Players: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  The detective clicks a button on his key-fob and the car loudly clicks unlocked. He slips inside, but it feels wrong for Anna to get in. She hasn't been in the passenger seat since she started showing. Since everything in her life started to go sideways.

  She forces herself to ignore the nerves that are building up, threatening to overtake her. There's nothing that she's going to do about any of that right now. She's got to stay under control, or she's going to go crazy.

  If she's not crazy already.

  She slides in next to the detective. The leather seats are soft and comfortable, and the seatbelt goes across her body easily. It doesn't catch, like the passenger seatbelt in the Impala.

  Anna settles back in her seat. Her head's got to be back, so it's out of the detective's way. Mitch taught her better than to let her head sit forward in the car, and she wasn't going to forget one of his lessons just because he wasn't in her life any more.

  Detective Meadows pulls the car out and starts driving. "What can you tell me about Mr. Queen?"

  "Um, what do you want to know?"

  "Just anything. Tell me about him."

  Her throat tightens up, even as she feels a shine of happiness that she's got something she can do to help.

  "He's, um. He's real smart, and real particular. He likes things just right. I used to be pretty good at that."

  The detective nods, his eyes not coming off the road.

  "Had a temper?"

  "Not more than anyone else."

  "What does he do for work?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "It's not really something that they get around to in the tabloids."

  He was always in the tabloids, Mitchell. They always misunderstood things. Saw him with girls, they said he was dating them. But he wasn't. It was always just a misunderstanding. A foolish misunderstanding.

  They'd have known that, if they'd just talked to Mitchell. But they never did, so they were always printing mistakes like that.

  "Well, um. He does a bit of this and that. He builds things, with his hands, you know? Furniture. He does a lot of that. You should see it, it's really good work. He did this entire set of chairs for the house—"

  Anna cut herself off when she realized she was babbling. Nobody wants to talk about that sort of stuff. Just her. So there's no reason to talk about it.

  "But that's more of a hobby, you'd say?"

  "I guess so," Anna says. It was real impressive stuff, for a hobby. It blew her mind when she saw it. Mitch was never pleased, though. Never happy with the work he'd done.

  Just like he was never satisfied with her. He was never satisfied with himself, either. So it wasn't a problem with her, per se.

  Just a matter of Mitchell's perspective, and she had always tried to do her best to meet the expectations that he set for her, even though he'd never have lost it with her. He was always real nice.

  She takes a deep breath.

  "Are you sure you can do this, Anna?"

  She doesn't tell him that she doesn't want to disappoint him. Mitch always hated it when she did that. Said it made him feel guilty, and Anna never wanted to make Mitch feel guilty.

  She doesn't tell him that she wants to see Mitchell, either, because she shouldn't want to see him. He told her not to, and she good at following instructions, even when it's hard. It's one of her best qualities.

  The detective's hand moves off the wheel, and touches the back of her hand. Anna likes the way that his skin feels on hers. It's a little calloused.

  It reminds her a little bit of Mitchell's, but there are differences, too. She's surprised that it's not the comparison that makes her heart skip a beat.

  Anna looks up. She's getting her heart ahead of herself. She needs to not do that. She can't put herself in that position again, for one thing.

  But worse than that, she can't afford to make another guy mad at her. She's pushed away too many in the past. Too clingy. Too needy. Too—too everything.

  She needs to keep herself under control, this time. Because she needs Detective Mitchell to keep liking her long enough to find Ava.

  Chapter Six

  I've got a few feelings about this guy, and none of them are proof of anything just yet. Which means that I've got to dig a little. But without any real solid suspects, I give the boys a call.

  They'll go through more official channels and get photos of the scene. They won't find anything. The photos won't mean anything, in the end. But that doesn't mean that we can just skip the step because it's an inconvenience.

  We'll have to do what we can, in spite of the fact that I don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell that we find much of anything in the place. Because there are procedures to follow, even when they're useless.

  ***

  Josh takes a look around the estate before getting out of the car. It's a big place. There are bigger, maybe. One or two.

  But this one was built by the old man, Mr. Queen the elder, practically with his own two hands, so big or not was his own decision to make. Not the decision some asshole two hundred years ago made, and the man living there now just liked well enough to shell out twenty million for.

  There's a guy outside the door, to compliment the guy at the gate who let them in. Unlike the guy at the gate, there's no little stool here, which probably means that he's either less senior—or, if this were the military, more senior.

  Then again, it could be some kind of shit-test for the new guys. You'd find out pretty damn quick on a hot day if they can stand outside for a few hours without passing out.

  The third possibility is that he's usually patrolling, but he's been placed here special for my visit. Each seems about as likely as the last possibility.

  Josh slips out of the car. Anna comes out after. She's got a habit of following his lead, one that she seems to have slipped into so naturally that she might not have noticed it.

  She might do it with every guy she runs into, now that she's untied. An extreme submissive attitude. It only means one of two things: stupidity or abuse.

  She wants approval, and she wants it so bad that she'll debase herself for it. Either someone's convinced her that she will regret it if she doesn't, or she's really incapable of getting anywhere without someone helping her.

  She hasn't shown signs that she's a dumb girl. It would be obvious. She'd be incapable of taking care of herself, for Pete's sake. Never mind care for a child, she wouldn't even have managed to stay in that apartment.

  On the other hand, there aren't many people who would have caused a girl like this to think of herself as some guy's accessory.

  In fact, if the story is anything like what it's supposed to be, the two of them had been dating since high school. There wouldn't have been many chances for someone else to have gotten to her. None of them recent enough to still have such a strong grip on her.

  Anna waits patiently for him to pass by. Josh tries to smile reassuringly. She doesn't look suitably reassured, but then again how could she be expected to be?

  He keeps his head up as he walks up to the guy. Anna surprises by greeting him by name.

  "Hey, Terry." The big guy's got a scar on his face and his nose has never been set right from several breaks. He looks for all the world like he might be the roughest son of a bitch on the planet.

  "Miss Anna," he says. He winks in a way that doesn't hide it, but says that he can't be more friendly on the job. It's an interesting mix of professionalism and friendliness. The sort of thing you might build up over time with a staff, if you were a friendly kind of person.

  And again it speaks to the sort of man that he works for. It may prove to have been more trouble than it was worth, in the end, but for now it seems as if bringing Anna isn't going to be a dead end. She's already telling him things about the house, without even knowing it.

  The big guy—he is damn big, too—reaches back to open the door, ushers them inside, and then takes the lead, down a side path and into a longish hallway. After a short walk he turns to the rig
ht.

  Anna must know where they are. She's probably been at this house a thousand times. She'll know every room in the place. She doesn't offer any insight into where they're going, and neither does 'Terry.'

  "Go on inside, Detective. Mr. Queen is waiting."

  "Thanks."

  Josh walks in. It'll be interesting to see whether or not Anna comes inside. She does, but only a step. She stays by the door. He leaves her there for the moment. It will play out how it's going to play out. The door closes behind them.

  "Mitchell Queen?"

  Two men stand up. Both of them are in thousand-dollar suits. When they turn, not quite in unison, it's much easier to tell them apart.

  The one in the black suit is older, hairline receding, spectacles that sit low on his nose. He starts moving almost as soon as I speak, circling around the other.

  The younger man has tight, thick black hair, and the face of a celebrity. Both figuratively, and literally, because he's been a celebrity since he had the good fortune of picking the right family to be born into.

  "Detective Meadows? I'm Jake Morrow; I've been retained by the Queens as their attorney, I'll be present for any questioning."

  "I don't have many questions. I'm sure this will only take a moment."

  "Excellent," the thin man says. He uses the side of his thumb to press the glasses up his nose. They slip down again a moment later.

  "Do you mind if I sit?"

  "No, not at all. Go right ahead," the attorney says. It's odd.

  Or, it seems odd, until Josh gets a look at Mitchell's face. He's not looking at the detective, which is exactly what the plan had been. He's looking at the girl. Whatever he's thinking about her, he's not saying it.

  Josh goes across the room and sits down. The chair faces the door, puts his back to the wall. It's a fabulously comfortable chair, as well. Really surprising. The thing looked so ornate that he assumed it would be like sitting on a bed of nails.

  "If you'll pardon the intrusion, Mr. Queen, I've just got some potentially upsetting news, and a few questions."

  Queen hasn't sat back down yet. He's still looking at the girl. The statement, now that I'm seated, causes him to slowly settle down into his own seat. His face turns over towards mine like it's causing him real difficulty.

  "I'm happy to be of any assistance I can."

  Josh takes a deep breath and pulls the digital recorder out of his pocket. Unlikely. If he were really being asked the questions going through Josh Meadows's mind, then 'happy' would be the last thing he'd be.

  "Do you mind if I record this? Makes it easier than writing notes down, you know?" Mitchell's eyes flick down to the tape recorder. Then they move over to the pad that Josh pulls out with his hand. "Oh, this? Just in case I think of anything while you're speaking, you see. I'd hate to cut you off, especially being who you are. Or if you refuse the recording, of course."

  He takes a second. He leans over to the attorney without speaking, keeps his eyes on the recorder. The attorney leans back, says something, and Mitchell nods. "Sure."

  "Thanks. You're a real help. I appreciate it. I'll put that in my notes."

  Chapter Seven

  Anna Witt can barely stay standing. He's furious. She can see it right there in her eyes. He's always angry when she doesn't do like she's supposed to. But he's always been good about shielding her from it.

  Now, though, it seems like he's more upset than normal. And he has less reason to keep it from touching her. They're not dating anymore. She's nothing to him. A cold sort of fear grips her.

  He turns back to Detective Meadows and for a minute, Anna almost feels like she's got the chance to breathe. Almost. It's just a matter of time until the attention is back on her, and then she's going to be in a lot of trouble.

  The detective pulls out that recorder from earlier. He goes through the same spiel that he went through with her. Do you mind if I record you, sure. He presses the button in an obvious way and sets it on the table between them.

  "Could you state your full name and occupation for the record?"

  "I'm Mitchell Raymond Queen, and I work in an advisory capacity for my father's real estate firm."

  "Like, they come to you and make sure you give them the oh-kay?"

  "More or less, unless this is an interview about my role with the company that's close enough."

  Anna's never seen anyone from the company come to him with a single thing. It's better than saying 'I dabble,' though, she supposes. Less embarrassing.

  Every part of Mitch's life is overtaken by worry about how things are going to look. It's why he's so touchy. Who could blame him? He's got so much on his plate, after all.

  Anna takes a breath and holds it a minute. Three, two, one. Calm down. She's alright.

  "Alright, thanks. Your father is Albert Queen, the real-estate mogul, former Mayor, and currently running for congressional office, is that right?"

  "That's about right, yes."

  "Thank you. Just getting things on the record."

  "Not a problem."

  Mitch is used to dealing with this kind of thing. Reporters are always asking him questions. Sometimes he gives interviews, sometimes he refuses them. But they always ask these establishing questions, if he accepts.

  "Just a few more questions. You know that woman?"

  Mitchell doesn't look when Detective Meadows points at me.

  "Yes."

  "Can you tell me your relationship?"

  "We were involved, until March seventeenth of this year."

  "At which point, what caused your split, would you say?"

  "Irreparable differences of opinion."

  He says it flatly, without hesitation. Anna keeps herself quiet. Like a fly on the wall. She doesn't want to say anything. Doesn't want to be asked to do anything. If she could stop breathing, she'd do that, too. Invisible.

  "So it wasn't related to her pregnancy?"

  "No, sir."

  "But you were the father, is that correct?"

  "I can't confirm or deny. I've never had a paternity test with the child, so it's entirely possible that I may not be. I haven't disputed it up to this point."

  "What can you tell me about Miss Witt's child, which may or may not be yours?"

  "She was supposed to have it a few weeks ago."

  "You don't know the sex of the child?"

  "I haven't investigated the matter."

  Anna's chest hurts. Why does she have to be here? Can't she just go home? Why did any of this have to happen? Why can't the world just leave her alone?

  "So you wouldn't know that your daughter, Ava Witt, has gone missing as of some time between four and nine this morning?"

  "Missing?" Mitch looks over his shoulder now, looks at Anna. She doesn't need to be told that he thinks it's her fault that Ava's missing. He always knew when she was slack, even when Anna herself didn't.

  "Right now, we're keeping our options open. It appears to have been some sort of kidnapping."

  "Kidnapping? Are you sure?"

  Mitch looks back over at the detective, who nods. "Someone unlocked the door, which Miss Witt assured me was kept locked at all times."

  "And you're sure she didn't just forget? She can be forgetful sometimes."

  Anna starts speaking before she even really realizes what she's saying entirely. "I could have been mistaken. I don't know. I'm sorry."

  The detective waves it away. "It's possible, but it stands to reason that the child didn't get out of the crib herself and crawl right out of the apartment, right?"

  Mitch turns back to the other conversation, and the weight slips off Anna's chest. She takes a breath. One in, two out. Three in, four out.

  "I have just a few more questions, if you don't mind."

  "Not at all."

  "Can you account for your whereabouts at that time?"

  "It would usually be quite difficult, at a time like that, wouldn't it? I'd have been here, asleep."

  "Were you?"

  "I
was not."

  "Okay, then. Where were you?"

  "I was staying with a friend," he says. "After six in the morning, I was staying with a friend. Until then, I was at one of my father's clubs."

  "Until six in the morning? I only ask to confirm. I thought most places closed before that."

  "They're lenient when you're the owner."

  "I imagine they would be."

  Nine in, ten out. Don't think about anything. Just focus on the breathing, focus on the silence in your mind. Eleven in, hold it, twelve out.

  "Do you have any other questions?"

  "This is, I presume, your first time hearing anything about any of these matters?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't seem that broken up about it."

  "I can't afford to show every feeling I've got on my face, Detective. But secondly, I don't know whether I am or not, but I stopped being that child's father way back in March. We separated, I gave Miss Witt there a sizable amount of money with which to raise her child, and I washed my hands of it."

  Anna's counting is disrupted by the thought that Detective Meadows looks angry. He's hiding it better than Josh did, but he's not hiding it perfectly by a long shot.

  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Queen. If you have any more information, here's my card."

  Meadows pulls a little card out of his pocket and hands it over toward Queen. Mitch doesn't move to take it. The attorney reaches out a moment later and slides it into his book.

  "You're very welcome, Detective. Any time."

  Mitch slips his public-relations face back on, as if it never slipped off for an instant. Even extends his hand out and smiles.

  "I can see myself out," he says. Anna notices that he doesn't take the handshake. Mitch isn't going to like that. It occurs to her, for what might be the first time, that it doesn't matter to her whether or not he likes what the detective does.

  Meadows opens the door and steps out. Anna follows him. He's only been here once, but the route out from the study isn't so hard to figure out. Anywhere else, and she might have had to show him the way, which would have been awfully presumptuous. She would have had to do it anyways.

  Anna slips herself into the car, puts on her seatbelt, and plants her hands firmly in her lap. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble for you, Detective."