Chapter 5 #2
Leslie spun the stir stick in her Cosmopolitan with her perfect long fingernail. “Frank thought I could help with any busywork you had with Brielle’s case,” she said to Callum. “Of course, I jumped at the chance. I was telling Frank how much I missed spending time with you.”
“I miss it, too.” Callum smiled, topping off his beer with what was left in the pitcher.
“Hey Callum, you got a limit.” Frank warned, eyeing the refilled glass.
“Remember you got to stay sharp. You’re looking after my baby, here.
” He took one last drag of his cigar and then stubbed it out in the ashtray.
“Listen people, I have some business of my own to conduct. If you will excuse me. I see an associate up at the bar.”
Tossing a twenty dollar bill at Brielle, he squeezed her shoulder on his way by. “Honey, why don’t you play some music while these two visit.”
“I think the entertainment is fine right here,” she said. “But, I’ll be there in a minute,” she corrected herself.
When he was a good distance away, she turned back to Leslie and Callum. They were now holding hands across the table and Leslie’s thumb caressed his fingers.
“You doing okay?” she asked him. “You look tired.”
“I’m okay,” he said simply, making no move to pull his hand from hers.
“How are the headaches?”
He shrugged. “Still there. No big deal.”
She studied the two of them, sure they were the oddest couple she could ever imagine. Opposites that had no business attracting each other. It occurred to her that people probably thought exactly the same about her and Geoffrey.
Leslie took a sip of her drink before turning toward her. “So your father hasn’t really said much about you. What are you going to do now? I mean now that you don’t have tennis.” Leslie cocked her head as if humoring a disgruntled child. “This must be a hard time for you.”
“She’s playing tennis again,” Callum corrected. “She’ll be back on tour in no time.”
“Really? That’s surprising,” Leslie laughed. “Not that I read the sports page or anything, but I heard your arm was too damaged for you to compete.”
“It’s my non-dominant hand so I’ve been learning to compensate.”
Brielle likened Leslie’s taunting to a well-placed drop shot in the middle of high-paced tennis match.
Her words hung there, begging to be slammed back in her face.
Fortunately, she was known for her incredible timing and strategy, and she liked to believe she was just as adept in a verbal showdown as any on the tennis court. The key was outsmarting the opponent.
Callum rubbed Brielle’s shoulder as he looked over at Leslie. “You should really see her play. I don’t know much about tennis, but I know enough to recognize an amazing athlete when I see one.”
“Well, at least you have a great career to look back on. You know, just in case.” Leslie shook her head in disgust. “It must be so hard for you, Brielle. Very tragic.”
And there it was, the ball looming in front of her waiting for a wallop. “I don’t know Leslie. I don’t think it’s any more tragic than your moustache.”
Winner.
Callum snagged the twenty from the table and held it up in front of her. “What happened to the music? I thought you were in charge of that.”
Brielle pushed herself up from the chair and snagged the money from his hand. “I’ll be at the bar, if anyone needs me,” she paused, then added, “and if I don’t see you again, Leslie, have a safe broom ride home.” She tucked the bill into her cleavage because she thought it was a cool thing to do.
A fist pump would have been too obvious.
“Well, isn’t she a little tart,” Leslie declared. “I’m beginning to understand why you were so distracted the other night at the hotel.”
“I’m not distracted.” Callum and every other man in the room watched as Brielle squeezed her way through the crowd. “And I told you before that she’s not a snob. Was it necessary to provoke her just now?”
She shrugged. “Probably not, but I think Frank’s worried about the two of you.”
He turned back to Leslie, lowering his voice as he leaned across the table. “Why would he be worried? I’ve got this case completely under control.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, a devious smile on her face. “There is a lot of down time in twenty-four hours, and no one knows better than me how you like to stay occupied.”
“He doesn’t suspect anything about you, does he?”
“I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if he did.
” She touched the rim of her glass with her finger.
“I actually think him knowing I’m with the FBI works in our favor.
I’ve got him thinking I’m the queen of insider trading.
He trusts me for now, and as far as I can tell, he’s coming around to you, too. ”
“Only took three years,” Callum said. “By the way, I see Diggs and Barker at the bar. Two hours from the Tampa field office seems a long way to come for a beer.”
“You know how they love to get out from behind their desks.”
“They’re checking in on me.”
“They’re backing you up,” she corrected. “Who knows what could happen on a night out with Frank.”
She was right.
“You’ve done a great job so far,” she said. “You made a heartless cretin feel sorry for you. I think he actually feels bad he ended your career.”
“Not as bad as I feel.” He finished the rest of his beer in one gulp. There was something about talking of his former life that begged him to pickle himself in alcohol.
But his misery was what inspired him to reach his other goals. He’d finished school, worked hard, and five years later, became one of the most respected consultants on organized crime in the country. Some orders had come from the White House itself.
Now his sights were square on Big Frank. “Thank you for going out on a limb for me.”
“You think Brielle knows more than she’s saying?”
Callum followed Leslie’s gaze across the bar to where Brielle stood next to her father. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I can’t see why she would want to hurt herself.”
“Maybe if she was pushed pretty hard,” Leslie suggested. ”If anyone would understand that, I would think it would be you.”
“True. But why would she defend him?”
“Well, he is her father, or maybe she’s afraid not to.”
He watched a man walk by Brielle at the dartboard, obviously distracted by her plunging neckline. He tripped over himself, dropping a pitcher of beer to her feet.
“She certainly has a way with men,” Leslie said.
“She’s smarter than you think she is,” he corrected. “She’s tough and she’s hard to get close to, but I think I’ve got a pretty good read on her.”
“Should I be surprised?” Under the table, she placed her hand on his thigh. “If Brielle is in cahoots with her father somehow, you’d be the one to charm it out of her.”
He appreciated the compliment. It was moments like this that made him think maybe their sexual encounters were based on a little more than convenience. He reached across and took Leslie’s hand. “Thanks, for everything. You’re a real friend.”
“Well, I might be your best friend when I show you this.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket and it slid to him under the table.
“When you told me to look into Geoffrey Martin, we took it upon ourselves to look into his correspondence. There were a series of emails sent back and forth between him and a Jason Lutz at Sports Illustrated. Turns out that S.I. wanted Brielle for a shoot in Bermuda and Geoffrey was the one who convinced them to use another girl, Nila Norcova.”
“Really?” he said. “Aren’t you efficient.”
“You aren’t the only one who is good at their job.” She lifted her wine glass to her mouth. “Could that be important?”
“Maybe.” He looked over his shoulder before folding the envelope and jamming it in his pants pocket. “You and Diggs keep working on the fan mail angle and we can arrange to meet if something’s pressing.”
“Oh, I could think of a few things already.” She rubbed the back of his hand with her finger. “What about Sunday night? My place? I figure by then you could use a little R and R. But maybe you’re thinking you have other plans.”
At his hesitation, Callum saw disappointment register on her face.
The same as the other night. It was obvious now Leslie wanted more but it wasn’t like he had much to give her.
He took a long gulp from his mug then set it down.
“Les, you know if sleeping with her somehow furthers the case, I’ll do it. ”
“You mean to gain her trust.”
“Sometimes that’s the only way.”
“Fine. Drop it. I’m sorry I even brought it up.” She pulled her hand from his grip before finishing what was left in her glass. “Stay safe and remember, I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Thank you. And you give me the yellow flag if you see him coming after me.”
“And for now, we operate under the assumption Frank is responsible for Brielle’s attack, and everyone is in on it including your little charge. Got it?”
“Excuse me? Are you Callum Harrison?”
Callum turned and was startled by a tall, blonde woman with a Pennzoil t-shirt and an incredible pair of fake breasts. “That’s me,” he said to her cleavage.
“I knew I was right,” she squealed, jumping up and down and almost knocking Callum across the room. “I’m a huge fan. Will you sign me?” Handing him a red Sharpie, she leaned over in front of him and exposed her left breast.
In a lame attempt to advert his eyes, he stared over the woman’s shoulder.
A group of men were leaving.
The last one out had his sleeve rolled up and a tattoo on his bicep caught Callum’s eye. The color scheme was slightly lighter, but the design was unmistakably the blonde angel. The same image he had found on the envelopes sent to Brielle.
What the fuck?
He jumped up from his chair, but the blonde blocked his way. He sidestepped her, not rough but not gentle either. By the time he shoved through the door into the humid night air, the parking lot was already in motion. A brown sedan peeled out, tires spitting gravel.
Callum broke into a run. His boots pounded across asphalt, lungs burning as he chased the receding glow of taillights. The engine roared, the car fishtailed once, then straightened.
Gone.
He slowed to a stop at the edge of the lot, chest rising and falling hard, jaw clenched as the darkness swallowed any trace of it.
Damn it.
“Hey, what the hell is going on?”
Brielle’s voice cut through the night as she jogged up behind him, slightly out of breath, confusion written all over her face. “Why did you run out of there so quickly?”
Callum dragged a hand down his face, forcing his mind back into order. “That guy,” he said, still watching the empty road, “had a tattoo on his arm.”
Brielle frowned. “Okay…?”
“It looked like the markings on the envelopes you’ve been getting.” His gaze shifted to her. “Same style. Same lines.”
The color drained slightly from her face.
“You think it’s him?”
“I think,” Callum said carefully, already replaying every second in his head, “it’s the first real lead we’ve had.”
“Excuse me, can we help you?”
Callum looked up at the familiar voice. “Who are you?” Callum asked, playing his cover.
“I’m Earl Diggs with the Bonita Springs PD. I overheard your discussion. I’m familiar with your case, Miss Riley. I’m off duty but I can call my guys.”
“That’s okay. I got this handled.” Callum extended his hand. “Callum Harrison, Miss Riley’s bodyguard. Good to meet you.”
“Did anyone talk to you or approach you in there?” Diggs asked Brielle. “See anyone suspicious?”
“No, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” Her gaze turned back to Callum. “I thought I was supposed to be relaxing.” She looked down the street, then back toward the bar. “I think I’d like to go home.”
Callum saw fear cloud her emerald eyes. “Hey, relax. Remember you can trust me.”
“Trust you?” She stared out at the empty road. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know who you are.”
She turned and walked toward the car, her shoulders tight, her steps quick.
“Hey, wait for me,” he called out.
He couldn’t blame her for being angry and confused.
Hell, so was he.