“Yes, we do…” Gal flailed for an answer, looking at Lee.
He decided to throw a name out for a test drive. “With Fitzy Baker.”
Anita dropped her clipboard but recovered quickly. “Is he here again?” She sounded irritated, but added, “I mean at the White House today? I wasn’t aware he was on the schedule.”
“Yes, we got word that he was staying in the Lincoln Bedroom,” Gal pitched, figuring this would cover their trail in case they found the room less than perfect.
Anita frowned. “I hadn’t heard, but good to know. I have a meeting to prepare. I trust you know your way.” She made a hasty exit, shaking her head and mumbling, “Dog walker?” as she continued ahead.
“Yes,” Lee called out. “She had five dogs, all big.”
When she was out of sight, Gal exhaled, laughing on the verge of collapse.
“Okay, onward,” Lee said. “Let’s get some fuel down the street, pronto.”
They half-jogged, crossing the street, dodging taxicabs along the way. Just outside the Pork Fat Diner, Gal pointed out a curly-haired woman in a hoodie, handling several canines on leashes. She looked like an experienced puppet master. They chuckled as they entered the establishment, falling into a booth, exhausted.
“Yeah,” Lee gasped. “I saw her the other day. She had a Saint Bernard, a golden retriever, a Great Dane, a Bernese mountain dog and an Irish wolfhound, I think.”
“Genius!” Gal praised, skimming the offerings. “I could eat the whole works. Ah, colossal cherry blossom French toast! Stuffed with tart cherries and berries. And I'm diving into a double side of bacon for sure.” She closed the menu. “She must be ripped with muscles. Managing just one of those dogs would knock me flat on my face.”
“What do you mean? You’re tough. You handled those pulley cables like a pro….hmmm, what a night, huh?” Lee gulped his coffee. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be a lewd pest earlier. I'm into carpe diem, and it seemed like a lucky coincidence landing there, ya know? I notice that happens a lot when I'm with you. I hope you didn't cave just to shut me up.”
“Hey, if I didn’t want to, believe me, I wouldn't have. Under healthy conditions I would've jumped you,” she teased. “You're right, though. We couldn't pass it up. It's been a very serendipitous twelve hours. I just hope you don't think I'm easy.” She busied herself rearranging the jellies.
“No way. Are you kidding? I had to work my butt off to convince you.” He scanned the choices. “Besides, I hold you in high regards. Pretty smart too, throwing them off the trail by naming our crime scene.”
Gal frowned, shaking a sugar packet. “Thanks but I’m a clunk head! What if they hadn’t looked in there for a long time? Now I just led them to it. Like robbing a bank and leaving a trail of money.” She put her head in her hands, running her fingers through matted hair.
“No, I think it works. It’s just the sleep deprivation talking. But the real question is, what's the big deal with this Fitzy guy?” He whispered the name as a large woman with a graying bun moseyed up, poised with pen and notepad. She gave them a strange look.
“Rough night, Lee?” She topped off a round of Joe.
Gal’s eyebrow shot up, her chick radar emitting boxing gloves. She zoomed in on her name tag. Exactly how well did Rhonda know him? That’s crazy, she thought, reeling in jealousy. She's at least thirty years older and a waitress. The friendly ones got the best tips.
“You don't know the half of it,” Lee chuckled. “Rho, this is my partner Gal.”
“Nice to meet you, Gail,” Rhonda acknowledged, speaking to Lee before Gal could correct her. “Another all-night stakeout? I hope you didn’t stuff yourself with doughnuts like those other cops.”
Lee patted his abs. “Nope, don't worry. But we are running on fumes. I'm going to tackle the Supreme Court special. And I think Gal was eyeing the cherry blossom colossal?”
She nodded, and Rho wandered away, shaking her head.
“Gail?” she huffed.
“Lousy hearing, nothing personal. And if people don't know our real names, it's not exactly a bad thing.”
“How come she know yours then?” She blew on her coffee, hoping the blunt inquiry would quiet the green-eyed monster rattling her cage.
“Been coming here for years. New in town, Rho's the first friend I made, and I'll tell you a little secret.”
Gal leaned in, not sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say. After all, she saw The Graduate.
“A waitress is a good person to know! I can't count how many times she hooked me up with off-menu specials or after hour splurges. She makes sure I get my veggies, and I don't have to worry about sneeze muffins.”
Gal smiled, relieved. No wonder he was so comfortable with Justine earlier. The guy loved food. Maybe her mom was right about that old fashioned notion, the way to a guy's heart and all. If she stuck with him, she'd never go hungry, even though he was the cause of their starvation now. On the other hand, he has satiated her other appetite. “Ah, good thinking about the cop cover but aren't diners open around the clock anyway?”
“Mostly. I've practically spent the night here on some cases, though. Speaking of which, what about ours?” They paused as their breakfast arrived.
“Fitzy sounds like a clown name,” Gal managed to answer, cramming custard-coated bread into her cheeks and snatching bacon from his plate. “Or a politician.”
“Well, the government is a circus,” he joked, sopping up oozing egg yolk with his toast. “Hyannis sounds familiar, huh? That’s Cape Cod, right?”
“A political scandal, maybe?”
“Possibly.” They chewed over the latest evidence.
Gal harpooned a cantaloupe chunk from his fruit cup. “What about President Obama? He might know what's going on. If we could interview him—”
“He can’t just throw us a bone off the record. That’s why he has a media team.” When he saw her disappointment, he added, “I like your thinking, though. Everything would be easier if we could cut to the chase.” He glugged the milk Rhonda left him. “Wow, that’s the most I've seen you eat.”
Galaxy looked down at her empty plate, surprised she had pigged out in front of him. Until she was completely comfortable with someone, especially a guy, food became this awkward, impossible thing she pushed around her plate. Funny how a ravenous appetite quells the self-conscious fear of getting meat stuck in your teeth. No wonder he thought she only pecked at salads. Even her favorite Chinese crab hid in the carton, barely touched. “I inhaled that, didn't I? You didn’t do too bad yourself. Aren't you going to eat your grits?”
A few puffs of scrambled eggs and a bowl of mush remained. Lee patted his extended pooch and groaned, “Stuffed. How about you?”
“Bloated. You looked pre-occupied. Did you figure something out?”
He examined his last triangle of toast. “Did you ever notice the velvety goodness that forms from the butter soaking in? Mmm, now that's comfort food!” He peeled off the layer, enjoying one last bite.
“That’s what you've been thinking about?” she hooted. “I thought you were deep in thought about Fitzy.”
“Hey, you're not the only who thinks better when your mind wanders.”
She shook her head in amusement.
Too full from a hearty meal, they savored the walk back to Lee’s car, still parked in a garage, blocks away.
“Okay, it's an hour to the office. I’ll call Geoff and tell him we’re on a lead. We go home, shower and get a nap. Maybe you should get your head checked out.” Lee maneuvered the maze of exit ramps. “You might need a tetanus shot.”
“No, I’m sure a hot shower is all I need. Where should we meet?” She didn’t want Lee getting any clues without her.
“I know you despise needles, but the dumbwaiter was old and probably rusty. No telling how many microbes were hitching a ride. On the other hand, this case will be easier to solve if you have lockjaw so, hmm never mind.”
“Okay, okay, you win. I would hate not
to be able to point out your mistakes along the way.” They enjoyed the freeway in mutual silence.
“I’ll text you if I hear anything,” Lee yawned, circling the exit. “But I intend to catch a few Z’s first. I’m seeing spots.”
“Let’s sleep together,” she blurted, feeling uneasy.
“Gal, you sex maniac,” Lee began in mock shame. “Are you never satisfied?”
“I mean actual sleep.” She gave his arm a gentle shove. “Partners need to stick together.”
Lee stopped at a red light. “Gal, you can count on me. I’m not your ex. I care about you, and you need rest. It doesn’t do us any good if we’re delirious. Or wait, I see what's going on. You need me to hold your hand while you get inoculated.”
Gal slumped back into the seat. “No, don’t be silly, I’ll be fine.” Was he as loyal as he claimed? She didn’t want him out of her sight, but she did need her beauty sleep. “Okay, I’ll let it go this once. But if any funny business results from going our separate ways, I’ll have your neck. You’re not the only one with special skills.”
“Ahh, right. Viktor was Russian. Did he teach you his secret moves?”
“No, I have my own arsenal, thank you very much! I’ll have you know that I trained in Moscow.” Oops, she didn't mean to let that slip! Why did she always have to defend women's lib? Nervously fumbling with his visor, a pair of sunglasses tumbled onto her lap, which she promptly donned. She turned and faced him, giving her best movie star pout.
“Wow, Moscow, huh… So you’re Russian too?” This revelation was a bit of a shock, and he was man enough to admit, if anyone asked, that it made him uncomfortable.
“I can make a mean dressing,” she joked, softening the mood but Lee didn't laugh. “Well, Ukrainian really, but just half,” she rushed to add, downgrading the stigma like she always did. “My dad is Irish, and my mom is Crimean.”
Lee gave her a sideways look. “So where’s your accent?”
“It comes out at family reunions,” Gal admitted. “As does clog dancing.” They both chuckled at that one.
“You’re a mystery woman, Galaxy O’Jordan. Ah, I believe this is your chariot, m'lady! Allow me.” Unclicking his seatbelt, he sprinted over to open the passenger door, taking her hand as she rose. “Trust me,” he emphasized, kissing the tip of her nose. “We have to part sometime.”
“And 'parting is such sweet sorrow.' Is that how it goes, Romeo?” She kissed him softly, then, letting her accent peek through, whispered, “I know you'll be a very good boy.”
The trick was to act like she owned him and she got into her car still wearing his shades.
Chapter Seven
G alaxy entered her apartment, whacking her knee and swearing at the antique parcel-gilt and walnut armchair embroidered with the family crest. Even though her mother was Crimean, her great-grandfather had Soviet roots.
She had never gone this long without sleep, not even co-conspiring with Cousin Ivan's assassination attempt on the Russian president at eighteen. But she was half her age then when all-nighters were no brainers. What risky involvement she realized now. Too bad that mission got mucked. The Soviet leaders had recklessly snatched Ukraine after Germany sunk its hooks in with each war. The country was being bounced around like a child of divorce, leaving a precedent for other leaders to gain control inch by inch. And Putin was even more aggressive about it, barging into the area where her mother grew up. Thankfully family moved out by then, but he had to be stopped!
Gal retrieved a black bag from a rosewood armoire, adorned with pewter and an abalone inlay, another family heirloom. Digging around, she salvaged a sterile syringe pack and a vial of Tetanus.
Holding her sleeve between her teeth, she injected herself. It was true she wasn’t fond of needles, but it wasn’t the phobia she led Lee to believe. She was an RN, administering vaccines to thousands of children in the poor sections of her country. She could give herself one with her eyes closed.
She started to pop a handful of ibuprofen for her aches but had second thoughts. She didn't want to impede her immune system’s ability to make antibodies against the toxoid she just introduced.
She decided to call Geoff just in case Lee hadn't brought him up to speed. She needed to cover her bases, or more importantly, her ass. Lee was a generous lover and a gentleman, but she wasn’t sure how he operated as an agent. Maybe he had double-crossing in his blood too.
“Geoffrey, Hi, It’s Galaxy. Did Lee tell you that we’re on a hot case? Oh good, he did. We were on a stake-out all night, so I’m just freshening up before our next move.”
Feeling better about her partner, at least for now, she soothed her muscles under a hot shower. Her shoulder throbbed from the entangled plummeting. Pondering events from the last twenty-four hours, she mumbled the name of their latest clue, “Fitzy Baker,” deliberately sounding out each syllable as the warm water cascaded down her face. Whoever he was, he better not get in the way! On the other hand, he was making a great decoy.
Googling him would ease her mind, and she made a mental note to do just that. She cranked the heat and unclipped the nozzle attachment, directing the pulsating jets over specific spots of her body. The eight streams massaged her tendons like tiny digits. Her thoughts drifted to Lee. Now he was the one with magic fingers! She would lie down on his massage table in an instant.
Once he was in her mind, she found it was very difficult to get him out. Before she knew it, she wasn’t thinking of her sore muscles anymore, but his buffed biceps. He was so charming, so smooth; she told him things she hadn’t meant to say. They just flowed out like butter in a chicken Kiev.
Oh well, at least now he knew to take her seriously. The mention of the Lincoln Bedroom wasn’t a slip. She wanted to throw Anita on the trail of a break-in at the White House to enhance the fabled threat. Lee’s naming Baker was just bonus!
Exhausted, she dried off and donned cozy PJs. Climbing into her Tempur-Pedic bed with the fluffy comforter, she sunk into a marshmallowy slumber. She awoke a few hours later to a chiming text.
“You’ll never believe who Fitzy Baker is!”
Lee looked up as Galaxy breezed in. Why did she have to look fantastic? After the last twenty-four hours, he wasn’t the only one deciding to keep their partnership professional. He didn’t hate the sex at all but was starting to wonder if it was wise. Plus that Russian thing... Still, he wanted to grab the hair clip keeping her twist in place and lay one on her. He meant a kiss, but then a different image popped into his mind.
He cleared his throat to rid the inappropriate thought. “You clean up nice.”
“Well, the bar is set pretty low after last night. But thanks,” she smiled, setting her briefcase on his desk before taking a seat. “You don't scrub up too bad yourself. I meant to search Baker earlier, but I fell asleep. Did you get some rest? Surely you didn’t drive back and forth from D.C.?”
“Hell no. I took a shower at the gym downstairs and had a good power nap here on the lounge chair. Did you have time to get that shot?” He looked up from typing as she revealed the Wonder Woman Band-Aid on her arm. “Good deal. Wait a second; it's not just a cover-up, is it?”
“Scout's honor.” She peeled back half the adhesive, unveiling the injection site.
“I’m proud of you. I’m glad you won’t be just a silent partner.”
His praise irked her, making her feel ten years old. It took all her might and a deep breath not to snap. “Look, I’m not petrified of needles, okay? They’re just not my favorite thing. So, what did you find out?” She scooted close to his computer, then having second thoughts, backed away.
“I won’t bite,” he laughed, pushing the laptop near her.
“Yes, you do,” she chuckled. “Isn’t it how it all began?”
“But it’s office hours. The door is wide open, so you’re safe. Geoffrey could walk in any minute.”
The risk sent a tempting shiver down her spine. No, no more, she scolded her inner sex fiend. “So, Fitzy Baker…�
� she directed to stay on topic.
“Ah, yes. You know Marilyn Monroe?” Lee asked, excited about his latest discovery. He was bounding with energy, so he sprang up and shut the door to keep his findings under wraps. This could be their all big exclusive.
“Not personally. The actress in the flowing white dress over an air grate? I thought she was dead, a long time ago, in fact. What does she have to do with it?”
“She has a big role in this, actually. I don’t know when you came to the states, but do you know anything about her history or affair with a certain president?”
“Not really, it was before my time. I've heard of Bill and Monica though.”
“Before mine too, but you hear things. We have these rumor rags called tabloids,” he cracked. “Kennedy was well-liked by his constituents, especially by one blonde bombshell that latched onto him. They were a hot item briefly in the '60s. In fact, there were rumors of a secret tunnel in the White House to sneak her in.” Their intimate glance gave rise to goosebumps, realizing they trudged the very path that morning.
Lee clicked on YouTube for the sultry footage of Marilyn singing, “Happy Birthday Mr. President.”
“Very nice, a little pitchy but I’m confused. How does this tell us who Fitz Baker is?”
“I’m sure Jack wasn't eyeing her voice if you know what I mean,” he winked. “Anyway, I read she fell hard, threatened to go public, so it was a quick ditch to a mental hospital. He had too much to lose, so he pretty much swept her under the rug. She already had an unstable personality.”
“I'm guessing dumping her didn’t help her state of mind?” Gal empathized, crossing her arms and legs. “Did she plot revenge? Have herself frozen and come back as Fitz Baker to ruin the democracy?” She snorted at the ridiculous thought.
“Almost.” Lee eyed her shapely calves and fought the urge to touch her silky stockings. He guzzled his sports bottle to cool off.
Gal leaned forward in shock. “What did she do?”
She braced her elbows on the desk, and Lee noticed her burgundy blouse puckering between the buttons. He tried to divert his attention, but the ends of her paisley scarf drew him in, giving him a bouncy peek. He looked away, but it was too late. Wheeling his chair as close to the desk as possible, he cleared his throat and continued, hoping to sound sober. “There was some speculation she was pregnant, thus the hiatus. But there were talks of a loss, and when Marilyn was released, a turbulence of depression, pills and alcohol consumed her life until she died.”
Behind Frenemy Lines Page 5
