“I don’t think so. Linda was in there and she didn’t see them either. Do you think maybe that Rance guy would do that? He’s kind of stalkerish,” she asked.
“I don’t know if he has the balls to do something like that but I’ll fucking check into it,” I bit out, angry that someone was possibly fucking with her.
We were both quiet for a moment until she said, “Do you want to explain the picture in the Post?”
“Will you believe me when I tell you the truth?”
“Would you lie to me?”
“Never,” I declared.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
I explained how I’d been angry at her for what she’d said at the office and decided I needed a guy’s night out and that my friend Mike would hook me up. I then told her how sad it was that those girls were basically whoring themselves out in the hopes of making it big.
“That is sad,” she agreed.
We were quiet for a moment, so I said, “I’ll let you go so you can have your alone time that you need. And, Birdie?”
“Yes?”
“I know we now live right next to each other through some strange twist of fate, but I fucking swear I won’t purposely smother you. I’ve got a life too and I don’t have to be with you all the time. I just…like being with you.”
“I like it too. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But this is scary stuff, Beck.” She paused before blurting, “You’re getting divorced so you should probably date other women to see what else is out there besides me.”
That made me laugh. “I know what’s out there and I don’t want it. I want you. But if you want me to date around to prove you’re what I want, I’ll do it. Which would be fucking insane by the way, but whatever you need, Birdie, I’m willing to work with you to show you that I love you.”
“Can we talk about it when I get back? There’s already too much going on, what with Rance breaking into my apartment! Ugh!”
“You don’t know for sure that it was him. But we’ll get it figured out, okay?” I promised.
“Okay.”
We were quiet again when she whispered, “Beck?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, honey. ‘Night.”
Chapter 25—Birdie
Despite all the worries I had, I’d slept like a rock. When my alarm had gone off at seven, I’d reset it for nine. At nine, I reset it for ten. At ten, true to form, the reset had been for eleven. When I’d finally forced myself to crawl out of the spectacular bed—which I now considered my new best friend—I’d immediately made coffee then sat at the window drinking three cups while gazing out at Lake Michigan. What a view!
I’d also looked several times at the text Beck had sent that morning, smiling each time I read it.
Text Message—Thurs, Jan 13, 5:28 a.m.
Beck: Good morning, sleepyhead. Don’t worry. We’re gonna figure everything out and kick ass while we do. Have a safe flight and I’ll see you tonight. I love you as much as a Levain cinnamon roll <3
When I’d finally been awake enough, I texted him back.
Text Message—Thurs, Jan 13, 11:23 a.m.
Me: Thanks, sweetheart. That’s a lot of love. So as not to be outdone, I’ll see your cinnamon roll and raise you an oatmeal raisin cookie. I love you, Beck <3 See you tonight.
Checkout from the hotel was at noon, two hours before my flight, but with luggage in tow, it wasn’t like I could do any sightseeing; therefore, my only choice was to take a cab to the airport and wait. Well, I could’ve had a spa treatment at the hotel, but I wasn’t really in the mood, so O’Hare departure lounge it was.
At the airport, I praised the Almighty when I saw a Starbucks. Then after making it through security and checking in, coffee and multigrain bagel at the ready, I got as comfortable as one can get in an airport lounge. I ended up linking my laptop to my phone’s hotspot since the airport’s WiFi was only free for the first twenty minutes and kept asking for my credit card information, and remotely accessed Fleishman’s ledgers hoping that something, anything, would jump off the page at me.
And lo and be-freaking-hold, something jumped big time. How I hadn’t noticed before, I had no clue. But looking for the kabillionth time must’ve been the winner because I now saw that every ghost employee had the same four number combination in their social security number just in random places.
Alexander Reid’s number was 094-7x-xxxx. Gretchen Ware’s was xxx-x0-947x. Londell Chaney’s, xx0-94-7xxx, and so on. Those numbers surely had some significance. Maybe they were numbers in the perpetrator’s own SSN or his address. They could even relate to his birthdate. Whatever it was, I was on to something and excited to explore it because the scammer was good but it was time for them to be taken down.
Boarding was called for my flight, so I packed up my laptop and got in line with my boarding group. As the plane took off, I smiled that I was one step closer to cracking the case.
I’d planned on taking a cab to Beck’s and was totally surprised to see him waiting for me at the arrival gate. Without thinking, I dropped my carry-on and ran to him, jumping into his arms.
“Hey, baby,” he said against my neck as we hugged.
Pulling back, I smiled at him before kissing him hard. “I missed you,” I murmured against his lips.
“I missed you too,” he replied, eyes dancing in amusement at my change in demeanor, I was sure. “Let’s go see if we can catch a bad guy,” he said with a chuckle taking my hand, and after getting my suitcase from baggage claims, we took a cab to his apartment.
Once there, we’d gone over to my apartment to check it out and for me to pick up some things. I was prepared for my place to be trashed, knife slashes through my furniture and a rabbit cooking on the stove, but nothing appeared to have been touched.
“And you’re sure the light was on?” I asked as I packed some things.
He cut his eyes at me looking annoyed. “Yes. And your super said he didn’t stop by, in case you want to ask me that again too.”
“Sorry. It just doesn’t look like anyone was here,” I stated as I opened my closet door then let out a gasp.
“What?” he said, jumping up to see what had scared me.
“I know it’s silly, but this shirt?” I touched a gaudy, bright, emerald green, sequined blouse I’d worn exactly once to a party with Mason and that I now used as a prominent divider between my work and casual clothes. “It’s always exactly centered and now it’s three inches to the right.”
“Then someone was here and they were looking for something,” he replied.
“But what?”
“Probably your laptop or something you’d use to record your data from Fleishman.”
I shuddered thinking that an unwelcome asshole had been inside my apartment.
Back at Beck’s, he pulled the blinds on his bedroom window all the way up, and we set up shop, me on his bed sitting cross-legged and on my laptop trying to make sense of the four numbers I’d found, and him reading a Sports Illustrated as he sat in a chair facing the window, watching for the light to turn on in my bedroom.
“I made sure to let everyone know you wouldn’t be back until Monday, hoping whoever broke into your apartment would think you were gone and maybe break in again,” he informed me.
“Clever,” I replied, grinning back at him.
By ten o’clock, we were both worn out because I hadn’t found the link to the numbers and the light hadn’t gone on in my bedroom.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, getting up with a heavy sigh and closing the blinds.
We showered together, me on my knees in front of him at the beginning, making him roar as I took every last inch of him deep to the back of my throat, then swallowing all that he gave me. Then him at the end, hoisting me up to where my legs were over his shoulders, my back against the wall, hands propped against the ceiling, and his mouth on me, making me cry out in ecstasy. Twice.
He’d given me a sweet kiss on the c
heek the next morning, leaving me to sleep as he went to work.
I’d gotten up at nine, using jetlag as a lame excuse for sleeping in, and after pouring myself a cup of coffee, sat at his dining table scouring Fleishman’s employee accounts yet again looking for a connection to the numbers but found nothing.
Beck called at lunch to see how I was doing.
“My eyes are crossed and I’m bald from pulling my hair out. What about you?” I asked.
He chuckled. “About the same. We’ll have good-looking kids, huh?”
I laughed and felt a warmness in my belly thinking about having kids with him.
“I saw some pork chops in your freezer. Okay if I thaw them out for dinner?” I questioned.
“Sounds good. Need me to pick up anything on the way home?”
“Mushrooms, asparagus and potatoes?”
“I can do that. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said.
“’Kay. I love you, bye,” I replied and we rang off.
By the time he walked in, I had the pork chops thawed, salads with a homemade vinaigrette dressing waiting and water boiling for the potatoes.
“Hey, babe. Here are your things,” he said setting a bag on the counter then giving me a kiss.
“Thanks,” I responded, as I opened the bag of potatoes and began peeling them into the sink. “How’d work go?”
“Good,” he called from his bedroom where I knew he’d gone to change into jeans. “What can I do?” he inquired as he came back to the kitchen.
“You can cut up that onion and garlic,” I nodded toward the cutting board where I’d placed them.
“On it.”
“Tell me more about this Rance guy. I’ve scoured my brain trying to figure out what 0947 relates to. Maybe it’s how many girls he’s pissed off with his catcalling.”
Beck snorted. “I don’t know a lot about him. He’s worked in finance at Fleishman for probably six years. He dated a girl in payroll for a while, Tammy something or other, a first-class bitch, before she broke up with him and transferred to another branch.”
“Hm. She was in accounting.” I pondered that as I cut up the potatoes then put them in the water I had boiling on the stovetop. “Eh. I got nothing,” I admitted after a few minutes. “What about Black Glasses Dude? You find anything out?”
He shrugged as he cut up the garlic. “Like I said, he talks a lot about Stephen King. Keeps to himself a lot. What now?”
“Sauté the garlic, onion and mushrooms in the canola oil,” I instructed. “What’s his job title?”
“Data analyst.”
That didn’t add anything to the case. “God, I’m going to make a connection soon,” I announced angrily.
“I know you will, babe.”
“Can you spoon some of that on here, please?” I asked watching him stir the pieces around the skillet. I held a bowl out to him and he put a couple spoonsful in it. “Thanks.” I cut pockets in each of the pork chops stuffing them with two tablespoons of the mushroom mixture and securing them with toothpicks before putting them in the oven to roast.
I next prepared the sour cream mushroom gravy and had it simmering on the stove as I mashed the potatoes and Beck sautéed the asparagus.
“We make a pretty good team,” he mentioned as I plated the pork chops covering them with a bit of gravy then he did the same with the potatoes.
“We’re like Martin and Lewis,” I agreed.
“Smith and Wesson,” he added.
“Fey and Poehler.”
“Black and Decker.”
“Laurel and Hardy.”
“Porter-Cable.”
I laughed. “How come mine are all comedy pairs and yours are guns and tools?”
He raised an eyebrow and held his hands up as if presenting himself. “Uh, guy, Duh.”
This made me laugh harder and I thanked him before kissing him.
“Why the thanks?”
“You made my shitty day so much better,” I called as I took our plates to the table. When I walked back to the kitchen, he was staring at me. “What?”
“Griffin and Chapman.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I like it.” I picked up the salad bowl and he grabbed the asparagus and as we walked into the dining room, I amended, “Of course, Chapman and Griffin sounds a little bit better.”
He laughed as we sat down to eat. “I was thinking they both kind of sucked. We’ll just stick with Beck and Birdie then.”
I nodded. “Birdie and Beck it is.”
“That was great,” Beck said when we finished dinner.
“It was. What’d you make for dessert?” At his confused face, I sniggered. “Just kidding. I made brownies.” We cleared the table and I asked him, “What’s Black Glasses Dude’s name?”
“Well, this is where it gets even weirder,” he began as he started loading the dishwasher. “He tells everyone to call him Frank Dodd, but his real name is Francis Baker.”
I cut the brownies and made two plates. After warming them in the microwave, I added vanilla ice cream, and carrying them to the table called, “Come eat dessert. I’ll take care of the dishes afterward.” Sitting at the table, I repeated the name he’d said. “Frank Dodd. Why does that sound familiar?”
He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and looked it up. “Frank Dodd is a character from Stephen King’s The Dead Zone who raped and murdered women and a nine-year-old girl. He killed himself wearing a raincoat in the bathtub by ramming his mouth down onto a pair of scissors.” He looked up at me. “Fuck.”
“If he’s the one who made copies of my keys…”
“You’re not going back to that apartment until the locks are changed.”
Chapter 26—Beck
Saturday, Birdie called her super to explain what happened and he was fine with my changing out her locks as long as he received keys to them also. So off to the hardware store we went.
Thirty minutes later, the locks were all changed out.
“I’m still not comfortable with you staying here alone,” I said, testing the deadbolt once again.
From where she sat on the couch clicking keys on her laptop—probably back in Fleishman’s books—she assured, “I’ll be fine. And you’re right next door.”
I hated being such a good sport about her needing her space, but what else was I going to do? Chain her to my bed?
Could I do that?
Legally?
“Oh, hey. Paul, my college roommate? Called yesterday to let me know he and his wife Taylor are having a barbecue next Saturday. He invited us. Think you can make it?” I asked.
I saw a trace of panic cross her face for a split second before she rallied and said, “Oh, sure.”
What the hell was that all about?
My eyes narrowed. “You good?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You looked a little horrified there for a moment,” I replied with not quite a chuckle.
“No, I’m fine.” I looked at her wondering what was going on. “What?” she asked.
I drew in a breath and let it out. “You know how you said you wanted us to be honest with each other?” She nodded. “I’m getting the feeling this isn’t working for you.”
She jerked her head back and frowned. “What’s not working for me?”
“Us,” I deadpanned.
She started crying and my fucking heart sank. After all we’d been through, two years of being apart then finally coming back together, she wanted out.
I sat on the coffee table facing her letting her cry, which went on for a few more minutes. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table using it to dab at her eyes. When her eyes met mine, she started crying again.
I stood and went right into my Something’s-Fucked-Up pacing.
“Do you not want to be together?” I asked as I traipsed back and forth across her living room.
“I do,” she said with a sniff.
“Are you not in love with me?”
Sniff. “I am.” Sniff.
“Then what is it, Birdie? I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours!” I accidentally raised my voice making her start crying again. I went to the couch, picking her up and cradling her on my lap. “What is it, honey?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“I think you do. Honesty, remember?”
Looking up at me with tear-filled eyes, she let me know what was wrong. “I’m scared all the time, Beck, and it’s ruining everything.” She began crying harder and I let her.
When she’d settled down some, I asked, “What are you scared of, baby?”
On a sobby hiccup, she answered, “It’d be easier to ask what I’m not afraid of.”
I snorted because that was too fucking cute. “Tell me.”
She shook her head as she took a cleansing breath and laid it all out there. “I’m scared you’ll go back to your wife. I’m scared you’ll find out I’m not what you want and leave me. Again.”
Ouch.
“I’m afraid to meet your friends because what if I love them and you and I don’t work out and I lose them too. Which makes me also afraid to introduce you to my friends, who’ll love you and then hate me when we don’t work out. I’m afraid I’m not doing my job well enough for Fleishman. I’m scared they’re going to think I’m incompetent. Which makes me scared that my boss might start thinking the same thing. I’m scared that being alone for too long has rendered me incapable of being in a normal relationship. And I’m afraid that my needing space will drive you away.” She wiped her nose. “Now I’m scared that you think I’m nothing but a scaredy-cat crybaby who’s not confident enough to be with you. And finally, I’m terrified that because I need my space you won’t be around when Frank Dodd decides he’s going to rape and murder me.”
That was a lot to be afraid of, I had to admit. As I thought over what to say to her, I held her as she continued crying.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, first of all, you’re going to have to get it through your head that I’m completely and irrevocably in love with you, Birdie. I don’t want anyone else and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me you don’t want me anymore.” I kissed the top of her head. “About our friends, I plan on keeping you around until I need a fucking cane to walk, so neither of us is going to lose them. And Fleishman? You’re rocking the shit out of things. Joel has told me he’s entirely impressed with the work you’ve done. They all have nothing but good things to say about you.”
Mondays (The Wait Book 2) Page 12
