by Norah Wilson
~*~
The sound of the phone ringing unanswered broke Suzannah’s concentration. Why didn’t the receptionist pick up? She looked at her wristwatch. Right. Past eight o’clock. Everyone was long gone.
Sighing, she plugged in the code for call pickup.
“Castillo and Phelps,” she said into the receiver, even as she hit the mouse to scroll through the text on her screen.
“Did you get the lock changed?”
She’d been waist-deep in case law, but his voice dragged her right out. “Detective Quigley.”
“John,” he corrected. “So, did you get that lock replaced?”
“Yes. The locksmith was there this morning.”
“Thought you were in court this morning.”
“I was.”
“Are you telling me the locksmith agreed to do the job with no one there? Doesn’t seem very prudent on his part.”
“Her part,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “And I had my secretary go let her in. Now, was that all, Detective, or did you want to pass judgment on how I conducted myself for the rest of my day?”
A soft laugh. Suzannah felt a treacherous pleasure shiver through her.
“No need. I got a report from Detective Morgan.”
“I lost.”
“I know.”
“My client got a rigorous defense,” she felt obliged to say.
“Ray Morgan would agree with you there.”
Her lips twitched but she refused to smile. He’d be able to hear it, no doubt. “Don’t you want to gloat or something?”
“Maybe later.”
This time she did grin. “Was that all?”
“What about the alarm system?”
“First thing tomorrow morning, though they tried to put me off until next Thursday. Believe me, I had to pay through the nose for priority service.”
“Good girl.”
“Well, I figured it was that or put up with flack from you. It seemed easier to throw money at the security company.”
“Sorry. Job hazard,” he said, sounding distinctly unapologetic. “I just can’t stand by and watch people put themselves at risk.”
“I don’t take risks, Detective.”
“John. And I’ll bet you’re there in the building all alone right now. I’ll bet the lights are blazing and the front door’s unlocked.”
“You’d lose that bet. My secretary always locks up on her way out.” Despite the confident words, Suzannah couldn’t help casting a glance at the darkened windows. From the passing headlights, she could tell traffic on this west end of Prospect Street was intermittent. Anyone standing out there would be unlikely to be noticed. And they’d have a good view into the building. As John speculated, every light was blazing. She rolled her chair closer to the window and lowered the fabric blinds. “As I’ve said before, John,” she paused to give his name emphasis, “I can take care of myself.”
“And as I’ve said before, I can’t ignore the threats you’ve been getting. If you won’t go the official route, you’re stuck with me.”
Suzannah knew a dead end when she encountered one. That’s why she was so good at negotiation. Retreat. Approach it from another angle. “What exactly does stuck with you entail? What’s the bottom line tonight?”
A pause, as though she’d surprised him. Good.
“Minimum? I see you home safely, check the locks, the windows.”
“Okay. Done.”
“And you’ll carry a personal alarm.”
“What?”
“You know, hangs around your neck or clips to your purse? Anybody tries to grab you or threatens you in any way, you activate it and it’ll raise a helluva ruckus.”
“I know what a personal alarm is.”
“Good. Get one.”
Okay. She could live with that. Sensible precautions for any woman, any time. And once she had them in place, she could tell a certain pushy detective to take a hike.
“All right. A personal alarm. I’ll get the security people to outfit me tomorrow.”
“Perfect. Now come unlock the door.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The front door. It’s locked, remember?”
“You’re here? Outside my building?”
“For the last ten minutes. By the way, that gauzy window covering doesn’t do much good when you’ve got that much backlighting behind you.”