few inches closer. “I know this fabulous little French restaurant on Michigan Avenue. I made reservations for seven.”
Max leaned his chair way back, hearing the springs creak in protest. “That’s very nice of you, Monika, but I have other plans tonight.”
Her smile drooped and she pouted. “Really, Max, how could you have other plans tonight? You’ve been in Chicago less than a week.” Her fingers inched toward his folded hands. He yanked them off the desk and folded his arms across his chest.
“I have other plans.” He stood awkwardly and reached for his cane, but quicker on the draw, Shaw reached it first. He held out his hand for his cane. Instead she slipped her hand into his.
“Cancel them,” she murmured. “I guarantee I can make it worth your while.”
He pulled his hand back and folded his arms across his chest again. “I don’t want to cancel my plans. Now, if you’ll kindly hand me my cane, I’ll say good evening.”
“But—”
The door to his office opened and both Max and Monika turned to look, Max praying it wasn’t Caroline. He’d managed to whisk the young co-eds under the mat this morning, but he knew Caroline felt especially vulnerable around Shaw. His eyes opened wide as David entered the room.
“Max, you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”
And to his consternation, David marched across his office and threw an arm around his shoulders. He stuck his free hand out to greet Monika. “Hi, I’m David, Max’s date for the evening.”
Monika’s jaw dropped, exposing several silver fillings in the back of her mouth. Very unattractive, Max thought, struggling to keep his face straight and his laughter controlled. Monika was completely horrified. Halfway recovering, she reached to shake David’s hand. “The two of you … know each other?”
“Oh, yeah,” David answered easily, pumping her hand in an overly hearty shake. “We went to Harvard together.” He bestowed a tender look at Max. “We were … roommates.” His voice softened. “Weren’t we, Max?”
Eyes wide, Max nodded, unable to speak. Monika had taken a step backwards.
David pulled him close and laid his head on his shoulder. “We were practically inseparable from the time we were … well, boys, wouldn’t you say, Max?”
Max nodded again. He cleared his throat. “Inseparable. So you see, Monika, I really cannot have dinner with you, tonight or any other night. Would you mind?” He held out his hand and wriggled his fingers. Monika handed him his cane.
She recovered remarkably, her face going from apoplectic to apologetic. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t know you were involved with someone.” She glanced at David who was smiling beatifically. “It’s nice to meet you, David. Enjoy your … evening.”
“Thank you.” David nodded, the picture of innocence. “We’re having pizza, aren’t we, Max?”
Max gulped. Pizza. He’d offered David pizza the night before. Dinner plans with Caroline had obliterated the memory. “Pizza. Yes. Goodnight, Monika.”
They watched as she walked out, her hips no longer moving independently. They listened until they heard the outer door close, then Max turned on David with a scowl, forcibly removing his brother’s arm from his shoulder. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
David grinned. “Saving you from that woman. You didn’t want to go out with her, did you?”
Max tried to look stern. “No, I didn’t, but that gave you no right to—”
David poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be ungrateful. It might have been politically incorrect—”
“Might have been!” Max exploded. “Do you know what trouble—”
David shrugged. “But it will keep you out of her clutches for a good long time.” He grinned again and Max felt his heart melt. This was his baby brother who’d always been able to use that outrageous sense of humor to make even the worst of days bearable. “Let’s go out for pizza.”
Max grimaced. “I really do have other plans, Dave.”
David frowned. “You’re standing me up for real? For who?”
“For Caro—” His voice caught, as panic grabbed at him. “Oh, God, I hope she didn’t hear any of that.” He rushed to the door to the outer office as fast as his legs would permit. “Shit.”
She sat at her desk, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. With a menacing frown at David, Max crossed the remaining distance to Caroline’s desk. He sat on the corner of her desk and touched her shoulder gently.
“Caroline, I don’t know what you heard, but I never would have gone to dinner with Monika and this is only my idiot brother.” Her shoulders shook harder. “I wouldn’t have made plans with you only to break them, honest.”
“You were going to break plans with me,” David inserted blandly, watching the scene from far enough away so that Max would have had to stand up and walk a few steps to hit him.
“Shut up, David,” Max hissed. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.” He turned back to Caroline who still hid her face behind her hands. “Please don’t cry. My brother is just leaving.”
Caroline moved her fingers wide enough to peer through. “Oh, no, don’t make him go,” she gasped. “Please.” She slid her hands down from her eyes to cover her mouth, revealing the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, my Lord, I—” She started coughing, and Max realized with supreme relief that she wasn’t crying after all, but laughing so hard she was choking. He gamely patted her back as she tried to regain her breath. Wheezing, she pounded her fist on her desk. “I haven’t laughed so hard—” She started coughing again.
“Get her some water, would you, Dave?”
With that same imperturbable grin on his face, David complied.
“Th-thank you,” Caroline managed and drained the glass. “Oh, Max, the look on her face when she left here. Priceless.”
Max felt his face break into a relieved grin. “This is my brother, David.”
“I know. We met before he went in there.” Caroline shook with residual giggles. “Thank you, David. That woman has been a thorn in my side for five years.”
David inclined his head. “Glad to oblige. So how long has she worked here?”
Caroline chuckled. “Five years. Five very long years.” She turned to Max, her eyes bright blue and sparkling. “If you two want to go out for pizza, I’d hate to be a third wheel.”
Something relaxed inside him. Her wonderful laugh put him completely at ease. “Well, we could invite Missi or Stephie for you.”
Her eyes narrowed but her dimple appeared. “Over my dead body, buster.”
Captivated, he couldn’t take his eyes from her face. She was so pretty when she laughed. “Beat it, Dave,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder.
“Max, that doesn’t seem fair. He came all the way down here to meet you.”
“He was probably dropping off a car to some rich guy. Weren’t you, David?”
“No,” David said from behind him, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I rode all the way down here just to see my dear brother.”
“He’s a ham,” Caroline remarked to Max.
“Always has been,” Max answered. “Beat it, David. I’ll buy you a gross of those beers you like so much. Just go away.”
Davi
d sighed dramatically. “Watch him, Caroline. He’ll drop you like a hot potato when you begin to bore him. I think I’ll just go drown my sorrows at Moe’s.”
“What’s Moe’s?” Caroline picked up her purse and smiled up at Max when he helped her into her coat. His heart did a slow turn and was forced to at least mentally thank David for making her eyes shine like that.
“It’s a place we used to eat when we were kids. Before Max became important.” David lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Before he scorned me for another.”
Caroline grinned up at Max. “Where had you planned to take me?”
Max shrugged. “I’d planned to take you to Morton’s Steak House, but I have a sneaking suspicion we’re all going to Moe’s for double-decker cheeseburgers and onion rings.” The approval in her eyes made the disappointment of changing his plans somewhat palatable.
David winked at Caroline. “And I thought he’d forgotten his more humble origins. I’m driving a ’57 Corvette tonight. Wanna come with me?”
She looked up at Max with a cheeky smile. “Depends. What are you driving?”
“Mercedes.” He gave David a warning look that had absolutely no effect.
“Mine’s a classic,” David wheedled. “Red and white. Bubble headlights.”
Caroline tightened one corner of her mouth, pretending to consider, then shook her head. “Sorry. German luxury beats American Pie. You do have a leather interior, don’t you, Max?”
“Yes,” he answered dryly. “I can bring you back to get your car later.”
“No need. I took the bus this morning.”
David’s jaw dropped. “You don’t have a car?” he asked, horrified.
Caroline shook her head and threw a pointed glance at Max. “Starter’s busted. Can’t afford to have it fixed on a secretary’s salary.”
“Your boss is a pig,” David said and took her arm, escorting her out of the office.
Caroline looked over her shoulder, her smile now calmer, but just as strong. “No, I think he’s a pretty nice guy.”
Max’s heart took another slow turn, this time ending in an ungainly flop. He’d forgive David, just this once. His brother had made her laugh, something he probably could never have done so easily. And no matter what else happened, Caroline Stewart would leave Moe’s with him.
Asheville
Tuesday, March 6
7:30 P.M.
“I still think this is a very bad idea.”
Steven looked over his shoulder, his hand on the door handle of the Two Point Tavern, to find Detective Jonathan Lambert standing stubbornly still, arms crossed over his chest. A street light reflected off of Lambert’s golden head, creating a heavenly effect. “I’ll note it in the record, Detective,” Steven answered dryly. “You asked if there was anything you could do to help.” He pulled the door open. “This is help.”
“This is begging for trouble,” Lambert grumbled, following Steven inside nonetheless.
“I want to observe all the players in their natural habitat,” Steven murmured.
“They’re not animals, Thatcher,” Lambert gritted, his jaw clenching.
Steven rolled his eyes. “Figure of speech, Lambert. Lighten up.” Steven looked around at the clientele of the modest little bar. Cops everywhere. Some uniformed, others in suits and ties, but all unmistakably cops. “I want to talk to them in their most natural environment. Is that better?”
Lambert hadn’t lightened up an iota. “Then question the men at the precinct. They come here to relax, not to be spied on.”
Steven turned to face Lambert, all levity gone. “Any cop worth his badge—and without anything to hide—won’t mind talking to me. A woman and her child are missing. I certainly hope that means something.” He lifted a brow. “To all of you.”
Lambert’s mouth twisted. Ironically enough, it didn’t mar his good looks one bit. “Rob Winters isn’t my favorite person, Special Agent Thatcher, but I respect his service record. I won’t have his name dragged through the dirt without evidence. Innuendo is insufficient.” His eyes roamed the crowd who hadn’t yet noticed them. “You’ll find my opinion to be broadly shared.”
“If not so eloquently stated,” Steven muttered, mentally preparing himself for the attack he’d purposely instigated by insinuating himself where he would be most unwanted. And not a moment too soon, he thought as Detective Ben Jolley sauntered up to where they stood, clutching a mug of beer in one unsteady hand. From the look of him, the mug hadn’t been his first.
“Don’t they teach you manners in Raleigh, Special Agent Thatcher?” Jolley slurred. “I would have thought you’d know better than to barge in on a private party.”
“Ben,” Lambert warned.
But Jolley was apparently on a roll. “Shut your face, Jonnie.” Steven watched Lambert wince and knew the nickname was as unwelcome as Steven’s own presence. “Take him to your wine and cheese shop. We don’t want him here.” Jolley swerved, coming to a stop mere inches from Steven’s face. “You think you can come here and get us to talk bad about Rob. No chance, Special Agent Thatcher. There’s not a man in this place that wouldn’t go to the mat for Rob Winters.” He turned around and raised his mug. “Right, boys?”
Steven watched the crowd carefully. The majority of the men responded with an emphatic “Right!” But not all. He memorized the faces of the men who said nothing, paying special attention to the men who looked away. Not everyone in this place hailed Rob Winters as a hero. But Ben Jolley did and at this very moment, that was trouble enough.
“So go home, Thatcher.” Jolley leaned forward and Steven fought the urge to turn away from the overpowering odor of the man’s breath. Mixed with stale cigarettes, it was enough to turn the most iron stomach. “Go home and use all your fancy computers and labs to find out what really happened to Rob’s little boy. ’Cause you’re wasting every minute you think he did it.”
“You sound certain,” Steven commented. “Why?”
“Because I know him,” Jolley declared, his eyes taking on an impassioned light. “I trained him when he was no more than a boy himself. Like a son t’me.” He swallowed, emotion sneaking up to overwhelm him. “I held his hand when Robbie disappeared. He loves his boy, Thatcher.” Jolley swallowed again, clearly overcome. “Make no mistake. Rob Winters could no more have hurt that boy than I could.”
Steven watched as tears clouded the older man’s eyes. Jolley was as sincere as he was drunk; of that Steven had no doubt. “How about his wife, Detective? Could Rob have hurt his wife?”
Jolley’s jaw tightened. “He was good to that woman. She was a terrible burden to him, but he took care of her. She was depressed all the time. Couldn’t even tie her own shoes,” he said in disgust. “But he kept her in his house. Paid her doctor bills. Tied her shoes,” he added with contempt. “And got nothin’ in return.” His eyes narrowed meaningfully. “Nothin’.”
Steven felt all the eyes in the place fixed on him, waiting for his next move. “Justice, I would think.” He paused, waiting until he saw the flash in Jolley’s eyes. “Especially if he made her that way.”
Bingo, he thought, wincing even as the contents of Jolley’s half-empty mug of beer splashed his face and the man’s beefy hands grabbed his shoulders, shoving him against the wall.
“Ben!” Lambert yelled, pulling Jolley away, holding him while three other cops raced forward to help. Lambert passed Jolley to the others, then pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Steven, visibly trembling with anger. “Wipe your face,” he snapped. “And if you value the peace, meet me outside.”
Steven stepped away, pausing at the door to see Lambert motion another man in a suit and tie into the frenzy. The newest suit was Detective Jim Crowley. Toni Ross had introduced him earlier that afternoon. “Take him home, Jim,” Lambert was ordering. “Make sure he gets to bed.”
Detective Crowley put his arm around Ben Jolley’s shoulders. “Come on, Ben. You’ve had enough for one night. Let me take you home t
o sleep it off.” Crowley hesitated when he passed Steven, still standing at the door. “He’s not normally like this, Thatcher. He sat with Rob when Robbie was first abducted seven years ago. He had to sit with him again last night after Rob found out his boy’s likely at the bottom of Douglas Lake. Cut him some slack, okay?”
Steven nodded. “Okay,” he said, but thought, like hell I will.
Lambert strode up, his face a picture of fury. “You said you’d talk to the men, not incite a damn riot.”
Steven folded Lambert’s handkerchief in precise quarters before slipping it in his pocket. “I’ll wash it and return it to you,” he said calmly. “Right now, I could use a ride back to my hotel to change my clothes. Then after that, I’m up for wine and cheese if you are.” He let his mouth quirk up. “Although I’d really prefer a steak, medium rare.”
Lambert closed his eyes, obviously biting back what he really wanted to say. He shook his head and held open the door. “After you, Thatcher. After you.”
Chapter Seven
University of North Carolina, Charlotte
Tuesday, March 6
8:35 P.M.
It was a dive.
Winters paused just inside the door to let his eyes become accustomed to the smoke-filled darkness. Music played, the bass so heavy it drowned out whatever actual music there was. He scanned the room and located his quarry sitting at a table in the corner. Just as the boy said he’d be. It had taken surprisingly little time to locate a computer “specialist” willing to splash in slightly illegal waters for the right price. It had, in fact, taken more time to drive from Asheville to Charlotte than to find Randy Livermore.
He’d chosen UNC–Charlotte not because of its computer science program. He could have gone to UNC–Asheville for that. He simply didn’t want to risk meeting his computer “specialist” again while on the job. If the kid was willing to hack for profit, it would only be a matter of time before he found himself on the wrong side of the law. Unless he was quite good. Winters hoped Livermore was quite good for his own sake as well as the boy’s.
