Just Once

by Addison Fox

  “Rich, hi.” She stood and made a quick introduction to Landon before gesturing Rich to a seat. “Please. Join us if you’d like.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt. I just stopped in for coffee before heading in. You’re getting good buzz for the task force position.” He leaned in, his smile bright. “Even though I’m not supposed to suggest I’m taking sides, I think they’d be foolish not to choose you.”

  “I’m staying positively optimistic.”

  “Two more weeks is what I’m hearing.” Rich gave her a warm pat on the arm. “Nothing like a nail-biter to keep us all in suspense.”

  She waved a hand. “Good thing I’m not a manicure sort of gal.”

  Rich laughed at that, and after a few more pleasantries he was on his way.

  “Nothing like getting caught.”

  “Caught?” Landon asked.

  “I was making out with you in the middle of breakfast.”

  “I think making out is a bit of a stretch. We kissed, Daphne. We didn’t break any laws.”

  She ignored the pancakes rapidly turning into cement in her stomach. “But you heard him. He’s clearly got an inside line on the terrorism task force.”

  “And do your chances of making it have anything to do with your love life?”

  “No. Yes.”

  “Let’s hope it’s a no. Fighting terrorism is a big job. I’d hope the NYPD would like to see its best and brightest have someone to go home to each night. It’d be awfully lonely to do that work and go home alone.”

  Landon pulled out his wallet and tossed enough for the bill and the tip on the table.

  “I’ll get it.” She got up to go to her side of the booth and grab her wallet.

  “Too slow.” He was already out of the booth, his hands on her waist while she still leaned over to get her purse. Spinning her around, Landon had her back in his arms, his mouth finding hers with all the finesse of a cruise missile.

  And damn him, he packed as effective a punch as one.

  He added one last smacking kiss to her lips before lifting his head. “Don’t worry so much, Detective Rossi. You’re entitled to a life. Remember that.”

  She watched him walk away, that long-limbed stride deeply appealing. It was only when he was out of earshot that she couldn’t resist whispering under her breath.

  “You’re one of a kind, Landon McGee.”

  Daphne checked the address once more before walking up to the front entrance of the Fifth Avenue apartment building. The events of the morning still had her ruffled, keeping her company all through her subway ride into the city. But now that she was here, she needed to focus on her job.

  Bringing Gretchen Reynolds to heel was priority number one.

  Not analyzing Landon McGee’s delectable lips. Or any other delectable body part, for that matter.

  She flipped out her badge and moved first through an outer door and then an inner door before entering the lobby. The wide, airy space boasted several acres of marble, a wall of stained-glass windows that set off a riot of jewel tones over the floor, and a starchy doorman who looked none-too-amused to have one of New York’s finest standing at his post as he eyed her badge.

  “I’m here to see Gretchen Reynolds.”

  “What is your business with her?”

  “None of yours.” Daphne said it with a smile, but kept that well-honed edge of bad cop in her tone.

  “Mrs. Reynolds prefers to have visitors register in advance.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time. In the meantime, why don’t you give her a call and let her know I’m here.” She tapped her badge once more. “Detective Daphne Rossi, NYPD.”

  “Mrs.—”

  “Mrs. Reynolds has avoided multiple calls from me and is close to putting herself in a position of being ordered bodily into the precinct. Since I’m quite sure she’d prefer the comforts of her own home while I ask her a few simple questions about a simple matter, you can go ahead and make that call.”

  The doorman picked up his phone and did as she asked, his face pinched. His voice matched the look when the other end picked up. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds. This is Stuart from the front lobby. A Detective Rossi is here to see you. May I send her up, ma’am?”

  The loveable Stuart kept his gaze mostly focused on his desk, but Daphne didn’t miss the way his eyes shot in her direction a few times. “Yes, of course. I’ll let her know.”

  Stuart hung up the phone, his face growing more pinched by the moment. “Mrs. Reynolds isn’t able to receive callers right now.”

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Reynolds doesn’t have a choice. You may call her once more, or I will call for backup so we can take Mrs. Reynolds in for questioning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Stuart picked up the phone and dialed the number once again. Daphne almost felt bad for him—almost—but kept any appearance of sympathy from her gaze. The guy was in a shitty spot, but he wasn’t her problem.

  Gretchen Reynolds was.

  “Yes, I understand. No, I’m afraid I was unable to convince her to leave. Yes, I do, but—” Stuart broke off, his head nodding as he listened to whatever was being said on the other end of the line.

  Although she couldn’t hear what was being said, she played the script through her mind. The cool disdain. The increasing requests to simply handle the matter. And the underlying threat of retribution if he didn’t.

  “I’ll take this.” Daphne pulled the phone from Stuart’s hands before he could do anything.

  “Mrs. Reynolds. This is Detective Rossi. I’ve left you multiple messages and I am asking for a few simple moments of your time. If you continue to ignore my request—”

  “Well, I never—”

  “Should you continue to ignore my requests for a simple discussion, I can see that we continue this conversation inside a police precinct. May I please come up?”

  “No you may not. And I will be calling my lawyer to deal with the likes of you. Harassing me on the phone, and with your presence in my home.”

  Daphne avoided the eye roll, well aware she was being picked up on about eight different lobby cameras, and simply voiced the same point again.

  “I have an open and active investigation that requires your cooperation. Based on this feedback, I will now need to formally summon you to the precinct.” She began to rattle off the name and address of the precinct when the phone clicked in her ear.

  She handed the handset back to Stuart. “Well, okay then. The precinct it is.”

  Daphne took a moment to write down a few notes before flipping to a new page and narrowing in once more on the beleaguered Stuart. “I need the name of the building manager. I will be needing the video feed from this morning’s visit.”

  Stuart produced a card from his post. “All details are outlined here, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  Daphne turned to leave, oddly satisfied by the exchange, when a loud shout stopped her. “Detective!”

  A slender blonde stood there, waving her down. “Detective!”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m so sorry.” The woman hurried toward her, her heels tapping over the marble. “My apologies for my mother’s behavior. I’m Harlow Reynolds. Please, come on up.”

  “Miss Reynolds, your mother has already denied me access to her home.”

  “And I’m granting you access.” Harlow glanced toward the doorman. “Stuart is my witness.”

  The man nodded. “Of course, Miss Harlow.”

  Harlow crossed to the post and laid a hand over Stuart’s. “My apologies you were put in the middle of this. Thank you for your kindness this morning.”

  “Of course. It’s no bother.”

  “It’s quite a bother, but I appreciate your not saying that.”

  Whatever had crossed her mind as the cool Hitchcock blonde walked toward her, Daphne had to revise it in the face of the woman’s kindness. She obviously understood what a bitch her mother was, and her words to Stuart were kind as well as equalizing.
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  “Please, Detective. Come with me.”

  Daphne followed Harlow Reynolds toward a wall of gleaming gold elevators, their doors polished to a high gloss. The woman was about her height in heels, a fact more than evident as Daphne stared at their twin reflections in the shiny surface.

  “Do you live here, too?”

  “Not any longer.” There was relief underlying that statement, but Daphne avoided pressing it. If the little display she’d witnessed this morning was any indication, she imagined it was a relief to get out from underneath an oppressive force like Gretchen.

  They stepped into the elevator, the doors closing with a quiet swish. “I am sorry for my mother’s behavior. I only recently discovered what she’s been up to, and I’m anxious to put a stop to it.”

  “What, exactly, did you discover?”

  “Her vendetta against a woman my father had an affair with well over twenty years ago.” The elevator gave a light ding as they reached their floor, and Harlow extended a hand to allow Daphne to exit first. “But I’m pretty sure you knew that already.”

  “I am aware of those circumstances.”

  “Then I suspect you’re also aware my mother has been making a series of threats.”

  Daphne waited just outside the elevator and then followed Harlow into the apartment. The lush interior had an Old World style to it, seamlessly blended with what looked like surprisingly comfortable furnishings.

  Once again Daphne had to redefine her expectations. For all its expensive décor, the apartment looked lived in. Like a home. It certainly didn’t look like the lair of some rich bitch Manhattan matron waiting in the wings to cause havoc and rain chaos.

  “What types of threats are you referring to, Miss Reynolds?”

  “My mother has threatened to go to the press if Louisa Mills doesn’t end her bid for borough presidency.”

  “Ms. Mills believes this issue has passed. Are you saying it’s not?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “I’m here because of the break-in at Ms. Mills’s son’s business.”

  “Landon’s business?”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes. He and his brother Fender visited me at work yesterday. They had several questions for me and claimed my mother’s card was found at the break-in. I assured them there had to be a mistake, but they were insistent. I was out of town this past weekend, but when I questioned my mother about it last night she confirmed for me she wasn’t involved in any break-in.”

  “Mr. McGee and Mr. Blackstone visited you? Yesterday?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.” Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem with that?”

  “No. No problem.”

  No problem other than not allowing the police to do their fucking job.

  Anger went a few rounds with disappointment as Daphne processed the news that Landon had done his own round of questioning the day before. And after the argument they’d had over his mother, too.

  How dare he interfere with her investigation and take matters into his own hands?

  “Detective Rossi?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. If you were out of town, how can you vouch for your mother’s whereabouts?”

  “The doorman can. As can the cameras on the front door. This apartment has a private elevator entrance, but you still need to enter and exit through the front entrance of the building. I asked Stuart earlier to let me watch the feeds myself.”

  “And she was here in the early hours of Sunday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she provide an explanation for the calling card?”

  “No,” Harlow shook her head. “None.”

  “Harlow, I said I wasn’t available to meet with the police.” Gretchen Reynolds came into the room, an attractive woman in her mid-sixties. Daphne had run what she could on the woman, gathering from her driver’s license details that she had just turned sixty-four in May. She appeared healthy, vibrant, and quite elegant—the total picture of a New York City matron.

  So what had made her go nuts nearly a quarter century after her husband’s indiscretion?

  “Mother, we’ve already discussed this. Please talk to the detective and provide your statement. I’m sure this can all be cleared up rather quickly.”

  “Miss Reynolds is right,” Daphne added. “I have a few questions and then will be on my way.”

  Gretchen took a seat next to her daughter. “I didn’t steal the young man’s servers.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “How would I know that?”

  Daphne bit her tongue and forced every ounce of calm, cool politeness she possessed into her tone. Putting on the bad-cop routine would only rile Gretchen further, and she needed the woman to give up as many details as possible.

  While she had no doubt Gretchen Reynolds hadn’t been present for either break-in at Landon’s business, she’d wager her opportunity to join the task force that the woman knew the person who had been.

  “Mrs. Reynolds. You seem to be aware of the fact that there were servers stolen from Landon McGee’s business. Are you aware those servers housed the website details for his mother’s bid for Brooklyn borough president?”

  “That has nothing to do with me.”

  “My question was if you were aware of them.”

  “I became aware of them when Harlow shared the details that they’d been stolen.”

  Daphne made a show of taking notes, her gaze focused on her notebook as she lobbed her next statement. “Yet you have also threatened Louisa Mills in order to prevent her from running for borough president.”

  A decidedly frigid wind blasted her direction when Daphne looked up from her notes.

  “I did not threaten her, Detective. I told her I’d make the personal business between us public if she chose to pursue her candidacy. The woman is a cheat and a liar. She has no business taking on public office.”

  “Mother.” Harlow laid a hand on Gretchen’s leg. “Your personal beliefs have no place in the political arena.”

  “And why ever not? Am I supposed to sit idly by and keep my mouth shut when I know the woman has proven herself untrustworthy and immoral?” Gretchen turned toward Daphne, her gaze brightening as if she realized she had a new target to preach to. “The woman attempted to steal my husband. She seduced him away from his wife and his two children. She’d have continued on if I hadn’t forced him to put a stop to it. If I hadn’t had her fired from her position and her access to Kincade.”

  While she had no doubt the histrionics were well-rehearsed, a product of far too many years to stew in her upset and the self-righteous indignation of the cheated upon, Daphne couldn’t completely fault the woman.

  Her methods, yes. Her points, not entirely.

  While Daphne didn’t want to take sides either for or against Louisa Mills, Gretchen was entitled to her opinions and her side of the story.

  Did Louisa deserve a continued flogging for something she’d done years before? Absolutely not. Was it still something in her past that had repercussions? Absolutely.

  “Can you explain how your calling card came to be on top of Mr. McGee’s returned servers on Sunday morning?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Daphne pulled the clear evidence bag that held the card from her tote. “Is this your card, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  She extended the bag, but Gretchen made no move to take the card. When Daphne made no move to pull it back, Harlow stepped in and took the small bag, turning it over in her hands. “Mother, this does appear to be yours.”

  “A forgery.”

  “I’m afraid not. Look at it. The watermark from your stationary is plainly evident on the back.”

  “Well I didn’t put it in that young man’s office.”

  “Then who did?” Harlow demanded.

  When Gretchen offered no response, Daphne pressed harder. Although she wasn’t expecting a ready confession, the details of the woman’s crimes—and the potential for consequenc
es—should at least have her reconsidering her actions.

  “Mrs. Reynolds. Physical possession of lost or stolen computer equipment is a violation of New York State laws. That those servers also housed election details for Ms. Mills’ campaign only adds to the possible criminal action you face.”

  “I wasn’t there yesterday. I did not leave that card.”

  “Then again, Mother, who did?”

  Gretchen shook her head, her poker face firmly in place. “I have no idea.”

  “I haven’t seen you in three days, and in that time you’ve advanced your relationship with Sexy McGee, interrogated some rich Manhattan matron, and put your relationship on display in Stewey’s diner. Have I missed any other high points?”

  “You mean besides the two fights and Landon’s big lie over visiting Harlow Reynolds?”

  “Right,” Jasmine nodded as she reached for a packet of sweetener on the middle of the table. “Fights and lies. Although for my money it was more omission than lie. But go back to the sex and the diner kissing for a minute.”

  “Jaz!”

  “Oh come on, girlfriend. You gotta give me something. Is he a good kisser? Because he looks like a good kisser.”

  “Aren’t we dissecting the lie?” Daphne had waited all morning for that one to settle a bit easier but it had done the opposite, the offense growing like a cancer in her thoughts.

  “Omission, Daph. It was an omission. And maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to telling you. So come on, out with the good stuff. Like the kissing part.”

  “Why do you think he’s a good kisser?”

  “He’s an attentive man. He looks at you when he talks to you, and he seems like a guy who pays attention. The guys who do that are the best at kissing.”

  Since Jasmine had a point—and her morning lip-lock with Landon was still imprinted on her brain with laserlike precision—Daphne gave herself a moment’s reprieve from the subject of a Landon-Harlow-Fender visit.

  “It was the best. He’s the best. Firm lips. Great tongue. If I’d been standing at Stewey’s, my knees would have gone out from beneath me. Instead, I just sort of melted into the vinyl of the booth seat.”

  “Now you’re just bragging.” Jasmine tasted her coffee and then reached for one more packet of sweetener.