Too Many Secrets

by E B Corbin

  “You sure he took it?”

  “Pretty sure. All the missing pieces are stuff he brought along with him. At least he left me a chair.” She pointed to the off-white monstrosity sitting in the corner. “And the king-size bed.” She paused, trying to decide how much Callahan needed to know, then continued. “If those two guys were looking for something Richard had, it’s gone now.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “Not a clue. Probably something to do with one of his cases. He was the token criminal attorney at the firm. For the past six months or so, we haven’t been communicating well with each other.”

  “Sounds as if you weren’t communicating, period.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “So you’re sure this was about Richard?”

  “What else could it be?” She wracked her brain for other options.

  “Not something to do with you or one of your cases?”

  “My clients thank me when they don’t have to pay additional taxes or settle for less than the IRS demands. I don’t know what they’d be looking for in my kitchen.” She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Speaking of my clients, I have to get to the office.”

  “Okay, I only stopped to ask if you wanted to go to dinner tonight. I tried calling your office number but kept getting your assistant, who gave me vague double-talk. You’re cell number’s not on your card.”

  “If I want someone to have my cell number, I’ll give it to them.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I thought I gave it to you.”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t have some secret way to get it?”

  “I do, but not when driving.”

  “In that case…” Roxanne grabbed a sticky note from the kitchen island scribbling her cell number for him. “Don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t. Now what about dinner?”

  She sighed. “I’d like to, Callahan, except I’ll be at the office late trying to catch up on things. You don’t need to hang around waiting for me.”

  “I don’t mind. Besides, I’d feel better sticking close in case those two thugs come back.”

  “I don’t think they will,” she said. “You didn’t see them up close. They were both jittery and almost more afraid of me than I was of them.”

  “They had a gun and weren’t afraid to use it. We need to report this.”

  “I can’t hang around here talking to the police.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait for them.”

  “You said you were meeting someone,” she objected.

  “The people I’m meeting will understand.”

  She experienced a tug of guilt when she was ready to leave, not enough to change her plans.

  Callahan sat in the off-white chair, making phone calls, calling to her as she left. “See you tonight.”

  She started to protest, but he waved her away returning to his phone call.

  ◆◆◆

  The day turned out less than satisfactory. Anne told her Eric had taken all the copies of the cases early that morning so Roxanne needed to chase him down to find out where things stood. She found him working diligently in his office.

  He looked flustered to see her. “Oh, you made it.”

  “What’s the status of the pretrial memo?” She asked, skipping small talk. “I can take it from here.”

  “It’s practically done. You can review it when I’m finished.” He avoided looking in her eyes, instead gazed somewhere over her shoulder. “It’s good to go, as far as I’m concerned. I think I did a decent job.”

  “O… kay. Let me know if you need any help.” Roxanne hid her irritation at being dismissed by someone she considered her subordinate. She gave him an offhand smile before returning to her office.

  Anne quickly ended a phone call as Roxanne walked past. Did her assistant look guilty, or was Roxanne imagining everyone had it in for her today? She closed the door to her office, walked to her desk, ignored the stack of pink slips from all the phone calls she’d missed, and put her head in her hands. She had no desire to go through her messages; no appetite for working on either of the other two cases on her calendar. She felt distanced from her co-workers, knowing things had gone on as usual in the office over the weekend while she took personal time.

  She picked up her phone, dialing Lauren’s extension, hoping a chat with her friend would alter her state of mind.

  “Sorry, Lauren’s on her way to Greenbriar,” Janine, her assistant, told Roxanne. “She offered to set things up for the partner meeting this week.”

  “I thought it wasn’t scheduled until Thursday.” Roxanne wondered how Lauren had finagled the trip to the resort. “What’s she doing? Doesn’t’t Tucker’s assistant usually take care of the incidentals?”

  “Alice called in sick today, and some things came up that Mr. Tucker insisted an attorney should handle. Especially since they moved the meeting up two days.” Janine seemed anxious to get off the phone before Roxanne asked more questions.

  Perturbed, Roxanne thanked her and dropped the phone into its cradle. Everyone seemed to avoid her today. On a normal day her curiosity would have worked overtime seeking an answer and she’d wander the office scoping the climate. Today, it hardly mattered. She didn’t care as much as she would have only last week. Word of Richard’s defection probably circulated like smallpox, making people feel awkward around her. That had to be it, she decided. It was bound to come out sooner or later—no reason to be concerned.

  Rather than debating the reason for her coworkers’ strange behavior, she put it out of her mind. If only she could as easily rid her thoughts of the odd handling of her aunt’s death combined with the auspicious arrival of Callahan in her life. She felt sad she had never met Roxy O'Hara. And guilty, too. Instead of worrying about the partnership, she could try focusing on her recently deceased aunt. If only her mother had told her about Roxy sooner. Roxanne felt a definite kinship with her aunt and assumed they would have been allies. Too late now— the least she could do was try to keep on the police to find the person responsible for her aunt’s death.

  Lost in thought, she waved when Anne stuck her head in to see if she needed anything before her assistant left for the day. Anne couldn’t help her figure out why her aunt had named her in her will nor could she offer any suggestions on what to do about Callahan’s reluctance to leave her alone. Or why he kept showing up just when she needed help.

  Somewhere around six, Eric dropped the pretrial memo on her desk. “Sorry it took so long. I thought you might be gone by now.”

  You hoped I’d be gone, she thought but hid her suspicion behind a smile. “Can’t leave with a job half-done. I’ll look this over and make any changes I consider necessary.” She opened the folder, effectively dismissing him.

  To her dismay, she found nothing worth changing. Eric had managed a thorough understanding of the issues in a brief time. Then again, he worked for the other side long enough to have a good grasp of IRS procedures. She gave herself credit for having the insight to involve him in this case— that’s the mark of a good partner, isn’t it?

  With nothing to keep her, she left the memo for Anne to put in proper form in the morning. Roxanne left the office while others still bustled through the halls. She did not envy them.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Callahan sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter working on his laptop when Roxanne returned at a little after seven. He shut it before she saw the screen.

  She thought it strange but let it go. “What are you doing still here?” she asked, trying to hide her irritation.

  “Waiting for you. Told you I would.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t you want to know what the cops had to say?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “C’mon. I’ll tell you over dinner. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Does someplace in Station Square sound good?”

  As she rack
ed her brain to get word in besides ‘yes’ or ‘no’, he stayed busy packing up his laptop and stashing his cell in his pocket, never giving her a chance to respond, one way or the other.

  “I need to change,” she finally managed. Her suit skirt wrinkled in the wrong places, and the heels were killing her feet. “Can we make it someplace casual?”

  “Definitely. I know just the place.”

  They found a booth in a back corner at an intimate Italian restaurant. Not a sports bar filled with Monday Night Football fans, thank goodness. Richard had never wanted to try out this place, too small and unassuming for him. Roxanne found it perfect for the conversation she needed to have with Callahan.

  “So what did the cops say?” she started with a phony smile.

  “Not much. They weren’t happy you didn’t stick around, though. They took the report and said they might have some questions for you later, but I got the feeling it was a low priority for them.” Callahan watched her lack of reaction. “I doubt you’ll hear from them again. They left a card if you decide to call to see if there’s any news.” He handed her a small business card with the insignia for the City of Pittsburgh Police. No name, just a phone number that more than likely went to the main switchboard. She glanced at it before sticking it in her pocket, knowing she’d never use it.

  “Lot of good that will do,” she said. “Did they say if there were any other break-ins in the building?”

  “No, this was the first one. They’ll keep an eye on it though.”

  A server dressed in a black blouse and short black skirt approached the table with menus. Roxanne ordered a glass of Moscato, Callahan, a beer. The drinks arrived quickly, and they asked for more time to decide on their meals.

  “Did you give them the license number?” Roxanne sipped the wine.

  “No, thought I’d keep a few things to myself for now.”

  “Why? What are you going to do with it?”

  “We’ll see.” Callahan picked up his menu. “I need to be sure it has nothing to do with what’s happening in Oilville.”

  “In Oilville? What would two thugs in Pittsburgh have to do with Oilville?”

  Callahan hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure. I find it too coincidental that Roxy is shot, her lawyer is almost killed in a traffic accident, his office is ransacked, then your condo is hit.”

  “You think they’re all connected?” Roxanne took a larger sip of wine. “If those guys were looking for something of Roxy’s, why would they think I have it?”

  “We won’t know until we figure out what they were searching for.”

  “Shouldn’t the police do that?”

  “Which police?” Callahan lifted his hands, then dropped them. “I don’t quite trust the Oilville police. And the Pittsburgh cops don’t have any interest in what’s happening in a small town seventy-five miles away. Plus nothing’s been taken so far. The only crime has been a couple of B and Es.”

  “Did you tell them about those other things happening?”

  “No, didn’t see the point. I contacted people today to look into the other matters.”

  “Who?”

  He smiled at her. “Nobody special, just some guys I work with.”

  “Dammit, just who do you work with? Why would they care? And why do you turn up every time I’m in trouble?” This time she blew out a breath before taking a hefty swallow of the wine.

  “I’m not stalking you if that’s what you think. Even though I might have shown up a few times to help you out, they really were coincidences. I was on my way to the farm when I first saw you. And today I wanted to see if we could meet for lunch. Though, from what I’ve seen so far, you seem to go from one predicament to another.”

  “Believe it or not, all this trouble only started with that stupid letter about my inheritance.” Even Richard didn’t leave until after she received that damned letter—not that they were connected, only another fluky coincidence.

  She had never been a magnet for trouble before, merely living her life, minding her own business like any good tax attorney should. No matter, she was not going to let Callahan off the hook. “What do you do for the State Department? Are you a spy or something?”

  “The State Department doesn’t employ spies.” The denial spilled smoothly from his mouth. She wondered how often he’d used that line before.

  “Sure they don’t. And global warming is not real either. Tell that to the icecaps in the Arctic.”

  He grinned. “Global warming is very real. But I’m not a spy. I work with the DSS.”

  “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  “Probably not. Most people don’t.”

  “So what the hell is DSS?”

  “Diplomatic Security Service,” he told her while glancing at the surrounding tables. It was a slow night, and no one seemed to be paying them any attention. The couple at the closest table held hands and stared into each other’s eyes, oblivious of the world around them. A family with two small children sat across the room. The mother tried to wipe spaghetti sauce from the face of the youngest, with little success.

  Still his voice dropped low. “I’m a special agent.”

  “Oh, a special agent. I’m impressed.” She kept her voice soft, matching his.

  “Shouldn’t be.” He laughed. “It’s just a job title.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “It’s true. Some guys work as bodyguards when a big shot official is visiting an overseas embassy or when some dignitary is in the States. Some are stationed overseas indefinitely, some work in the US.”

  “You’re a bodyguard?” Roxanne figured that explained his showing up when she had trouble.

  “Not exactly. I work mostly with passport and visa fraud. Sometimes it leads to other things, like drug smuggling or human trafficking. When that happens, I turn over my info to the appropriate agency, the FBI, DEA or some other alphabet division. Every once in a while, I protect a civilian.”

  “You work in the United States?”

  “All over the world, including the US. I’ve been stationed in DC for the past twelve months.”

  Roxanne’s question came out in a whisper. “Are you working on a case in Oilville?”

  “No, I’m on leave to help Gramps. Although I can still get info if I need it.”

  “That’s how you got my address and how you’re checking the license plate.”

  He nodded, playing with his napkin. “That’s enough about me. Now, you know all my secrets, what about you? Any secrets you want to share?”

  She didn’t think she knew all his secrets just those he was willing to impart. “My passport is legit, and I don’t need a visa, so I think I’m clear. What you see is what you get.” She spread her hands to show her innocence, her voice returning to normal.

  “Good, I like what I’m seeing.”

  She wished he would stop smiling at her that way. His grin made her pulse kick up a notch. She focused on the menu instead of him. “We should order now.”

  He signaled the waitress. Roxanne considered the spaghetti and meatballs until she thought about that little boy with sauce all around his mouth. She ordered the lasagna. Callahan had no worry about orange stains on his face. He ordered spaghetti.

  Callahan tried to chat about the Steelers chances this season. Unlike everyone else in the city, she wasn’t a big football fan, so the topic died quickly.

  The server brought another glass of wine with their meal. Roxanne started to wave the second glass away until she noticed only a few drops remained in her first one. She took the new offering, wondering how she drank the first without noticing.

  As discreetly as possible, she watched Callahan between bites. She should be able to trust a DSS Special Agent, so why did she still have misgivings? Did her doubt have more to do with their developing personal relationship than his ability to help?

  When they finished their meal, she pointed to Callahan’s chin. “You have some…”

  It didn’t faze him. He grabbe
d the napkin and wiped his mouth, missing his chin.

  “It’s still there.”

  He wiped again, missing the same spot.

  Roxanne took her napkin, reached across the table, and wiped it off. The action felt too intimate for this stage of their friendship and she quickly leaned back, looking around for their server.

  Callahan pointed to her empty wineglass. “You want another?”

  “God, no. I’ve had enough.”

  “Dessert? Coffee?”

  “Nothing for me. If you want some—”

  “No, I’ll get the check.”

  “It should be my treat. After all, you’ve saved me several times now.”

  “You can get it the next time.” He gave her his lopsided grin again.

  Dammit! This was wrong. Two days ago she swore off men altogether. If she allowed a handsome face and crooked smile to influence her, she’d be no better off than with Richard— she had to get better control over her growing attraction. She dropped her napkin on the table. “You should be going. It’s a long drive to Oilville.”

  “I’m not going back tonight.”

  “Oh…” The first thing that came to her mind was that he had a hot date waiting for him. Why that idea banged into her head, she had no idea. And why did she care? It was none of her business. They’d just enjoyed an amiable meal together and he didn’t seem in a hurry for it to end. But on the off-chance that thought of a heavy date was right, she didn’t want to know. Thus, her feigned indifference to his remark.

  Callahan ignored the apathy in her voice. “If you’re staying, I’m staying. Every time I leave you alone, something bad happens.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, I am. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “It’s one of my duties. We protect diplomats no matter where they might be in the world.”

  “I’m not a diplomat.”

  “No, but you could be in danger. I’d be shirking my sworn duty to serve and protect.”

  “I thought that was the police slogan.”

  “It’s for all law enforcement.”

  Her mind searched for an excuse. “I don’t even have a couch,” she finally blurted.