Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

"It's an invitation. Now you have to answer my question or I'll bug you all night."

  "Jeez, you're not a cop for nothing."

  "Stop deflecting," he said, his hand sliding down my back and under the blanket.

  I thought about it. There was no particular reason that I could think of not to tell Maddox. Besides, we hadn't even taken the case yet. Maddox might have a hint or two for me, and that couldn't hurt either. I was confident about my investigative skills, such as they were, but I wasn't a fool. I still needed help while I learned the ropes. It wasn't just learning how to assess people, along with working off a hunch. It was the tools of the trade too: the computer programs, the questioning, the surveillance, learning how to protect myself from people who weren't happy about an investigation, not that I wanted it to come to that. I had a gun permit, and a SIG Compact locked in a drawer in my apartment, but I hadn't gotten to the point where I felt the need to carry it.

  "The owner might be a missing person," I said, keeping my info to the bare minimum. "Her best friend came to the office to ask us to look for her."

  "She should've reported it to the police," replied Maddox.

  "She did. You guys weren't interested."

  "Must have been a reason." His fingers danced across my lower back and I held my breath.

  "Not a good one, according to her friend."

  "You going to look for her?"

  "Maybe. If Solomon wants us to take the case."

  "How's working for Solomon going?"

  "You still haven't seen him?" I asked, surprised. Sure, they weren’t buddy-buddy, but I expected them to run into each other from time to time.

  "No."

  "Really? He's been here weeks." Or longer, I wasn't sure. Solomon didn't get personal and wasn't real chatty. I didn't even know where he lived. Solomon and Maddox both insisted they weren't friends, or “didn't hang out,” which I thought meant the same thing, but they had worked together closely in the past. I still saw people I worked with. Well, not Vincent, although he did send me a postcard from jail, which I filed in the trashcan.

  "I haven't seen him."

  I shrugged and moved on. "It's going okay. Mostly, he's teaching me stuff or sending me out with one of the guys to follow around. The other guys are all experienced, a lot more experienced. You might know Matt Flaherty, he's ex-PD. I haven't had my own case yet."

  "Name sounds familiar. Solomon say what kind of cases you might get?"

  "No. He wants everyone to do everything. I mean, not just specialize in one thing."

  "What about the dangerous stuff?" Maddox asked, his voice light, though I spotted the hesitancy. My fingers traced the small wound on his shoulder where he’d taken a bullet. I had a matching one. He didn’t want me in any danger.

  "I don't know. Maybe," I said, keeping my voice light too. I actually hadn't thought about it in depth. I couldn't see how Montgomery could get dangerous. Our only serial killer in recent decades was behind bars. How bad could Montgomery be? I'd lived here my whole life and violent crime wasn't high up on the crime-dar here.

  "I don't like the idea of him putting you in danger." Maddox's finger traced the small scar on my upper arm. For a moment, both our fingertips touched the spots on our bodies that entwined us to one place, one time, forever.

  "I'm not going to sack off jobs because they might get a little dangerous," I said, running my hand down his arm. "Besides, a missing person doesn't sound dangerous."

  "I don't want to come over as the over-protective boyfriend, and I'm not telling you what to do, not at all, but I worry about you working for Solomon."

  "Why?" I said, but my brain was saying “He said the “b” word!” A word that still sent a thrilling ripple through me. It wasn't something we'd ever come out and announced, even though, as far as I was concerned, the dating was exclusive. Asking him if he were my boyfriend just seemed immature. After he definitely seemed like my boyfriend, approximately two and a half months ago, it was too late to ask anyway.

  "Solomon is tough as. I suspect he's been involved in dodgy shit all his life. I've asked around quietly, but no one knows anything about him. Not even my FBI contacts."

  "So he's private." I shrugged as I raised my head from his chest to look at him. "Tell you what, I'll let you know if I get worried about anything, and you can do the cool boyfriend rescue thing, okay?"

  "Deal," said Maddox. "And you can tell him, if you ever get hurt working for him, he won't make it alive to county lockup."

  "I seem to think my brothers said something similar about you once."

  "Excellent.” Maddox raised his brows and grinned devilishly. “Help."

  "Maddox!"

  "What? I'm making friends with your brothers. Our baseball team plays Garrett's next week and I saw Daniel and Jord in O'Grady's. They both said hello without pretending their hands were guns and making like they were going to pop me."

  "Sounds like progress," I said.

  "So you'll come to the game?"

  "I'll even cheer you on." But I planned to sit in the neutral seats and cheer my brothers too. And take Lily. And my sisters-in-law. Safety in numbers if there was any question about loyalty cheering.

  "Want to go out afterwards?"

  "You bet."

  "What do you want to do now?" Maddox's other hand slipped under the blanket and I shivered in a very pleasant way as he ran it down my side.

  "Go to bed," I said.

  "Tired?"

  "You wish."

  "Round three it is."

  ~

  I woke a half hour later than intended and found Maddox's side of the bed empty. With a groan, I shuffled out of the blissfully warm covers, and showered in his attached bathroom. I wondered if it was bad etiquette not to ask first, although it had never bothered him before. Then I dressed in the clothes I'd brought with me: smart pants, a top with a couple of buttons at the neck, and black heels. I was pleased with my foresight. Yesterday's clothes could be stored in the VW’s trunk while I went to work and no one would be any the wiser.

  When I went into the kitchen, Maddox was sitting at the small table we'd violated the night before, eating cereal. He looked up and a slow smile spread across his face.

  "Morning. What time do you have to be in?" he asked.

  "Flexi-time. Whenever I like, so long as I make the afternoon meeting," I told him as I leaned down to kiss him. I had a fleeting image of being flat on my back on the table pop into my head. I kissed him again and reached for the cereal before I got more ideas.

  "Me too," he said. "Want to go back to bed?"

  "I thought I wore you out?"

  "I'm in training," he said, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes. "You won't know what's hit you in a month."

  I laughed and poured a bowl, sitting in the empty chair. I was thinking it was nice to get up with someone, eat breakfast with him and already be looking forward to seeing him before I'd even left. I wouldn't categorize myself as a must-be-in-a-relationship person or a die-hard single, but I liked this. It felt right. It was warm and comfortable. Humping like bunnies worked for me too.

  "I'm probably working late tonight," Maddox told me as he got up and rinsed out his bowl. "What are you doing over the weekend?"

  "Lunch with my parents on Sunday, and babysitting for Garrett in the evening. Other than that, nothing."

  "You want to do something Saturday?"

  "Sure."

  "There's a concert in the park. A last hurrah for summer."

  "Sounds nice."

  "I'll call you and let you know the details."

  I left with Maddox and he walked me to my car, kissing me again. He whispered something dirty about flexi-time that made me blush before he retreated around the side of the building to retrieve his car from the residents' lot.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the lot of the Solomon Agency, still trying to wipe the smile off my face.

  Neither Flaherty nor Delgado were in yet, though Fletcher was obviously engrossed with someth
ing on his laptop screen. I used the time to power up my laptop. The reports were back on the financial information I'd requested. It made for quick reading. Both women had good credit histories. They paid their bills on time and didn't live beyond their means. Both had credit cards; Elisabeth's balance was zero, Marissa owed two hundred and fifteen dollars. There was nothing suspicious in the way of random large deposits, or sudden loans or withdrawals. I printed the reports out, adding the pages to the file, and made a note that Marissa's car was in the impound lot. That detail caused me concern. Why hadn’t she claimed it?

  Solomon strolled in with Delgado twenty minutes before the meeting. Flaherty arrived just as we were going into the side room, next to Solomon's office, and Lucas was on my heels. This room was set up much like the interview rooms downstairs, but was reserved solely for staff use, and we'd all grabbed our favorite spots.

  By the time I joined Solomon's team, he'd already hired four others, all men. Matt Flaherty and Tony Delgado appeared to have a hardness about them. Although I wouldn't like to run into either in a dark alleyway, now I'd gotten to know them, I liked them. Lucas Givens is, like me, ten years younger than they. He's a geek, disguised as a cutie pie with ruffled blond hair that stands every which way and blue eyes that would make a Siberian Husky jealous. There wasn't a computer system he couldn't hack, a phone he couldn't bug, or a paper trail he couldn't trace. Lucas also made great coffee, something I learned as he tutored me on the software that I would come to rely on. The jury was out on Steve Fletcher. He flicked a look at me and then away, his body turning towards Solomon. Great. He didn't like me. I wanted to know why. Lucas liked me. The other two tolerated me. Was it simply that I was a woman in a boys’ game? Once again, that thought made me bristle.

  Solomon included, they each brought a case to the table. Solomon's wasn't up for scrutiny. On the cases he laid out, if he said jump, we jumped. He often disappeared and I figured he was working on other stuff he didn't tell me about; but he didn't invite me to ask, so I didn't. He indicated Flaherty to go first.

  Flaherty's was a fraud case that looked interesting, but more a police matter than ours so, after a moment of thought, Solomon told him to kick it back to the client. Lucas brought a case of a man who thought his son was into drugs and wanted evidence. It was a simple case of surveillance. More interesting, the father was a prominent local lawyer and he wanted discretion. I saw a flash of interest in Solomon's eyes as he nodded approval. An in with a law office would be useful and Solomon was still reputation-building.

  The third case, Delgado's, we also took. It was petty theft, but the owner of the restaurant owned thirteen other establishments. Again, Solomon saw opportunity for more contacts beyond solving what appeared to be a straightforward case.

  Fletcher's was an unsolved murder of a young man whose girlfriend wanted someone to reopen. She was getting married soon and he still weighed heavily on her mind; plus, some new information had come to light in the form of a letter. Solomon gave Fletcher the nod and told him to team up with Flaherty.

  "Let's hear it," Solomon said, turning his gaze to me.

  I opened my case file with Elisabeth's form, the financial details, and my note on the car. "It's a missing person," I told them. "She's twenty-eight. Lived alone. Job uncertain."

  "How missing?" Solomon wanted to know.

  "Two weeks."

  "The police?"

  "Informed. They weren't interested at first, then, after Elisabeth did some pressing, they performed some cursory checks on her place. Didn't find anything, but the friend said someone had already been through the place."

  "The friend's the one who came in? Not the parents? Boyfriend?"

  "No parents, no boyfriend. Ex-foster kid. She pretty much doesn't have anyone, except her friend. The police think she took off. I don't think so."

  "Why?"

  "She wouldn't leave without telling the friend."

  From my peripheral vision, I saw Fletcher roll his eyes. Ass.

  "That isn't it enough to go on," Solomon pointed out, holding his hand out for the file. I pushed it towards him and he skimmed through it.

  "It is for the friend. She knows her. She says this isn't her behavior; she wouldn't leave without telling her anything."

  "Plenty of people do," said Solomon. "It happens every day. She has no ties to the area."

  "I think we should take this case."

  "Do you have anything stronger than a hunch? Sign of crime? A call for help?"

  I shook my head. "No. She just vanished. Her car was impounded, ten, uh, eleven days ago."

  "Most people who vanish don't want to be found."

  "She might want it. Maybe she's hurt."

  "There's no sign of that."

  "But..."

  "We can't take every case, Lexi,” Solomon said, with finality, as he passed the folder back to me. “Tell Elisabeth Fong to go back to the police. Put her in touch with Garrett, if you want to throw her a bone.”

  Flaherty and Delgado quietly shuffled their case files and closed them. Lucas pretended to read his. Fletcher didn't do a thing, not even smirk. I wasn't sure if it was because no one wanted to get involved, or no one wanted to tussle with the boss—the abandoned case, for instance—or because they all agreed that Marissa Widmore wasn't interesting enough to chase up. Even worse, that I couldn’t handle my own case.

  "I think..."

  "I want you working this case." Solomon held up his file. We hadn't even discussed his and no one had asked yet. "We need to take the cases we can work with. Not the ones based on hunches. Dismissed."

  The four men filed out of the room and I watched as Flaherty tossed his case onto his desk to deal with later, but before it went into the archive box of turned-down cases that we kept just outside the door of the conference room.

  "Please," I said, laying my hands on the table, fingers splayed. "Solomon, this woman is certain something happened to her friend. Lily wouldn't leave me without saying something. Friends don't do that."

  "Friends do all kinds of weird shit."

  I lowered my voice. Not that anyone was hovering, but just in case. "Solomon..."

  "Lexi." Solomon's voice took on a warning tone and he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled together. His face took on the stern edge that I was getting used to when he shut down. "I've said no."

  "But..."

  "This is business." Solomon's voice dropped an octave. "And if you want to earn respect from the other guys, you need to bring more to the table than a hunch."

  That stopped me still. "They don't respect me?" Suspecting was one thing. Hearing it was quite another.

  Solomon didn't answer. Instead he got up, walked around the table and shut the door before returning to his seat. I could feel my nostrils flaring as the insult mushroomed in my mind. "They only see a beautiful woman who has no background in law enforcement, no skills in investigations. They don't know why I've brought you here."

  "What? They think I'm... Jeez, Solomon, they think I'm your bit on the side or something?" I watched him closely. He didn't move a muscle, but he didn't deny it either. "They do, don't they?" I persisted. That explained the smiles when I wore dresses and heels, in contrast to their faded denim and blazers, and the over-simplified explanations whenever I asked a question, as well as the reticence to take me on a case to learn the procedures. It explained Fletcher in the office yesterday when they didn’t think I could hear. They thought I was an idiot.

  "If they do, they'd never say it to my face," said Solomon, his mouth tightening.

  "I hate that you even let them think it," I snapped, the hurt evident in my voice. Not that I was hurt at the thought of being Solomon's, that wasn't the problem. I thought he was great, scary, but great. He was smart, successful, and looked like he and the gym had an especially close relationship. Plus, he owned his own business. Most women I knew wanted someone just like him, minus the scary; but he was my boss. The problem was that my colleagues were guys who
would never respect any man who wasn't pulling his own weight, much less a woman who slept with the boss just to get a job. I could see my future as it was panning out right now. A couple of weeks more, and I'd be making them all coffee, doing their filing, and wondering how the hell I got into this mess.

  "You aren't going to say anything?" I asked when he didn’t move.

  "You want me to open the door and yell, 'Hey, I'm not sleeping with Lexi.' Hmm?"

  My eyes widened. "No!"

  "They'd definitely think we were if I did that," Solomon pointed out. "And just because we haven't, doesn't mean we won't."

  I scraped my chair back, got to my feet and grabbed the folder, my jaw stiff at his prediction.

  Solomon stood at the same time, towering over me. "Lex."

  "Fu..."

  "Don't say it," he warned, his voice low again. "I'm your boss. I won't take shit from any employee."

  "I'm not just any employee," I protested, my voice low as a whisper.

  "You are here. You want to be treated like an employee. That’s what I’m doing; and right now, I’m warning you."

  We glowered at each other. Then, with my mouth set in a thin line, I walked into the communal office area. I was acutely aware that each of my four asshole colleagues were all pretending to do something else other than ear wigging, and I forced myself to sit at my desk. If I walked out the office right now, my lip quivering, I would look silly and petulant, unlike Flaherty, who didn't give a rat's ass if we took his case or not.

  Instead, I snuck the file into my purse because I wasn't prepared to give up on Marissa Widmore, not just yet.

  While I sat there, pretending to be engrossed in the background checks that landed on my desk—another side of Solomon's business was vetting people and employees for clients—I was acutely aware that the conversation hadn't gone the way I planned. What I meant to say was something along the lines of “I'm just as good as they.” I might not have years on the force, like Flaherty, or a background in one of the national agencies like Fletcher and Delgado, but I did have a history of talking about law enforcement and understanding it. I was a good shot, a thinker, and, crucially for this business, people talked to me without suspecting I had a wire taped to my chest. I had a lot my colleagues didn't have, and none of it had to do with lying on my back.