Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  She grimaced. “Ugh.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He held up his blackened hands. “Can I borrow your sink to wash up?”

  “Sure,” Tallie said, although her mind bounced to the state of cleanliness of her sink.

  “Let me break up the crowd and get another uniform up here to take over.”

  She watched as he spoke into his radio, then dispersed the crowd with calming reassurances that everything was fine and there was nothing left to see. Tallie didn’t have to see the dead body to imagine the man wedged there, fighting for breath, knowing he was going to die. She felt a little light-headed and remembered that she had purged her day’s nourishment into a potted tree. And there was the missing manuscript. She bit her tongue, assaulted with fresh panic. But when Keith followed her to her door, she realized suddenly that he might be able to help her, to contact the taxi company, maybe expedite her request.

  It was her predicament over the manuscript and her nervousness about asking for his help that made her pulse race, she told herself. She unlocked the dead bolts and swung open her apartment door to encounter funky, but now frigid, air.

  “The heat had to be turned off,” Keith explained. “It might be a day or so before it resumes.”

  She walked inside, shivering, and realized that if anything, her apartment was in even worse shape than the previous evening.

  “Still spring cleaning, eh?” he asked with a grin.

  Her face warmed. “Yes.” She shrugged out of Felicia’s coat and noticed the flicker of admiration on Keith’s face as he took in her green suit…and her legs.

  “You look nice.”

  Her face grew warmer still. “Thank you.” She opened the coat closet to stash Felicia’s coat, and an avalanche of boxes of “as seen on TV” items her mother had sent over the years fell on her head, knocking her to the ground.

  Keith fished her out of the debris and pulled her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, mortified, and he burst out laughing.

  “You’re a mess,” he declared.

  She yanked her hand out of his and frowned at the corpse-in-shaft dirt that had rubbed off onto her fingers. “I happen to have had a very bad week. Yesterday I was shot at, and today I come home to find that a dead man has been in my circulation system for—”

  “At least four days,” he supplied.

  “Great,” she said, sidestepping the heap of boxes and heading toward the kitchen sink. “Between that news and the freezing temperature, I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” She took off her jacket and began to transfer the towering stack of dirty dishes from the sink onto the tiny counter so they could wash up. No way was she showing him her bathroom.

  He came to stand next to her, rolling up his sleeves. “You could stay at my place tonight,” he offered casually. “I’ll be off-duty soon, and I can give you a ride.”

  A jolt of awareness shot through her at his nearness, but she busied herself squirting soap into the sink and locating the yellow scruffy thing to rid the supposedly “stainless” steel of stains as warm water tumbled in from the faucet. “Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary. I wear flannel pajamas.”

  He made a rueful noise in his throat, then thrust his hands into the warm, soapy water. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  Beneath the suds, his fingers slid on top of hers, tickling, teasing…not accidental. Her breath caught in her chest, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  “I have a guest room,” he continued easily. “Two of them, in fact, but only one has a bed.”

  His fingers were even warmer than the water, his soapy touch somewhere between a massage and a caress, sending chills up her arms. And it didn’t help that they were standing there talking about beds.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, then pulled her hands out from under his. She gave him a flat smile as she shook her hands, realizing suddenly that she had no clean dish towels and the cardboard paper towel roll was bare. “Let me…find something…to wipe…oh, hell, what does it matter?” She pulled her blouse out of her waistband and wiped her hands on the tail. Keith worked lather between his hands, then stuck them under the running water for a rinse. He shook most of the water from his hands and looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  “Go ahead,” she said, offering the damp tail of her cotton shirt.

  He moved in front of her and considered her shirt, un-buttoned at the bottom. The damp fabric touched her bare stomach and, in the room’s chill, brought her nipples to bud. Keith noticed, and for a few seconds, the thought crossed her mind that if he ripped open her shirt, he was going to be mighty disappointed to find a gray sports bra—the only bra she’d been able to locate this morning that had been clean.

  For a few seconds, their breathing was the only sound in the room as they both acknowledged with loosened mouths the electricity zinging back and forth between them. Finally the drip, drip of water from his fingertips to the linoleum floor brought them around. Instead of using her shirttail, he pulled his own from the waistband of his uniform pants to wipe his hands, giving her a glimpse of a ribbed white undershirt stretched taut over the flat planes of his stomach.

  Her body hummed with awareness, sending indicators to long-neglected places. “The next time you’re here, I’ll be more prepared,” she murmured, then, realizing how stupid she sounded, added, “I mean…I’ll have towels.” She swallowed and took another stab at sounding rational. “Paper towels, I mean.”

  He laughed. “Oh, so I’m going to be invited back?”

  She had walked into that one. “Well, I mean if you’re ever in the building…or in the neighborhood…on a call…”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Don’t tell me I might find more dead bodies if I stick around.”

  She laughed. “I hope not.”

  His dark eyes danced. “You have to admit that trouble seems to follow you around.”

  She was forming a retort on her tongue when the missing bag popped into her mind. He had a point. She crossed her arms over her own points and said, “Speaking of trouble, I…could use your help with something.”

  He looked surprised. “Sure.”

  To her humiliation, tears pushed at the back of her eyes when the enormity of what she’d done descended on her shoulders. “I…lost something important.”

  His expression immediately sobered. “Okay. Do you know where?”

  She blinked rapidly. “I believe I left it in a cab a little while ago. It was a black nylon bag that I carry my manuscripts in.”

  “I gather it held some rather important work?”

  She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Gaylord Cooper’s newest book.”

  He sucked air through his teeth. “And you don’t exactly want an extra copy of the man’s book floating around in this city.”

  “It’s not an extra copy,” she said miserably. “It’s the copy.”

  “The copy—you mean there’s only one? In this day and age?”

  She sighed. “Gaylord has all of these conspiracy theories about this agency or that agency trying to get their hands on his manuscripts, so he uses a typewriter and he doesn’t make copies. He’s a little…flaky.”

  “I’ll say. Have you called the cab company?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then we’ll start there,” he said. “Was there any ID in the bag?”

  “Um, no. Just the one manuscript, in a manila envelope.”

  “Do you happen to remember the cab number?”

  “No.”

  “How about the cabbie’s name?”

  She shook her head, starting to feel panicky again.

  “Can you describe the driver?”

  She lifted her hands, as if the movement would somehow jog her memory. “Graying hair, heavyset, Brooklyn accent.”

  He winked. “Sounds like me in a few years.”

  She tried to smile—did men actually wink these days?

  “Do you remember seeing anything in
the cab that might help identify the driver, maybe something hanging from the rearview mirror?”

  “No.” She inhaled deeply to calm herself. “Keith…my job is on the line—can you pull any strings with the cab company?”

  His eyes grew solemn. “I’ll try. Can I use your phone?”

  She nodded, then spent the next five minutes trying to unearth the portable unit. She finally found it under a pile of mail and handed it to him, her cheeks flaming. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “No trouble,” he said, then dialed information.

  She watched, nibbling on her nails, still out of sorts over the physical attraction that had sprung up between them. Keith Wages filled out his tall, broad uniform well, and his powerful physique made her think of immoral activities. She reminded herself, however, that big, strapping macho guys were like liquid diets—they were great for emergencies, but she wouldn’t want to be on one all the time.

  A few minutes later he had a customer service representative on the line. He identified himself as a police officer and emphasized that the item missing had no retail value (not exactly true) but was of “great sentimental value” (she was, she reasoned, pretty sentimental about her job).

  “The item was a black nylon bag,” he said. “It contained an envelope with a manuscript inside.” He paused, then looked back to Tallie. “Where did the taxi pick you up?”

  She had to think…. She and Felicia had walked a couple of blocks away from the Hills Hotel before going their separate ways. “Um, I think it was Third and Twenty-first Street—around Gramercy.”

  “What time?”

  She hesitated, although she wasn’t sure why. “Around ten.”

  “And did the cab drop you off here?”

  “No—at 603 Profitt, about four blocks from here.”

  He repeated the information into the phone, then said, “I would very much appreciate you giving this matter high priority…and there is a reward.”

  She lifted an eyebrow—it couldn’t be a big reward. Although on second thought, it would be in her best interests to offer the difference between her paycheck and unemployment wages.

  He covered the mouthpiece and addressed Tallie. “What number shall I give them to call if they find the bag?”

  She recited her home number, her work number, and her cell phone number. Keith murmured a few niceties, then disconnected the call. “They have shift changes every hour, and that’s usually when the drivers turn in items to lost and found.” He glanced at his watch. “The longest shift is eight hours, so if the guy had just clocked in before he picked you up, he’ll be clocking out at six A.M.” He gave her a little smile. “So, chances are, you’ll hear something in the morning.”

  She exhaled…he was right. She’d already told Norah she’d be coming in late, so she’d have time to pick up the manuscript and drop it off at Kara’s before going into the office, and no one would be the wiser…except Keith, of course. She smiled. “I owe you one.”

  He grinned, and her heart tapped against her breastbone. “I have to warn you—I always collect.”

  Tallie shivered, and she suspected it had little to do with the cooling temperature in the room.

  He rolled down his sleeves. “Are you sure you don’t want to use my guest room tonight?”

  She wet her lips. “But then I’d owe you twice, wouldn’t I?”

  His laugh was a sexy rumble. “I see you’re on to me. Seriously, though, I’d be happy to offer you a safe, warm place to sleep.”

  Next to him. The words hung in the air, and the tiny hairs in Tallie’s inner ears picked up on them. He was tempting, standing there with that I’ll-take-care-of-you look on his handsome face. Her body strained toward him, and for a few seconds she actually considered grabbing her flannel jammies and following him home. Then all the reasons she shouldn’t came flooding into her head—at least one of them legitimate. “I…really should stay here in case the taxi company calls.”

  “Right,” he said, although he looked disappointed. “Well, I need to go and file reports.”

  She followed him to the door. “Thanks for calling the cab company for me.”

  “No problem.” His smile returned. “I’m a big Gaylord Cooper fan, remember? I have a vested interest in making sure that book goes to print.”

  She opened the door and nodded toward the hall. “Oh, and if you don’t mind, um, don’t mention the whole dead-man-in-my-ductwork thing to your

  mother. It’ll get back to my mother, and I’ll have to move. Back to Circleville.”

  He laughed. “Understood.” Then he pulled out his wallet and withdrew a business card. “Let me know if that manuscript turns up.”

  She took the card and nodded. “I will.”

  Keith touched his finger to his hat, then strode away. Tallie stared after him, feeling a curious sense of trust and indebtedness. It was scary, really, that in the space of two days the man had positioned himself firmly as a protector…and that his persona had very little to do with the uniform.

  She closed the door and shivered, heading toward the bathroom in search of a long, hot bath. Then a thought popped into her head that stopped her cold…as cold as the air in her cramped, unkempt apartment.

  What if she hadn’t left the bag in the cab? Her mind raced backward, trying to remember the last time she’d seen it…she’d lifted the strap from the back of her chair when she and Felicia and Jané had left The Bottom Rung on their way to…

  Her hand flew to her mouth.

  If she’d left the manuscript in the hotel room, Jerry Key would know exactly who had set him up.

  Chapter 16

  Felicia laid her head back against the bathtub and sank up to her neck in the thick head of bubbles. By now Jerry surely had been discovered by a maid, thanks to a message they’d left with the front desk. The image sent a wide smile sliding across her face. But his humiliation would be complete once he realized that everyone he worked with had a photo of one of his fetishes in their inbox. She laughed, sending bubbles into the air.

  “That’ll teach you to mess with me, Jerry,” she murmured, remembering the heady power of securing the ropes on his wrists. She’d surprised herself that she could be so exacting, so vengeful. Secretly she’d been afraid that she would lose her nerve when she saw him. Instead, the sight of him blindfolded and vulnerable had stirred an inner demon. In that moment, all the suppressed rage she’d felt toward the people who had abandoned her—her father…her mother…Jerry—had surfaced and she was very, very glad she hadn’t had the means to truly hurt him…because she might have.

  The knowledge was scary…and oddly empowering, because she felt as if she had exorcised Jerry from her system for good. For the first time in months, her head felt clear and pain-free without the aid of medication.

  She reached for the glass of chardonnay on the tub surround and sipped the cool liquid, holding it on her tongue before swallowing with satisfaction. She used a remote control to dim the lights, then closed her eyes and listened to Dusty Springfield, an album she’d picked up on her last visit to Final Vinyl. From “Just a Little Lovin’ ” to “In the Land of Make Believe,” she massaged every inch of her body with a soapy slough sponge and finished the wine. Her breasts and thighs were tingly and heavy—the episode with Jerry had heightened her senses and left her with no outlet.

  After opening the drain, she climbed out gingerly and sat on the edge of the tub to rub her skin with a warmed towel. She opened the vanity door and surveyed the stock of jewel-toned bottles and jars. She ran her hand over the lids, flushed with pleasure at their orderliness and prettiness, then selected a jar of vanilla-scented body butter. She twisted off the lid and drew the sweet, nutty scent into her lungs, then dipped her fingers into the lotion and smoothed it over her skin in long, creamy strokes.

  Julia Redmon-Clark-Gregg wasn’t the best mother in the world, but Felicia would be eternally grateful for the good genes she’d passed down. Three weekly sessions of Pilates and salads
for lunch was all it took to maintain her figure…and abstaining from all the baked treats she created in her kitchen, of course.

  From her lingerie drawer, she chose turquoise silk tap pants and a matching camisole, then slipped into a long pink jersey robe and soft rose-colored leather slippers. Felicia carried her empty wineglass through the living area, where Tallie’s coffee-stained coat lay across a chair—her weekend project.

  The phonograph arm had returned and switched off automatically, so she stopped at the stereo long enough to flip the arm to continuous play. A detour by the glass-fronted bookshelves was usually a boost for her ego, but the numerous titles featuring the name Suzanne Phillipo made her pause. She would have to confront Suze about the plagiarism tomorrow. Even though she knew she now had the leverage to force Suze to make those changes to the manuscript and others that Phil wanted, the conversation would not be pleasant.

  On the other hand, explaining to Suze the consequences of plagiarism might be enough of a jolt for the woman to realize that her lover Jerry Key did not have her best interests at heart…not even close.

  The phone rang, and she noticed from the caller ID screen that the call was from the lobby phone. “Yes?” she answered.

  “Ms. Redmon,” Del said. “A visitor for you.”

  Her first thoughts jumped to Tallie or Jané—had something gone wrong? Then her mind flitted to her mother—Julia was known for showing up unannounced, especially on the heels of bad behavior. And unbidden, Jack Galyon’s face came to her, although she couldn’t fathom why the man would stop by after their awkward exchange this afternoon.

  “Who is it, Del?”

  “A gentleman—Mr. Phillip Dannon. He says he has something for you.”

  Phil? Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Thank you, Del. Mr. Dannon is a business associate—please send him up.”

  “Will do, Ms. Redmon.”

  Felicia glanced down at her robe but decided that everything was covered, and chances were that Phil was dropping off something work-related and wouldn’t be there long. She worried her bottom lip, wondering whether to mention the plagiarism to him. When the doorbell rang, she decided she’d play it by ear. She answered the door and smiled up into the rugged face of her favorite author.