Matteo hesitates, then takes a few steps toward Ryan and Lelani. My throat constricts—the locks on that padlock in my brain must not be very good. I can’t watch—my gorgeous Matteo standing next to gorgeous Lelani. They would have stupidly perfect children.
I turn, push through the line of the coat room and up to the front, where a different girl is now dutifully tearing off tickets. “I lost mine,” I announce.
“Some of us are in line here.” An elderly woman in a truly spectacular forties-era pantsuit tries to push in front of me.
“This is an emergency. A life-or-death one,” I say. That stops the pushing. A tad dramatic, but oh well.
“Do you remember what your coat looks like?” The girl chews her lip and looks unprepared for an emergency at the coat check. “I’m not supposed to let people back, but—”
I don’t even wait for more permission. I skirt the table and head for the door to the conference room that masquerades as the coat closet. Not two seconds later, the door opens again, and Matteo nearly falls into the room behind me.
“Jesus, it’s dark in here,” he says.
“The coats don’t seem to care.” I click on my phone flashlight to add meager glow to the few amber-colored downlights turned on in the room. How would anyone find any coat in here? Of course, mine is long and black, just like the hundreds of long black coats hanging against the walls. I start checking collars. Fewer fur collars, so that should help.
Matteo’s presence distracts me. I keep thinking about him with Lelani. It has me all tangled up inside in a way that terrifies me. We’re not even a real couple. I have no claim on him. I’m not the jealous sort. So why am I all bent out of shape just because Matteo’s ex is about as close to my opposite as the world can get?
Matteo’s voice emanates close to my ear, and I jump. “Where are you really going? You’re not off on another dangerous adventure without me, are you?” He intends it to be a joke, forcing a lightheartedness. I don’t laugh. “Seriously, MG. Is this about earlier? The dancing? Or the case?” He sounds hurt, but I don’t have time to sift through my emotions or his. Double-strength padlocks. I need to go. Now.
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzes. Lawrence. Five minutes out. I’ll swing by the front?
I punch in the thumbs-up sign and continue searching.
Coat Check Girl enters with a pile of coats over her arm. “Find it?”
“Not yet!” I try to sound cheery instead of panicked. She gives me a weird look and exits again, while I grin like a maniac.
Matteo watches me search in silence. Finally I find my coat, in the darkest corner of course, and yank it off the hanger. I turn to leave the room, only to find Matteo standing behind me.
He’s too close. I can’t think straight. The scent of him—cinnamon and probably his hair gel—is an aphrodisiac to the part of me that wants us to be real. The part that wants to throw caution to the wind, tell him where I’m going, what I know, and who I suspect. I have to restrain myself from melting into him. It’s an urge I need to resist. Until this drug lord, this killer, and this vigilante are behind bars, Matteo won’t stop. It’s his job to find them. And it’s my job to help him.
“Michael-Grace, you’re obviously upset. Can we talk about this?”
“I’m not upset. This is business, remember? No reason to be upset.” Maybe I’m a little upset. Okay, a lot upset. The fact that I’ve just realized how invested my heart is in this fake relationship, how invested I am in this case, leaves me rattled.
“MG, look at me.”
“I need to go.”
“Look at me.”
I do so defiantly. If it will speed up the process of me getting out of here, fine.
His hands reach out for me, fingers closing around my waist. He pulls me to him, though I fight for a few steps. “Michael-Grace Martin, come here.”
I am at war with myself, but my full name on his lips is my undoing. I move forward until I’m nestled against his Captain America insignia.
“I know why you’re upset. I know we said this was business, but it’s clearly not just business.” He sounds pained and unsure. Like he’s not one to usually be vulnerable. It’s hard for him to admit; I hear it in every note of his voice.
Clearly not just business. Our proximity allows me to feel his heart thudding a mile a minute, and I’m losing my resolve to run out of here at about the same pace.
I need to keep my mind on my plan. Leave. This is a distraction when the case may be going cold as we speak. “It’s not?” I get suckered into the conversation. Emo MG wins this round.
“Not for me.” He takes a breath. “Look. I’ll lay it out there. I know this is messy. And I know there’s the case. MG, I’m not good at this.” His grip on my waist becomes stronger, more sure, like he’s reached some decision. “I probably put work first too many times in my past relationships too. But you’re different. I want you to know that.” He licks his lips, and there’s a small quiver in one of his fingers before he tightens his grip more and pulls me even closer. His voice gains surety, and I revel in his breath on my cheek. In our closeness. “If working this case means you’re walking out on . . . us, whatever we are, I’ll resign from it. I’ll let Detective Rideout finish up. I’ll take away the thing that’s keeping us apart.”
My heart hammers in response. He’d give up a case for me? Forget a one-two punch; this is a total knockout. One that leaves me weak-kneed and dizzy. I’ve never had a man offer to do something like that before. I’m used to boyfriends using me. There was the guy capitalizing on our dates. On a broader stage, the years I’ve felt undervalued by the executives at work. All the guys at cons who were interested only in my “finer assets,” as Rideout said. Yet here’s Matteo, knight in shining armor, willing to give everything up for me. It’s something I thought I’d never want, but I’m awash with how amazing and scary this feels. Because it’s real.
Real. Reality crashes back in as I contemplate how real the case is too. I can’t have Detective Rideout head up this investigation. Not only did he train under Anthony Munez and could very well be the dirty cop, but he’d have me in jail in less than twenty-four hours, guaranteed. Offering to give up the case proves Matteo is true. Honest. The double agent would never give up control, and I need an honest cop at the helm of this, no matter what happens.
I reach out and put my hand on his chest, right over his true-blue heart. “I want you to stay on the case. I want us to solve it. And no way you’re letting Rideout lead this. The guy already thinks I’m the Golden Arrow. I’d end up in handcuffs for sure.” The darkness presses in on us, and I run my hand up his arm. “I—I really appreciate you saying those things. You’re worth waiting for, however long this case takes.” The last words come out in an almost-whisper. I mean them to the very bottom of my stiletto heels and all the way back up again.
Matteo looks like I’ve given him Christmas. Then his lips are a breath from mine. “MG, I can’t stop thinking about you.” His wrists circle mine, and he lifts our hands above my head and presses me back into the pile of coats.
Our kiss isn’t soft. We grasp at each other as if we’re drowning. We fall into the coats, and I grab the bar above us to keep from falling all the way through. We shouldn’t be doing this, but oh we should be doing this. I’m made for this kiss—costumes, coat closet, and all.
Matteo’s breath is ragged as he drags his hands down over my coat and back up underneath, his hands hot against the lace of my dress. He leans down, kissing the pulse beating wildly at the base of my throat, and I nearly pass out from the sensation. My head swims, blood pounding in my ears. I can’t get enough of this man. He’s gotten under my skin, in my brain, and stolen my heart.
Coat Check Girl chooses this very moment to reappear. A triangle of light from the door falls across us, and she clears her throat in a loud and well-rehearsed manner. “Did you find your coat, miss?”
The coat rack nearly collapses beneath Matteo and me, and we part on a l
augh.
“I—uh—yeah, I found it. Right here. Thanks for checking on us.” Not. I push to stand, grab my coat where it has sagged to my elbows, and pull it back over my shoulders.
She throws me a look that says she’s partly sorry she had to interrupt us. “I have more coats to hang,” she says with one last appreciative look at Matteo. “Be back in a sec.” The triangle of light disappears.
“I feel like I’m fifteen,” Matteo says, his forehead coming to rest on mine.
“If you were kissing like this at fifteen, you needed to teach lessons.” My phone buzzes again. “I really do have to go. But I’ll call you later, okay?”
Matteo’s hands settle back around my waist. Then he snuggles my coat around me further, buttoning the top button. He pulls me in for a sweet peck. “If you must.”
Something in the pocket of my coat sticks into my side, and I frown. I haven’t put anything in my pocket.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. There’s something poking me in the side.”
“I didn’t think it was that obvious.” Matteo gives a bawdy wink, and I laugh.
“No, I’m serious.” I dig in my pocket. There’s definitely something in there. Something like a book. I definitely didn’t put a book in my pocket. I extricate it with difficulty and hold it up to the meager light.
It’s a softcover journal.
It’s a black softcover journal I’ve seen before. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Matteo’s eyes widen as I flip quickly through the journal. “Is that what I think it is?”
I snap the journal closed and shove it back into my pocket. “My journal of ideas? Yeah. I forgot I had this with me. Ideas for the new Hero Girls.” But it definitely isn’t my journal. It’s Casey Senior’s missing journal, the one whose sketches showed up in my test copy of The Hooded Falcon. What the hell? Who snuck this journal in my pocket?
Matteo knows something is up. I can see the light of suspicion dawn. “Are you sure that’s your journal? Because if it belongs to someone else and you took evidence, you’d be a suspect and off the case.”
The warning is clear. Come clean now and stay on the case. Lie and risk losing my freedom and the man offering me so much more. But he didn’t see the note at the back of the journal. A note to me. It simply said,
MG, Rabbit in the Glen. Tonight, 11 p.m. Follow the arrows.
If I turn this over, the journal pretty much frames me as the Golden Arrow or, at the very least, an accomplice.
I offer a small smile. “I guess that would be one way to solve the problem between us?”
Matteo grits his teeth. “I can’t date a suspect either.”
My phone buzzes, reminding me of my appointment with fate, and now with a warehouse. I don’t wait to see if he’s hurt or angry. I’ll deal with that fallout later. I square my shoulders. I give him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not one.”
CHAPTER 23
I race out of Genius Comics as fast as I can without looking like I’m fleeing a fire and find the Millennium Turd in the parking lot, lights on, Lawrence at the helm. Thank God his drag family was close enough for him to make it up here in under an hour.
“What’s shakin’?” Lawrence calls as I throw open the passenger door and fling myself into the car.
“A whole lotta shade,” I respond, putting my arm over my eyes. So much has just happened, I don’t know where to begin. “We need to carry out Operation Janeway tonight.”
“Like right now?”
“Now. Well, right after I show you this.” I fumble through my purse and retrieve my phone. My fingers slip on the device in my haste to pull up the picture I took inside. “Do you recognize this man?”
I hold out the picture, realizing now just how blurry it is. Photographer I am not.
L rubs his jaw and looks at the picture. “Maybe?”
I throw down my phone in frustration, and L shoots me a look. “What, MG? That picture sucks. Who is he? Why should I know him?”
“He’s the old police chief. The one who was in charge when Casey Senior died.”
“The one who cleaned up the streets in the eighties, single-handedly reduced crime rates, and took LA into a long stretch of peaceful living?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. That one. I think he’s the White Rabbit. I wanted to see if you recognized him as the cop from Casey Senior’s house or any of your superhero stuff.”
Taking the phone from me, Lawrence studies the picture again. He gives a noncommittal shrug. “I mean, maybe. But it’s hard to tell. And anyway, MG, are you really going to accuse someone like that of being the White Rabbit?”
“Not without proof, no.”
Something occurs to me, so I snatch the phone back and navigate to an internet browser.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling.”
“Girl, we don’t have time for that—”
“L, you said that picture sucks, and I’m trying to find a better one. This guy was all over the news in the eighties. There has to be a better picture.” The silence stretches as my phone maddeningly halts on the load screen. Stupid dead zones. “Come on, come on, come on.”
Lawrence sits in silence maybe a full thirty seconds. “I thought you said we needed to be quick.”
“We do!” I growl in frustration. The few pictures that have loaded are articles about tonight’s gala, nothing about the younger Munez. I’m facing having to start the search over. Maybe ’80s Munez? But what if all that come up are articles about the drug bust? I literally beat my forehead with the phone in frustration.
Lawrence sighs, watching me. “Even if you could find it online, this dude is so old. Highly doubt he’s donning a cape and spankies.”
“What if he has a protégé? L, I’ve been thinking. Rideout’s dad worked with this guy. Munez got Rideout’s dad out of some serious charges. Then Rideout trained with him for years until he retired. Maybe Munez is the original, but my hunch says that we’re dealing with a younger cop, still on the force, and someone in Matteo’s inner circle. Someone who took his ideas and runs the same operation. Maybe this is what the Golden Arrow is trying to tell us.”
“That’s a lot to prove, MG.”
I give up and throw my phone—still stuck loading the fourth and fifth pictures on Google Images—into my lap. I’ll have to try again later. “Yes, thank you for your assessment. Now let’s go before Matteo comes out. He already suspects that I have the journal, and if he sees me with you, well, I’ll be off the case for sure.” His warning said as much. If he finds proof that I’ve taken the journal the police are looking for, I’ll probably be arrested for impeding an investigation. I catch L’s startled look at my mention of the journal. “I’ll tell you about the journal on our way. We need to get to the warehouse by eleven p.m.”
Lawrence shifts the car into drive, though we can’t move forward yet. We have to wait for several people to meander across the road toward the party at an infuriatingly slow speed. Too late, I recognize Agent Sosa and her husband walking through the parking lot. I will her not to notice me, but my car’s wheezing exhaust system is pretty noticeable in the sea of luxury automobiles. She catches my eye. I can’t look away, even as they make their slow way in our direction.
Agent Sosa stops just outside my window. It seems intentional and threatening, even though I’ve done nothing to this woman but be polite tonight. “Leaving so soon, Ms. Martin?”
“Business to attend to,” I answer through my open window. I make a move to roll it up. Having it down was a big mistake.
Her eyes slide to Lawrence, then back to me. Lawrence does his usual “haters gonna hate” ignore-them routine. I wish I could be as good at it as him. Instead, I reach across the middle of my car and grasp his hand with mine. I’m fighting off a strong case of the heebie-jeebies along with a ball of anxiety that would make Black Lightning nervous. I’m positive he can feel my hand shaking, and he squeezes back.
Her sour smile has turned into something of a Cheshire grin, and it doesn’t sit well with me either. “Well, it was nice to see you again. Maybe we’ll see you and your friend around. Lawrence, isn’t it? I thought someone inside was asking about him. Have a nice night. I’m sure we’ll be seeing both of you soon.” She and her husband continue around the car, but I’m frozen in my seat.
“L, did she just use your name?”
“Yes. Shit. She doesn’t seem friendly.”
“She knows Matteo is looking for you.” Dread seeps into my pores like one of Lawrence’s ridiculous gel facial masks. This gets more real, more dangerous by the minute. “We need to go. She knows who you are. I’m with you, and I’ll bet my spandex that she’s going to tell Matteo. You could get arrested for evading police, and I could be arrested for obstructing justice. On so many counts.” I think of the journal in my pocket. My heart sinks, and I fight a wave of nausea. But my job right now is to keep Matteo safe, keep L safe, and solve this crime so I can beg forgiveness. No way out but through. Sometimes you just have to go into the fight and throw a lot of elbows. “L, I need your help to put this whole puzzle together before someone I love gets hurt.”
I know the comics. I know enough about the crime scenes to get me started. I’m going to have to be very careful not to get caught, but if anyone can catch the Golden Arrow at his own game, it is me. This is do or die, life or death.
Lawrence regards me, then revs the engine of my little car. “Game on, bitches.”
We park two blocks away from the warehouse in an alley behind a dumpster, per Lawrence’s insistence. Sometimes even Han took suggestions from Leia.
“I should have been more specific about Operation Janeway’s uniform requirements.” I push my black wig off my forehead and glare through the curls at Lawrence, who seems to be monitoring everything while still walking down a dark alley without tripping. There is no sign of a wiggle in his walk. This is game face for Lawrence, and if I’m right, he’s carrying at least one gun on his person.
“I look like a castoff from Saturday Night Fever,” I grumble. Truth be told, I rather love the maroon leather jumpsuit I’m rocking, and the knee-high brown boots are very Kill Bill. Better for a little B and E than my lace dress by a mile.
The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1) Page 24