Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Idon’t do waiting very well,” Lovell said, back at the window, this time the morning light, cleared of the clouds from the day before, streaming through, spotlighting him as he stood with his cup of coffee.
“It’s seven in the morning in California. We probably won’t hear for a few hours. Do you want to go for a walk? Go to the gym? Something else?” Daphne asked.
He turned at the seductive humor in her voice. “Something else?”
“I didn’t bring any gym clothes. Didn’t think we’d be here for more than a night. And we walked practically the entire city yesterday.”
A slight exaggeration, but not much of one.
She rose from the bed, her pale yellow silk pajamas an enticing contrast to the rich color of her skin, and his body reacted to her lithe movements as she crossed the room.
They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms and slept that way through the night.
Now his body wanted hers, though. He wanted her.
But the powerful intimacy they’d shared had left him feeling raw.
Not in a bad way, but like a wound that’s healing.
As if his body, his mind, his heart, wasn’t quite whole, but was getting there.
And while their chemistry wasn’t in question, and the physical connection could be a balm, what he needed more was reassurance.
Reassurance that what they’d shared the night before wasn’t an aberration.
A new—very new—feeling for him.
She slid her arms around his waist, her skin soft and warm, and nestled into him. He draped an arm around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.
“What did you do when you were here before?” he asked. She rolled her head to look at him. “When you spent time here as a model, what did you like to do while you were here?”
“I mostly worked. Visited the agency, had fittings, went to photo shoots and runway shows. Then there were the industry parties and events.”
“Surely you had some time to yourself?” he pressed. Although back then, it had been the height of her modeling career, and people probably recognized her every time she went out. Having fans and paparazzi follow her everywhere wasn’t the best way to experience a city.
“The library,” she replied. He drew back enough to see her face.
“The library?”
A wistful smile touched her lips. “When I started modeling, I didn’t give much thought to the future. All I wanted to do was to make enough to survive. As my career took off, the money fears disappeared in an inverse proportion to the time I had to myself.”
“More money meant more gigs?”
She nodded against his shoulder. “It’s a weird thing. Not that you earn more money with more gigs, that’s common sense. But as you gain popularity, your gigs are higher-paying, too. You end up working more and making more money per engagement. You’d think you could slow down a bit.”
“But that’s not how popularity works,” he said, getting the picture.
She exhaled. “It doesn’t. In order to keep the high-paying gigs, I needed to stay relevant, which meant doing more work. My agents got more selective in what I did, but it didn’t slow down for a lot of years. Not until I intentionally started pulling away from the industry.”
“How does that relate to the library?”
“I spent a lot of time on planes back in those days, and one day, I found myself sitting next to a literary agent. We spent the entire flight from Paris to New York talking about books and the publishing world. In retrospect, I think she wanted to lay the groundwork for me to write an exposé of the modeling world, or an autobiography. But when we landed, she didn’t ask for my contact.
Instead, she handed me her card and two books by authors she represented—one a cozy mystery and the other a romantic suspense.
Both had been on bestseller lists in all the major papers. ” She paused, then huffed a laugh.
“I don’t think Joyce could have predicted what she unleashed that day,” Daphne continued.
“I devoured those books, rediscovering my love of reading and sparking possibilities. Modeling isn’t a lifetime career.
I needed something to move into when the time came.
And the more I read, the more I wanted to live in those worlds.
“Callie isn’t the only type-A person in the family, and I decided that if I was going to write, I needed to read everything I could get my hands on.”
“The libraries,” he said.
She nodded again. “Whenever I traveled, I could pop in and out of the local library without much fuss and could stay for as long or as little time as I had. Even libraries that don’t carry books in English held some treasure to discover—an old compendium of maps, or a collection of travel pictures. ”
“Now that your writing career is well-established, do you still go?”
Again, she nodded. “There’s a beautiful old library near my apartment. Now I mostly go because I like the way it feels. I like the weight of the millions of words surrounding me. But I do still check books out or thumb through the archives to the extent they’ll let me.”
“Should we go to the New York library?” Not a question he ever thought he’d ask, especially not of a beautiful half-naked woman wrapped around him.
But he wanted to share the experience with Daphne.
He wanted to see where she’d lead him, what she’d find delight in, what would catch her by surprise.
He wanted a glimpse into that side of her.
“You’re serious?” He nodded. “I haven’t been to the library here in ages. If you’re sure, if you don’t mind being away from the computer for a few hours, I would love to.”
He smiled. “Like you said, it will be a while before Ava and Callie have anything new for us.” He would have gone regardless; there was no reason to stay holed up in their hotel.
She dropped her arms, did a cute little jig, then darted to her bag. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
Three hours later, they returned, stopping in the hotel restaurant for a late lunch before heading to their room.
Despite the shit surrounding them, Lovell hadn’t smiled so much in he couldn’t remember how long.
They spent the first hour at the library darting from section to section as Daphne searched for the places and books that had been her favorites, then lingering when her eyes landed on something new.
After that, they’d each picked a few novels, taken a pair of comfortable seats, and settled in, occasionally sharing sentences they liked or a funny line or a poignant thought.
They’d just walked into their room when his phone dinged with a text. “Ava,” he said after glancing at his screen. “She wants to have another video call.”
“I’ll grab the laptop,” Daphne replied, already walking to the bag where she’d stored it the night before.
Five minutes later, they’d booted up the device and connected the call. Only they weren’t looking at Ava and Callie in an HICC office or conference room. Conrad Weeks, clearly sitting in an interrogation room, was the feature of today’s show.
Lovell glanced at Daphne, but she shrugged in confusion.
“Ava?” he said hesitantly, not sure of the audio situation.
“Here.” A small window popped up at the bottom of his screen showing her and Callie as she answered. “We’ll be able to watch the interrogation, but they can’t hear us,” she continued. “If he says anything that sparks a thought or question, let me know, and I’ll pass it on to Ryan and his team.”
“Is this legal?” Daphne asked.
“It is,” Callie replied. “We’ve cleared it.”
“We found a whole lot of interesting things about Weeks between last night and this morning. We’re hopeful we have enough to get him talking,” Ava said.
“And you think I can help?” Lovell asked as Ryan and one of his detectives entered the room. A third person followed, taking the seat beside Weeks.
“The lawyer?” he asked.
“Yes, a public defender. Good guy,” Ava replied. “Ryan will start questioning Weeks about your siblings. We think we have enough to convince him to turn on them, but if there’s anything you notice that might help, we want to take advantage of that,” Ava replied.
He didn’t see how, but he’d roll with it. He wanted a debrief on the intel the team had dug up, and this was as good a way as any.
“We’ll go on Mute unless we have something to contribute,” he said, before hitting the button silencing him and Daphne.
Through the computer, they heard Ryan start the interview, identifying the accused and noting the date and time.
“Do you know this man?” Ryan asked.
Both he and Daphne leaned forward to get a better look at the picture Ryan placed on the table. A black-and-white photo of Malcom Carter.
Weeks glanced at his lawyer, then shook his head.
“Really?” Ryan asked, setting another picture on the table. This one showed Weeks and Malcom standing by a car talking.
Weeks’s eyes dropped, then lifted again. “I talk to a lot of people in my job, I don’t remember all of them.”
Ryan set out a series of four more pictures.
In one, Weeks and Malcom were in a car together; in another, they were playing basketball on some unidentifiable court; in another, they were having lunch at what looked like a diner; and in the fourth, Weeks was clearly handing over some sort of drug.
Lovell wondered how they’d found the pictures, but figured between HICC and the FBI, it was above his pay grade.
“You’ve been getting paid by Sweet Dreams LLC regularly for the past two years, only in the last month, those payments increased threefold,” the detective said.
Weeks blinked. The first crack they’d seen.
“You don’t have to answer,” the lawyer interjected.
Weeks’s gaze dropped to the pictures again. “I do some construction work for them every now and then.”
“Over the last two years, payments have totaled two hundred grand. That’s more than occasional work,” Ryan said.
“What’s the relevance of this?” the lawyer asked, sounding like a man who knew the case he’d been assigned was about to go sideways.