“You think I’m a fluff ball, don’t you?”
“What? Where did you…?”
“I’ll admit, decorating isn’t the heavyweight business of crime-fighting, but I’ve handled my share of problems in this world.”
“I know you have.” His voice was unbearably gentle. He stepped back. “More than you ever should have.”
She could see that her words backfired and threw up her hands. She’d have to prove it. She turned on her spike heel and stomped to her room. Too bad the sound of her heels was muffled by the plush carpeting. She slammed the door extra hard to let him know she wasn’t that fluffy.
He called out his goodnight, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the stifled laugh that she heard on the other side of that door. Then she’d have to go back out there and do something. She had no idea what she could do right now and plopped down onto the plush bed, alone, in her posh hotel room feeling a bit like Scarlett O’Hara.
Somehow tomorrow would be better.
The morning sunshine streamed in as she stepped into the suite’s living room, dressed and ready for the day. When she pulled her bedroom door closed behind her, she looked up and saw him. He’d emerged from his room at the same moment she did—as if he’d planned it. Her mind went blank as she watched him fasten his cuff links and stride into the room with his usual gallant smile and conqueror-of-the-world air.
She smiled back and squared her shoulders, wondering if she was maybe too easy to conquer. Today would be different after all—she would put up a fight. Before either of them had a chance to murmur more than a polite greeting, room service arrived with coffee and breakfast service and set them up at their small dining table.
After the waiter left, they both stood rooted nowhere near the table. She thought he should make the first move, although he was suddenly not moving anywhere, most likely measuring his words. She gave him back a cool, appraising look and was pleased that she chose this outfit because no matter how cool he appeared on the outside, he had to be at least a little heated up on the inside. The bright blue wool cable knit dress was classy and elegant and showed off her curves with a bright paisley matching scarf cinching her waist. The hemline hit at her knees, and along with the matching electric-blue high-heeled pumps, showed off her legs. She was a designer after all, and she approached her own adornment with the same skill and eye for fashion as she would someone’s home—maximizing the assets and showing off the personality without being overstated or garish, even while being bold. That was the goal, anyway.
Then he spoke. “Before we eat—or before I try to eat and end up with what Oscar would call ‘agita’—I have to apologize for last night. I was an unqualified cad, playing games and allowing myself liberties, running hot and cold like a confused teenager. No excuse. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. I’m clear-headed about it all now. It would mean a lot to me if you could put aside my behavior and resume our friendship as professional partners—in crime solving and decorating both.” He stood where he was and waited with his hands at his sides. Not an awkward movement or insecure breath came from him.
She felt dazzled by his speech—and horrified at the same time. Professional partners? At least he was allowing for that—and acknowledging his hot and cold craziness. She wouldn’t confess to him that she was dying to catch him at his hot moment and keep him there. After all, she’d vowed to put up a fight. Well, not vowed, but…
“How highly civilized of you. I don’t know when I’ve had a more perfect apology.” She paused. “Oh, now I remember. Never. In the meantime, I have no problem with being professional.” She looked at the table and took a deep breath, absorbing the scents of the food. She walked over and took a seat. “I have no problem with eating this morning. Maybe you ought to get that ‘agita’ checked out.” She didn’t bother looking at him when she said this, but started filling her plate.
He laughed. He stood there and laughed. She felt herself turning pink and looked up at him. He hadn’t moved. She pointed her fork at his seat. “Let’s go. Have some food. We have things to do.”
He took his seat with that suppressed chuckle look on his face, and she almost scowled at him.
“Are you the most unpredictable woman on the planet?”
“I strive.”
“Don’t worry, Grace. You’re better off without me,” he said in a more quiet, serious voice.
“Do I look worried? Maybe you should be worried.”
“Don’t worry, I am.”
She looked up from eating her food at that. He was taking a sip from his coffee, and she decided it was a perfect time to say something to shake him up.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I belong back with Oscar after all.”
He didn’t spill his coffee, but if a thundercloud had a face it would look like his. At least she put a strain on his cool. “Or maybe I’ll take Nick up on his offer of a date,” she added.
This time his cup wavered. He quickly put it down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Nick asked you for a date?”
She should be insulted by his incredulous tone, but she was thrilled she caught him by surprise. “Yes. Men do that sort of thing all the time. Surely you’ve heard?”
“Are you interested in him?” He was back to unreadable, but she could tell he wasn’t going to drop it.
“Maybe,” she lied and looked down at her plate.
He gave her that knowing chuckle.
“What’s it to you anyway?”
“He’s in the same category as me and Oscar—too dangerous a lifestyle.”
“Too dangerous for what? For me to handle?”
“In a word—yes. For most women.”
She heard the unspoken “especially you.”
“My obvious line would be ‘I’m not most women,’ but you should already know that. Maybe you should think of me as Batwoman.” She finished eating, tossed the white linen napkin on the plate with the leftover food because she somehow knew it would catch his eye, and stood up from her chair with a lioness stretch.
She would make him rethink his thinking, because she was now sure that underneath all the excuses, he felt the same way about her as she did about him. She grabbed her coffee and strutted to the living area.
He followed her to the couch and unhooked his phone from the charger. Then he courageously sat down next to her. He made a call, but apparently no one was answering. She waited patiently, playing his sidekick, for their next move. They had to be at the City Hall Plaza before the 8:00 a.m. event, but she wasn’t sure exactly what her role would be other than sticking to David’s side.
“Oscar, where are you?” David said as he placed his phone on the coffee table precisely and gently. The deadly calm and sonorous vibration in his voice made her look up at him more closely. She put her coffee down, mimicking his purposefulness. She couldn’t make herself drink anymore anyway—too much juice already floating around in her bloodstream from anticipation. She was anticipating all kinds of things today. She was waiting for his signal to go. She was waiting for him to kiss her again. She was waiting for the smugglers to strike again.
“What’s up?” she said as casually as she could manage. If he bought into it, she ought to head to Broadway on the next train.
“Oscar’s bloody voice mail box is full and I wanted to alert him to this morning’s festivities so he could arrange to have a couple of men there.” David stood and began to pace.
“Send him a text,” she said. A text message was even better than a voice mail message, in her opinion.
“Not that. We don’t have time with my texting skills.” He arched a brow as if daring her to comment.
“Give me your phone. I’ll do it for you.” She smiled, and he leaned over her shoulder as she went through the menu of his outdated cell phone. “What do you want to say?”
“Tell him to call me immediately—preferably before 8:00 a.m.,” He looked at his wristwatch. “I appreciate your sending it since I can’t see the blasted tin
y screen. Thanks for the assist with cell phone technology,” he said as she handed him the phone back. “Batwoman indeed. I’ll put you in charge of my utility belt.”
His words so excited her that she jumped up—of all things—but if she hadn’t, she would have thrown herself into his arms and that would have been the exact wrong thing to do. Not that she knew what to do anymore. He stood and gave her that “I know exactly how you feel” look. It nearly caused her to melt on the spot. Her legs felt shaky.
She backed up and knocked into the chair. He reached out, but she fell backwards over the side of the chair and into it with her legs very ungraciously pointed up and around him as he stood in front of her. He looked down at her, his lips compressed in that telltale non-smile he had. She felt pinker than ever and shook the curls out of her face.
“Very charming invitation, Grace, but we just don’t have the time right now,” he said in his best deadpan delivery, and then didn’t bother holding back his chuckle when she squeaked her protest and indignation. He did at least help her out of her toppled position in the chair, which she knew she could never have done on her own.
Once she got herself upright and pulled her dress down where it was supposed to be—while he stood watching with his arms folded—she felt better. Then she started giggling. It was nerves.
“Grace, we’re heading into a potentially dangerous situation—you need to be serious—I insist,” David said, but she could tell he was mixed about it and she laughed full out at that.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she managed to say as she walked to the door.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said.
“Try and stop me.” She gave him a smoldering look, sending a shot of heat through herself in the process. She brushed past him and out the door.
The Parker House Hotel was less than a block to City Hall Plaza, so Grace didn’t mind walking in her heels. She breathed in the scents of the city as they emerged from the revolving door onto Tremont Street. The crisp autumn air mingled with taxi fumes and fresh-brewed coffee wafting on all sides. The scents braced her better than smelling salts. And that was a good thing because she needed it as she walked at David’s side.
They met Rick, Nick and their entourage behind the platform set up in the Plaza for the presentation of the key to the city to the Boston Red Sox manager. They moved past the barricade manned by uniformed men and women of the BPD.
“If you were chief of police, where would you be in all this?” David said out loud to Grace. She held on to David’s arm as they stepped over wires and around the technical equipment that would help deliver the speech to the Jumbotron screens set up at the far ends of the plaza. She looked out toward Cambridge Street to see mobs of people already filling in the brick-paved plaza.
“On stage—but maybe that’s just me.” She smiled and held tighter to his arm, enjoying his protection for all it was worth while she had it.
Of course he laughed. And of course when they looked around they saw Dan heading in their direction.
“No sign of Rick and Theresa yet,” Dan said as he approached.
At that moment a blue-and-white screeched up behind the barricades not ten feet from where they stood. Rick jumped from the car. She recognized Nick even in disguise, right behind Rick.
“Sorry I’m late. I was in the blue-and-white waiting for Theresa.” Rick turned to Grace. “She got your text message when we were on the front steps and ran back inside to get whatever you asked for. We—Nick and I—decided rather than wait, we’d have the uniform take her in the second car.”
David frowned at her, and Grace said, “I never sent Theresa a text message,” in a squeaky voice. She felt tremors of alarm from deep inside her until she realized that David didn’t look the least panicked. He looked serious and more confident than before. She almost felt sorry for those bad guys.
“Call her now,” David said to Rick in his commanding voice. Rick already had his phone out. He punched in the number and they waited for a reply. Then Rick shook his head, turning deathly white. Grace touched his arm and kept her hand there.
One of the uniforms called to Dan. “We got a call from the unit at the loft.”
Dan strode to the police car and took the call. They waited for several tense moments where she could only watch David. He stood still. The calmness emanating from him allowed them all to suspend their fears for the moment, until Dan told them what was going on. She didn’t even bother thinking of trite things to say to fill the gap. From within David’s circle of calm, she didn’t feel a need to prattle.
Dan looked grim as he walked back to the circle of her, David, Rick and Nick. She realized they were all touching and connected, and when Dan entered their space his grim frown was replaced by strong determination—the same look David had.
“All the police were out front at the car waiting. After it started to feel like she was taking too long, they realized there was no one inside or covering the back. One of the officers ran inside and found the back window in the kitchen open. It led to a fire escape like the one in the front. There were only a few things knocked astray. Minimal struggle. She was probably subdued right away and carried out. There was no one in sight when they checked out the window to see if they could catch up, but a white unmarked van was pulling out of the alley. They ran out the front and attempted to make chase. They barely caught anything on the license plate, which was obscured with mud.”
Rick continued to lose all color as Dan told him what had happened.
“Grace and I are going to take Nick and Rick back to our room to regroup,” David told Dan. “Stall the ceremony, and don’t tell the mayor yet. He can wait until after the event, and maybe we’ll have more details before he has to know that his daughter has been kidnapped.”
Grace kept her whimper inside and was proud of that fact, but her tight grip on David’s arm and her soft hold on Rick’s became the only things she allowed herself to think about until they got back into their suite.
David’s mind solidified into a block of irrefutable attitude. He was on a mission, and nothing would deter him. He didn’t need to look at Grace’s stalwart adoration or see Rick’s haze of pain or Nick’s rage and impatience to know what they were about. His role was to guide them through it. Optimization seemed like an overblown word, but the concept was real and the responsibility even more real.
Nick stood barely inside the threshold of the suite while Grace and Rick sat on the couch.
“Nick, change clothes with Rick.” David gestured toward his room. He looked at the question on Rick’s face. “Can you give Nick a copy of your speech to give in your place?”
Rick nodded and stood to follow Nick into David’s bedroom. Grace stopped him with a touch and handed him a glass of brandy that David hadn’t even realized she’d poured. It was the perfect thing to do. He smiled at her with pride, but she had no idea what a relief it was to have a partner anticipating what needed to be done and sharing the burden of the mission that way. It had been a long time since David felt that luxury. He put aside the implication for now because he must, but he promised himself he’d think about it later.
Nick left the suite alone to pose as Rick and make the speech. David stayed with Grace and Rick in the room.
David took out his trusty cell phone and tapped the numbers in to call Dan.
“I can program his number so you can speed dial him,” Grace said.
“Then I’d have to come through with that promotion to senior utility belt technician,” he told her. Dan picked up.
“Look for Nick. He’s making his way back to the platform dressed as Rick and ready to give the speech. He’s wearing Kevlar—and dark glasses until he takes the podium.”
“Roger that, but the mayor is bound to notice,” Dan said.
“After the event is over bring the mayor here. It’s the safest place I can think of at the moment for all of us,” David said. He smiled at Grace as she kept up a stream of idle chitchat about the loft design a
nd artwork that was decidedly one-sided. She was turning out to be a trooper. He clamped down on the heart-swelling feelings again.
“The kidnappers are going to either call Rick, the mayor or you about the ransom—depending on who they think most likely has possession of the artifacts. You’ll need to get your techies over here to set up whatever programs and devices they have to trace and record the call if it comes to Rick’s or the mayor’s cell,” David told Dan.
“It’s done,” Dan said. “I’ll have all the calls transferred there—no need to alarm the whole station about this—it would be a media nightmare that the mayor and Rick don’t need right now. Do you have anything else planned?”
“As a matter of fact I do. You don’t need to know what it is, do you?”
“No. Just don’t do anything too crazy. But if you do, David, I have your back.”
“I know.” David clicked his phone shut and sat on the chair opposite Grace and Rick on the couch. He only half listened to her telling Rick all about Oscar and his legion of men on the job—although she didn’t mention him by name, smart girl. It was hard to tell if any of her chatter had the reassuring effect that it was intended to. Rick sat in stunned silence with the same glass filled with brandy she had given him earlier. Or maybe it was a refill.
The BPD detectives had worked up a list of properties owned by or associated with their man. David thought about these locations and their potential for where Theresa was being held. He ruled out the motel. The place had been too hot with uniforms since the arrest. There were numerous warehouses on the list, too many, in fact. They needed some intel to narrow down the locations. He thought of the gallery, but he’d never seen the crime scene there, nor had he combed it for intel, because he’d been in London at the time the scene was worked over. As soon as Dan showed up with reinforcements and techies, David would make an unofficial visit to the gallery—yellow tape or no yellow tape, and take a look for himself.
The Throwbacks Page 23
