by D. A. Bale
“There’s nothing in them about the present fact that you’re…” I glanced around before leaning in closer to whisper. “…not really gay?”
This time Reggie shook his head. “Nothing in that regard.”
“Does anyone know about your lady friend?”
“I haven’t told a soul,” he offered, signing a cross over his heart. “And all correspondence I do is from my home computer or phone.”
“You still have a LAN line?” I asked incredulous.
“Just because something gets old doesn’t mean it has lost its usefulness,” Reggie quipped with a wave of his hand.
I wiggled my brows. “Are we talking about technology or the human condition here?”
“Don’t get tawdry with your elders, young lady,” Reggie said, channeling my mom. “But yes.”
I wasn’t even going to touch that answerless answer. “Have you revealed anything about your history to this new friend of yours?”
Reggie sobered in an instant. “No.”
“So that makes it more likely the culprit is someone from your past,” I mused as the path steered us toward the fountain.
Reggie stiffened beside me as another voice called out.
“Vicki!”
Nick’s barely clad figure rushed around the corner of the limestone church and stopped when he saw Reggie and I together. “What’s all this then, luv?”
“Nick, I…um…this is my good friend Reginald von Braun,” I stuttered. Not sure why I felt like the kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar after the pawing and petting I’d witnessed in front of the camera earlier.
“Your interior designer?” Nick asked, giving Reggie the once over.
I mentally slapped my forehead. Shoulda given Reggie’s real name instead of the one of his public persona. Well, I guess Reggie’s real name now was Reginald after having it legally changed, but I still preferred his real, real name. You know what I mean.
Reggie dropped my arm and fell right into character with a glance of his own up and down Nick’s physique before ending with a purse of lips. “At your service, darling. Does Nick need a redesign too, or shall Reginald help vith something a little more personal, no?”
The come hither response didn’t seem to faze Nick. Guess he’d been hit on one too many times in the fashion industry for it to affect him anymore.
“I really like what you did with Vicki’s place,” Nick said. “My place could use your expertise.”
Personally, I liked Nick’s industrial loft style, but I wasn’t one to deny a friend additional business.
Reggie drew out his card and fluttered it along Nick’s pecs as he sidled in closer. “Just give Reginald a call vhen you return to town and see vat ve can cook up.”
“I’ll do that,” Nick acknowledged, glancing up at me with a grin.
“I’ll be seeing you, mein liebchen. Ciao,” Reggie called over his shoulder before sauntering off with a marked jiggle of hips.
“I think that was for your benefit,” I said, pointing at Reggie’s retreating butt.
“Hmm,” Nick murmured, watching a little too long for my comfort. “What’s he doing here?”
“Visiting a friend.”
“Someone besides you?”
I patted smooth and freshly powdered pecs. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.” Maybe I needed to own up to my little green monster before admonishing someone else’s.
“There’s nothing there for me to be jealous of, luv,” Nick said with a chuckle.
If he only knew.
Chapter Seven
The last couple of days had given new meaning to vapid and shallow – and I’m not talking me. At least not this time. Nick slept very little on our trip, which meant instead of him working most of the night and sleeping during the day while I traipsed about San Antonio, we’d spent almost every moment in each other’s company for the past seventy-two hours.
And while Nick was great in bed – I mean really, really great – little else could be said about the remainder of his activities, nocturnal or otherwise.
Conversation lacked in every way imaginable. If he talked about anything for any length of time, it all had to do with the modeling industry, fashion icons, and associated connections. Any other topics I threw into the conversational waters quickly grew stilted from his lack of knowledge. If it didn’t have anything to do with fashion, fashion designers, or amorous activities, Nick was like an airheaded walking stiff.
Pun intended.
It’s said a trip together is the best measurement of a relationship – and this one sucked river water more than all the fish in San Antone’s canal. No matter how good Nick was in the sack, it took more than sex to keep a relationship afloat.
Who said that? Did those words just come out of my mouth? Or, um – my thoughts? Maybe I was finally growing up after all.
Or not.
For the majority of the drive home, I’d drifted between sleep and feigning sleep to avoid listening to Nick flap his gums. Before the Jag had come to a complete stop in front of my apartment building, I flicked open the passenger side door and grabbed my suitcase from the backseat in one smooth move. The transmission about ground into a loose collection of nuts and bolts tossed into a rock polisher when Nick shoved the sleek vehicle into park while still rolling.
“Thanks, Nick,” I called. “Had fun and all, but I’ve gotta get ready for work. Call me.”
Almost wished I hadn’t added that last part. It was like throwing fuel onto a dying flame, his face lighting up from disappointment to renewed hope in our undying love. Someone just kill me now.
Probably not the best thought to have considering I’d almost met that fate mere weeks ago. But if I didn’t get away from the lovemaking machine pronto, I might be tempted to make that thought a reality – toward myself or him. Thus I raced up the stairs into the sanctuary of my place as fast as possible, slamming the door shut with a sigh and scooping up Slinky for a welcome home snuggle.
Janine had left a note on the fridge, outlining in agonizing detail Slinky’s care the last few days. The chart notated the time fed twice a day, the measurement and type of food provided – wet or dry – and a checkmark for scooping the litter once per day. This in addition to how long she’d hung out playing with the critter and his apparent mood, as if she was some sort of feline whisperer. See? This was why my best friend made such a great doctoral candidate – she was anal and unashamed of it.
I plopped down on my sofa and stretched out with the cat on my chest. Then I typed a message to Janine, informing her I was home, before setting the alarm on my phone. A couple hours before I had to make my way to the bar meant a thorough nap was on the menu before I made any rash decisions concerning Nick. Perhaps everything would work out in the long run once I gained a little restorative perspective.
Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
So with that happy thought, I turned off the phone alarm and sat up, much to Slinky’s frustration. How could I sleep with the chaotic thoughts rumbling through my head? Nick was a distraction I simply didn’t need right now, especially with Reggie’s blackmail problem churning in my gut.
The last time I’d helped a friend, it almost hadn’t ended so well for little ol’ me. Who did I think I was to be dipping my toe into another investigative matter? Wasn’t like I was a private eye. Nancy Drew anyone?
Hmm. There was only one other person besides Zeke I could talk to without giving away my offensive playbook – not that I had much to go on yet anyway. The idea of finding a blackmailer was just way different than tracking down a murderer, but I was pretty sure it’d prove to be safer for my carcass in the long run. Guess instead of a nap, it was time for Nancy Drew to go see Detective Dingbat.
***
Detective Horace Duncan hailed from the Dallas Police Department Homicide Division. We’d had the distinct displeasure of working together on Bobby’s wife’s death several months ago. Okay, working together wasn’t exactly an accurate depiction of what trans
pired. Actually he’d caught me sneaking around inside Bobby’s house, and if it wasn’t for Zeke, I’d have served one to life for breaking and entering.
Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. I’d had Bobby’s permission to be there. Even knew where to find the spare key. ‘Course I didn’t realize being an active crime scene usurped homeowner consent – especially when said homeowner was the prime suspect at the time.
So now Duncan and I have a love-hate relationship. He loves to hate my interference when it comes to his investigations. I hate the love he shows my God-given assets – namely my boobs.
Well, and there was the teeny tiny fact he’d tried to lay blame on me for the death of Bobby’s wife – no matter how briefly. Something to do with phantom texts I hadn’t sent. Then there was that pesky police report from my involvement with Bobby when I was fifteen, which had made him think there was a plot afoot between old lovers.
But Reggie’s blackmail situation didn’t involve homicide. Therefore, it wasn’t one of Duncan’s current investigations, so asking a few simple questions couldn’t be misconstrued as interference this time. Therefore, any threats to throw me in jail would be about as empty as a natural blond.
Oops. Apologies to my best friend.
For a busy homicide detective, Duncan sat firmly behind his desk every time I stuck my mug into his sector, busily pecking away on his keyboard like a starving woodpecker. Their IT department had to go through countless replacements every month at the rate he pounded on the poor thing. Even with the air conditioning blasting away with blessed cool air, the detective’s waxy dome gleamed with perspiration. Perhaps typing was his workout du jour.
I sauntered up in my daisy dukes and plopped onto the corner of his desk with my newest pair of Tony Lamas dangling in full view. The tapping stopped as Duncan checked out the latest morsel – namely my shapely legs after all that walking around San Antonio. It’s a firmly established principal that God made men visual creatures, and I had no problem using my feminine wiles on occasion to full advantage – no matter how many showers I’d have to take after enduring Detective Dingbat’s mental undressing.
Duncan’s perusal finally made it up to my face. “If it ain’t Nancy Drew. Don’t tell me you’ve found another dead body.”
“I’ve never found a dead body,” I retorted. “I almost became one.”
“Minor detail.”
“Not to me.”
“Which brings us to the question of why you’re interrupting my busy afternoon and preventing me from going home before midnight.”
I made a pointed effort of glancing around his desk at the various piles of paperwork, a few greasy sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups thrown in for good measure. No doubt a donut box hid somewhere among the debris. “Looks more like you’re attempting to write the next bestselling crime thriller.”
That got me an exasperated humph. “Not too far off. With all the CYA necessary these days, more than half the job anymore is writing reports.”
“That must suck,” I said.
“By the fathoms,” he admitted. “Which brings me back around to why you’re here. Doing more legwork for the Ranger Corp?”
“Ha-ha, no,” I quipped. “Blackmail.”
“What’d Zeke do this time for you to threaten him with blackmail?”
“Nothing. I’m talking me.”
A smart-alecky retort died on his lips. “Wait. Hold on a minute. Someone had the audacity to blackmail you?”
I snorted. “Like I have anything worth blackmailing for.”
The grimy gaze took another whirl over me. “That’s not what I hear.”
My vision narrowed as I offered up my best evil eye – which probably came across more like trying to stifle a fart or something. Seemed the church crowd weren’t the only ones who liked to gossip and rumor-monger when given the opportunity. Law enforcement was susceptible too – at the local, state, and federal levels, if my experience was any indication.
“I’m talking hypotheticals for now.” I had every intention of keeping my big mouth shut when it came to the specifics of Reggie’s situation. After all, I’d promised.
Duncan spun around to his computer. “Well not hypothetically speaking, this is homicide. If you want to talk to someone about blackmail, you’ll need to start with the robbery unit.”
“Don’t you all go through the same process at the academy?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then you’ve gone through some basic informational training about blackmail, right?”
That earned me a grumble with a few choice words thrown in not fit for feminine ears.
I pressed my advantage. “Haven’t you had some homicide cases that involved blackmail or extortion?”
“Look, Nancy Drew,” Duncan said, whirling his chair around again and about giving me vertigo. “I’ve got things to do, and they don’t have anything to do with blackmail…yet.”
“Just answer one question.” I crossed my legs to better advantage. Talk about your legwork. “Please?”
Duncan sucked in a breath before huffing out like a deflating balloon. “Okay, one.”
I leaned forward, catching a glimpse of a familiar name on the detective’s computer screen. What the…?
Focus, Vic.
“Why would one person attempt to blackmail another?”
“Any number of reasons,” he returned, turning the monitor away from my line of vision. “Most common would be to cover up a sexual indiscretion, drug use, criminal business practices…”
“I’m talking the blackmailer not the blackmailee,” I clarified.
“That’s easy,” Duncan said without missing a beat. “Either the blackmailer is desperate for money or they want revenge.”
Gee, that sounded a lot like divorce proceedings where one spouse took the other to the cleaners. Considering what I knew about my dad’s proclivities, that’d definitely be the case if my mom ever listened to me and stepped up to the plate.
Duncan’s information gave me a more concrete place to start. Now if only Reggie’s blackmailer would give us a hint as to his or her reasoning, we’d be able to put this behind him before the weekend, ya think?
Nah, I didn’t really expect so either.
***
Wednesday nights were a little slower pace, providing more time to mingle and talk to patrons. Interact with both newcomer and old. Did I also mention it’s just me and Grady on those nights?
Last week had shown that our camaraderie contained flickering signs of life, but it was likely things would never be quite the same between us. Eventually we’d settle into a new routine – I hoped.
As I bent over to grab a couple of cold brews from the refrigerated case, I felt rather than heard his approach over the thrum of music. Thigh brushed my butt as I stood and looked into warm chocolate depths. Without taking my gaze from his, I popped off the bottle tops with a satisfying spit and hiss. The edge of Grady’s mustache tilted as he took them from me.
“I’ll deliver those,” he said, the husky voice rumbling through to touch me all the way to my toes.
Odd. Grady’s sexy voice used to touch me in a whole different area. Somewhere north of my knees and south of my waistline. Maybe my trip with Nick had satiated me too much.
“The couple at that table over there,” I offered.
As the boss sauntered away to deliver the libations, a familiar group walked up and sat down along the bar.
I smiled. “Hey, it’s my favorite trio. Things One, Two, and Three.”
Cornflower-blue eyes beneath flattened amber hair widened. “What happened to Radioman?”
“Oh sorry, Things One and Two and Radioman,” I said with a wink.
“That’s better,” Radioman responded with a wide grin as I slid a bottle of Sam Adams onto the bar.
Satiated too much? Radioman’s smile forced me to rethink that thought.
“Which Thing am I?” the dark-headed lawyer asked. “One or Two?”
Th
eir balding banker buddy just snorted derisively and thumbed Radioman. “Why does he get a cool nickname while we’re relegated to a stupid Dr. Seuss moniker?”
“Because,” I started with a bat of lashes, “he comes to see me more often.”
“Yeah?” Banker Boy challenged. “Well unlike him, we both have real jobs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the lawyer challenged, taking the scotch straight from my hands and throwing it back like a shot, ice and all. “I get to spend my days arguing with people.”
“And you like that shit?” Banker Boy asked.
“You forget, I come from Italian roots. Other people pay me to do what comes naturally.” He held up the empty glass. “Can I get another one?”
“Italian, huh?” I asked intrigued, sliding the double Jack and Coke toward the banker before pouring another scotch for my lawyer pal.
“With a little Scots and Irish thrown in somewhere along the line. But until you come up with a cooler name than Thing One or Two, how about calling me Seth?”
“Nice to officially meet you Seth,” I said grasping his outstretched hand, sending a tingle up my arm. Maybe I wasn’t so satiated after all. “So how did you decide to become a lawyer?”
“A lawyer is like a Marine – the few, the proud.”
“More like the blowhard, the cocky,” Radioman offered with a grin. “The one who likes to hear himself talk and talk…”
“This coming from the guy who gets paid to talk on the radio,” I interrupted with a thumb directed his way and received a wink in return. Yeah, that earlier satiated thought was officially debunked when my legs turned a tad noodley.
“Where do you get that lawyers are few?” Banker Boy asked. “Colleges are spitting out so many lawyers every year, I think the average in the United States is like one for every seven hundred people…men, women, and children included.”
“That’s a lot of attorneys,” I said, joining them for a round with three fingers of Jack.
“That may be true,” Seth acknowledged with a narrowing of eyes. “But ask yourself, how many of them are actually practicing?”
“Touché,” I cried, clinking my shot glass against Seth’s. “Our Italian friend just won another argument.”
