Ben hesitated, looking questioningly at Shannon and Paige. Without so much as glancing my way, Shannon said, “Please bring him here, if he’s available. If not, I’ll need his contact information.” When Ben still hesitated, Shannon added, “Both Mrs. Gideon and Mr. Simeon promised us full cooperation, Mr. Fuller. If there’s a problem, you need to take it up with them.”
“I’ll be right back.” Ben turned on his heel and left the office.
All eyes turned to me expectantly. I sank down into Dennis’s chair, my knees growing wobbly. My rib was throbbing, too, though I hadn’t damaged it again. Not yet.
I hadn’t touched everything on the desk, and I wanted to. Really, I did. But I needed to find the courage first. I wish I’d brought my parents’ poetry book because even if I had the energy to put them on, my antique rings were not enough to dampen that dreadful imprint.
“Okay,” I began, “so Dennis was delivering some papers—research, I think—to that Ian guy. Looked like a lawyer, a few years older than Ben. But Dennis freaked out when he saw the guy Ian was with. He recognized him.”
“What’d the other man look like?” Shannon asked. “He may be connected to the murder.”
“He was Italian, big nose, dark hair—no, I’m kidding. He did have dark hair, but he didn’t look like Mafia, if that’s what you’re asking. He was just a guy.” I remembered Dennis looking at the table, at the man’s hands. “Wait, he was missing half a finger on his left hand. The middle finger.”
“It wasn’t the man Dennis saw shoot Bartolomeo Franco in the street?”
“No, I didn’t see the guy’s face well in the first imprint, but the build is all wrong.” It should have been the same man because the fear Dennis experienced had been similar. That meant Dennis was terribly afraid of at least two people. What had he gotten himself into?
“What else can you tell us?”
“Nothing.” I repeated everything I’d seen, describing in detail both the men in the imprint. “Dennis was scared. Every bit as scared as he’d been that night on the street. Or close.”
Shannon’s eyes softened, though it might have been my imagination. Standing beside my chair, Tawnia shoved her left hand into mine, pressing her wedding ring against my fingers. And then . . . I was staring at Bret as we exchanged wedding vows. The love in my heart was so all-encompassing that my fear seeped away, taking with it the jumpy feeling.
I took a deep breath and relaxed, my muscles feeling relief as though resting after overuse. Thanks, I mouthed. Tawnia nodded and squeezed my shoulder with her other hand.
While everyone waited for Ben Fuller to return, I scooted to the edge of Dennis’s chair and reached for the iPod dock on the desk. Clean. I touched the monitors, shuffled through the papers, and even skimmed my hands over the surface of the desk. Nothing. Thankfully. I didn’t know how much more I could take in one day.
“You should check the last Internet sites he visited,” I said. “Might give us some clues.”
Shannon smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“You feeling okay?” Paige asked me.
“Yeah.”
Tawnia glanced toward the door. “Did you see a bathroom around here?”
“Down the hall,” Paige told her. “Want me to show you?”
“And leave these two alone to kill each other?” Tawnia grinned. “I can find it.” She waddled out the door, though I’d never tell her as much.
“Maybe you’d better go home,” Shannon said into the silence.
I clenched my fists and urged myself to calmness. “And miss you talking to this Ian character? No way.”
“It’s a private interrogation.”
“He won’t care unless you make a big deal out of it.”
Shannon did his best to give me a flat stare, which was difficult given that his eyes were too alive for such mundane expressions. “Do you know who this Ian is? Because from the description you just gave us, I’m fairly certain the man’s name is Gideon—as in Simeon and Gideon.”
“You mean one of the law firm’s partners?”
“Not exactly. He’s the nephew of Mrs. Gideon, who is a partner, but from the brief chat we had with him today, he’s been here long enough to have become another partner by now. I think he’s taken over a lot of his aunt’s business.”
Paige nodded without checking any notes. “His first name is Ian.”
“Well, this just gets more and more interesting.” I sat back in Dennis’s chair. Nothing could induce me to leave now. If Shannon wanted me out, he’d have to arrest me. Or at least threaten to, because I wouldn’t risk experiencing the imprints former inmates might have left in any jail cell.
“Oh, let her stay,” Paige said. “If not for her, we wouldn’t even know about Dennis’s run-in with Mr. Gideon.” She met Shannon’s gaze for a full five seconds before he stalked over to the window and peered out.
I smiled. She was learning to hold her own, which of course I silently cheered because she was on my side.
Shannon grimaced. “Okay, you can stay, but don’t say anything. The last thing I need is for the department to be sued by a law firm.”
I pretended to lock my mouth and throw away the key, but the look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. He was right not to. If my mouth decided to say something, there wasn’t a single thing he or I could do about it. I strived for honesty, or so I told myself, but in truth I chattered when I became nervous.
Ben appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Gideon will see you. Please, come with me.”
Apparently, Ian Gideon didn’t descend to the nether most regions of the law firm where Dennis’s office was located—except, presumably, to leave the building.
Ben looked us over. “Where’d the, uh, other woman go?”
“My sister’s in the bathroom,” I told him.
“I’ll have the receptionist watch for her.”
“We can’t wait a minute?”
“Mr. Gideon is anxious to call it a night.” Without waiting for a reply, he led the way back to the lobby and the elevator.
I exchanged an amused glance with Shannon before I realized what I was doing. I looked away quickly.
In the elevator, I was hit with an odd wave of weariness. Reading imprints may seem like a simple thing, but it took a lot out of me. I wondered if one day I might feel too much and the imprints would disappear as mysteriously as they had appeared. Emotion. That was the key to how I could read imprints, though I believe I’d felt them on at least some level since the beginning of my life, which was probably why I’d ended up opening my antiques shop. Even walking into the shop gave me comfort. Of course, there were objects I’d never sell there, no matter the deal I might get on them. I kept a safe imprint environment for myself. Profit wasn’t everything.
The elevator opened onto a lobby like the one below, with lots of glass, another receptionist, a plusher set of couches. Eight-by-ten portraits of the employees covered part of one wall, the two partners at the very top, Ben and the other associates under them. Dennis’s portrait was one row up from the receptionists and secretaries.
Ben took us past all this to a door in a hallway I recognized from Dennis’s imprint. My heart slammed into movement, causing me to catch my breath. As Ben started to open the door, I almost expected to see the dark-haired man who was missing half a finger.
So what if I did? I had nothing to fear from him.
The door opened and inside, a blond man rose to his feet. I recognized him from the imprint, but Dennis hadn’t dwelled on how tall and thin Ian was. He towered over all of us, even Ben, who was nearly a head taller than Shannon.
“Here they are,” Ben said. “Would you like me to stay?”
Ian waved him away. “No, it’s okay. You can go home now if you want.”
“I have a few things to finish up.” Ben looked pointedly at us as though to imply that we were responsible for his not already having finished. “I’ll be in my office if you need me
.”
“Thanks.” Ian turned a warm smile on us. “Nice to see you again so soon, detectives. Come on in and sit down. I hear you have new information about Dennis?”
I put Ian at thirty-eight or forty, but a young forty. He moved with a jaunty air, as though life were something exciting to experience. His suit fit his lean figure well, giving him needed bulk in the shoulders, and I knew they were tailored. The only thing I owned that was tailored was a dress I’d made myself—if you could call something you made with sale material on a hand-me-down sewing machine tailored. I wondered what it would be like never to think about money or how you were going to pay the mortgage.
I made for the closer chair that the dark-haired man had used. I slid my hands surreptitiously across the top and down the back of the seat as I sat. Nothing. Nor on the table where his hands had been. Next to me, Paige lifted an inquiring brow, and I gave a slight shake of my head. It had been a long shot.
“We’re sorry to keep you.” Shannon settled into a chair across from me.
“Not a problem. I hope I can help.” Ian sat at the head of the table, tenting his hands on the wood and leaning over them, projecting confidence and interest the way an attorney should. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“We believe Dennis saw you with a man shortly before his disappearance,” Shannon said. “A man he knew. In fact, we think it happened in this very room.”
Ah, so Shannon hadn’t missed my checking out the place.
“Do you have a description of this man?” Ian asked, a careful note in his voice.
“Dark hair. Missing half a finger on his left hand.”
“Big guy,” I added. “Not as tall as you. A little too much Italian pasta, probably.” Especially if he was connected to the organized crime murder in Michigan.
Shannon scowled at me, but I pointedly ignored him.
“I believe I know who you’re talking about,” Ian said, tapping his fingers together idly. “His name is Nicholas Russo.”
“What was the nature of his visit?” Shannon asked.
“That I can’t tell you. He’s a client, and I can’t share his business until he gives consent.”
“Can you at least tell us what business Mr. Russo is in and what research Dennis brought you?” Paige asked. “Was it connected to Mr. Russo?”
“Sorry.” Ian smiled a little too broadly at Paige. “But I can go as far as to suggest that you look into the history of Dennis’s hard drive. Everything should be there. Well, assuming he did the research from his office.”
The hardness that had begun in Shannon’s face relaxed. “We’ll do that.”
Shannon might accept that olive branch, but Ian’s reticence made me angry. “Do you have any reason to believe that Dennis knew Mr. Russo?” I asked. “Or did you suspect that Dennis might be the reason Mr. Russo chose your firm for representation?”
Ian shook his head. “Absolutely not. Mr. Russo was referred to us by colleagues in New Jersey. He didn’t ask about Dennis or react in any way when he came into the room.”
“And Dennis?” I could feel Shannon’s eyes burning into me, ordering me to silence, but I didn’t care. He might be bound by rules, but I wasn’t.
Ian frowned. “Now that you mention it, Dennis did seem upset, but I think that was because he was late getting me the information I needed for the meeting.”
“Don’t you have assistants for things like that?” I asked. “Researching, I mean.”
“Actually, yes. But there are times when Dennis is more resourceful. He has programs he uses to filter information, and when we’re in a hurry, he can often cut down on research time.” Ian gave me his wide smile, which seemed to contain a hint of regret. “Look, I really like Dennis, and I’m going to do everything I can to urge my client to cooperate with you, but I really don’t see how Mr. Russo can be involved with his disappearance. This was our first meeting. Before today, we’ve only done business on the phone.”
“Did he make any comments about Dennis?” Shannon asked. “After he left the room?”
“No—wait. He did comment on the depth of the information Dennis brought me, and I told him we employed only the best.”
Paige arched a brow. “After your meeting, did Mr. Russo leave on his own?” It was a good question because for all we know, our mysterious Mr. Russo could have tracked down Dennis after the meeting.
“I went with him down the elevator and to the front door.”
“No stops or detours?”
“None except to show him the portraits of our employees. The partners were not here to meet him, and Mr. Russo is a rather wealthy client, so I showed him their photographs.”
“And Dennis’s?” I didn’t know why, but it bothered me that the man, whoever he was, knew Dennis’s last name.
Ian glanced at me and then back toward Shannon. “I really think the two have no connection. Mr. Russo didn’t seem interested in Dennis in any way.”
“You may be right. But we’ll still need to talk with Mr. Russo.”
“If you give me thirty minutes to talk with him first,” Ian said, “I’ll have my secretary send you his contact information. I’d like to give him a heads-up.”
“Is your secretary still here?” I said, not sure why I wanted to be so contrary. Something didn’t feel right.
Ian smiled, making his thin face more appealing. “If she’s not, I know how to email.”
“Great.” Shannon came to his feet and proffered a card. “Send it to this address. If there’s nothing more you can tell us, we’ll be leaving—again.”
“I assure you I told you everything I knew earlier.” Ian glanced at the card before slipping it into the pocket of his suit.
“Please let us know immediately if you hear from Dennis,” Paige said, also shaking Ian’s hand. It wasn’t in my imagination that he held on a bit too long, and if Paige’s slight secretive smile was a good indicator, she was pleased at the attention.
I hadn’t planned on shaking Ian’s hand because of his ring, but Paige’s interest in him made me shoot out my hand awkwardly as I stood. Might as well know sooner rather than later if he was a creep. “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Gideon.”
“Please, call me Ian. And who are you, if I may ask?”
His ring held faint memories of college graduation, contentment, and concentration. Nothing more. That didn’t say everything about him, of course, but I was relieved.
“My name is Autumn Rain. I’m a consultant on the case.” I didn’t look at Shannon as I spoke, worried that he’d object.
“Nice to meet you.” Ian released my hand and opened the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
“We can find our way,” Shannon said.
“I don’t mind.”
We met Tawnia emerging from the elevator and stopped for introductions. Ian gave both of us a double look as he realized our similarity. He didn’t notice our eyes, though, probably because his attention was mostly on Paige. They made a striking couple. Though her navy suit was conservative and far more economically priced than his, her classic features and her ironed blond hair would rival that of any society girl. She didn’t look like a woman comfortable with guns and stakeouts.
“I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell us more,” I whispered to Shannon as we followed Ian and Paige from the elevator and past the lower lobby reception desk. “Doesn’t he realize a man’s life is at stake?”
Shannon shrugged. “He gave us a lot more than he had to.”
“You really aren’t going to give him a half hour to talk to his client, are you? Isn’t surprise the whole point?” I wanted Shannon to be as irritated as I felt, not striding along like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Well, he definitely wasn’t going to give us the contact information without a warrant, and we probably wouldn’t find the right numbers to get us directly to Russo before half an hour anyway. So even if I refused Gideon’s offer, either way there wouldn’t be a surprise factor. It’s not perfect, but it’s how the g
ame is played. Plus, I need to find out a little more about this Russo before I talk to him.”
“You mean to check if he’s involved in organized crime.”
Shannon’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Or if he has priors. Or why he might need an attorney in Portland. That sort of thing.”
“I see.”
For all his calm talk, Shannon was giving Ian Gideon a hard stare.
Ahead of us Paige giggled, and now it was my turn to smirk. “Don’t worry,” I told Shannon. “I’m sure she’s faking interest to pump him for information.”
“I couldn’t care less who she dates,” he growled. “I just don’t want to train another partner.”
Next to us, Tawnia laughed. “I don’t think you’ll need to. Even if his interest is serious, I bet Mr. Gideon would love a contact on the police force.”
Shannon’s scowled deepened, which strangely made him even more attractive, like a brooding hero in one of those literary films no one I knew ever went to see but that all the critics raved about. I grinned at Tawnia, and she winked. I felt a rush of that certain sort of love I’d never felt for anyone else besides my adoptive parents. My twin was a part of me in a way no one else ever could be.
Not even Jake?
I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat. Where was he now? Still with the beautiful Kolonda? Too bad my ability didn’t extend to reading people. Unfortunately, I had to rely on regular intuition for my personal relationships. Or go around secretly touching my friends’ personal belongings, a level to which I refused to stoop.
We’d reached the double front doors, where Ian and Paige had paused. “Ben and I are the only ones who aren’t family men,” he was saying.
“Oh?” My brain churned with the beginnings of an idea. “I bet that makes you a better attorney, not having to worry about a wife and kids.”
Ian’s forehead wrinkled. “Believe me, it’s not by choice. I happen to think a family is a good thing for a man.”
Since I’d read that married men tended to live longer than unmarried men, he’d probably be wise to seek a wife. I smiled at Ian. “I meant for your clients, of course. Like Mr. Russo. I bet he’s glad you’re single so you can focus so completely on his case.”
On the Hunt Page 7
