And with that, the door to O’Malley & Ancarrow closed in my face.
I wasn’t sure what I had learned. But at least I could corroborate part of what Tony Rossi told me. Since he’d been honest about his visit to the partnership, I guessed the rest of it was true, too. Which meant I had to find some Russians. And in all of Richmond, I only knew one.
Max Chernov. My acquaintance from police headquarters.
Once back at the office, I rummaged around in my purse searching for Max’s business card. I had too much stuff crammed into too little space.
Only one solution. Dump everything out onto my desk. Lipsticks, change, a half-used roll of Lifesavers, crumpled unused tissues and a wayward Tampon rolled across the wooden surface.
I tried to herd everything into one area without a whole lot of success.
“Miss Reynolds, where have you been?”
Dr. Dick strikes again.
I reluctantly spun my chair to face him.
“Didn’t you see my note? I had to make a bank deposit.” Not the truth, but not a total lie either.
“I didn’t see any note.” He folded his arms and glared at me.
I twirled back around in the chair and fished under the spilled contents of my pocketbook for the note.
Dr. Dick came around to the side of my desk and stared at the mess. I held the note out to him while trying to stuff my things back into my purse.
He took the piece of paper from me, his gaze settling on the Tampon. The man was a medical doctor, and yet I caught him blushing and averting his eyes. Putting my bag at the edge of the desk, I swiped the rest of the debris, including the Tampon, into my purse and shut it.
Dr. Dick tried to pretend he hadn’t witnessed any of it. He handed the note back to me. “The lines must have been quite long. You’ve been gone for over an hour.” He made a point of checking his watch for emphasis.
“Traffic, Dr. D. Ever since the new mall went up you can’t go anywhere out on Broad Street without running into snarls of traffic.”
“Save it. I know you’re using company time to run your errands.”
Gulp. How did the man know any such thing? He’d been in session when I left.
“I can explain,” I tried feebly.
“It’s not acceptable. We pay you a good salary. A salary means you’re on company time. Save your personal errands for before or after work. Or during your lunch time.”
Well, what crawled up his butt?
“I worked through my lunch hour. I do that a lot. Without pay. If I can run a personal errand while I’m out, even if it is on your dime, I think it all evens out. Now, if you and Dr. Palmer would like me to just disappear from the office for an hour between noon and one, I can do that. I thought y’all needed me to be on premises for the patients. But since I’m not getting paid….” I let my voice trail off.
To my astonishment, he took my complaint seriously. “You work during your lunch? Does Marcy know this?”
“She’s the one I’ve been assisting.” I hoped he didn’t ask what I’d been doing for her. I didn’t think he’d be thrilled to know about her alumni mailings.
“I had no idea, Miss Reynolds. From now on keep track of your time. Implement a time sheet. Sign in and out. Turn it into me on Fridays. I’ll use it to compute your paycheck.”
Talk about anal-retentive.
I hope he used a more flexible approach with his patients and in his personal life, but I suspected not. He disappeared into his office. Great. Reduced to punching a clock – even if it was a paper one. I didn’t have time for this Mickey Mouse stuff. I had a murder to investigate.
And I still hadn’t found Max Chernov’s card. Damn.
Where did I put that thing?
Searching my wallet, I found the business card right behind my library card. I punched in the first phone number listed. It rang and rang. He’d told me to call him if I needed anything. How did he expect me to contact him if he didn’t even have an answering machine? I hung up and dialed the second number. It rang.
And I waited.
After the sixth ring I heard his voice. Only it wasn’t a live voice, it was a recording. “Leave a message.” Short and to the point but with a sexy Slavic accent.
“Max, I don’t know if you remember me. We met at police headquarters. I need…”
The machine cut me off. I waited thinking he had picked up, but no. The machine had cut me off.
Angrily, I hit redial and waited for the machine to pick up again. “As I was saying, we met at …” Cut off. Again.
Either he had a cheap piece of crap on that end, a malfunction, or he hadn’t picked up messages in so long the inbox was overflowing. This did not bode well for me getting in touch with the Russian. And I needed the Russian. He was the only Russian I knew.
Again, I hit redial.
“Becca 288-50 - ” When the beep came on and cut me off again, I slammed the phone down hard. “Son of a bitch!” Damn machines.
“Miss Reynolds! Language!”
Dr. Daley’s interruptions were really starting to bug me. Didn’t he get that I was singlehandedly trying to save Daley & Palmer from going under? And that by saving their butt, I saved my own Ryder-adored tush? Well, no. That would involve my explaining it to him. Still, I was going to have to find a way to tie bells or some kind of warning system on Dr. Dick if I hoped to get any serious snooping done. I braced myself for the lecture that I knew I had coming.
“Office equipment is not cheap. I’d hate to deduct the cost of a phone from your paycheck.” Dr. Daley surprised me with the brevity of his lecture. Maybe he had a sore throat.
“Do you know any Russians?” I asked. The question obviously took him by surprise.
“Russians, Miss Reynolds? No, I think not. Why, pray tell?”
Who said pray tell these days?
The man needed to get out in the real world more.
“I have something I’m working on.” At the furrow creasing his forehead, I rushed to add, “On my own time. And I need to find a Russian. I’m told we have quite the population here in Richmond. But my contact has a phone malfunction, and I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”
Dr. Dick nodded as if it all made perfect sense to him. Cool.
Maybe we were starting to relate.
“Be that as it may, I cannot sanction the destruction of office equipment. Temper, temper, Miss Reynolds. And watch your language. I will not tolerate any cursing at Daley & Palmer. You’re here to set a mental health example, not be a poster child for anger management classes.”
There was no winning with this man. But I had to admit that I’d acted childish. “Sorry, Dr. D., I’ll do better.”
That seemed to satisfy him, and he retreated to his cave. At least for now. And he hadn’t even corrected me about abbreviating his name. We really were starting to relate.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. By the time I left work, my shoulders ached from all of the typing. And I was still behind in billing. Tomorrow was another day. Right now, I had my heart set on a hot bath and a good book.
I left the building and walked to my car. Practically on my heels, a dark sedan pulled out of a handicapped slot and followed me across the lot. I hurried to my Honda, and not for the first time, wished I had remote entry. The sedan came to a stop, blocking my car. I held my key like a weapon ready to strike.
My heart raced. On one hand I was afraid to face the driver, but on the other hand, I was more afraid not to see my attacker. I twisted around and lunged forward. “Yeeeeahhhh!” I screamed.
And fell into the arms of Max Chernov.
“Careful, my-ah sladkaya . You could hurt yourself with those karate moves.” His mouth quirked up into the most adorable grin.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t know whether to be mad or glad to see him.
“You called,” he answered with a shrug as if his appearance was the most normal thing in the world.
“But I didn’t even get to leave a fu
ll message.”
“Not necessary. You called. I came.” His dark chocolate eyes sparkled and my heart did that funny hitch and melt thing.
“I need to talk to you.”
His eyes softened into bedroom eyes. Oh, mama.
I was in big trouble with this man.
He was liquid sex with clothes attached. I could only imagine what he’d be like without the clothes. My face flamed, and I struggled to remember why I had called him.
I looked around self-consciously. “Can we go somewhere to talk? In private.” I swear on any other man, Max’s expression would have looked lecherous. On Max it simply seemed inviting. My heart blipped again. Good thing I had a perfect cardiac history. My brain flashed a message to the rest of my body that Max Chernov was one dangerous man, but like Max’s answering machine, the message got cut off.
“Where would you suggest?”
“We could go for coffee,” I offered. Just what I needed, caffeine to give my heart a jolt, just in case Max wasn’t jolting me enough.
“I have a better idea, Becca. Let me take you to dinner.” His expression almost melted my shoes into the asphalt.
“Okay.” Seriously. I had to work on my communication skills.
He held open the passenger door to his car. Before I could think to tell him that I’d meet him there, wherever there was, I allowed him to help me in. Let’s hope he wasn’t the Russian equivalent of Ted Bundy. My granddad would have a cow if he knew I willingly went with a virtual stranger.
Max slid behind the steering wheel and off we drove. Unlike Ryder, he offered no warnings about seatbelts or any other safety precautions.
I had the clear message that nothing about Max was safe. And yet, I had walked into this of my own free will.
We ended up at an Italian restaurant where everyone seemed to know Max. The service was great and the food sublime. Give me wine and lasagna and I’m happy. Give me wine, lasagna and a hunky Russian and I’m ecstatic.
Most of the meal was spent in small talk. I saw no need to rush into my request and decided to enjoy the time we had together.
After the meal, Max poured us each another glass of wine. I giggled like a schoolgirl. Way to go. That would make a good impression. Sitting up straight, I figured it was time to broach the subject of the mob.
“This has been lovely.”
“It’s not over.” He sipped the wine and scrutinized me with slumberous dark eyes. There went my heart again. At this rate, I’d need a pacemaker.
The waiter appeared and cleared the table. Max asked to see the dessert menu. My stomach strained against my tight slacks.
“I called you because I need some help with something. And I thought of you.” Not too bad a start.
“I’m flattered. What do you need?” The candlelight on the table flickered and reflected in Max’s eyes.
Momentarily, I was mesmerized.
“Becca?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, long day. What do you know about the Russian mob here in Richmond?” I blurted out.
All traces of warmth left Max’s face. He put his wineglass down and took my hand in his. It felt warm against mine. “Why do you want to know this?”
His soft skin surprised me, definitely not the hands of a laborer. But still manly. Oh yes.
Max’s hands could pass my granddad’s hand test with flying colors.
“Becca?” he prompted again.
“It’s personal.” I kept staring at my hand in his and marveling at the gentleness of his touch.
His hand tightened around mine.
Not so that it hurt, but more in a supportive kind of way. I met his gaze and saw concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
So there was a mob. Holy cow!
I jerked my hand away from his, barely able to contain my excitement. “I need to meet with them.”
He shook his head no.
The waiter appeared to take our dessert order. Max waved him away. “What kind of trouble are you in?”
“Oh, no, I’m not in any trouble. But I do need to meet the head of the mob. And if that isn’t possible, any other person that you think could answer a few of my questions would be wonderful.”
He leaned forward. “Are you insane?”
That question cropped up more and more lately. Usually the person asking asked it in a far louder voice, but maybe Max didn’t want to draw attention to us. “No. You see, I’m working on a case.”
He rolled those chocolate eyes of his.
I swear he did. “It’s not funny. I need your help. And with or without your help, I’m going to get the information.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You are insane.”
We sat in silence for an awkward moment.
I finally couldn’t stand the lack of conversation and spoke up. “Maybe so, but a woman’s life depends on me.”
“If you go where you don’t belong, you won’t have a life. Leave this to the professionals. They get paid to take those kinds of risks.”
His words chilled me.
“You’re the only one who can help me, the only Russian I know.”
His laugh took me by surprise.
It was a full laugh that emanated from somewhere deep inside of him. “You don’t know what you’re getting mixed up in.”
“I believe I do.” I sat up straighter and put my napkin on the table.
He stubbornly shook his head, his shoulder-length wavy brown hair bounced from side to side. A manly bounce. A very manly bounce. Not one of the cover model deals. And as much as I liked it when he wore it loose like this, I couldn’t help wondering what it would look like pulled back off of his face. His cheekbones were prominent now, but what would they look like without the distraction of that mane of hair. Even more prominent? I sighed.
“Becca, I don’t know where you are, but I’m guessing you haven’t heard a word I just said to you.”
His voice snapped me out of my hair fantasy and back to the real world. “I’m going ahead with my inquiry. With or without your help.” I stood up and realized that I’d had more wine than I thought as the floor swirled around me and threatened to rush up to greet me. Quickly, I sat back down.
Max came around the table. “Put your head down. You got up too fast.” He placed his hand on my head and nudged my forehead to the table.
“Rest a minute, my-ah sladkaya . Take a few deep breaths. Let your mind clear.” His voice was hypnotic. The accent; that soft, soothing sound. The feel of his hand stroking my hair.
I had to fight not to drool on the linen tablecloth. “What does my-ah sladkaya mean?” I pretty much butchered the Russian words.
“Perhaps if you give up this crazy investigation, I will tell you.”
“Maybe I’ll just Google it and continue my crazy investigation.” I slowly lifted my head. I hadn’t passed out, which was encouraging.
“Waiter, two coffees, please. Black, no sugar.” Max took control of the situation.
“Please help me with the mob,” I begged.
“Keep your voice down,” he ordered as he checked our surroundings to see if any of the other diners had overheard. Satisfied that they hadn’t, he focused his attention on me. “These are dangerous people.”
“Please.”
The waiter set two steaming cups in front of us.
“You are serious trouble, do you know this?”
“Sort of,” I confessed. “But only because people keep telling me that.”
Chapter 13
Max drove me back to the office without giving me an answer. For once in my life, I knew not to push to get what I wanted. Don’t ask me where that wisdom came from. It just did. He pulled up behind my car. We weren’t totally alone. Another vehicle idled nearby.
“Well, thanks for the lovely evening,” I said a trifle awkwardly. How did one end a night like this? Would he kiss me? Would I let him?
“You shouldn’t be driving home after drinking. I’ve arranged for an associate to follow us in your car. I
hope you do not mind?” he asked when we reached my car in the mostly deserted parking lot.
“I think the four cups of black coffee you insisted I drink have wiped all traces of alcohol from my body.”
His warm smile returned – something I hadn’t seen since I’d mentioned the mob to him. “Better to be on the safe side, yes?”
His offer touched me more than I wanted to admit. Definitely not a Ted Bundy. Not even an Al Bundy.
I nodded in agreement and instantly regretted it. Not the agreeing part, but the nodding the head part. Max was right. I shouldn’t be driving. Worse, I was going to have a first-rate hangover tomorrow. And that would mean I’d be subject to lecture 111 from my granddad.
It was one of the basics in his arsenal – The Evils of Over-indulgence. If I set the clock to be up super early maybe I’d miss him completely.
Max’s associate approached the driver’s window and the two men exchanged a few words in Russian. “Your keys, Becca?”
If it had been anyone other than Max, I would have hesitated. But somehow I didn’t think they planned to carjack my 1987 Honda. I fished the key out of my purse and handed it over. Maybe he sensed my hesitation.
“I won’t let any harm come to you.” He reached out and stroked my short blonde hair. A quick glance into his soulful eyes convinced me his concern was genuine, that he cared. And he wasn’t just assuring me about my car. He was warning me about the Russians.
I started to say something and then held my tongue. Bottom line, I liked Max whether he introduced me to the mob or not. We accomplished the ten-minute drive in record time. After parking my car, Max’s friend returned the keys to me and then moved a few paces away so we’d have a moment’s privacy. Can you spell awkward?
“Thanks for a lovely evening.” I reached for the door handle.
But Max leaned across my body and pulled up on the handle before I could. The nearness of his body sent tiny shock waves through me.
“No, my-ah sladkaya, thank you. Stay safe. Until next time.”
I got out of the car on wobbly legs, reminding myself to Google the Russian words first thing tomorrow.
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