"Why?" Solomon held up his ring hand and I nodded. "Right, forgot."
"Drop by later. Have a look around for yourself." He waited while I finished, then took the plates to the sink, rinsing them. He returned with a coffee for me. I sipped. Just the way I liked it. Not too bitter, not too sweet. A little like the two of us, I thought, as I watched him open his laptop and scroll through his emails.
A half hour later and he was gone, leaving me to wait on Lucas' reports, I realized that we hadn't said a single word more about Maddox. What a relief.
~
Solomon was still at the gym when the sky turned dark and Lucas called to let me know that he sent the background checks to our laptops.
I glanced up at the clock. I could probably read through them all before Solomon got home. At that thought, I gulped. I needed to remind myself this was not home, this was our fake apartment for our fake life. So we both slept here, and cooked (together), and showered (alone), that didn't make it home. Home was my apartment with my things, and my furniture and my coffee in the kitchen. Home for Solomon was a smart townhouse in Chilton, an exclusive enclave of Montgomery. I’d been there once, not long after he moved in, and his home was everything he was. Smart, elegant, elusive. It was comfortable, but not cozy, like my place.
"Urrgh!" I shook my head and clicked on Lucas' email, opening the first file, bringing up Tate's financial records and a background check. How Lucas got this stuff, I did not know. Wasn't sure I wanted to know.
Tate's financials spanned a year and were clean, as far as I could see. He got his paycheck and it went out on the usual things. There was no rent to pay or utilities. He had a savings account that he put a chunk into every month, and a life insurance policy. There were some cash withdrawals, which I didn't think were unusual, given that he was a young, apparently single, man. I checked the dates against the calendar on my cell phone. The cash was usually taken out close to a weekend. A couple of restaurant bills, an online bookstore, music downloads, an auto body shop that seemed around the price for a regular service, and that was it. I surmised that Tate probably liked to go out drinking on the weekend , that he had a healthy attitude towards his future, given his savings, and a sensible streak, given the insurance policy. I also figured he might have a girlfriend, or a date or two, owing to the restaurant bills over the past couple of months.
The background check should have answered the girlfriend question, but it didn't. Instead, there was a simple work-up of paper statistics: where Tate was born, his family members, his education and his service record in the Army so far. On paper, Tate wasn't an academic, had plenty of friends, a bunch of athletic awards, some success in boxing and later in martial arts too. He was a gym rat who was nice looking with clear, black skin, a broad nose and a buzz cut. If I saw him on the street, I would find him attractive.
I made a note to find out who the girlfriend was, if she existed at all, as well as to check out where Tate preferred to drink. Perhaps his drinking buddies had heard him talk about Jillian?
Next, I called Jillian's file, this time starting with her background check. Jillian was smart, but not quite smart enough to earn scholarships. She skipped college at age eighteen, going to work instead and intending to pick up the degree later. Her family wasn't well off; and I got the inkling that starting her life with huge education loans wasn't appealing. These were bread and butter types. They grafted, paid their bills, and owed no one a debt. I already knew that the sister worked on base. She was two years younger than Jillian and her name was Roxanne.
Despite, or maybe because of her family, Jillian was very ambitious and had taken a bunch of courses at her local college. She was close to getting a degree, bought and paid for. She lived alone, and like I already knew, didn't have a husband or kids.
She was smart and pretty. Unless she was so entirely focused on her future that she had no time for a boyfriend, I figured there had to be one somewhere. Tate was listed as a previous date, along with another serviceman. He had apparently transferred to another base a year ago.
Closing the file, I checked her financial information. Along with the average outgoings, this time including an apartment and utilities, there were regular payments for her courses, a book and stationery shop, and groceries. Her outgoings were average, frugal even, but her income was something else. Along with Jillian's wages, several large deposits had recently been made into her account. I looked back through the preceding months, noting the figures on a notepad.
In all, Jillian had received payments totaling one hundred thousand dollars. I couldn't fathom what she could possibly be doing to receive that kind of money. Solomon would definitely call that much money a red flag.
I fired off an email, asking Lucas for a cursory background check on the other man from Jillian’s history. I just wanted to find out if he was still out of town, and do a back trace on the money in Jillian's account. I also asked Lucas to see if he could find evidence of a girlfriend in Tate's present or recent history. I didn't ask, but I assumed he would simply hack Tate's email account. Someday, he would probably show me how he got his information, and then I’d have to think about how far I would go for this job.
Noticing the time, I powered the laptop down and tucked it away. Then I went in search of Solomon.
The gym was housed in a large gray building. It was unattractive, utilitarian, and completely unlike the fancy-pants gym Lily and I frequented. Instead of banks of high-tech equipment, glass walls, and pumping rhythms, it had a rundown atmosphere, derived from the notices peeling off the lobby walls to the beige monotony of the main gym. I walked past an empty reception desk, following the sounds of grunts and muffled instructions to a room peppered with practice mats. I slipped inside just in time to see Solomon finishing up a sparring session. He was smoothly swiping his leg around the back of his opponent's knees, sliding his legs out from under him. He'd stripped down to shorts and an armless t-shirt, and his forehead showed beads of sweat. He reached a hand down, pulled the other man up, and clapped him on the back, sending him back to the side. He didn't seem to notice me as he walked to the opposite edge of the mats, leaned down to grab his water bottle, and took a swallow before turning back to his small group.
I sat on the wooden floor with my back against the wall and watched Solomon demonstrate a series of parries before inviting one of the buff men sitting around the mat to join him on the floor.
Solomon's new opponent dropped into a fighting stance, bent knees and fists raised, dancing around for a moment before flying at him. Solomon sidestepped, delivering an upper cut as he simultaneously twisted and kneed the man in the stomach, dropping him to the ground with a grunt. A broad blond man laughed. I looked twice. Not Derrick from the bar. Phew!
"Pay attention," Solomon told the group, circling to look at each of them, "and that won't happen to you. Take it slow and easy." He waited for the man to get up, demonstrated what he did wrong and invited him to try a second time. This time, the man took it slower, circling and landing a blow before Solomon laid him out cleanly. The man shook his head as he sat up and planted his feet into the mat, shoving himself backwards to the edge. "Good work," Solomon told him. "That's it for tonight. Same tomorrow," he said as his eyes met mine and he grinned. He shook a couple of hands and took a clap on the back before bypassing them to make his way towards me.
I got to my feet and dusted my jeans, smiling as he approached. "Hey. That was... oh!" I just had time to squeak before Solomon wrapped his arms around me, lifting me a couple of inches off the floor and catching my mouth with his.
I wouldn't call it a friendly, just for cover kiss.
It was hungry.
His mouth covered mine, and as my lips parted in surprise, his tongue slipped in to tangle with mine. When I didn't push him back, his arms tightened and the kiss softened until he gently nibbled my lower lip. I slid my arms around his waist and lost myself in his touch, his taste, as he held me tight.
A polite cough sounded from b
ehind Solomon's back.
"Mmm," he said, pulling back and licking his lips. His pupils dilated slightly, like chocolate puddles that smoldered at me through half-closed eyes. "Could get used to that."
"Put me down," I whispered breathlessly.
Solomon looked down, laughing and set me on my feet, turning to greet the man behind us. But whoever it was had already turned his back and gone. It appeared that the rest of the class had also either disappeared or were discreetly ignoring us as they passed through the swinging doors to the hallway where I'd entered. I was just glad one or two lingered, practicing with each other, ensuring things couldn't get any more heated.
Or maybe I regretted them staying.
For a moment, my head was in a fuzz and I wasn't sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed. Or just confused. Where did all my resolve go?
"Nice of you to come by," he said.
"I figured you were getting off." Solomon arched an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes and swatted his arm. "Shut up. I have news. Nothing overly exciting," I added hastily, in case he thought I'd cracked the case while he beat up his class.
"Hold the thought. Let me grab my bag and we'll walk back to the apartment." I made to follow him and he laughed again. His hands went to my shoulders and he turned me towards the doors. "Wait for me in reception. The men's locker room is no place for you."
"Spoilsport," I said with huff, turning to wait for him in the reception area.
Ten minutes later, Solomon appeared beside me in the lobby, showered and changed into jeans and a fresh t-shirt, the blond man I’d noticed earlier at his side.
“Later, Somper,” he called, slapping the man on the shoulder as he reached to grab my hand, leading me outside. “That’s my boss,” he explained as the man slung his gym bag into the trunk of his car. “He manages the gym. Known Tate for years,” he added in a quieter voice. We walked back the whole way hand-in-hand, and it occurred to me that maybe now was a very good time to come clean about Maddox. I decided to spill the whole caboodle before he found out from someone else, like the entire MPD, seeing as the whole town would know within the next few days. Except I couldn't put what I felt into words while he held my hand like a lover.
On the other hand, maybe Solomon was just really good at playing the undercover husband. It would hardly appear unnatural for us to walk around hand-in-hand. That didn't exactly explain the way he stroked his thumb over the hollow of skin between my thumb and forefinger. No one could see that, but, oh boy, could I feel it! It sent shivers through me, shivers that ended in little flutters in my stomach.
As we walked, I filled Solomon in on the background checks and the strange deposits in Jillian's account, rather than my Maddox issue.
"What do you surmise from that?" he asked.
I glanced over at the buildings we passed, trying to identify our building from the identikit structures. "I think we need to know where the money came from. Maybe that was what got Jillian in trouble."
Solomon nodded towards a building, drawing me across the full parking lot in front. He fished in his pocket for the keys, opening the door and holding it for me. "Get Lucas to trace it."
"Already on it."
"What do you make of Tate’s file?" he asked as we took the stairs.
"I'm not seeing crazed killer so far," I admitted, couching my summation just in case I got it wrong. "I want to check out where he drinks and if there's a girl." As we entered the apartment, I added in the other information I requested from Lucas, and Solomon nodded again.
"Sounds like you've got it covered." Solomon tossed his bag on the floor and walked through to the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and shut, then two popping sounds as he returned with cold beers.
"There's one more thing," I said.
"Yeah?"
"I think one of us should go talk to Jillian's sister soon. Maybe they were close."
Solomon nodded. "See if you can get a lead on her. Lexi...?" His face was contemplative.
"Um?" I swallowed.
"You and Maddox really over?" he asked, surprising me. I wondered what sparked that thought. Was it something he'd thought about from earlier? Or did the kiss make him wonder? Was that why he kissed me? It was hard enough for me to keep the kiss straight from the work I tried to focus on. I couldn't imagine Solomon being swayed by it alone, delicious as it was.
"Maddox and I," I started, pausing, suddenly uncertain. Solomon was a man of his word and he respected boundaries, especially where I was concerned. Boundaries I'd kept firmly in place, since I was strictly on the no overlapping school of thought, unlike some other people I could think of. There were other boundaries too. That he was my boss was a big one, the biggest one, especially as I finally had a job I was good at. And not just good, but liked. Enjoyed. Looked forward to. Another big caution floating over his head was that I wasn't entirely sure what Solomon’s intentions were regarding me.
My first impression of him, some time ago now, was that he would be an indent on the pillow in the morning. At the time, I wasn't looking for that. It was possible my opinion might have been entirely wrong, since I'd never asked, but it was a hard one to shake. Oh, what the hell. This wasn't about him and me, past, present or future. Maybe it was simply because I had no one else to talk to, maybe it simply was Solomon being a friend as well as a boss.
I spat out the painful words. "We're over."
Solomon stepped closer to me and I had to stop myself from instinctively stepping back. That left just a few inches between us while he looked at me contemplatively. Heat radiated from him. "Then all bets are off," he said, his voice low, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
I gulped. He didn't sound friendly at all.
Chapter Eight
Saturday afternoons are for shopping, hanging out at coffee bars, drinking over-priced Italian beverages, and deciding what to wear for an evening out with Lily. Like I said, the investigative biz cared not for my personal preferences. On this particular Saturday afternoon, Solomon and I were off base, heading into the suburbs where many of the civilian employers had homes. We were in search of Jillian’s place in Chester, five miles west of Fort Charles.
"I see it. Park around the block."
I drove past the small brick house with twin blue doors that Solomon identified as Jillian's. After circling around, I parked his Lexus on the next street over. His car slid to a stop like a purring cat and I ran my hands over the wheel. I had never driven anything quite so nice before, and was still surprised that Solomon handed me the keys, though it might have had something to do with the steady stream of emails he managed through his cell phone.
"What are we looking for?" I asked as Solomon handed me a pair of thin latex gloves. After rolling them into a ball, I stuck them in my pocket, ready for action.
"Any indication of where that money in her account came from. Blackmail notes. Betting slips. A letter from a lawyer saying she inherited it." He caught my skeptical look at the thought that Jillian was a secret gambler and shrugged. "I have no idea. Just look for anything that says cash."
"With that much money, how come she wasn't spending it? Wouldn't you?" I asked. It was something that puzzled me all night. For a rich person, that kind of cash was chicken feed. For Jillian, it was life changing. "Wouldn't you jack in your crappy part-time job and do something else?" Now I said it, I wasn't so sure. If I had a ton of cash in my bank account, would I tell Solomon goodbye? Actually, make that the agency... Would I give up my job and stay at home? Or spend my days shopping and lunching? Somehow, I didn't think so. Solomon clearly didn't either. Plus, when I put it into perspective, unless Jillian expected to keep on receiving those payments, eventually, it would run out; and then where would she be?
"She's a grafter. She's not used to having a lot of money. Maybe she didn't think it would last."
"Or maybe she didn't want the money," I mused as we climbed out. I stepped onto the sidewalk and we strode side-by-side to Jillian's apartment. We walked up the small pat
h dissecting the browning lawn casually, as though we were meant to be there. The lights were off and the place was quiet. While I stood behind him, partially shielding him from the street, Solomon pulled his gloves on and stuck a pick in the lock. He fiddled with it until the lock sprang open, allowing us to slip inside.
I was tempted to flick the light switch, but Solomon caught my hand and shook his head. “I don’t want the neighbors getting suspicious if they see a light on when they know the house is empty.”
“Okay.” I stepped away and moved around Solomon, looking at Jillian's things with coolly assessing eyes. Okay, with my nosy-fu. The layout was simple. Front door that opened onto a square living room, with stripped hardwood floors and the walls painted a pale lemon. A door at the far end of the room led to a compact kitchen with wooden units that looked really old, and not just because of the faux crackled-paint effect. The counters were cluttered and lived in. I walked back into the living room, glancing into the bedroom that was visible from it.
"I see single woman occupant," I said, not catching sight of any stray man sock or car magazines.
"Take point by the door," Solomon said. "Let me know if anyone looks like they're approaching."
"Gotcha." I returned to the door, taking Solomon’s place at the side, alternating glances at the street and him as he moved around, quietly opening and closing drawers, and rifling through the mail. He even checked the small stack of DVDs next to the television, opening the plastic boxes and emptying the sleeves, popping the disks and turning them over. Then he replaced each one carefully.
Jillian was neat and didn't seem to have much stuff, so the living room took no more than five minutes to search before Solomon moved on to the kitchen. I heard him opening and closing the cabinets before he reappeared in the doorway, shrugging.
"Bedroom," he said, nodding towards the other door. Then he winked.
God. "See ya." I turned a salute into a wave.
He smiled and I turned back to the street. The clouds had started to roll in and I thought I saw the first drops of rain hitting the ground. I was looking forward to clearing out and heading back to base. Something about rooting through a dead woman's apartment gave me the creeps. It wasn't because she couldn’t object, or feel violated. It just didn't seem right. Her scarf was still draped over the armchair, and there was a vial of pink nail polish on the coffee table, like she'd just stepped out for a few minutes. Except Jillian was never coming home. I wondered when the family planned to box up her things, and what they would do with her furniture. I imagined Jillian's life scrubbed out, box by box, and took a deep breath while making a vow to write a will and leave Lily all my nice purses.
Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 9
