Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
I’d known I was too late the moment I entered the Fairfax County police station. The duty officer at the desk was turned in his chair, facing the room of officers behind him, his shoulders rocking with laughter. I rapped on the window to get his attention.
“Oh, hey, Finlay,” he said as he tried and failed to quiet the last of his chuckles. I smiled and returned the greeting, trying not to make it obvious that I couldn’t remember his name when I stole a peek at his uniform. Between my frequent visits to this station with Georgia over the years—and, more recently, with Nick—and the week I had spent at the citizen’s police academy, my welcome here was a fair bit warmer than the one I had experienced at Loudoun’s precinct the day before.
“Is Nick here?” I asked, though, judging by the jovial tone of the bullpen behind him, I feared I already knew the answer to that.
“Yep. Some lady is back there with him. She said she came all the way from New York City to meet—and I quote—‘the hot cop named Nick.’” The duty officer’s eyes watered as another laugh burst out of him. “I figured she was one of those crazy stalkers that started showing up here after all that PR last fall. Between the interviews and Nick’s press pictures all over the news, we’ve had women showing up here at all hours wanting to ‘report a crime’ or take selfies with him. I assumed she was one of ’em, but then she said she knew you. I asked Nick if it was okay to send her back. I’m guessing he didn’t know what he was in for when he said yes. This is the most entertainment this department has seen for weeks. Jesus,” the officer said, shaking his head, “I hope Nick doesn’t put my name in for a demotion.” He wiped his eyes, still giggling to himself as he buzzed me in.
My stomach dropped as I opened the door and followed an explosion of laughter to the bullpen. A cluster of young patrol officers stood just inside the entrance, blocking my view. I tapped one of them on the shoulder and nudged my way between them, blanching at the scene on the other side.
Sylvia stood by the watercooler, wearing neon-green stiletto heels and a matching spandex dress that was probably restricting circulation to most of her essential organs. Judging by the amount of cleavage on display, there definitely wasn’t room for any socks in her bra. Her arm was slung around a young cadet. She towered over him, her shoes leaving him at eye level with her chest. She held out her cell phone, asking one of the other uniformed officers to take their picture. She fluffed her hair, gave each of her breasts a vigorous hoist, and ran a finger over the front of her teeth, checking them for lipstick before the camera flashed. Sylvia took her phone back and frowned at the screen.
“I need someone taller,” she called out. “You!” She pointed to Officer Roddy, who was hunched over the coffeepot, discreetly filling his mug.
The quiet, middle-aged beat cop turned around slowly, his face growing red when she beckoned him with an obscenely long, hot-pink fingernail. He lumbered over—all six feet and four inches of him. Sylvia pushed aside the cadet and threw an arm around Roddy’s middle. “Here,” she said, handing him her phone. She gestured in a sweeping motion over her chest. “But take it high. They look better from above.” She sucked in her cheeks and threw her shoulders back. Roddy extended an arm above them and snapped a selfie that probably could have doubled as an aerial shot of the Grand Canyon.
I pushed my way through the crowd of officers, determined to save Roddy before Sylvia could proposition him. He was happily married with twin teenage daughters, and I didn’t imagine he had any desire to offer Sylvia a ride-along in any capacity.
He looked relieved when I made it to his side.
“Sorry,” I muttered, giving him a quick one-armed hug. I whispered in his ear, “Run while you still can.”
He was quick to take the hint.
“Sylvia!” I hissed, dragging Sylvia into a corner. “What are you doing here? You can’t just waltz into a police station unannounced for no reason!”
“I have a reason!” she said, giving each of my cheeks an air-kiss. “I went to your house first but you weren’t there, so I had coffee with your neighbor. She told me where I could find your hot cop. I figured I’d leave the paperwork with him.”
“What paperwork?”
“Randall called. He needs you and Nick to sign a preliminary offer letter, breaking down all the terms we agreed to at lunch yesterday. Once he has that, he can go back to the studio’s attorneys and have them draft the contract for the series.”
“I’m not ready to sign anything, Sylvia. I haven’t even had a chance to talk any of this over with Nick.”
“Don’t bother. I already filled him in. He’s got all the paperwork on his desk. You two can read it over and sign it together tonight. I’ll pick it up before I head back to New York. But right now, I’m going to see if one of these very attractive policemen would like to have lunch with me. I’m famished.” Her false lashes narrowed as she scoped out the handful of officers that remained in the bullpen. “Oh, my,” she said, smoothing down her dress. “Would you look at the size of the baton on that one?” She was like a jungle cat in a room of unsuspecting antelope, singling out her next meal. I needed to get her out of here before she pounced. I was pretty sure there were rules about hunting in this place.
“Have you tried the firefighters next door?”
“Firefighters?” she asked as I took her by the shoulders and steered her briskly down the hall.
“They’re in the building behind us. You can’t miss them. They have very big hoses.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind. “Color me intrigued,” she said as I shuttled her to the exit. “But don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. I want those papers signed and delivered to my hotel by tomorrow, or I’m coming to your house to pick them up.”
“Fine.”
Roddy’s rookie in training, Tyrese, saw us hustling toward the emergency exit and rushed to get the door for us. I whispered in his ear as he held it open for Sylvia. “Can you make sure she finds her way to the fire department?” He looked a little terrified as Sylvia grabbed him by his biceps and towed him outside with her.
I hurried back to the break room and spotted Georgia’s girlfriend, Sam, picking over a box of donuts.
“Where’s Nick?” I whispered.
Sam smirked. “Probably hiding at his desk.”
“They’re never going to let him live this down, are they?”
“Not a chance. Wade Coffey already ordered a life-size poster of Nick’s face on Channing Tatum’s body. He and Coletti are picking it up from the printshop in an hour. They told everyone to come back this afternoon for a rousing game of ‘Pin the Badge on the Hot Cop.’”
I winced. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Doubt it,” she said, taking the last jelly donut. “You can do no wrong in that man’s eyes. But,” she added, placing added emphasis on the but , “considering the morning he’s endured in the company of your agent, you might not want to go into his office empty-handed.” She passed me a Boston cream. “And maybe get him out of the station before Wade gets back from the printshop.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks, Sam.” I carried the donut back through the bustling station to Nick’s office. He shared the space with a few other detectives. When I poked my head in the door, they got up and filed past me one by one, suppressing mocking smiles on their way out. Nick was the only one who didn’t look amused.
I came in quietly and sat in the plastic chair beside his workstation. He glared at my sugary offering before reaching for it, the hard line of his mouth softening a little as he set it on his desk. A stack of files sat by his elbow. His laptop was open in front of him, and a single sheet of letterhead with a fancy Hollywood logo rested in the space between us. My name was printed below one of the signature lines. So was his.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea she was coming to the station.”
“But you knew about this.” He slid the contract toward me. I skimmed the bulleted line items of the agreement Sylvia had hashed out with Randall over lunch yesterday.
Finlay Donovan writing as Fiona Donahue (hereafter referenced as The Author), and Nicholas Anthony (hereafter referenced as The Consultant) have been made aware and agree that the source material will be adapted for a television series to be marketed and promoted as being inspired by true crimes.
Nicholas Anthony hereby agrees to consult on the script with the goal of lending authenticity to the project.
“You know I can’t sign this,” he said, his eyes still seething.
“I won’t ask you to. I tried to tell Sylvia but she didn’t want to hear it. You’ve met her now. You see how she is.”
Nick rubbed a hand down his face. “We talked about this, Finn. It’s not just that I can’t sign it. You shouldn’t sign it either.” He got up and shut the door, keeping his voice low. “Mike Tran is already trying to rope you into Steven’s case. You saw what he’s doing. He’s grasping at straws, trying to paint the picture that Steven murdered Gilford Dupree and you helped him cover it up. Joey thinks Mike is going to try to convince a judge that you and Steven were in this together. You know as well as I do that once you sign this form, Sylvia’s going to fire off a press release, just like she did before. Mike Tran’s going to see the news about your shiny new true crime TV deal and dig in his heels. You can’t afford that kind of attention.”
“I’m not going to sign it,” I assured him. I’d just have to find some way to get that through to Sylvia. “I’ll make her take your name out of the offer. I’ll tell her I’ll only agree to the deal if it remains a work of fiction.”
Nick took the arm of my chair and slid it gently toward his until our knees were touching. He cupped my face in his hand. “I’m not trying to create obstacles for you. I know how much this deal means to you. I just want you to be smart about it.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “And you know you can ask me anything you want. I’ll consult with you in private,” he said, placing a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth, “gratis, any hour, day or night. No producers,” he said, pressing a kiss to the other side. “And definitely no agents,” he said, kissing me full on the mouth.
I smiled. “Where do I sign?”
He stole a last searing kiss. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll be in touch to discuss the conditions of my offer.”
“Sure you don’t want to discuss it now? I might have a few conditions of my own.”
He grinned as he caught my lower lip between his teeth. Apparently he’d found his appetite, and it wasn’t for donuts. “You should go before I feel a need to lock that door,” he said in a rumbling voice I could feel down to my toes. “I’ve got a lot to do if I’m going to get out of here at a reasonable hour tonight.”
“Sounds important. What are you working on?”
“I’m checking into Brendan and Owen Haggerty.”
I pushed my chair back so I wouldn’t be distracted by the hungry way he was still looking at my mouth. “Did you find anything?”
“Brendan called his office on Friday night. He left a message saying he was taking a week of personal leave and would be offline for a few days. That’s probably why Mike Tran wasn’t surprised when you told him Brendan wasn’t returning your calls. He’s either taking some time off or he’s done a good job of covering his bases. I’m inclined to think the former.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Brendan was at UVA getting his master’s degree in public policy when Gilford Dupree went missing.”
“So? Charlottesville is only two hours away,” I argued.
“I’m not discounting anything. I’m just telling you what I found.” Nick didn’t have to say he wasn’t considering Brendan a likely suspect. It was written all over his face.
“What about Owen?”
“I’m still working on that. Mike doesn’t have much on him besides his medical records. Owen’s health had been deteriorating for a few years before he died.”
“Did you uncover anything about the letter we found?”
Nick’s hand rasped against the stubble on his jaw. “Without a date, it’s hard to know what it was about. He could have been apologizing for anything. We have nothing to suggest he was referring to anything illegal. For all we know, it could have been a simple argument between him and his wife.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a finger. “But I’m looking into it. I promise.” He took my hand and kissed my palm, sparking a flare of warmth that shot to dangerous places. “You going to be home later?”
“I promised Mrs. Haggerty I would drive her to her book club meeting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t returned her husband’s gun to her yet. I could come over after work and take my chances on the couch.”
I laughed. “Find Brendan so I can get Mrs. Haggerty out of my house. When she’s gone, I’ll leave you a key.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Those are the conditions of my offer.”
“Throw in that red negligée I saw in your drawer and it’s a deal.”
“Solve the case, and we’ll discuss it,” I said coyly.
“Finn,” he said softly as I stood to go. “I’m not sure there’s anything left to solve here. You heard what Penny said—the things she knew about Steven. You saw the receipt for the mulch. I just want you to be prepared for the possibility that we might not find another suspect.” He didn’t bother saying the rest. That Steven might be guilty. That he might have had an affair with Penny. And if so, the only thing Nick could do for me was try to keep me out of Mike Tran’s sights.
I took Sylvia’s contract and his donut, and I showed myself out.