If there was a tape.
Maybe Monihan had lied to Michelle. She said that she had heard the tape, but she didn't say she'd seen it.
After one last look around the apartment, Dominic left, allowing himself one painfully hard punch at the door.
The call to Michelle was quick and businesslike. He heard the disappointment in her voice, and he wished he were a better cop.
"Dominic?"
"Yes, sweet cheeks?" he answered, hoping she'd laugh.
She didn't. "You'll keep looking, won't you?"
"Your lack of trust is killing me here," he said, even while he wondered if she was lying to him.
"Please keep trying."
"I will," he promised. "I'm on the case, Michelle. Don't do anything stupid."
"I won't," she said.
But Dominic knew that tone. Instead of tailing John Monihan, it was time to follow Michelle. He wanted to protect her and keep her out of trouble, because she had that tone in her voice and he'd heard it once before. It'd been a long, long time ago but he still remembered. Last time, his gut had told him something was wrong and he blew it off. This time, he wasn't going to let anything bad happen. Not again.
Mickey hung up the phone and peered over her computer at the jerkola. She'd been so sure that Dominic could get the tape back. Yeah, Mickey, good job. Depend on someone else to do what you need to do yourself. How many times had her father told her that no one could do anything better than her? For a few days it'd been enticing to think that she could lean on someone else. Use their strength instead of her own.
Now it was time to turn into superwoman again.
She took a deep, steadying breath and then got up to approach the enemy.
"Whatwillittaketogetthetapeback?" she asked, not breathing until she had every vile syllable out of her mouth.
John looked up in surprise. Then he smiled, one of those "I'm a nice guy" smiles that was really at odds with his current character. "Once more should cover it."
"Just once?" asked Mickey, making sure the terms were clear here.
"Yeah, it's research."
Research? Oh, yeah, that's rich . "That is such a smarmy answer," she snapped. "Where's the tape?"
John looked at his computer and smiled. "The wonders of a digital age."
"You copied it, didn't you?" asked Mickey, for a clear moment contemplating murder. Would a jury convict? Probably.
John looked up at her, innocent like. "Maybe."
For now, she needed a bit more information. Just a few more clues, Watson, and the case would be solved. "If I put you in the happy place, you'll delete the file? No, better yet, I'll delete the file." Mickey leaned over and grabbed his mouse. "Show me which one it is."
John smiled and even pointed. "Right there. You can delete that one."
She hit the delete key with a flourish, but unfortunately he was still smiling. It is never that easy, Watson. "It's on your home computer, too, isn't it?"
"Yes."
However, computers were only as secure as the people who manned them. Mickey kept her smile to herself, adopting her girlie-girl persona. "Okay. I'll be over at your apartment tonight. Nine o'clock."
"You remember where I live?"
"Yes."
"Don't be late," he said arrogantly, and then went back to work, effectively dismissing her.
Mickey wanted to deck him, but she restrained herself. Physical violence wouldn't solve anything. No, the solution to the situation involved much more cerebral thinking.
She checked her watch. Five hours left.
Thirty minutes later, she hit upon the solution. Once again, her brains had come to the rescue. She spent the remainder of the afternoon at her computer, running the compiler until everything was perfect.
It was a good feeling to be back in control again.
Never underestimate the power of one very ticked-off woman.
Dominic parked outside the entrance to the labs and watched as Monihan's beat-up Mustang exited the parking lot. Michelle's Miata was still parked in the lot. Looked like she was working late tonight.
Well, he had no choice but to wait. He pushed the seat back as far as it would go and made himself comfortable. He skimmed the dial, finally turning to NPR. The dulcet tones of the broadcaster began the interview with a highbrow geek who was convinced the universe was expanding and apparently he had the data to prove it.
It was interesting, although Dominic was skeptical, but he wanted to see what Michelle saw when she looked up in the sky. He needed to find something beyond the world that he had made for himself.
Finally, at seven-thirty, it happened. He got his first legit look at Michelle Cushing Coleman. She'd lost the blond wig. In reality, her hair was dark and straight and swung around her shoulders when she walked. Exactly right for the thin, angular face. Tonight she was missing the bimbo outfit, instead wearing a practical cotton button-down with thigh-hugging jeans that clung in all the right places. She wasn't a woman he normally would have noticed, but now he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
This is who she was when she wasn't with him.
So why pretend to be someone else?
Dominic laughed to himself. He knew the answers to that question. Because you have something to hide. Because nobody else was ever going to guess your secrets . But Michelle was different from him. Her secrets weren't nearly as bad as his own.
As she pulled away from the parking lot he cranked his engine, and eased in two car-lengths behind her.
They headed east on 64, and kept going east past her turn onto 59. She pulled onto 290 and went south, right into the south side of Chicago.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Why couldn't she have trusted him to handle things? For a smart woman, she was about to do something really stupid. She was going right toward the home of one John Monihan. He called and postponed his meeting with Anthony. Tonight he had something more important to do.
Michelle needed him, whether she realized it or not.
* * *
Chapter Seven
Things were going exactly as she had planned. John was currently in the kitchen calling for Chinese food. She'd given him that frank, appraising look that she'd seen Cassandra give men, and told him that she wanted to eat first, and maybe a glass of wine, as well. After he handed her an unopened bottle of chardonnay, he'd scurried off like a worker ant. Men were so simplistic.
After that, she settled herself in front of his computer and found several video files on his hard drive. Aha! Just as she started to check them out, John called out from the kitchen.
"They'll be here in twenty minutes. I opened some wine."
Mickey jammed the disk into the floppy drive and stood to watch as the virus did its thing.
Just as the skull and crossbones came up on the screenshe'd designed it herselfJohn came into the room.
The evil laugh played over the tinny speaker.
"What did you just do?" he said in a strangled voice.
Mickey put her hands on her hips, warrior-princess style, and smirked. If only she had a camera, then she could savor this moment forever. "I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago."
"What did you do?" repeated John, running to the computer and pounding on the keyboard. "My files are gone."
"Bloody right, they are."
"All that hard work. What have you done?" He looked completely horrified, as if she'd just blown up the universe.
And did he really think she felt sorry? Uh, hello. "I'm not about to be manhandled by some vile insectoid."
"You bitch!" John got up and advanced, and Mickey picked up the bottle of wine, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.
Suddenly, there was an explosion of glass and the window burst, followed by a dark figure.
It was Dominic, brushing glass off his sleeve. "I don't think so," he said, coming to stand between Mickey and Monihan.
"Who're you?" asked John.
Mickey began to smile. Dominic was
tall and right now he looked really mean. She'd never truly appreciated the art of physical intimidation before now. A purely primitive tingle cruised down her spine.
"Somebody who's really pissed off at you, Monihan. Where's the tape?" Dominic turned to Mickey. "Like the hair, dollface."
Mickey clapped a hand to her head. The wig! Oh my gosh, he hadn't seen her real hair before.
John seemed to have more important things on his mind. "I can't believe this. You've destroyed four years of my life. There is no stinkin' tape! I was writing a book. A thriller. Guy blackmails girl, she murders him, then has to cover it up. I wanted to see how far you would go. It was research. For. My. Book."
Mickey gaped and glared and searched for the exact perfect words to curse this man for the rest of his adult lifeto give him boils and warts and all sorts of frog-like manifestations. Finding no words, she punched him in the stomach instead.
Monihan doubled over, groaning a little but seeming more concerned with protecting his gut.
Dominic nodded with approval. "Remind me never to tick you off."
"Do you know how long I've been working on those manuscripts? All that work," moaned John.
For Mickey it was icing on the cake. She, who never yelled, began to yell. "Do I look like I care? You were blackmailing me with a nonexistent tape!"
"You are such a bitch."
Dom backed him up against the wall and, in a match of muscle, Mickey was betting on Dominic. "You don't want me to hit you," he said In this low, growly voice that made her insides go metaphysicalin a good way.
"He's connected," said Mickey, as she crossed her arms across her chest. This was better than anything Al Pacino had ever done.
Dom laid his arm across John's throat and turned to look at her. "It's your call. I could break his legs."
"No, no!" cried John. The wuss.
"You're going to blackmail women again, John?" said Dominic.
"No. I swear. You want me to, and I'll leave town."
"Really?" These words were music to Mickey's ears. "What do you think?" she asked Dominic.
"I think I should break his legs," he answered with the absolute cutest smile.
Mickey pretended to consider it, all the while watching John sweat. Finally she sighed. "You are my hero, but no."
Dom shrugged. "Okay. You're free. This town's not big enough for the two of us." He turned to Mickey and grinned. "I've always wanted to say that."
"I'll leave tomorrow," said John. It was about time he saw the writing on the wall, but she wasn't done yet.
"Tonight," she snapped. "I'll turn you in to Dr. Kartesian on ethics violations alone."
"You don't have any proof I was doing anything."
Heh-heh-heh. With a flourish, Mickey pulled out her pocket tape recorder and pressed Play. John's threats echoed in the room. "Remember, John. Always have a backup plan."
He hung his head low. "I'll be gone as soon as I pack up," he said.
Dominic dusted his hands. "And once again, justice triumphs. Ready to leave, dollface?"
"Yeah, let's get out of here." Mickey picked up the bottle of wine, and then took one last look at John. Finally, it was over.
As they walked to the door, Dominic's warm hand found Mickey's. "Say that again," he said, so low she almost missed it.
"Yeah, let's get out of here," she repeated, more than a little confused.
Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped her. "No, the part about being your hero."
The entryway was dark, with only a dim streetlight coming in from outside. Still, the light was enough to see him clearly, to see the vulnerability in his eyes. Every now and then, she saw what lay beneath the surface, and it was that small piece of him that he kept so hidden that called so strongly to her. Probably another stupid mistake, but she wasn't going to walk away. "You are my hero."
"I kinda like that," he said with a nervous laugh. Then the embarrassment cleared and he tugged gently at her hair. "Don't ever wear a wig."
He looked as if he really liked the way she looked. It wasn't as if she was ugly or anything, but she certainly couldn't compete with Cassandra or Jessica or Beth. "It's okay? I mean, well, this is who I am," she said, hating the whiny tone in her voice. She despised women who weren't secure in their own self-image, and she had no reason to complain. Her gifts just weren't the usual combination of blond hair and blue eyes, capped with a J. Lo butt. Unfortunately, she had no butt at all.
He didn't seem to mind. He shook his head and looked at her, really looked at her. "I want to hear all about Michelle Cushing Coleman. Everything. From the moment you were born until the time you discovered you could write computer viruses and do all sorts of cool stuff with atoms and the cosmos."
He knew. She stared, openmouthed at him. It probably wasn't her most elegant look, but she couldn't help it. "How did you find out?"
"I've got my sources," was all he said as he opened the doorway and followed her out. It was a beautiful night, clear and full of quasars that sheared through the black sky.
It was a night when names were forgotten, potential felonies were not to be mentioned, and nothing was allowed but the overwhelming need that was surging inside her. He looked at her like she was the only female in the world. Neverabsolutely neverhad a man looked at her that way. Her heart took over, because her brain had stopped.
It was ten o'clock, and she was more than ready to cross over the line. "Come home with me?" she whispered.
He stopped and pulled her around to face him. "You mean that?"
"Come home with me," she said, her voice more sure.
"Now, tomorrow, anytime," he answered.
Her heart pounded as their gazes locked. Suddenly she realized exactly what she'd done. Pandora's box had come open, and Pandora wasn't about to shut it, either.
"So you like brainy women?" she asked, wanting to make a joke but failing.
"I think it's sexy as hell, and if you start whispering about neutrinos, I think I might just bust my pants right here," he answered in the same light tone, but the look in his eyes was downright nuclear.
"My vocabulary is pretty unlimited," she said, moving closer, feeling daring and exquisitely female.
Then she was in his arms, his mouth driving into hers, and she didn't care. He had the most perfect mouth, tempting and playful one minute, intent and demanding the next.
There was something dizzying about his desire. It was so raw, so genuine. Her legs went queasy, ceasing to hold her up, and he backed her against the lamppost. There she was, all his musclemob-tied musclepressing into her.
She should be pulling away, issuing a discreet "hands off" cough, doing something. What did she do? She curled her arms around his neck just so she could bury her fingertips in the hairs that grew at his nape.
Idiot!
His hands wandered beneath her shirt, pressing against the soft skin at her back, exploring the curves of her butt, pressing her even closer.
Moron!
Mickey moaned. Tonight she just wanted to feel. To be swept away in an undertow of passion. Now she knew what it was like. Low, insidious, pulling at her like the most powerful magnetic field.
When he dragged his mouth away from hers, she groaned. "Don't do that to me," he whispered.
"What?"
"Public indecency. It's a Class A misdemeanor in this city. You go home. I'll follow."
"We could ride together," she said, unwilling to part from him. It was a long ride back to Schaumburg.
He kissed her quickly. "Another dangerous idea. When I get you alone, I want you in a place where naked and willing is not a crime."
Mickey sighed, but obediently spent the next forty-five minutes driving in her car, alone, contemplating the many aspects of naked and willing.
Michelle's apartment was bright and greenforest green. There were climbing vines, minitrees, plants and flowers. Not one brown leaf in sight. Everything looked vibrant and alive.
Dom took in the rest of the
details, memorizing it all. On the walls were diplomas and awards and pictures of her friends. His walls had always been bare. She had a stereo and a rack full of CDs. He'd just never taken the time. He settled on the sofa and pretended he was comfortable.
"Want a beer?" she asked as she headed off into the kitchen.
"Just water," he yelled. As a rule, he didn't drink; alcohol had a bad way of making him talk.
A few seconds later, she returned and handed him a glass.
"You sure got a lot of plants," he said, needing to make casual conversation.
"They take the carbon dioxide out of the air. It's actually very healthy to have them around."
He shook his head. "I just kill them."
"You need the right plant. An ivy or a dieffenbachia. Indestructible."
She was so naive. "I could kill it."
"Next time" she started to say before trailing off.
His hand clenched the glass and he looked away, studying the certificates on the wall. There wasn't going to be a next time, and they both knew it. Why was he doing this?
"You know, I could go" he said, standing up to leave.
"Don't."
Her one quiet word had him sitting back down.
On the drive over, he'd had a chance to figure out exactly what he needed to say. He shouldn't be here, he knew that. Shouldn't be contemplating making love to her, he knew that, too. But in the last three years, he'd had so few times to feel human, to remember who he was. It was selfish and dangerous, but he couldn't resist. He told himself it would just be one night. After all, now that Monihan was leaving, and there was no tape, there was no reason for her to need him anymore.
Which left him feeling hollow, empty and ticked off as hell.
When she sat down next to him, looked up at him with trust, the uncomfortableness factor zoomed ever upward. People really shouldn't trust him.
It Should Happen to You Page 8
