26. Lose My Mind
LOSE MY MIND
Fletcher waited by the elevator on the top floor. He was working late, still chasing down information and coming up empty.
He hated not having as many tools at his disposal as he did with the FBI.
But it wasn’t like he was chasing mastermind criminals either.
“Just leaving?” West asked, moving next to him at the elevator.
He didn’t normally run into his boss coming and going.
It was probably an early night for the guy.
And he’d have to keep him informed of what was going on.
Since there wasn’t anyone around at the moment, he said, “Paris just called.”
West turned his head, noticed a few people coming their way, then nodded. “Is she alright?”
“Yes. She’s with London.”
“Keep me posted,” West said, then two other staff came to stand next to them.
They all climbed in, him swiping his badge to bring them straight down without stopping.
West had the ability to do that too. To swipe it to bring him to any floor he wanted to avoid having to be jammed in with people and stopping and going.
Since there were other employees on with them, they might enjoy the fast trek down but would have to ride it back up to the lobby.
When the doors opened in the basement, the employees knew what was going on and stood back, he held the door for their boss to walk out, saw him climb into the car with Colin, then he jumped into his SUV and took off for Paris’s place.
These were the times he missed not having a government vehicle. One he could hit the lights and everyone made way for him.
But if she was in trouble, she’d tell him.
It was just a letter, not a bomb. And she sounded more annoyed than frightened.
Probably putting on a front. Maybe for him so he wasn’t worried.
He handed over the fob to his SUV, jogged in the door, but realized without Paris, he couldn’t get upstairs.
He walked to the desk and gave his name for a pass.
“Fletcher?”
He turned, and London was standing there. “It just hit me you couldn’t get in.”
“Where is Paris?”
“Showering,” London said, holding the door for him. “Probably letting out a few curse words in there too.”
“Does she do that often?”
“You know about her chocolate issues, right?”
He snorted. “I do.”
“Well, she does the same with curse words in the shower.”
“I’ll remember that.” He turned to see the worry in London’s eyes. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine. Pissed off. You’ll see when you read the note.”
“You’re not going to tell me what it says?”
“You’ve got to see it yourself.” They got to Paris’s floor, but she didn’t get out.
“I’m going to get you a keycard so you can come and go on your own.
I don’t think my sister even thought of it.
Spencer has one.” London handed over another card.
“To get in the apartment. Just let me in when I come up.”
“Thanks.”
He took the card, went to their door and opened it.
Paris was walking out of her room in leggings and a sweatshirt, her toes bare, her eyes full of fire.
It was better than fear.
“You rushed,” she said, moving into his arms.
“You called.”
“Are you always going to rush when I call?”
“If you want me to,” he said.
“Saying yes makes me sound clingy.”
“You can say it just the same,” he murmured.
The moment to rush out of her arms and get that letter had come and gone.
She was safe. Not that he had any doubt.
“You can read it so you can be just as confused as me,” she said. “Where is London?”
“She let me up, gave me her key to get in, and is getting me a keycard so next time I don’t have to wait.”
She cringed. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He moved toward the paper on the counter and glanced at it.
“Crazy, isn’t it? Are they trying to make me lose my mind? Because that is exactly how I feel.”
“It almost seems as if it’s two different people with those messages,” he said.
“Exactly. ‘Stop looking.’ ‘Keep looking.’ What the hell am I supposed to even be looking for?”
Her hands went in the air, were waving around wildly, surprising him.
He grabbed them both and held them between his palms. “Take a deep breath.” She closed her eyes and did it, then let it out. “And another.”
She was listening to him.
When the knock came at the door, she jumped and let out a squeak.
“It’s London,” he heard. “Let me in.”
He let go of Paris’s hands and opened the door.
“Are you as confused as me?” she asked him.
“I’m not letting myself be one way or another. I’m going to go down and talk to the front desk.”
“They said a courier brought it over twenty minutes before we got here. We were later than normal today.”
“If they can’t get past the lobby it wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “You would have just been called down.”
“Maybe they would have waited,” she argued. “Then we could have asked them questions.”
“I can do that myself with access to the cameras. Do you think they will let me see them?”
“You can try,” Paris said. “I’ll have to come down with you for that.”
“You can sweet talk anyone,” London said. “You do that and I’m ordering dinner. What does everyone want?”
“Dessert,” she said. “Chocolate.”
The two of them left and rode the elevator down in silence.
Fletcher reached for her hand, held it slightly, giving her a nice reassuring squeeze.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “It’s not as threatening.”
“No. I think that is why I’m more worked up. I just don’t know what the hell they are talking about. What I’m supposed to stop and start looking at. So all my past jobs are out.”
It was his first thought. “You don’t know that.”
Because he never wanted to close a door without facts.
The elevator dinged, the metal slid open, they walked out. Not holding hands this time.
Not smiling, nor frowning.
Just walked with purpose.
“Hi,” she said. “That letter that I just picked up. I don’t suppose I can look at the cameras and see who might have dropped it off. It was just within the last hour.”
The woman behind the counter hesitated. “I’m not supposed to do that without getting approval.”
“I understand,” she said, leaning closer and glancing around. Letting it be known she didn’t want to be overheard. “But this guy, he’s my bodyguard. He needs to see it.”
The woman’s eyes lit up as if Paris was yanking her chain. “Really?”
He looked at Paris, then the woman. “We’d like to see the video. If you need to call for approval, we can wait.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t be that big of a deal,” the woman said. “I’ve been here the whole time, so I know you’re not seeing anything that I haven’t.”
“Exactly,” she said. “We’d really appreciate it.”
The woman pulled the keyboard forward, then typed into the computer and scrolled while they waited.
“Right here,” the woman said. “This is him walking in, then handing it over on the counter. He didn’t talk to me. I was on the phone. He held it up and left it, then waved, and walked away.”
Fletcher leaned over and looked at the footage, saw exactly what the woman said. “Can you freeze it right there? Nope, go back, get a good look at his face and freeze it.”
The employee did as he said, then he took his phone out, snapped a picture of the face.
“Thanks,” Paris said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
They went back to the elevator. “It’s just a teen,” he said. “He was probably paid to drop it off like the last one.”
“Are you going to track him down?”
“Yeah. It won’t be too hard.”
There were things he still had access too. Contacts if he needed them, but he could handle this on his own.
“It shouldn’t be. He had a business on his shirt,” she said.
He grinned. “You’re pretty good at details.”
“Except for why this is happening.”
“Don’t be that way.”
They returned to her apartment. “Dinner will be here in twenty,” London said. “Triple chocolate fudge cake for dessert.”
“That’s all I’m eating,” she said.
“Give me a kiss,” he said, leaning over. “Enjoy your dessert.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m going to see if I can find this kid. He might still be at work, but I’ll find out now. I’m not waiting.”
“Don’t stay out too long. I mean it.”
He reached for her hand again. “You don’t get to boss me around like you do your sister.”
“He got you there,” London said.
She gave him one more kiss, he went to his SUV, plugged in the address to the courier service and headed in that direction.
Walking in in his suit and serious expression twenty minutes later, the young man at the desk paying more attention to his phone barely lifted his eyes.
“Can I help you?” Brad by the name on his shirt asked, moving a large piece of candy to his other cheek.
He pulled his phone out. “Yes. I need to speak with this courier.”
Brad pulled the phone closer. “That’s Philip. He’s out on a run.”
“Do you assign deliveries?”
“Yeah.” Brad moved the candy in his mouth around, making no attempt to do anything else.
Fletcher let out a sigh. “Can you look up who dropped off an envelope to be delivered to Paris Westerly?”
Brad looked around. “Sure. What are you like, private security? FBI, CIA?”
He wouldn’t answer. “Does it matter? It’s just an envelope.”
“True.” Brad was clicking around. “Jane Smith dropped it off.”
“A woman?” he asked. Didn’t see that coming.
“Yeah.”
“Do you have cameras here?”
Brad snorted. “Does it look like we can afford cameras here?”
The small, rented space had chipped paint on the walls, and an old steel desk that Brad was sitting behind, shelving in the back holding orders to be picked up.
“Do you remember anything about her?” he asked.
“Short woman. Old.”
“How old?”
“Forties, maybe.”
Jesus. That wasn’t old.
“How about what she looked like? Hair color, length, glasses, no glasses.”
Brad frowned. “She was pretty forgettable. That’s what I remember.”
“Aside from being old?”
“Yeah. Like, I don’t know. She reminded me of my aunt.”
“How’s that?”
“Oh,” Brad said. “I get it. Yeah, her hair was like my aunt’s. Brown and like right here.”
Brad was slicing his hands across his collarbone. “So shoulder length. Sharp? Blunt? Straight and precise?”
“That’s it,” Brad said, pointing. “Straight and sharp, right past her chin. I don’t remember anything else. Just that my aunt had that style. She’s old too.”
He rolled his eyes. “If I can come up with a picture would you be able to verify who it is?”
“I guess. Maybe.”
“Are you working tomorrow if I come back?”
“Got nowhere else to be,” Brad said, then dropped his head back to his phone.
Fletcher supposed he should be thankful that both employees didn’t give two shits about their jobs and handed over the information so freely.
He wanted to go back to Paris’s, but it was best to go home.
He could call and update her rather than be tempted to stay longer and comfort her.
She had her sister.
He had to get home to his son.
“Hey,” Ian said thirty minutes later. “I was just going to the gym. I can wait if you want to join me.”
He’d love nothing more. “Sorry, but I’ve got a few things to do. I went this morning.”
“Before work?” Ian asked, his face almost shockingly painful.
“Not everyone waits to get up thirty minutes before they have to leave.”
Ian shrugged. “There are leftovers in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
Shit, he was getting better and more home-cooked meals from his son than he ever did his wife.
He popped his earbuds in, hit Paris’s number and then walked to the fridge. Opening it up, he saw a full container of food that wasn’t there this morning.
“Fletcher,” she said. “Did you get anything?”
“A woman dropped the envelope off,” he said.
“A woman?” she asked.
He pulled the top off, saw pasta and a mixture of vegetables with chicken and Parmesan cheese on top, spooned some out and put it on a plate to toss into the microwave. “Is there an echo?”
“Did you just crack a joke?”
“Not a good one.” He set the time and braced his hands on the counter. “No cameras there. Do you know an old woman? In their forties.”
She burst out laughing. He’d added that part hoping for that response. “Did that hurt to hear?”
“I’m used to it. Woman in her forties, forgettable by this kid’s description except for straight brown chin-length hair that was cut blunt and sharp.”
There was silence for a second. He figured she was thinking. “Did they leave a name?”
“You think I didn’t ask that? Jane Smith.”
“Sorry. I know one person with that style.”
“Who?”
“Debra Holding.”
He stilled, the beep of the microwave going ignored. “The HR Director at MHT?”
“Yeah. And if I’m honest, I guess it fits with my jobs lately. When this all happened. But I’m not sure that she’d do that. The rat especially.”
He picked his phone up, went to MHT website, found Debra’s picture, noticed the hairstyle fit the description and sent it to Paris.
“Is this her?”
“That’s her.”
“I’ll get it verified with Brad tomorrow.”
“Brad?”
“The kid who thought Debra was old.”
“I don’t know why I feel kind of relieved that it might be her.”
“Never feel relieved until we have all the answers. Never let your guard down.”
“Really, Fletcher,” she whined. “I was just relaxing.”
He hated this for her. “Don’t.”
“Do you feel it’s a big threat?”
“Until I know otherwise, I’m going to treat it the same as I have been.”
She sighed. “Fine. I get it. I wish you would have stayed for dinner, but I’m glad you got somewhere.”
“We haven’t gotten anywhere until I talk to her.”
“Should I call and ask?”
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re not to do anything other than you’ve been. Go to work and do your job. If she reaches out again, let me know. I hope to get more tomorrow.”
“I hope so too. Our food is good.”
“Enjoy your cake.”
“I would have rather enjoyed it with you.”
He heard London shout something in the background. “What did she say?”
“She’s busting my butt. Long story.”
“Maybe I can hear it sometime.”
“I’m going to assume you’re alone since you’re talking to me like that. Where is Ian?”
“In the gym.”
“Without you?” she asked.
He pulled his food out and started to eat. He’d do some more digging into Debra while he finished. “If he got up earlier we could have worked out together this morning.”
She laughed on the other end, the sound causing his lips to lift. “And that’s why forty is considered old.”
“Bye, Paris,” he said and hung up to her laughter.
It was better than fear. Better than tears.
Better than feeling lonely. Something he found he wasn’t anymore.