by Nancy Warren
“I know, but his rent was due. Maybe he came back under an assumed name.” She was bubbling with excitement at the prospect of interviewing a suspected drug dealer-money launderer.
As they pulled into a visitor’s parking spot outside the Buena Vista Garden Apartments, she flipped open a pocket mirror and pulled out a tube of coppery lipstick, probably to replace the stuff he’d kissed off her lips earlier.
Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he did his best to sound bored. “Well—” he sighed heavily “—this’ll be a waste of time. Tell you what. You wait here and I’ll try to hurry things up, then get you back to the office.”
She made kissing noises to herself in the mirror, then snapped the mirror shut before turning to him. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, and opened the car door.
So much for reverse psychology. He joined her and together they made their way to the front door. “Okay. You can come. But I do all the talking. Understand?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m just your sidekick.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right.” He stuck a finger under his tie knot where it bulged against his Adam’s apple. “Damn tie. I hate the things.”
“Then why are you wearing one?”
“The super’s an old guy. Saw action in World War II. It matters to him.”
Making sure his badge was attached to his belt buckle and visible, his gun holster adjacent to the badge, he buzzed the super and identified himself.
The man appeared promptly, wiping crumbs off his mouth before straightening to attention when he saw who it was.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Jake said. “I was here before about Mr. Harrison in apartment 408.”
The man nodded eagerly. “Yes. I remember. Are you looking for his forwarding address?”
“Forwarding address?” His gut clenched, and beside him Cyn shuffled her feet.
“Yes. He’s moved out.”
Jake took a deep, slow breath and kept his face pleasant with an effort. “As I recall, you promised to phone me if you saw or heard from Mr. Harrison.”
“I didn’t see him. He sent a couple of his friends, with a letter of instruction signed by him.”
The hair started to rise on the back of Jake’s neck. He swore silently. One phone call from that super and they might have been able to track down Harrison through his “friends.” Yelling at this mental midget wasn’t going to help.
He said, with forced calmness, “Do you still have that letter?”
“Of course.” The old guy puffed his chest out as if he should get a medal for keeping a letter when he’d allowed live suspects to get away. “Come in.”
Jake stood back to let Cyn enter first.
“Are you with the FBI, too?”
“My associate. Miss Smith,” he said quickly, before she could state her real name.
“How do you do?” She extended her hand to the superintendent. “And it’s Ms. Smith.” She glared at Jake just long enough to let him know she didn’t think much of his imagination. Or his chauvinism.
He turned his attention back to the super. “Did they give you anything else? Their names or proof of identity?”
“No. The letter looked all right, and I checked his signature against the lease. They paid cash in lieu of a month’s notice. I’ve documented the cash transaction and I can show you the deposit slip. Everything’s aboveboard.”
“I’m sure it is, sir.” While the man was still nervous, Jake asked, “Could we take a look at his suite?”
“It’s occupied. I just rented it to a nice young couple.” And so much for any evidence the movers might have left behind. The elevator whirred.
“Did Harrison leave a forwarding address for his mail?”
The man nodded eagerly. “The same post office box in Hong Kong that was on his letter.” An elderly woman clutching a gray purse emerged from the elevator, stared at Jake and Cyn curiously as she walked past and greeted the super primly.
Jake nodded slowly. “I’ll need that letter. You can take a photocopy for your files, and we’ll return the original as soon as we’re done with it.”
“Of course, of course.” The super’s nervousness had disappeared and now he just seemed to be enjoying his involvement with an FBI investigation. As they entered his tiny office off the lobby, Jake wondered just who had moved Harrison’s stuff. And where they’d taken it.
It could all be perfectly innocent. But then why was his neck still tingling?
The super’s pudgy fingers fumbled open an unlocked metal filing cabinet and began leafing through. As Jake watched, a look of alarm crossed the man’s face. Once more he flicked through, more slowly, then shook his head sharply. “I don’t understand. It should be right here.” He glanced up, sweat beading his forehead. “My wife must have moved it. Wait here, I’ll ask her.”
Jake nodded, knowing damn well the letter wasn’t misfiled. It was gone—and with it went any possibility of an innocent explanation.
Minutes later, a tiny plump woman bustled in with the nervous superintendent in her wake. She went through the same process of searching fruitlessly for the missing document. “I can’t understand it,” she exclaimed at last.
The small, airless office held only two chairs and was suddenly overcrowded. Jake was about to take his leave, and kiss his last lead goodbye, when Ms. Smith piped up.
“Perhaps we could go into your apartment and sit down?” she suggested with a reassuring smile.
“Yes. Yes. All right. I’ll make some tea,” said the wife.
Jake glared at Cyn, but got nothing back but a bland smile. Oh, she was going to hear about this. “What are you doing?” he demanded in a furious undertone as they trooped down the hall to the manager’s suite.
“You make them nervous. If they relax, they might remember something.”
Save me from amateurs.
THE FOUR OF THEM were sitting on spotless colonial-style furniture drinking tea out of china cups. A neatly arranged plate of shortbread cookies sat on the dark coffee table, but none of them took one. If they got out of here before the next ice age, Ms. Smith was going to get one hell of an earful.
“Now,” began Cyn. “Tell us everything you remember about those men.”
“Well,” said the wife, “they wore suit jackets. They looked like nice businessmen.”
“Height?” Jake asked, knowing it was hopeless, but determined to try and get some useful information over the teacups.
The wife shrugged. “Medium. Everything about them was average, really. Oh, I did notice one thing. One of them had hairy knuckles.”
That should solve the case. “Thank you for your time.” Jake rose, grabbing Cyn’s elbow to get her on her feet, as well, and the couple rose with him. “If you think of anything at all, please call me. Day or night.” He handed them his card.
“Thank you. The tea was lovely,” Cyn said. She smiled at the old couple as if they’d just solved the FBI’s top ten crimes.
“You’re welcome, dear. It’s so nice to see young people with manners. Shall we call you when those men come back for Mr. Harrison’s car?”
9
“CAR?”
“Yeah,” the super said. “They didn’t have any authorization for his car, and they didn’t have the keys, so we couldn’t release Mr. Harrison’s vehicle. They said they’d be back.”
Cyn and Jake glanced at each other. “I’ll need to see that car.”
“Sure. This way.”
The super led them through a fire door to a set of cement stairs leading to an unsecured underground parking garage. “Mr. Harrison’s car is over there, the gold one.”
Jake spotted it immediately. A gold Lexus sedan. He did a double take. A gold Lexus with the driver’s door partially open. A sneakered foot rested on the cement floor of the garage and was attached to some little bastard who was hot-wiring Harrison’s car.
He hadn’t heard them. Jake smiled grimly. Suspect number one was about to be interviewed, whether he wanted t
o be or not. Jake reached for his Sig, motioned for Cyn to stay back, and moved silently forward.
“Hey,” shouted the moronic super before Jake could stop him. “Get away from that car!”
Inside the vehicle, a head jerked their way. A young guy with longish hair.
“FBI, freeze!” Jake shouted just as he saw the kid’s gun.
“Get down!” he shouted to the old guy, while grabbing Cyn and shoving her to the steps.
Even as he vaulted the cement stair wall he heard the roar of a car engine. He landed, crouched and took aim as the vehicle reversed, tires screeching.
“Jake! Look out!” Cyn screamed from above him.
“Stay down!” he yelled back.
He’d already seen what had caused her alarm. The little bugger gunned the engine and headed straight for him.
Jake lunged for one of the cement columns, heard a bullet thud into cement somewhere above him, then jumped out and got one shot off as the Lexus fishtailed its way out of the garage.
He was already running for his own car. “Stay put,” he yelled at Cyn, wishing he had time to tie her up in the manager’s apartment just to keep her out of trouble.
He sprinted out of the parking garage and headed for his vehicle. Cyn came flying out the front door of the apartment building, shoes clacking on the pavement, skirt riding high on her thighs as she ran.
“No!” he shouted, but he had no time to stop and argue with the most stubborn woman God ever put on planet earth. They sprinted in a dead heat, but the race was pretty even. He hit the automatic locks and she dragged open the passenger door just as he reached the driver’s side.
“He turned right,” she panted as they screeched out of the visitor’s parking.
“You’re crazy,” Jake told her. “You know that?”
“I can navigate while you drive.”
“Do up your seat belt and hang on.”
“Now he’s turning left. Three streets ahead.”
He saw the blur of gold metal, heard tires squeal as the vehicle swung around the corner. “Call the cops. Tell them FBI requests backup and give the location and vehicle description. Looks like he’s headed for the highway.”
While she dug into her purse for her cell phone, he concentrated on driving. A high speed chase in a residential neighborhood was his worst nightmare. His plan was to keep the Lexus in sight without freaking the kid so he did something stupid.
But just keeping the gold bullet in sight had them racing through the quiet streets. A moving truck started to lumber out from a side street, but a long blast from Jake’s horn halted it.
After she’d finished the call, it seemed to him Cyn’s breathing grew more ragged instead of quieting. He must be scaring the bejesus out of her. “Hang on, babe,” he soothed as he rounded a corner, only just staying on all four wheels. He had to catch that kid. Had to find out who was behind Harrison’s move.
Up ahead the Lexus made another sharp turn. Jake didn’t hear any sirens and he wasn’t taking any chances. He began closing the distance between the vehicles. The speedometer crept up and so did the rhythm of Cyn’s breathing.
He swung around the same turn the Lexus had taken moments before.
“Shit!” he yelled, as he stared ahead.
“Jake, stop!” Cyn shouted at the same time. But he was already slamming on the brakes. His own tires howled as he came to an abrupt halt. Ahead of them a class of schoolchildren was crossing the street. He swore again in frustration as he watched helplessly. The gold Lexus took a sudden turn into an alley.
“Come on, come on!” he urged the last straggler, a little girl in a pink raincoat and matching boots who trailed the rest of the class. He saw a teacher urge her on, which must have flustered Pinkie so much she dropped her lunch bag. By the time the teacher had picked up her lunch and walked her the rest of the way, Jake knew his chase was over.
“Maybe the police will catch him,” Cyn said breathlessly, as they turned into the now empty alley.
“Yeah, maybe. Except he’s not headed for the highway anymore.”
They spent half an hour cruising the area in the hope of seeing the stolen Lexus, but luck wasn’t with them. Cyn kept her eyes peeled, looking everywhere, and he knew she wanted that creep driver as badly as he did. But eventually they had to admit defeat. “I’ll take you back to your car.”
“You should go back and arrest that building superintendent,” she said, her voice echoing all the frustration he felt.
“You did okay,” he told her.
On the way back to the shopping mall he realized her breathing was still ragged. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this stuff as much as she thought. “Hey. It’s okay, it’s over now,” he soothed her.
“I know,” she said. “I can’t help it.”
He reached out to give her a comforting one-armed hug and felt the heat in her body. A glance at her face showed him flushed cheeks and bright eyes. It was a sight he was beginning to know well.
He let his comforting hand slip between her legs. She was hot, wet and ready. “You’re not scared. You’re turned on.” Even as he cupped her heat she moaned and squirmed beneath him.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I can’t help it.”
“It’s the adrenaline. Takes people different ways,” he explained. But instead of removing his hand, he increased the pressure. “You’re a danger junkie.”
“How does it take you?” she whispered.
“Are you talking about right now?”
“Yes.”
In answer he took her left hand and placed it in his lap. Although truth to tell, it wasn’t the adrenaline, but her excitement that he was responding to. All he could think about was plunging into all that heat.
Her hand found and grasped his erection, and he heard the breath hiss out from between his teeth.
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “I have to go home and shower.”
Shower. Warm water cascading down her naked skin, beading on her nipples. A bar of soap in his hands. “Me, too.”
“Shame to waste water.” Her hand started moving on him, light strokes that burned through his slacks.
“Might as well share. I’ll bring the soap.” If they made it that far. He cupped her more intimately.
“Isn’t it dangerous to drive with only one hand on the wheel?”
“Not as dangerous as driving with no blood in my head. It’s all drained down south.”
CYNTHIA FELT LIKE a criminal walking in the front entrance of Oceanic later that morning as though she hadn’t sneaked over the back fence in the middle of the night.
But everything seemed the same as usual. The receptionist was just as bored, filing her inch-long pink fingernails while flipping through a bridal magazine. Cyn’s work was as uninteresting, and Agnes was still gray.
After the excitement of the morning, culminating in a shower unlike any Cynthia had ever had before, month end just wasn’t doing it for her. She tried to keep her mind on her task, but just being in Oceanic had her thinking about last night.
Images of her and Jake making love in the warehouse kept intruding until the columns of figures on her screen wavered and she forgot what she was doing. She had this horrible notion that she might somehow have left behind a sign of their passion among the packing crates—a tube of lipstick, a piece of clothing.
As ludicrous as she knew it was, she couldn’t rest until she’d checked the area. At last, she made an excuse to go back there, timing her visit for when the men usually took their lunch break. She breezed in, trying not to blush. If those guys only knew what she’d been up to in here last night!
As she’d suspected, they were all sitting at the scarred table chomping sandwiches or slurping soda, and from the laughter she heard as she entered, she guessed someone had been telling a smutty joke.
“Hey, Cyn. Hot sweater.” It wasn’t hot at all. It was freezing, and she had an uncomfortable suspicion her nipples were sticking out from the cold. The top was mad
e of some kind of thin clingy material and was patterned in bold geometric shapes in black and gray. She’d put it on after she discovered her black nylons were ruined and all she had left in her top drawer was an unopened package of geometrically patterned stockings. She’d found these outlandish geometric earrings at the art gallery. Her skirt was tight, short and black.
“Thanks. Hot baseball cap. I love the John Deere logo.”
They all laughed good-naturedly, and she flapped an invoice in the air. “I’m just checking something.”
Nobody seemed to care, especially while they were on their break, which was just as she’d hoped. She made her way among the crates, boxes and machinery, making a great show of scanning the odd label and comparing it with the invoice in her hand, until she reached the crate she and Jake had searched last night.
Luckily, it looked completely undisturbed. She took one step farther and slid a glance to where they’d made love—not moving any closer in case the rat was back there.
She let her shoulders relax. There were no stray lipsticks or undergarments. There was nothing on the ground but a sheet of packaging with a corner snipped off.
She felt her eyes widen, and she would have sworn her eyeballs bugged right out of her head. She gasped softly. It was the wrapping Jake had cut to transport the broken chopsticks. If anybody saw it, they’d wonder how it had gotten out of a crate that supposedly had never been opened.
Heat crept up her neck.
There was a garbage can in the corner. Maybe she could bundle the wrapper over to the trash. They were all busy laughing and chatting. No one would notice. She bent down and picked up the wrap. It crinkled and crunched in her hands.
“Why, Cynthia! I’d know those luscious hips anywhere,” Neville Percivald’s voice boomed from behind her.
Panic made her do the only thing she could think of. She swayed her hips provocatively in an impromptu bump and grind while she frantically stuffed the packaging under a wooden pallet.
