Three
THREE
T hat night, after I got out of the shower, I was standing at the window, staring at the city lights from my one-bedroom apartment in the Loop, near Grant Park, and thinking how pretty everything was. Even better, seeing as I was without my cockblock of a best friend that evening, it might be a great time to get lucky.
The issue was, whenever I would meet a man and they would seemingly be interested—I wasn’t Frankenstein’s monster, after all, though some guys were into that—somehow or other, when I leaned in to drop a line on them, coupled with my accent, that was when my favorite person on the planet showed up.
The last time we were out playing pool, a couple of weeks ago, a guy came over, very handsome, nicely built, with glasses—I had a thing for glasses—and put a hand on the middle of my back and asked if I would like to play with him. His meaning was clear, his body language even more so, and I took a step closer and…bam. There was Lang. Arm draped over my shoulder, not so much visiting my space as living there, not even a hairsbreadth of daylight between us.
“Who’s your friend?” Lang asked happily, smiling like he did with the killer dimples. And of course the guy mapped his broad shoulders, the six-pack abs clearly visible with how tight his T-shirt was, the wide, perfectly sculpted chest, and his long-ass muscular legs that his vintage jeans were molded to. The flawless sepia skin with the bronze undertones was overkill, and the long-lashed deep brown eyes flashed whenever he was happy, which he was at that moment. He’d annihilated all comers at eight-ball, and since he loved to win, he was riding high.
What made it even worse was that he had a beer for me and a beer for him in his hand, and I was not surprised when the guy looked Lang over and turned tail and walked away.
I did a slow pan to him.
“What?”
“I was tryin’ to hit that,” I told him.
“Eww,” Talia said, walking up beside me. “We don’t say hit that , thus dehumanizing the very handsome man who ran out of here as though he thought you had the plague.”
I groaned loudly, leaving them both to return to my stool in the corner.
“I was just being friendly,” Lang said, rubbing his hand over his short hair. He had the fade touched up earlier, and I was wondering if he’d showered after.
“You keep doin’ that. Are you itchy?”
He started rolling his shoulders then, quickly, and there was more squirming.
“What’s wrong with you?” Talia asked, looking him over. “Do you have cooties?”
“I didn’t shower after my haircut.”
“Are there little hairs all over your back?”
“Now there are,” he snapped but grinned because we’d done shots at the bar before we started playing, and that, coupled with the beers and no food, meant he wasn’t wasted, but he could not have stopped smiling if his life depended on it.
We ended up leaving his little sister with her friends, and going to his condo in River North. He took a shower, and then he wanted pizza, so we ordered in because by then it was late. I slept on his couch. He was fine with me being there, but we both had the same rule about having strangers in our places after midnight because then they might want to sleep over. Neither of us could fall asleep with a guest in our home. We knew too many stories, had seen too many crime scenes to ever be comfortable with that.
Sharpe, one of the guys we worked with, had someone different every night and was sneaking out in the wee hours, doing the walk of shame. I had no idea how he had that kind of stamina or how he got any rest that way. But he too never slept over. It was too dicey.
A week ago, I had picked up a guy at a bar where I was drinking with Bon, Cher, Cho, and Lopez, and they all gave Lang shit when that guy bolted for the door because of him. Lang had shown up in a suit, with his fancy cuff links on, not his everyday ones, looking like he walked off the cover of a magazine, with an extra ticket for a play at the Steppenwolf.
“You’re killing the vibe, man,” Lopez told him.
“What vibe?”
“His game,” Cher pointed out. “He had one on the line.”
“He is trying to take someone home,” Bon asserted. “He has several prospects. There are a lot of handsome men hovering around.”
Nice of Bon, who was straight, to notice I was being checked out.
“You can be my wingman,” I told Bon.
“I would be far better than this one,” he said, indicating Lang.
“Where are these guys?” Lang asked, and really, I didn’t see them either, but Bon was excellent at surveillance, so if he vouched for my prospects, they had to be there.
“I am not goin’ to see a play like this,” I stated firmly, back to the subject at hand, gesturing at my very tight jeans showing off all my assets and the T-shirt that told everyone it was cold in the sports bar.
“No, I know. I stopped at your place and got you clothes and shoes.”
Of course he had, he was thorough like that, and he had keys to my apartment because who else was I going to give them to?
I stared at him, he waited with crossed arms, and like always, I gave in and we went and saw a play. And I loved it, and we had dinner after and drinks and finally dessert in Chinatown.
The following Monday at work, Lopez wanted to know why my partner didn’t want me to get laid.
“He’s oblivious when I’m on the prowl,” I said dramatically, elongating the words for her, making my hands into claws for emphasis.
“Oh dear God, you’re both freaks. You deserve each other.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She was done talking and left me watching her walk away.
“Why is Lopez talking to herself?” Lang asked when he reached me, having passed her in the hall.
“I have no idea.”
Lang, in contrast to me, did not have trouble picking people up, so much so that at various times, we would be walking through a Jewel or a Safeway, and suddenly I would be yanked down behind the apples in the produce section, shoved down the frozen-food aisle, or have his groceries pushed at me before he bolted from the store. Moments later would come the text, the list of what else he needed.
I would call then. “Who did you see?”
“My optometrist’s assistant.”
“You realize you’ll have to see that woman again when you go back to get your eyes checked, right?”
“In like, two years. It’s every two years, buddy. Why would I need to go before that?”
There were small things, ridiculous things, that made a date a one-and-done for him. Issues that, I had to agree with his sister, seemed more like excuses than anything else.
“What was wrong with the reporter?” Talia asked him over dinner at Bacchanalia. She was having fettuccini Alfredo, and I was having lasagna. He was enjoying sausage and peppers, his favorite.
“Oh wait,” I ordered him, swallowing a bite of lasagna and taking a sip of my sangiovese that Lang had ordered for me that I really liked. “Okay, g’head, tell her.”
“What?” he snapped at me. “She had really symmetrical features. There was nothing interesting about her face at all.”
When Talia turned to me, I nearly choked on my spit. “See, this is why I had to make sure I wasn’t drinkin’ nothin’.”
“She has symmetrical features?” she repeated irritably. “You know that’s one of the internationally accepted signs of beauty, right?”
He grimaced.
“And the nice lady who teaches third grade?”
“She laughed weird.”
Again, she turned to me.
“Listen,” I began, “none of this is my fault. So don’t be lookin’ at me like I’m supposed to be his moral compass over here.”
Her groan was loud before she went back to glaring at her brother. “What about my friend Darcy?”
“Who?”
“She works at Sutter with me? We’re both in acquisitions. Is this ringing any bells?”
“Is she tall?”
I had no idea why she kept glancing over at me like him not remembering who in the city of Chicago he had or hadn’t dated was my fault. “This has nothin’ to do with me,” I repeated defensively. “Why am I in trouble?”
“You’re supposed to be a good influence on him.”
“Absolutely not,” I declared.
“Did you even call Darcy?” she asked him pointedly.
He looked to me for help.
“She’s the blonde,” I reminded him. “You went for Thai, and she wanted the two of you to share entrées.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, drawing the words out and looking utterly appalled. He turned to his sister. “Listen to this. We’re ordering, and she says she wants to try more things on the menu, so could I order my chicken pad thai medium instead of Thai hot.”
She squinted at him. “And?”
“What do you mean and ? That’s insane.”
“Why is that insane?”
“He can’t just change his order to medium at his regular Thai place,” I explained to her.
“One time? He can’t order it medium one time?”
“Are you kidding?” Lang was horrified. “Do you know how long it took me to get the chef there to trust that I would eat it how he made it and never send it back? We have an understanding that took years to build from back when I was a homicide detective.”
“You’re being?—”
“He tries to burn my tongue off, and I say bring it on.”
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore, but tell me why you know all about this,” she asked me.
“First, I eat with him at the Thai Garden, and second, I get the play-by-play after the dates, and sometimes when they end before the food gets ordered, like with the…” I glanced at him. “The diamond lady.”
“The diamond broker ,” he corrected me.
“Yeah, the diamond broker,” I said, my focus back on Talia. “She didn’t make it through drinks because they went for Mexican, and when the chips and salsa came out, she told him he shouldn’t eat any because chips are merely empty carbs.”
“Which they are,” she affirmed.
I gestured at Lang. “Yeah, but look at him. It’s not like he’s gotta worry about that.”
“Yeah, look at me. I can eat whatever the hell I want. That’s what the gym is for.”
“Oh God,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I like taking Del to the Mexican restaurant better anyway. He speaks to the owner in Spanish, and they always bring us the hot guacamole that’s loaded with jalape?os.”
“You’re never going to have another girlfriend,” Talia promised her brother.
“I’ve had plenty.”
“That last a month, month and a half, tops.”
“I have a very demanding job.”
“You have a job you let get in the way.”
“Hello,” he barked at me. “You have anything to add?”
“No. Do not drag me into conversations about your love life. I refuse.”
He let his head fall back in defeat.
“Mom said she met a girl you were out with when she saw you over at Turquoise, that yummy Mediterranean restaurant, and she was nice.”
“Who was that?” he asked me, like I should have been keeping track.
“I don’t know all of ’em.”
“Yes, you do. You always do.”
And sadly, I did, but not for the reason he thought. I kept a list of his romantic failures because I loved that no one stuck. I didn’t want him to find anyone special because, even though the man was straight as an arrow, I was helplessly hoping that one of these days he’d suddenly be caught up staring at me and say, “Oh, Del, it was you all along.”
Yes, it was stupid. And sad. But no man I’d ever hooked up with, not even the hottest, most beautiful ones, could hold a candle to my partner. The smile and the way he moved, like he was boneless, all liquid, sensual heat, and how he held me when I got lost in my head, and how nothing I ever did went unnoticed…it was all a bit too much not to yearn for in my secret heart. It was possibly, probably, more than likely, a doomed desire, but my heart was incorrigible where he was concerned, and its sole purpose seemed to be beating for Langston Ross. It began the day he ran after me in the rain, and I couldn’t imagine it ever changing.
“Well?” he pressed me.
“The flight attendant from when we flew that lovely witness to Baltimore,” I told him. “She chatted you up on the return trip.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, smiling, then to his sister, “It turned out I’d dated her roommate, so really, that one never stood a chance.”
“My brain is going to explode,” Talia announced.
“We went back to her place after dinner, and her roommate was there, and she thought I had come by to talk or apologize for blowing her off, and…it was a mess.”
“She threw a plant at him,” I chimed in. “It’s the pothos in your mother’s kitchen. He carried it home and repotted it.”
She looked from Lang to me, then back to Lang. “One of these days you’re going to want someone desperately, and you better hope all this karma doesn’t come back to haunt you.”
“What karma?” He shook his head at her. “Everyone knows from the start that I am not looking for anything serious. I simply want to have fun.”
“But the problem is you’re very charming, not horrible-looking?—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He was gorgeous, no debate there. Everyone clocked him, men, women—it was impossible not to. The man could light up a room with his smile and his laugh. And yes, I had it bad, but it was the truth.
“And they want to keep you,” Talia continued. “I can’t tell you how many calls I’ve gotten over the years from women you’ve dated.”
I grunted.
“See? Del’s only known you for six months, and he gets calls too.”
“I do get the calls,” I agreed with her.
She shot Lang a very judgmental look.
“Well, I’m sorry to both of you, but really, it’s your own fault.”
“How is it our fault?” Her voice was rising.
“Don’t give out your numbers. That’ll solve the problem.”
“Maybe you should stop your serial dating until you figure out what you really want,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “No. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“I give up,” she told me instead of him.
“It’s probably for the best,” I concurred.
I was chuckling as I changed my clothes, thinking about Talia giving her brother crap, when my phone rang and it was her.
“That’s weird,” I told her.
“What’s weird?”
“I was just now thinkin’ ’bout ya.”
“Yeah?” And I heard it then, the slight tremble in her voice.
“Why’re you callin’ me?”
“I can’t call? I’m what, one of Lang’s exes?”
“That’s not what I—where are you?”
“I’m…at a party downtown, near your apartment.”
“Okay.”
“Are you home?”
“I am.”
“But Lang’s not with you, right?”
“No, he’s on that double date with Malik, remember?”
Deep sigh of relief. “That’s right, that’s right. Good.”
“Why is it good?”
“Because you won’t make this as big a deal as he will, and I don’t want to hear that I’m an idiot right now. All I need is some help.”
I could feel the chill slither down my spine. “Why do you need help?”
“Or maybe it’s fine. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”
“You’re not paranoid.”
“Not normally, no.”
“Where are you?” I repeated.
“I think maybe… See, I went to the bathroom, and when I got back, this guy, Quentin—it’s his party I’m at, and he has this great penthouse?—”
“When you got back,” I prompted softly. “Finish your thought.”
“Yeah, so when I got back, he handed me an amaretto sour, and you know how much I love those, but normally one, or even two, don’t do anything at all.”
My gut clenched.
“But somehow, I’m really feeling this one. I was going to ask Darcy to take me home, but she left, and I don’t know why she…”
I waited for her to continue.
“We were supposed to go to dinner after this because it was going to be just a quick stop in to say hello to Mr. Al—sorry, Quentin. I’m still wrapping my head around him telling me to use his first name—but see, he’s in from New York to oversee a sale, and I…Del, I don’t feel like myself and that’s so strange.”
She was rambling, which was unlike her. “Where’s his place?”
“By Millennium Park.”
“You got an address you can send me?”
“Oh yes,” she chirped happily. “We all got a text invite.”
“And you’re doin’ what right now?”
“Well, I guess because I was a bit wobbly, Mr. Al— Quentin —walked me to the game room, and now I’m sitting in here with him and a few of his friends.”
A terrible thought occurred to me, but I was naturally suspicious. “Any women in there?”
“No, and I—I mean, I’m not stupid, but Quentin and I, we work for the same company, but I don’t feel like myself and?—”
“I’m comin’,” I told her, “but I think I’m gonna go on and send CPD ahead of me, so?—”
“No. Ohmygod no. I will die of embarrassment, and what would Quentin think of me for even insinuating that he?—”
“Fine, then do me a favor and make barfy noises, get your ass back to the bathroom, and lock the door.”
“The room is spinning a bit.”
“Do it now. Right now and keep me on the phone.”
Her pretend-vomit noises were pretty convincing, and I heard voices that sounded worried, probably about the carpet, and then everything was muffled, and when she spoke to me again, she sounded like she was in an echo chamber.
“How big is that bathroom?” I asked, stepping into a pair of Converse sneakers, grabbing my keys, and going out the front door.
“It’s huge in here. Would it be bad if I lie down in the tub? I’m really dizzy, and my face feels hot.”
“You can sit down on the toilet and wait for me. Do not open that door for anyone, you understand? I don’t care who’s outside.”
She made a noise of agreement.
After checking the address she’d texted me, I realized I was even closer than I thought, about three minutes tops by car. I could have taken a cab, but my adrenaline was pumping at that point, and I knew I needed to get there. Plus, with Chicago traffic on a Friday night, merely a bit after eight, I was better off running.
For the second time that day, I flew down the city blocks, my feet eating up the pavement. This time, though it was still very hot and sticky outside, I was in shorts and a T-shirt, and that, along with my sneakers, made it much easier.
Once I reached the lavish, secure building, the guard at the desk stood up to say something to me, but I flashed my badge and told him I was there to get a friend.
“No worries, Marshal,” he said kindly and walked me quickly to the elevator, using a card to get the doors open for me.
“Do I need that to get to the penthouse?”
“You certainly do,” he confirmed and passed me the card. “Do you want me to call up to the penthouse for you? There’s two of them. I can let either know that you’re on your way.”
Hard to know what would be best. Tell them I was coming or not. I decided on not. “No, that’s okay. But thank you.”
He nodded. “If you’re going to the northwest penthouse—that’s penthouse number two—Mr. Alcott is having a party, so the front door will probably be open.”
“Great. I appreciate the help.”
The elevator whooshed me up, and just as the guard said, the penthouse door was open.
Inside, the place was packed. A bartender was working behind a well-stocked bar, and several servers walked through the crowd. I was completely underdressed, as the men were all in suits and the women in everything from long and short dresses to pantsuits, looking ready to hit the town. I stood out, and some people probably thought I was crashing, but I was too busy looking for the bathroom.
The first one was empty, and the second one, farther back, was occupied by several people doing coke. As a rule, drugs didn’t concern me unless minors were involved, and they were all of age. I didn’t really get the man in the bathroom—he looked to be in his late fifties, and the three women with him were all in their midtwenties—but that was not my business.
Down a long hall, there were double doors, and through that, I heard the sound of pool balls clinking and knew I was close.
“Where’s the girl, Quent?” someone asked.
“I think she might be having an allergic reaction to the drug,” came the answer. “I’m going to give it another couple of minutes, and then I’ll use my key to open the door. If she’s sick or passed out, we need to move her. If not…” There was laughing then.
Turning, I almost plowed into a young woman who’d apparently come up behind me.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are we being quiet?”
She looked younger than some of the other women, but just as well dressed. Her black dress had some shimmer to it, and I respected how well she was walking in her very high heels. Her long, thick brown hair was pulled up into a simple ponytail.
“I’m lookin’ for the bathroom,” I told her. “My friend was feelin’ a little queasy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she rushed out and turned to point. “I think it’s right there. I was looking for someone, and one of the servers said there was a bathroom back here, so I was checking to see if that’s where she was.”
“Great,” I said, and followed her directions, crossing the hall to the door on the left. She was right behind me, and when I tried the knob, it was locked. “Talia?” I called loudly then, not caring who heard me. “Honey, it’s Del.”
Nothing.
I knocked loudly.
“Excuse me,” a man said behind me. Same voice I’d heard earlier, whom another man had called Quent—so this must be Quentin Alcott, then. I turned my head slowly. “I think it’s occupied,” he stated.
“Yeah,” the young woman acknowledged. “By his friend who might be sick in there or passed out. I think he’s going to need to put his shoulder into it.”
“Oh no, I have a key. I’ll get it. I can check on her.”
Before I could say anything, she said, “Yeah, no. Give me the key and I’ll go in. There’s a woman in there who may or may not require assistance.”
Funny to see a man who had to be in his early forties stand there and stare at the young woman and not say anything. The word creepy came to mind.
“Would you please get us the key?”
“Oh, yes,” he said and pulled it from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“Strange place to have that,” she remarked, and her glare was unmistakable as she moved before he could, darting over to snatch the key from his hand and then returning to my side and passing it to me.
“Thank you,” I told her.
She nodded as I unlocked the door.
Inside, there was no Talia anywhere, and I had a sudden pang of fear before my new friend bolted across the floor—again, impressive in those strappy stiletto sandals—and opened a door to reveal Talia sitting on the toilet with a washcloth over her face.
“Jesus, T,” I greeted her, relief and happiness rolling through me.
She moved the washcloth and looked up at me. “I threw up, but I feel so much better. I’m not dizzy anymore, and I’m good to go.”
I nodded.
“And may I say, this situation right here, is why I always carry a travel toothbrush and toothpaste with me wherever I go.”
“The compact one that folds in half?” My new friend asked.
“Yes,” Talia said, seemingly amazed, smiling at her. “You too?”
“Always,” she affirmed. “Plus I have floss picks. I mean you never know when you’ll eat too much garlic or be served corn on the cob.”
“Exactly right.” Talia smiled at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m Hannah,” she said kindly, offering Talia her hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Your friend was really worried.”
She nodded. “I know. He worries just like my brother, and speaking of, he will never know about this,” Talia stressed to me.
“I’m Del,” I said, introducing myself to Hannah. “Sorry I’m late with that.”
“Not at all. You were worried about her. I get it.” She turned back to Talia. “What exactly happened to you?”
As I helped her up and we walked together across the cavernous bathroom, Talia explained about the drink and how amaretto didn’t normally make her dizzy or sick.
Hannah seemed to be considering that. “So what’re you thinking?”
“That this is about to be a whole mess for me,” she groaned. “I love my job and don’t want to lose it, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Alcott put something in my drink, and I can’t have this happen to anyone else.”
“I think that’s awesome,” Hannah told her.
“I certainly don’t feel awesome, but in gross news, I am hungry.”
Hannah was chuckling as we stepped out into the hall.
“Mr. Alcott,” Talia said when she saw him. “You asked me to call you Quentin, so…what did you put in my drink, Quentin?”
He appeared taken aback. “I’m sorry?”
“My drink,” she repeated. “I’m not a child. I know my limit where alcohol is concerned, and one isn’t it. So I’m asking you again: what did you give me?”
“I would never do such a thing,” he snapped at her. “And it’s impertinent of you to even suggest something like that. You must have had more drinks than you remember.”
“No, sir,” Talia said, her voice hard. “You know what you did.”
“I’m going to file a complaint with HR if you persist in?—”
“Or not,” Hannah clipped her words before turning to Talia. “Where’s the drink you had?”
Talia pointed to the next door down. “In the game room.”
Hannah moved quickly, returning moments later with a nearly empty glass she was holding in a napkin in her right hand. In her left was her phone. Where her phone had been, I had no idea, but now she was using it to take video. “Is this it? It certainly smells sweet like amaretto.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Great,” Hannah replied, enunciating the word, and then moved the phone from filming Talia’s answer, back to her. “So this video serves as chain of custody. This glass was on the end table where you saw me pick it up, and now it’s in my hand. And we can even see that it’s the same glass because there’s a teeny chip on the rim here—let me zoom in—and I showed you the very same chip just a moment ago.” She then smiled big and ended the video, moving back across the hall to stand beside Talia. “Okay, so we’ll get this glass tested and see precisely what’s in here besides amaretto.”
“Can you do that?” Talia asked me.
“Of course I can.”
“Thank you,” she said to me and then turned to Hannah. “And thank you.”
Hannah leaned in close and whispered to Talia, “Sadly, this won’t work for actual chain of custody, as you don’t know if Alcott roofied your drink or had the bartender do it, right?”
Talia nodded.
“But either way won’t matter where his job is concerned, only with criminal charges.”
“I appreciate you. That was smart thinking, getting the glass.”
“You would have thought of it too if whatever is in this glass didn’t make you barf.”
“There’s nothing in there,” Alcott announced, crossing the hall then and reaching for the glass.
Hannah deftly moved her arm, like she was playing keep away, then stepped around Talia and behind me.
“Listen, little girl, I don’t know who you think you are,” he said, trying to intimidate Hannah, “but those glasses belong to the catering company, and I can’t have them?—”
“ Not a little girl,” Hannah corrected him. “And that was offensive.”
He made a move to grab her arm.
“Step back,” I ordered loudly, meeting his gaze. “I’m a federal marshal. You don’t want to touch me or either of these women.”
“You’re in my house and?—”
“You’re a marshal?” Hannah asked, and her excited, happy tone made no sense.
“I am.”
“That’s wonderful,” she declared, then turned to Alcott. “I’m Hannah Kage, Aaron Sutter’s goddaughter. You work for him, right?”
Me being a marshal didn’t have much of an effect on Quentin Alcott. The revelation that I was in law enforcement brought no change in his demeanor. However, Hannah announcing she was near and dear to the billionaire real estate mogul, that bit of news drained all the color from his face. I had never seen anything like that in my life.
“Suddenly the barfing doesn’t seem that bad,” Talia said with a deep sigh, turning her back to Alcott and facing Hannah.
Hannah passed me the glass and took both of Talia’s hands. “It’s not my favorite thing, but I always do feel better and get hungry after I barf as well.”
They both had a good laugh, and I looked at Alcott.
“Hannah’s godfather is a big deal, but just as importantly, her father is the chief deputy of the Northern District of Illinois,” I informed Alcott. “He will make certain to get this glass and its contents to the appropriate people at the Chicago Police Department. I’m certain a full-scale investigation will be underway shortly.”
That was a lie because, as Hannah said, proving who drugged the drink would be impossible unless there was camera footage. And maybe there was. Maybe Alcott had his whole penthouse wired, but that would take subpoenas and warrants to get possession of, and by the time those were served, the man was likely smart enough to have erased any incriminating evidence. But leaving him with that fear, causing him to immediately have to call his lawyer, that would be good enough until he faced other repercussions for his actions, like whatever it was Hannah seemed to have planned.
“I don’t know what you’re talk?—”
“Yes, you do,” I said coolly. “We both know precisely what you did and what you had planned. I overheard you in the hall.”
His eyes went wide, which was fun, and with that, I walked Talia and Hannah out to the main area. Once there, Hannah collected her boyfriend, Jake, whom she introduced us to, and the four of us headed out of the penthouse to the elevator.
“Why were you at the party?” Talia asked her.
“I was supposed to meet Darcy something—sorry, I don’t remember her last name—about purchasing the property for the animal shelters we’re going to build. I needed a point person in acquisitions.”
“I’m your person,” Talia told her. “Darcy bailed on both of us.”
“Too bad for her,” Hannah said. “May I come by and see you Monday afternoon?”
“How does three sound?”
“Perfect,” Hannah told her. “I’m out of class by then.”
“Oh? Where do you go to school? What are you studying?”
They had a nice talk all the way down the elevator, and I had a moment to think that my boss must be a pretty good man to raise a kid like Hannah.
After I returned the elevator card to the security guard and thanked him for his help, I joined the others, who were all standing outside the building. I was surprised when Hannah took hold of Talia’s hand.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“On Monday when we meet, would it be all right if we went to talk to Uncle Aaron first?”
Talia’s breath caught. “To discuss all this with him?”
Hannah nodded.
“That would be great.”
They hugged then, and as always, I was impressed with how women seemed to instinctively come to one another’s aid. It seemed engrained in them.
Once we were alone, just me and Talia, she suddenly dissolved into tears. Hugging her tight, I told her everything would be fine.
“I like how once you barfed up whatever was in your system, you were not about to let Alcott off the hook.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking before, but when my head was over the bowl and I saw my lunch again, it became crystal clear that he had slipped something into my drink.”
“And that’s when you got mad,” I concluded as we walked together toward the street to get a cab.
“Yes, it was.”
“You’re a badass,” I told her.
She waggled her eyebrows at me.
“I gotta call my boss, because we need to get this glass to the crime lab,” I told her. “I’ll feed ya after that.”
“Deal.”