Matteo skips the “I told you so.” “The problem is, now both drug rings are looking for this person, and they think they’re connected to Genius Comics. We haven’t seen a feud like this brewing since the massive drug busts in the eighties. It isn’t a good thing for an untrained civilian to be involved in.”
This guy doesn’t look untrained to my eye. He looks like he’s flying, and he captured the bad guys. My brain stutters. There’s actually someone out there in a cape. Someone I might know fighting crime.
Matteo’s words strike me too. Drug feuds. Possible double agents. The past and the present rattle around together in my head. It seems like this comic book is everywhere I look: drug wars, just like in the original Hooded Falcon. The discovery that Casey Senior had planned on ending the comic but his son kept it going. Then there are my coworkers. Kyle or Simon is potentially in bodily danger for some ill-placed role-playing, if that’s what they’ve been doing. And to top it all off, there’s the possibility of a dirty cop—a story line straight out of the vintage THF.
“We need to talk,” I say to Matteo. He’s been silent, letting me stare at the tablet, where I’ve frozen the blur into a smudge of black suspended on the screen. First the bust on the docks. Now a bust in the warehouse district. The cape. The similarities between the comic book and reality are too much for me to deny any longer. Someone is out there masquerading as the Hooded Falcon, following a drug ring that seems to mimic the original books. But can I trust Matteo? Would he tell me there is a dirty cop if he is the dirty cop? Doubtful. I refuse to admit that I make snap judgments about people, despite what Lawrence says, but I will admit to having fantastic instincts about people. And all my instincts about Matteo say he’s as true-blue as Captain America.
I blow out a breath. He’s not going to be happy when I tell him I’ve been keeping stuff from him. No way out but through. I open my mouth to spill my inner demons when we’re interrupted by a knock at the door, and Matteo motions in a younger officer carrying a white paper bag.
“Ah, here’s our lunch. Ms. Martin, I’d like you to meet our youngest narcotics officer. Officer James, our comic book consultant for the case, Michael-Grace Martin.”
I smile at the sandy-haired officer, but he doesn’t return the gesture. He simply shoves the food at Matteo and mutters something about not being a delivery driver. Oh, how I can identify with that. I am Officer James at my office. The fetch-and-carry kid.
“He seems nice.”
Matteo rolls his eyes. “He’s in a hurry to make detective and doesn’t take kindly to things he sees as beneath him, but he’s good at his job. Uncanny instincts when it comes to drug dealers. Now, what were you saying before?”
I tell him about everything—from Kyle’s and Simon’s sudden interest in a nerd fitness group to Lawrence’s journal—as quickly as I can. I feel a pang of remorse about betraying L’s confidence, but I stop short of mentioning that I have copies of the journal in my possession. I told L I wouldn’t show anyone else; I’m simply letting Matteo know it exists. Technically I’m keeping my promise.
To Matteo’s credit, he doesn’t break his calm and professional demeanor while listening to my list of confessions but runs his hands through his hair and over his stubbled chin. When I finish, he closes his notebook and sits back. “This is likely someone you work with—maybe Kyle or Simon. Someone who knows the comics as well as you do. Someone with either something to prove or a misplaced Robin Hood complex. We’ve got to stop whoever this is before they get themselves killed.”
“But why can’t you just be glad someone handed you some bad guys, throw them in jail, and go your merry way?”
“Because this person is ahead of us. And while it works in comic books, it doesn’t work in the real world when citizens take the law into their own hands. Truly, I’d like to figure out who this masked avenger is, find out what they know, and either work with them or take over. I get the feeling there’s a reason they’re tipping off the police instead of making a report. It doesn’t seem to me like this is your average backyard role-player.”
I raise my eyebrow, impressed that he even knows those words.
He ignores my incredulity. “It’s close enough to what you’re telling me about the comic to drive me mad—we’re looking at a road map but don’t know how to read it. These criminals are not nice people. I want to keep our vigilante from getting hurt, so we need to find him.”
His serious face is doing serious things to my insides when I should be more concerned that I’m the one they hope knows how to read the road map.
Matteo continues to study me. “Are you still willing to consult on this case for us, assuming, of course, that your alibi checks out? I’m sort of breaking procedure by bringing you in so early, but time is of the essence with this case.”
The chance to watch a real-life comic book plot unfold and help save my idiot coworkers from repeating history and stirring up a drug feud that could land LA on its backside? Not to mention the apparent capes and costumes in play? A real-world superhero. It’s like my entire life has led to this. My name is Inigo Montoya, and I’ve just found the six-fingered man.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
He freezes me with his gaze, and a zing of electricity shoots down to my toes. It isn’t a quick once-over or the analytical scan of a cop looking at a suspect. This is deeper. Matteo takes stock of my person—everything from my ballet flats to my sarcastic quips, sizing me up as a partner. The way he inclines his head in an indistinct nod gives me the impression that I haven’t come up wanting in his appraisal. “I have some paperwork for you to fill out while you eat your sandwich.”
His next words have a ring of finality to them. They sound suspiciously like the opening lines of a comic book introducing a new hero: “Welcome to the LAPD, Michael-Grace.”
CHAPTER 9
Matteo pulls up to Genius Comics, and I’m surprised when he parks in a visitor’s spot and turns off the engine instead of just dropping me off. “I know this is awkward to ask.”
My heartbeat zings in my chest. Is he going to actually ask me out? I’m shocked to find that I’d readily accept. I’m slightly desperate to put my finger on just what intrigues me about this man. And bonus points that he doesn’t seem the type to secretly tape, analyze, and try to market dating a geek chick like some of my more recent relationships.
He keeps looking ahead, fingers fidgeting on the steering wheel. He’s nervous. My body responds in kind, releasing a horde of dragons into my stomach.
“I need you to keep the fact that you’re helping us a secret.” He leans forward.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Okay, but what do I tell everyone?”
And now he looks really uncomfortable. “You said your coworkers already think we’re seeing each other. We could let them draw their own conclusions and just not correct them? That way we don’t have to out and out lie. You can help with the investigation if need be, and I can just drop in if I need to?”
So he is asking me out, but only as a cover. My little stomach dragons blink out of existence. It makes sense—he’d gain access to my coworkers, be able to come by the office without alerting anyone to the fact that the police are watching Genius. But it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. “You will not distract me at work. You will text any and every time you are coming, whether or not I agree to your scheme.”
He slides out, opens my door, and insists on walking me to the lobby.
I try to tell him every which way to Sunday with my eyes that it’s not necessary. That it’s chauvinistic. That I won’t be attacked in the one hundred feet to the main door, but he insists by ignoring me pointedly.
“So is that a yes?”
I eyeball him, trying not to note how good he looks with his work shirt rolled up at the elbows and his noon-o’clock shadow. I’ve got a lot going on right now, and I hate to admit that maybe, just maybe, my feelings are hurt about being only a pawn. A work tool. Not to mention
the fact that there may be a double agent out there. Though it’s unlikely, it could be Matteo. My instincts don’t seem to be firing right around him, muddied by the electricity I feel. If I play along without doing my own bit of sleuthing, I could be leading the bad guy right to my friends and coworkers.
“It’s a ‘we’ll see.’ I don’t have time for a boyfriend, fake or otherwise. Especially not one who drives a Prius. My friends would never buy it.”
He ignores the Prius dig. “Can I stop by the office and look at the new comics? We need to get a feel for where we think this is headed, now that we know more about what we’re dealing with.”
“You could buy them yourself. I have a lot of work I need to do this week. Not only am I writing a new issue; I have to try and figure out how to get this promotion. I thought my boss was announcing it today, but he didn’t, so there’s still a chance. And there’s this huge gala thing we’re hosting for the thirtieth anniversary in a few weeks.” A ball of stress forms in my stomach. As much as I said the words to make an excuse, I really don’t have time for a boyfriend right now. Or a pretend boyfriend.
“But I need you to look at them and tell me what you’re seeing. You’re the expert.” He’s wearing that damn look on his face that makes me think of puppies.
“Fine.” I hold up my finger before he can crow with victory. “But not at work. You’ve already shot my week to hell. You can come over to my house later this week and look at mine. I work from home Thursdays.” This way I can keep him away from my coworkers and boss . . . but then he’ll be in my house. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Deal.”
I pull open the large glass doors, and of course, my full team—Kyle, Simon, and Tejshwara—are gathered in the front lobby, so they see us walk in.
“I’ll see you later,” Matteo says.
“Yeah, okay.” I give a half wave and turn to flee to the safety of the elevator, but not before my coworkers muck up the situation even further.
“Hey, Matteo!” It’s Kyle, and he’s crossing the room to the main door before it can close. I note a fresh bandage on his wrist. From his newest escapade swinging in over a warehouse in his Spider-Man pajamas, perhaps? “We were thinking about having a movie marathon this weekend, and we wanted to invite you and MG. Saturday, at my house. From eleven to eleven.”
My mouth actually falls open. This is unprecedented territory. I don’t get invited to work parties. Other than Christmas, but then I just bring Lawrence or Ryan with me and hang out by the artichoke dip for four hours.
Matteo doesn’t look surprised. He looks infuriatingly calm and normal about this. He says, “Oh, that’s so nice of you. I think we could make—”
At the same time, I say, “No.”
The peanut gallery looks between us.
“I thought you had that thing on Saturday?” I say through gritted teeth. This is getting out of hand. I didn’t realize we’d face the pretend dating thing directly after our conversation.
“I think I can move it around, that is, if you want to go? Doesn’t it sound fun? Movies with friends?” Innocence. Pure innocence.
And now I’m the bad guy if I say no. Frickin’ brilliant. “Can I see you over here for a moment?” I grab Matteo’s solid arm and pull him closer to the door. It’s the first time I’ve grabbed him instead of the other way around, and I don’t like contemplating asking him how often he has to work out to be a detective. It must be often from the feel of his muscled arm beneath my hand. My palms are sweating again. Fake relationship, MG. Fake relationship. I can no longer deny my attraction to Matteo. But now he’s my partner? Boss? There are rules against these things. “Are you trying to undermine me at every turn, or is it just a particular talent you have?”
Color appears at his collar, either from my accusation or the fact that I’m still touching him. I release him like I’m holding molten steel, accidentally brushing his hand with mine as I retract my arm. I pull my hands into my chest, likely resembling an off-balance Tyrannosaurus rex.
“It might be the perfect opportunity to look into your coworkers. Get to know them.” I know he’s thinking about the bandage on Kyle’s wrist, and I have to admit, I’m curious too.
I’ve stayed silent while Matteo has interrupted me too many times, and the gloves are coming off. “Then maybe do you want to ask me instead of barging right through and trying to control my life?”
He looks suitably ashamed but meets my eye. “Can we go to your work party?”
It’s at this point that I realize we’re being watched by all of my team. They might as well have popcorn, they look so entertained. Here I am, a novelty again. This one of my own making, though. Surely it won’t be that bad to go hang out for a few hours in the name of helping solve this case. I’m hoping the “greater good” works out better for me than for Dumbledore.
I address the peanut gallery first, “Thanks for the invite. I think we’ll be able to make it.” I lower my voice and address Matteo, “As long as someone behaves themselves, capisce?” My world. My rules.
Matteo nods once in agreement to me, then waves to Tej, Kyle, and Simon before heading out the door. Why, when this comic has helped my life for so many years, is The Hooded Falcon wreaking such havoc this time?
CHAPTER 10
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get Ryan or Lawrence to vacate the house on Thursday. Ryan’s office day moved to Friday, so it’s to a full audience that I open the door before Matteo can knock.
I need to keep this meeting brief, especially since we’re going to be relegated to my bedroom instead of the living room. “I’m giving you thirty minutes.”
He takes in my bright-blue cheetah yoga pants and black T-shirt. “Looks like a real ballbuster day at the office.”
I will not laugh. We’re serious work partners now. This is a business meeting. But I smirk, and he sees it and looks satisfied. Every time I try to put him into a box, he goes and gets all witty and charming again.
And dammit, he smells good. Who wears . . . I sniff . . . awesome-smelling laundry detergent to a work meeting? Look at me, weak-kneed from laundry detergent fumes. I definitely have been dating the wrong people if clean clothes are a turn-on.
“I am working,” I say, closing the door behind him.
“I don’t doubt it. You are a woman of your word.” He reaches down to take off his shoes, and it’s oddly intimate to see him in stocking feet in my entryway.
“Thirty minutes,” I say again, and I turn to lead him into my room when I come nose-to-chest with Lawrence. And Ryan. Holding Trogdor.
“This is your big work meeting, huh?” Ryan looks at Matteo like he just stepped out of a spacecraft from Jakku. There is no skirting this introduction.
“Matteo.” Matteo leans across me, easy as can be, and holds out his hand to Ryan and Lawrence. He doesn’t even wince when Lawrence gives him the squeeze of a lifetime, his signature “don’t mess with my girl” move. He also doesn’t bat an eyelash at the bedazzled paisley headscarf Lawrence has wrapped around his head today or the bright-silver polish on his nails. Two more points for him.
“Ryan,” my roommate offers in return, then continues to stand there.
The intro doesn’t budge Ryan or L, so I let out a blustery sigh. “What’s with the third degree?”
Ryan feigns innocence. “No interrogation here. We’re just being friendly, MG. Where are your manners?” says the guy who grunts instead of forming words while he’s gaming. Unless, of course, they’re curse words. Those emerge perfectly and often.
I want to keep everyone away from Matteo, especially Lawrence. What if Matteo mentions that I’ve told him about Casey Senior’s journal? “You’ve met Ryan. This is Trogdor and Lawrence.” I motion to each of them in turn, then look at Ryan. “Satisfied?”
Now Ryan’s got some sort of smirk on his face. Great. “Supremely.”
“So glad I could entertain you,” I say dryly.
“Trogdor. Like Homestar Runner?” Matteo asks. I
whip my head around and eye him. I know he has no idea who Trogdor is. He must have googled it after he met Trog last time.
“Yeah.” Ryan turns the dog over, little stub legs in the air. Like a man possessed, he starts doing our personalized imitation of the Trogdor dragon video, altered for the dog. “First you draw a loaf of bread, then you draw anodder loaf of bread, and then you draw two pizza slices on the head for ears . . .” Trog licks Ryan’s face.
“Not to break up the comedy act, but we have things to do in my bedroom.”
I close my eyes as both my friends chortle and Ryan says, “Things, huh?”
“Move it or lose it, Ryan.” I shove past him. “That’s not what I meant.”
He closes rank behind me and blocks Matteo in the entryway. He’s still smirking, but now he and Lawrence remind me strongly of two big brothers; I’m more than mortified.
“So what do you do, Matteo? Are you with Genius too?” Ryan sizes up Matteo’s button-down shirt. It’s not normal Genius fare, and I want to smack my own head. Work meeting. Right. Matteo would have to work with me for it to be a work meeting.
Matteo clearly picks up the same vibe I do but handles it like a pro. Completely casual. “I went to school for architecture.” He hangs his head sheepishly and looks at Ryan and Lawrence. “Actually, this isn’t for work. I met MG in a coffee shop. She and I got to talking, and I told her I wanted to read some comic books, so she invited me over to give me a few suggestions.”
Lawrence’s and Ryan’s heads swivel to me in tandem. It’s creepy. I know how implausible this seems. I never invite guys from the coffee shop to my house to show them comics. My home is my sanctuary, and Ryan and I have a strict no-hookup policy in the house. My mind spins, trying to figure out how to tell them about our work without spilling the beans. Maybe Matteo won’t mind if my roommate knows about the ruse.
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 8