The Passion Season

by Libby Doyle

  Charlotte tilted her head to expose her pretty neck. She slightly bunched her apple-red lips. Zan rolled her eyes.

  Christ. Didn’t you hear the man say I’m his girlfriend?

  Without providing details, Zan explained that as part of an ongoing criminal investigation, the FBI would like to know the origin of the dagger they had brought. She held up the case.

  “Yes, of course,” Charlotte said. “Judging by the photo Rainer sent me, I’m optimistic. Follow me. We need to go to an examination room.” She glided down the hall with Zan and Rainer in tow. When she caught sight of the woman who had let them in, she called her over. “Ann Marie, perhaps our guests would like some coffee. Rainer?”

  “Yes, thank you, Charlotte.” Rainer turned to Zan. “Any for you, my love?”

  “I’d rather have some water if you don’t mind.”

  Zan suppressed the petty urge to gloat at the look on Charlotte’s face when Rainer called her, “my love.”

  “Certainly,” Charlotte said. “We’ll be in the examination room, Ann Marie.” She turned coolly on her heels. Once they were in the examination room, she was all competence. Zan smiled at her.

  Her flirting is a small price to pay.

  As she examined the dagger with delicate gloved hands, Charlotte mostly concurred with what Rainer had said about it. She said it was French, made in the 19th century for the purpose of religious ceremonies. Then she put the dagger under an absurdly bright light and ran her finger over the place where the blade joined the hilt.

  “This seam is so smooth,” she said, more to herself than to them. Ann Marie came in with the drinks and Charlotte mused for a bit, taking tiny sips of her coffee. “That seam should be more visible,” she said. “Let me scope it.”

  Zan glanced at Rainer, hoping he understood. She was surprised to see a blank look on his face, the look he adopted when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking.

  Is he upset about something?

  Charlotte placed the dagger under a device that looked like an oversized microscope. She squinted through the viewer for a few minutes.

  “How about that,” she said. “This blade is a copy.” Zan looked at Rainer. He failed to maintain his impassive expression. She felt bad for him.

  Don’t be embarrassed, honey. You don’t have a microscope.

  “I didn’t realize,” Rainer mumbled.

  “Sweetie, this is a very good copy.” Charlotte smiled at him indulgently. “I almost missed it myself. Yes, an excellent copy, but the alloy used to make it is modern. The blade could never have been soldered so neatly with the metals available in the 19th century.”

  Rainer was now staring at the floor. “So much for my consulting services, Zan.”

  “Your consulting services brought us to Charlotte and her microscope, didn’t they?” Zan placed her hand on Rainer’s arm. He glanced at her with sad eyes, which confused her.

  Embarrassment I can see, but sadness?

  Shaking it off, Zan approached Charlotte with open admiration. “Thank you so much for your help. I find expertise like yours amazing, and this is one of the most promising developments I’ve had in this case.”

  With a gracious dip of her head, Charlotte said she was happy to help.

  “Any suggestions for my next step?” Zan asked.

  “Certainly,” Charlotte replied. “I’m sure this copy was made in Western Europe. I have contacts at a few houses in Paris. With work this good, if you ship it to them, I predict they’ll be able to tell you instantly who made it, even if the artist is not French. May I email you the list?”

  Zan nodded, thanked her again and handed her a card with the email address. Rainer put the dagger back in the case, his expression blank once again. They returned to the front door.

  When Rainer opened it, Charlotte reached to squeeze his hand. “Please, Rainer,” she cooed. “Don’t let so much time pass before I see you again.”

  Before Zan could stop herself, she scowled, causing the corners of Rainer’s mouth to twitch. By the time they were back on the street, Zan was annoyed.

  “So that’s what I have to look forward to?” she asked. “Fending off gorgeous women all the time?”

  “That woman has been that way with me since she met me.” Rainer made no effort to disguise his amusement. This annoyed Zan further, but she’d be damned if she was going to let him see any more of it.

  “Then why didn’t you ask her out?”

  “Because I do business with her auction house and I didn’t want any complications. In other circumstances, I’d have taken her to bed.”

  This was too much for Zan. She stopped and glared at him as the people on the crowded street swirled around them.

  “Okay, teasing is one thing, but was it really necessary to say that to me?”

  They stood quietly for a few seconds.

  “I was enjoying your jealousy,” he confessed. “I saw you fight it off and I was disappointed. I know it’s childish.”

  Zan softened. She touched his face. “No more childish than me being threatened by Charlotte. But she’s so elegant, you know? Like she just stepped out of Vogue. And she knows her stuff.”

  “My love, compared to you, she is a paper doll.” Rainer put his hands on her shoulders. “How could I ever have a thought for anyone else, once I had met you?”

  The quality of his voice made Zan’s heart swell in a way that was totally inappropriate for the street. “I shouldn’t be jealous. I should trust you.”

  Rainer’s face crumpled. His eyes darkened with pain. Not the fleeting melancholy Zan had seen in him before. Something worse.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” She reached for him, but he grabbed her first, pinning her to him, speaking low in her ear.

  “The way I love you, Zan, I don’t understand it. I thought I knew what I was doing, but now it frightens me.”

  She leaned back to look at him, her hands flat against his chest.

  “It frightens me too sometimes, but I look at you and the fear goes away.” She looped her hands around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, deep and nourishing. She didn’t care about the people on the street.

  Let them stare.

  Philadelphia

  Zan held her queasy stomach as she sat down at her desk. She was meeting with Nguyen in fifteen minutes. Time to confess she never handed the spleen case off to Philly PD. She had to tell him what she’d been doing and ask for permission to contact the auction houses in Paris, to ship a dagger to France if need be. She hoped she had some good will to burn after the straw purchasing investigation. Nguyen wouldn’t be happy when she told him about New York, considering she’d said she needed a few hours off for personal reasons.

  Personally, I want to arrest the sick bastards who murdered Emanuel Morales.

  When Mel arrived, Zan told her about New York and hit her with a barrage of questions about her approach to the boss. Mel let her partner spew while she put her bag in a drawer and woke up her computer.

  “See now,” Mel said when Zan finally stopped talking. “I warned you that you shouldn’t be doing this shit. I can’t save you.”

  “Save me. I’m begging you.”

  With a sigh, Mel sat down. “Oh, all right. You know how I like to be needed.” She thought for a moment. “Don’t worry about the time off. After all that surveillance, Nguyen owes us. As for dragging this office into dealing with the French? Your best chance is to tell him about the victim. Nguyen may seem like a bureaucrat, but he’s the real thing. Persuade him that we have to handle this, or the scumbags get away with it. There’s no way Philly PD could pursue this kind of a lead.”

  “You think I have a chance?”

  “You have a better chance than most. Nguyen respects you. If he tells you he’ll think about it, you’re almost there. A little push from me might do it.”

  “We’ll tag team him.” Zan grinned. “Thanks, Mel. You know I appreciate it. I’m seriously dreading this. I wish I could just ship the daggers of
f to France myself. Have Rainer deal with the people. He speaks French.”

  Mel gave Zan a don’t-you-dare look. “You were pushing it by covering that trip to New York with Rainer’s flimsy consulting agreement.”

  “I know. I know. I just wish I spoke French.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If Nguyen gives you permission, you’ll get help from the FBI’s legal attaché in Paris. He’s fluent.”

  “Excellent. I had no idea.”

  “Is Rainer fluent?”

  “Yep.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure he’ll be disappointed that he can’t help you. He must have been embarrassed by his mistake with the daggers.”

  “He was.” Zan looked away to hide any sign of her tender thoughts. “You know Rainer. He overreacts. I told him not to feel bad. If I can convince Nguyen, the daggers may lead us to these bastards after all.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, time to fess up.” She rose and grabbed the file. “Who’s the patron saint of errant subordinates? Pray to her for me.”

  “That would be me,” Mel said. “I’ll pray to myself.”

  Zan’s guilt followed her to Nguyen’s office.

  He indulged me and this is the thanks he gets.

  As soon as he asked her in, she blurted an apology.

  “Slow down, Agent O’Gara. Have a seat and start again. I don’t even know why you’re apologizing.”

  After a deep breath, she told him everything she had discovered in the spleen case, including the information from Charlotte Emory. She said the next step would be to reach out to French law enforcement. She apologized again and asked for his help. Hardness crept into Nguyen’s dark eyes. Zan prepared herself.

  “Was there some part of ‘Turn it over to Philly PD,’ that you didn’t understand?” Nguyen asked. “First, you waste money with that damn isotope analysis and then you ignore my directive. What has gotten into you?”

  “I know, sir. I’m sorry.” Zan maintained eye contact, hoping she didn’t look as rattled as she felt. “I should have informed you every step of the way. I should have asked you to allow me to pursue this. I got carried away because I never investigated a murder before. I think I over-identified with the victim.” She stacked up details about Emanuel Morales, building his story just like Mel advised.

  Nguyen listened with narrowed eyes. “And now you’re trying to make me over-identify with the victim.” He stared at Zan until her face felt hot. “Drop it,” he said. Shocked by his indifference, she decided to double down.

  He’s just mad.

  “But this is a murder, sir.” Zan sat on the edge of her chair. “Someone snatched a vulnerable human being off the streets. They thought he was disposable. They killed him and cut out his organs for their sick ritual. They preserved his organs for another sick ritual a few months later. This was not a one-time attack of crazy. They are extremely likely to hurt someone else and we need to get them off the street. Philly PD can’t do it. They can’t pursue a lead like the daggers. Only we can do that.”

  Zan thought he had stared at her for a long time before, but that was just nervousness. This time it was real. He stared at her for almost a full minute. She watched the second hand of his wall clock tick through the seconds. She had never felt more like crawling under a desk.

  “Dammit, O’Gara,” Nguyen finally said. “You can’t put me in a position like this.”

  “I know I handled this all wrong, sir, but we need to get these people off the street.”

  “Don’t push it.” Nguyen looked out his window. “Let me think about this. Now get out of here.”

  She sprinted from the room and broke into a smile as soon as she was out of sight. Nguyen would let her pursue this because the FBI was not in the business of ignoring dangerous criminals.

  Pretty sure I’m on his list of troublemakers, but if we catch these sick fucks it will be worth it.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE DAY HAD BEEN a momentous occasion in Zan’s relationship with Rainer. He’d played in the annual softball game of the joint task force on gang violence. Nguyen had started the game to improve the relationship between the FBI and Philly PD. Zan figured it was a great way to introduce Rainer to her law enforcement colleagues, and for him to get to know Mel.

  The day went well, much to Zan’s relief after the debacle of the raid. Rainer swatted the ball like Babe Ruth on steroids. Unfortunately, his performance was not enough for a win because the FBI team was truly abysmal.

  At least it was close for a change.

  After the game, almost everyone headed to a nearby pub, a police hangout with a nominal Irish theme, filled with wood and brass, big televisions and canned music that was too loud. They took an alcove to the left of the entrance, away from the bar. Zan prepared herself for Jamal’s trash talk. It didn’t take long.

  “Nice try, Zan,” he said. “But we thwarted your evil plan to win the game with Gigantor here.”

  Rainer fixed him with icy eyes. Zan stifled a laugh.

  Poor Rainer. He’s not used to Jamal’s sense of humor.

  “Uh, sorry, Rainer. Uh, no offense.” Jamal raised his hands, palms out.

  “Not to worry,” Rainer said, though his eyes were still icy.

  “What can I say, Jamal?” Zan said. “We got closer than we ever did. Five runs! What did we score last year?”

  “That would be zero.”

  “See, Rainer? You saved us from zero.”

  “I see why people like to play. It’s fun.” Rainer draped his arm over her. Mel and Emmett showed up a little while later. Everyone cheered and made remarks about hell freezing over because the parents were out together at a bar.

  “We thought we’d come and bask in the glow of we-didn’t-get-totally-wiped-for-a-change,” Mel said. “Rainer, you magnificent specimen, you. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Thank you, Mel.” Rainer bowed his head. “I’ll go with you. Anyone else?”

  As Mel and Rainer moved off to the bar, Gwen Harris, another FBI agent, walked up to Zan. “Where in god’s name did you find that guy, O’Gara? A eugenics project?”

  Jamal choked with laughter.

  “You’re just jealous, Harris,” Emmett said.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. I can see why all the tactical guys noticed him the day of the raid. You can’t miss him.”

  Zan groaned. “Haven’t I taken enough shit about that raid?”

  “I’ll refrain from giving you shit as long as you tell me what that titan is like in bed.”

  “What the hell, Harris.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Hmmm, let me see.” Zan couldn’t help but grin. “The man has so much physical control that he hit three home runs today, even though he never played the damn game before. What do you think he’s like in bed?”

  Harris let out a sigh. “You are one lucky bitch.”

  “Don’t I know it?”

  “So what is he?” Jamal asked. “Basketball player? He’s obviously some kind of athlete.”

  “Martial artist. He’s been training since he was a kid. He’s an expert swordfighter.”

  “Swordfighter, eh?” Jamal said. “No wonder. He’s used to having some long, hard instrument in his hand and putting it exactly where he wants it.”

  “You’re such an ass.” Zan scowled as Jamal and Harris snickered.

  “But seriously,” Jamal added. “We’re changing the rules for next time. No more super athletes. And we should be allowed to intentionally walk.”

  “Jesus. Are you only satisfied if you completely destroy us? We still lost. Not even Rainer could save the shitty FBI softball team.”

  “What about the team?” Mel said, coming back with Rainer and the drinks.

  “I was saying our team is so bad not even Rainer could save us.”

  “I tried, my love.” Rainer put his arm around Zan’s waist and pulled her to him.

  “I know you did, honey.”

  “Okay you two, no moony-eyes allowed in the ba
r,” Mel said.

  They talked about the game for a while until Mel suggested they shoot pool. Harris said she would pass and wandered off. The rest of them went to the table a few feet from the alcove. Mel put in the quarters and the balls fell into the opening with a series of closely packed thumps. “We’ll play teams.”

  “Wait,” Jamal said to Rainer. “You’re not good at this game too, are you?”

  Rainer smiled mysteriously and said he would sit this one out. Zan sidled up to him and ran her hand along his ass.

  “Okay, me and Jamal against Mel and Emmett,” Zan said, placing the balls in the rack. Rainer walked off to the crowded bar to get more pints. Emmett broke. He sank one ball, then another.

  “You guys don’t stand a chance,” Mel said to Jamal and Zan. “Watch. He’ll run the table.”

  Emmett didn’t look like a pool shark. Messy chestnut hair topped thick horn-rimmed glasses, an attractive man who couldn’t be bothered to play it up. But he was deadly with a pool cue. Mel said he sharked to earn spending money through all his many years in school.

  “Damn,” Jamal said. “Look who just walked in.”

  Zan turned to see Frank Benson, another detective with the Philadelphia police, saunter over. He reeked of bourbon. She braced herself for his bullshit.

  I hate this drunk fuck.

  “Detective Williams, ladies.” Benson carelessly bumped Emmett’s cue as he moved his large frame next to Zan. “What brings you out this evening?”

  “The joint task force softball game. As usual, PD won,” Jamal said.

  “How come no one told me about it? I would’ve come out to watch O’Gara run around in those little shorts and knee socks.”

  “One, you’re not on the joint task force,” Jamal said. “Two, I don’t like you.”

  “You always were a prick, Williams. I know what it really is. You want to keep this gorgeous piece all to yourself,” Benson said before he slapped Zan on the ass. They all stared at him for a beat, incredulous.

  “You fucking asshole!” Zan shouted, but that was all she got to say. Rainer was there. He grabbed Benson by the throat and pinned him to the wall with one hand, his blue eyes burning. He raised him until Benson’s feet barely touched the floor.