Chapter 25
Wednesday afternoon, Lacha Somtum Thai Restaurant, East Hollywood
T en minutes later, Gabby pulled the car into a space in front of Kramer’s favorite Thai place and stepped out without putting the car in park. It rolled into the vehicle in front of it, luckily not causing any damage. Gabby was unfocused, fuck-compartmentalizing, not-safe-behind-the-wheel mad. Goddamn Markus. “ Your best isn’t good enough ” rang in her ears, echoing all of her insecurities. After Markus had been so sweet to her, the words were a betrayal.
It wasn’t as much of a stretch to imagine Markus as the bad guy now. Watching Novaya Bitva Ekstrasensov , breaking into her house, and telling her she wasn’t good enough—there was a lot about Markus she didn’t know. It’s not like Valentina divorced him because he was too handsome and patient.
The Thai place was cute. Not too fancy, and neat and tidy with colorful Thai art all over the walls and a whole herd of lucky cats in various colors and sizes sitting next to the cash register. Actually, not a herd, a “clowder.” Just last week Kyle had informed her that was the name for a group of cats. Kramer was spiritually at odds with everything in this restaurant, including the clowder of lucky cats, but the man knew his curries.
Compartmentalization might not be her thing, but Gabby knew about retail therapy and eating her feelings. Stupid Sloane Ellis had skipped those chapters.
“How much?” she asked about a small lucky cat. Retail therapy always helped.
“Twenty bucks,” said the woman.
A little luck was worth twenty. And a girl needed to eat her feelings sometimes. Plus it was lunchtime. Gabby got her own curry, a lucky cat, and a bag of tamarind candies for the kids. Her three different bosses could all suck it. The curry was made with fresh coconut milk, fragrant with lemongrass, and healing in a way that only good food could be.
When her phone buzzed with a text, she got ready for the next issue in her life. The school nurse or Kramer, but no—the lucky cat paid off. It was Valentina. Meet at HQ after work. Lessons, as promised.
Halfway through her bowl of restorative curry, Markus stepped through the door. She glared and set down her chopsticks. With a quiet, “I will stab you with this chopstick if you come any closer” energy, she said, “I need a lunch break, Markus. Do you know I haven’t sat down for lunch once this week? And it’s only Wednesday.” Ten minutes alone with a bowl of curry—was that really too much to ask?
He settled into the chair across from her. “Do you mind if I sit?” He waited for her to nod her assent.
“I do actually.”
When the waitress came by, he said, “I’ll have one of what she’s having,” pointing at Gabby’s meal without even asking what it was.
“I said I want to eat alone,” Gabby reiterated. She didn’t need to have lunch with a guy who very well might be reporting her activities to Smirnov. “Isn’t this dangerous anyway? What if someone sees us together?”
Markus shrugged. “No one followed us. I’ve been watching. And this place is way out of the way. Not to mention, empty.” It was them and one waitress. With the waitress out of earshot, he leaned in closer. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”
She didn’t respond, so he went on. “You’re doing really well, and I don’t know, it feels like we’ve been working together forever. I forgot for a minute that you aren’t a seasoned agent like Darcy.”
That seemed like a line of BS to her. “Half an hour ago, I fell on my ass onto a crème-filled donut while I was trying to be sneaky. I think my limitations are pretty in-your-face.”
He shook his head in the negative. “It was after you tried to be sneaky. And you know it just made you look like you didn’t know what you were doing, like any old ditzy office assistant.”
She looked inept because she was. “I’m not going to forgive you that easily. Do you know how stressful this is? I am worried constantly about my kids. I have arranged for someone different to pick them up from school every day. Kyle has missed all the lessons I’ve paid for, and no one else seems to be worried enough about Lucas’s allergies.” She looked at him. “I am pinch-hitting here. This isn’t even my job.”
“I know. I don’t need to be putting any more pressure on you than you already have.” He opened a pair of chopsticks and started clicking them together nervously, not normal for Markus. “Me snapping was more about me than you.”
Every word tempered the anger she was trying to hang on to. If she could just feel more indifferent toward him, it would be easier when it turned out he was the mole. Those butterflies she felt when he walked into a room, the rush of adrenaline when he texted her good night, that was what she didn’t need. Staying mad was the key.
He blew out a breath. “I didn’t tell you before, but Darcy and I were close.”
She looked up, softening against her better judgment. “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at the table, rearranging the little bowls of hot sauce, probably just for something to do with his hands. Markus never fidgeted. “We were partners for a couple of years.” His voice breaking up, he said, “She was my best friend. She was there for me through the divorce with Val, sort of like your friend Justin.” He shook his head.
She reached across the table but stopped short of putting her hand on his. She picked up an errant straw wrapper like she had meant to. “I didn’t know.”
“We were in the field together for years. When you are facing life-or-death situations, you get close fast. My therapist said it’s called trauma bonding.”
She knew what he meant. The closeness developing between the two of them—was it just trauma or was it something more?
His eyes flicked up, a flash of warm honey brown. “It’s not like that bond happens with everyone, but when you click with someone, it puts your relationship into overdrive.”
Warmth flashed through her. He was talking about Darcy but also them.
“I want to be in the field. I want to take out her killer myself.”
“Why didn’t they just plant you as a security guard or something? You could break into the safe.”
He huffed out a sad laugh. “I would, but Alice knew how torn up I was. She took me off field duty until psych clears me.”
“Oh,” she said with just a hint of surprise, not because she was shocked but because Markus seemed so together, so stable. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
Nothing said “not fine” like “I’m fine.”
After their curry was gone, Markus said, “All I want is to bring Darcy’s killer to justice.”
She gave a single nod. “I’ll do my best.”
The waitress interrupted. “One check or two?” She lingered on “one” while looking directly at Markus. He said, “Sure.”
Gabby raised an eyebrow. “Work’s paying, right?”
“Nah, it’s on me.”
As he signed the receipt, a secret smiled played across his features. “Compartmentalize this—that might be your tagline.”
On the way back to the office, Gabby dialed Justin, who had no clue that he’d created such an uproar. “How’s everything going?” she asked.
“You are going to love this party. All my queens are coming through. These bankers are going to be en-ter-tained!”
Gabby could see it now, Justin sashaying into the party and giving the actual mob tips on how to be more mob-like. As long as they survived the night.
“Thanks, Justin. You are the best best friend that ever existed in the history of best friends.”
“Maybe we should get BFF necklaces?” he suggested.
She was definitely getting necklaces.
Back at the office, Gabby had a clear objective: figure out how to get into the damn safe. Markus was right. Her best wasn’t good enough. She needed to do better if she was going to save her family.
“Mr. Kramer, I’m going to work on getting the stain out of this rug.”
“Fine. Just stay out of the way.”
On her hands and knees, she started in on the carpet. After twenty minutes of scrubbing and surreptitiously glancing at Kramer, he was still on the phone, showing no signs of leaving the office. So far this week, he hadn’t left his seat for longer than the time it took to pee.
“Mr. Kramer, have you thought about having a lunch meeting with your clients? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
He glared, but she went on. “There is a great Italian place just down the street.”
“Camille, I don’t need any suggestions.”
Frustrated, she went back to her desk for a breather. She sat in the chair for just a second and rubbed her temples.
“You doing okay?” Fran looked up from her computer.
“Ugh. Just having one of those days.” She shut her eyes before diving into another hour of pretending to clean the carpet in case Kramer actually left the room. “Do you ever get sick of this, Fran?”
Fran looked right at Gabby. “Yes. I’ve been trying so hard for so many years, working late, anticipating his every need.” She shook her head. “The things I have done for that man.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Fran sighed. “Oh, it’s been a while. It’s a boys’ club.”
“So you want to be a financial analyst?” Fran seemed happy to serve Kramer’s every need, but she hadn’t talked about actual finances at all.
“I want to be at the top. I want to make real money.”
“I’m feeling pretty 9 to 5 about him today.”
“What?” Fran flashed a blank look.
“Oh, you have to see that movie. It’s a classic.” She got fired up just thinking of Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, and Lily Tomlin taking out their sexist boss with rat poison in his coffee. Fifty years later and Kramer was pretty much a Franklin Hart Jr. Maybe Gabby wasn’t going to murder him with rat poison, but she was going to take this guy out for her and Fran and all the women out there who were underutilized and underpaid, coming home to sinks full of dishes.
She raised her coffee mug. “Here’s to us, Fran!” After a fortifying gulp of lukewarm coffee, she dove back into the carpet cleaning. Sometime later—god knows how long, because her brain had shut down—Kramer stood up. The jerk was finally going to leave the room.
Instead of leaving, he stood over her and glared at her dumb project. “What in the hell are you doing over here?”
She pointed to the stain. “This is a tricky one. I was thinking of renting a carpet shampooer. I could run down to the hardware store right now, if you don’t mind me staying a little late.”
“Camille, I’m not going to pay you overtime for something the cleaning crew will do anyway.”
“Okay, I can do it tomorrow during the day. It’ll be easy.” Anything to give her extra time in the office.
“I have a full schedule tomorrow and I don’t need you underfoot. And Friday, the security team is coming in to upgrade things around here. Finally.”
“But—”
“It’s five thirty. Go home.”
With a backwards glance at the Bugatti portrait she hadn’t even managed to inspect, she left the office.
At least she’d found out about the security upgrade, not that it was going to make her life any easier. If Kramer was going to booby-trap the office on Friday, that only left tomorrow for spy shenanigans. She had one day to figure out how to get Kramer out of his office and steal his computer.