by Kris Calvert
“So, Reagan,” he began as he sipped on the water the waiter immediately poured after handing us menus. “You mind if I call you Reagan? Weatherford is a mouthful.”
I gave him a look that could only be interpreted as pity and answered. “Whatever makes it easy for you, champ.”
“Champ?” A huge toothy grin covered his rugged face.
I had to admit. The guy was easy on the eyes, but we were partners and that was what mattered most to me. He’d been casing the Russian mob for the past three years. I wanted to learn everything I could from him in order to make the most of the assignment and impress Nick Daniels. If I did my job well, I’d have my pick of assignments. I liked the city okay, but my heart really belonged in small-town America.
“Do you know what you want?” he asked, studying his menu with intent.
“What’s good?”
“Protein.”
I laughed. Obviously this was his way of letting me know he understood I was into my physical well-being. “Sounds good.”
The diner was a bustle of activity and I could tell they were turning over tables as fast as they could—more customers, more money. “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked in her thick accent.
Win raised his eyebrows at me. “Ladies first.”
“Egg white omelet with challah and tomato.”
“That sounds good,” Win said taking the menu from my hand and handing them both to the waitress. “I’ll do the same, but I want all of my eggs—not just the whites and I’ll have some orange juice and a black coffee.”
“And you?” she asked as she scribbled on her notepad.
“Til’ky voda.”
“Dyakuyu,” the waitress said as she walked away.
Win stared at me across the table and I nervously picked up my water glass for a sip.
Win looked around the room, uninterested in me. “I thought you were only fluent in Russian,” he said under his breath.
“I know a little Ukrainian too. Is that okay?”
“Hell, yeah. It’s great, Reagan.”
I gave him a nod a looked around the place. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but I had to believe Win had brought me here for a reason. Perhaps it was a place frequented by the folks he’d been tailing for three years, but it was New York City. I knew there were Russian restaurants all over town.
“So, Reagan.”
“Why do you keep saying my name?”
“Where’d you get a name like that?”
“Where’d you get a name like Win, Win?”
I couldn’t decide if he was naturally curious and it was just coming off as flippant or if he was an asshole. Win Holloway was smart, also graduating at the top of his class. And yet, I couldn’t quite figure him out.
“Win is short for Winterbourne.”
“Seriously?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s a mouthful.”
“I know,” he said with a laugh as he leaned back in his chair. I watched the muscles in his arms flex through his damp shirt and I found myself imagining what it might look like underneath all that Lycra and sweat. When I saw him naked it was like looking through a magnifying glass far away. Everything was there and visible, just distorted “It’s a family name.”
I brought my mind right again and reminded myself that I was working. It had been too long since I’d been around a man that I wasn’t competing with and I’d forgotten how to act like a normal human being—or at least a normal woman. I was a goober when it came to men. I knew they liked me—at least they acted like they did. But I always had a way of turning every relationship to friendship. I had a scarred past when it came to sex so I was wary—maybe a little too wary for my own good.
“So your name is Winterbourne Holloway?” I asked. “Are there any numbers or letters after that Winterbourne?”
“I’m a fourth. So it was either let them call me Win or Ivy.”
“Ivy?”
“Yeah,” he said making the Roman numerals in the air with his finger. “I. V. So, Reagan, huh?”
“My dad was a big fan of Ronald,” I said picking at my fingers. It was a nervous habit I had whenever I had to talk about my dad or my past. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of my name. On the contrary, I loved it. It was androgynous and on paper no one knew whether I was a man or a woman, but it was also a clear indicator as to which side of the political aisle my parents were on.
“The Gipper,” he replied with a smile.
The word caught me off guard and all I could muster was, “yeah.”
“Where are you from, Gip?”
“What did you just call me?”
“It’s just a nickname. I’m big on them. In fact, I actually liked you calling me Champ. I think you should keep it. So where are you from?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Why are all the questions about me? What about you? Winterbourne Holloway?”
“Me? I’m just a boy from Kentucky. You know, horse country. The land of beautiful women, bourbon and basketball.”
“And now you’re in New York City. Kinda like a fish out of water aren’t you?”
He sipped his coffee and stared back at me with a smile. “Nah. I’ve had a place here for a while.”
“In New York?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. “Why?”
“I went to Columbia. And I like the city. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of days when I long for my Old Kentucky Home—the green grass, the open roads that lead nowhere and always take you somewhere. Endless rows of fence line holding in all the awesomeness that is the Bluegrass.”
“But instead you work here,” I said. “In New York? Wow. Kentucky.”
“Yep,” he replied, pulling the sock cap from his head releasing the blonde curls I knew were underneath. Running his fingers through his hair, I found myself distracted.
“C’mon. What’s your story?” he asked scanning the room himself.
“I’m from western New York. Graduated from Washington and Lee, and then applied to Quantico.”
“It’s a ride isn’t it?” he said. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to join the Bureau?”
The waitress delivered our food and the tiny table was completely covered in dishes. We weren’t eating a lot, but it looked like we were. I rearranged plates, cups and saucers, consolidating everything I could. I didn’t like clutter. I needed order, even on the table.
“Thank you,” Win said, giving the waitress a huge grin. She responded with a wink and I suddenly realized hanging out with my new partner was going to require either putting up with his flirting, or schooling him on how not to be a creep.
When the exchange was over, Win brought his eyes back to my disapproving glare. “Really?”
“What?”
“Do you openly flirt with every woman you see?”
“No.”
We stared at each other across the table, neither of us flinching. I wasn’t about to make the first move. I’d sit there all day waiting like a petulant child if I had to.
Win took a deep breath and looked away from me. “I make friends wherever I can. This place is teeming with activity on certain days of the month and I like to think I have a few friends working here that don’t consider me a threat. A casual question every now and then is allowed and the girls in here are more than willing to give up that kind of information when I ask. Okay?”
“I get it. You regale the Russian ladies and they feed you what they believe to be innocuous information and kielbasa,” I said as I joined him and scanned the room again.
“Yes,” he replied bringing his bright green eyes back to me. “Something like that.”
I picked up my fork and worked my way through my egg whites. “Just don’t give them your own kielbasa. Okay, Champ?”
“Look, we’re partners so we’re going to have to get used to each other’s idiosyncrasies. By the time we’ve been together for a while we’ll be able to read each other’s minds.”
I glanced at the waitress and back to him. �
��I’m pretty sure I can read your mind already, Win.”
“I’m serious. And until then we need some safe phrases.”
“Safe phrases?”
“Yeah. Like, get me some coffee.”
“What?”
We’re going to be working some tight circumstances. We may need to communicate without anyone know what we’re saying to one another.”
“I’m listening.”
“If either of us says, get me some coffee, it means something’s not right. Coffee black means keep quiet. With sugar: you’re in danger. With cream: be ready because shit’s going down. Got it?” he asked.
I nodded. “Got it.”
Win gave me a crooked smile and I found myself hiding my own grin. I had to hand it to him. He was smooth, and he knew it.
“Hi Win. Good to see you,” a waitress called from across the room before going back to work.
I raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Really?”
“Weatherford, I’m a professional. I would never mix business and pleasure,” he said as his phone began to buzz on the table.
I looked to my plate and took another bite. I knew I could never have a relationship with my partner. So why did it cut me to my very core to hear him say it?
“Holloway,” he answered. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll let her know. Thank you, sir.”
Win hung up the phone and stared at me as if he was sizing me up.
“What?” I asked.
“Eat up. We’re shipping out this afternoon.”
“What? Where?”
Raising his hand to get the waitress’ attention, he motioned in the air for the check. “There’s been a hit,” Win said under his breath, still engaged in his quest to pay.
“A hit? What kind of hit?”
“The kind that has a dead body.”
4
KING
The phone rang out through the bedroom echoing off the walls. I sat up to look at the clock at my bedside. It was Sunday and six in the morning. Running my hands across my face, I did my best to shake off the deep slumber as the ring sounded again. Picking up the house phone, I hit the star key, wondering who was at my front gate at this ungodly hour.
“Yes?”
“Dr. King Giles?”
“Yes?” I repeated. “What is it?”
“This is Agent Beckett with the Birmingham Field Office, FBI. Sir, I need you to open your gate. We need to speak with you.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked, a wave of panic waking me at his words.
“Just open the gate, Doctor Giles. We can talk face to face.”
“Of course.” I looked around the room for the sweat pants I’d dropped before climbing into bed late last night and pressed the star key twice, knowing it would open the gates and the phone into the cradle.
I pulled on a pair of jeans over my naked body from the chair in the corner of my room. Dragging a sweatshirt over my head, I closed off my bedroom and hustled through the study to the hallway and main staircase. Rose Hill was an old estate, and it wasn’t easy or quick to get from one side of the house to the other.
The knock at the front door came as I made it to the first landing of the stairs. “I’m coming,” I shouted as the pounding sounded out again. Whoever Agent Beckett was, he wasn’t a patient man.
I could see his silhouette on the other side of the stained glass that adorned the double doors of Rose Hill. Hitting the keypad on the wall, I turned off the alarm system and opened the door—the uneasy pit still in my stomach.
The morning light was a cool pink as the sun was just making its way over the horizon. By the look on the agent’s face, it was way past morning for him. He’d been up for a while. “Yes?”
“Dr. Kingston Giles?”
“Yes.” I took one look in his face and remembered him immediately. I’d taken care of his father at Autumn Valley—the nursing home where I worked three days a week. By the expression on Beckett’s face he knew me, too. “Yes,” I repeated. “Agent Beckett. I remember you.”
He nodded. “Dr. Giles, may we come in?”
“Of course,” I said, stepping away from the door and allowing him and two other men to enter. Beckett was a short and stocky man and I guestimated that he was fifty-five and close to retirement. Losing his salt and pepper hair on top, he sported the Friar Tuck look with a few wisps of his youth still clinging to his younger self. He walked with the swagger of an old man who’d didn’t take shit but was still pissed that he never grew taller than five foot four.
Beckett took inventory of the entrance hall and I’d seen the look before. Rose Hill had been in my family for generations. The old plantation was known for its cotton fields, and the amazing rose garden that my great-great grandmother took tremendous pride in. The oak paneled walls and ornate staircase were lined with oil paintings and oriental rugs. The house looked more like a museum, but at one time it was a happy place filled with love and laughter. My dad told me when he was dying not to let Rose Hill become an empty shell, but to fill it with a family. When I explained that I didn’t know if I was built for that kind of life he’d replied, Nonsense. I know it seems like finding your true love is a million to one shot, but it’s not. Love hits you like a left hook. You won’t mistake it.
But, here I was, in the museum. I’d not changed a thing since my parents died—with the exception of my now modernized master suite. I lived at Rose Hill alone—all alone.
“What’s this about, sir?”
“Dr. Giles?”
“Please call me King.”
“We received a call this morning about some suspicious activity in front of your ah…house,” he said looking around the entrance hall, taking inventory.
The first thing that ran through my mind was the fence that lined the property along the old country road that led to Rose Hill. Had someone in their drunken stupor mowed it down? “Has there been an accident?”
“No.”
“Then what?” I asked, hanging my hands on my hips. I was tired and the agent was being a little too vague for my liking.
“Dr. Giles.”
“King,” I corrected.
Beckett sighed, pursing his lips together giving me a glare. “There’s a dead body in front of your gate…King.”
“There’s a what?” I hoped I’d heard him incorrectly.
“A woman.”
A jolt ran through my body. “Holy shit. Who?” I stumbled to the front door to see what was going on outside.
“Dr. Giles, where can we talk?”
“No. If there’s a dead body on my property, I want some answers.”
“So do we.”
Two other men stood on my doorstep as if they needed to be there. “Excuse me,” I said pushing my way through and hurrying down the steps to the long lane that led from my house to the road below.
“Sir?” one of them called to me as Beckett came alongside me.
“Dr. Giles, hold up,” Beckett said grabbing me by the arm.
“No! I have a right to know what the hell is going on.” I walked ahead in my bare feet, the small pebbles hitting my arch with each stride, causing me to wince.
On the driveway where the rural road met Rose Hill, lay a body. There were a handful of people surrounding it and flashbulbs going off continuously. I hurried to the open gate to get a better look, my heart racing.
“Sir,” someone said as they tried to stop me from going any further.
“This is my house. I have a right to see what’s going on.”
Pushing my way past the people and unmarked cars, I saw her.
“Holy shit,” I planted both hands on my head as my body went numb.
“Do you know the victim?” Beckett said out of breath, finally catching up with me.
I nodded. “It’s Tina Joseph.”
“Any reason she’d be coming to see you Dr. Giles?”
I shook my head no. “She lives in Atlanta—I think.”
“You think?”
I could only stare at
the lifeless body, stripped naked, face up and spread eagled in front of my house. Her tied hands were gripping something and I knelt beside her to get a better look. She’d been shot. Two in the chest. One in the head.
“When did you last see Miss Joseph?”
I looked up, shielding my eyes from the harsh sunrise. “A couple of days ago. I was in Atlanta. She works for a company that I’m conducting clinical trials for.”
“Do you have any idea why she’d be in Shadeland, Alabama, Dr. Giles?”
I shook my head no and stared at her body. I knew she wanted to see me again. I knew all I had to do was ask and she would’ve come to Alabama to visit, to play. But I’d squelched any idea she might have had of that happening when we parted ways in Atlanta at the bar. At least I thought I had.
The light caught her diamond earring in the sun just as it had in the bar and I leaned into her. She also had a Rolex on her left wrist. “She still has all her jewelry. This wasn’t a robbery.”
“Very good, Dr. Giles.”
As the flashes became too much for me, I stood up and stepped back. With each question and snap of the cameras, my head began to spin. What the hell was going on? I turned away from her to rest my eyes from the sight of her body and the relentless sun.
“She’s got something in her mouth,” an investigator said as another evidence marking tent was placed at her feet.
Turning, I watched as a gloved woman used tweezers to pull white lace from Tina’s mouth. I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut.
“Sir,” she said turning to the detective. “It’s white lace panties.”
“Jesus,” he said with a sigh as he looked to me. “Do you know anything about this? Anything at all?”
My ears began to ring. Did I call my attorney now? Or wait until they asked me about my name on the crotch of the white lace thong they’d just extracted from Tina’s mouth? I decided it was best to come clean in the moment. Less explaining to do later and I knew there’d be some explaining to do. “I gave her those panties. You’re going to find my name on them.”
The female investigator shot me a disgusted look. Without shame, I stared right back at her. I’d done nothing wrong and I wasn’t about to feel guilty over a pair of lace panties I’d given to a girlfriend years ago.
