When his mother blew her brains out from disgrace and depression, Chelsea made a last stand at his side at the funeral and informed him she was filing for divorce. Less than a year later Ray had been killed. The big dark ball of his life kept rolling downhill. No wonder he didn’t talk about it much. Who wants to hear all that? He and so many people he came into contact with in his job seemed to live their lives in a sort of twilit dystopia. What could he give Mo? He’d even met her through murder. Well, that wasn’t quite true but it was murder that had brought them together.
A few days of loving her had turned a light on in his grim world. He had been able to see the beauty of living and loving once again without the oppression of his bleak job. He’d hung onto to work as the only ground that didn’t move beneath his feet until Ray had been killed. But now he realized he may have only had something to prove. First to his father. Then to the police community at large. Mo had poked a hole into the shield insolating him from his growing suspicion that he’d gotten caught up in somebody else’s plan for him after all. He didn’t hate police work. He just didn’t love it anymore. He now doubted he ever had.
Mo had to leave for rehearsal and despite his pain all he could think of was her. This was her moment. She had achieved the highest level in her field. She made the kind of money that would allow her to live comfortably for life. In maybe ten years or so she’d be paid well to train others reaching for the top rung. She’d talked about ideas for producing shows with great enthusiasm. All the doors to her future were wide open. How could he fit in? They lived in different countries. They led different lives. She wouldn’t give up the future she’d worked for since childhood to stay in Chicago with a man who’d just proven what an inherently dangerous job he had. He could never ask her to.
Then there was the money. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who would be threatened by a woman who made more money and he wasn’t. Chelsea had made tons more as a lawyer. She’d come from money. Mo might well make millions in the course of her career. He’d overheard some gossip that she was the top paid aerialist in the business. Though he had no idea of her actual income. Her needs seemed to be pretty basic. But she could buy six hundred dollar earrings on a whim.
A sense of hopelessness made him feel hollowed out. The joy of the past few days ebbed away. She would be back. But he didn’t want her to come back out of a sense of obligation. They both knew what had to happen. They’d had their time.
“Dammit.” He felt helpless laying there in the hospital room listening to the beeps of monitors. They said he’d be okay. There was a lot of pain but he actually didn’t feel too badly. He had been damn lucky the way the bullet passed through even though it had shattered a small section of his clavicle. The other bullet had traveled a lucky, if bloody path as well. Like many stories he’d heard the doctor had said “Just another centimeter” and he would probably have bled to death on the dumpster. He might have died in an alley like Ray. Wouldn’t that possibility be a nice thing for any woman to have to live with?
He had talked to Dino who was bringing pizza over later and he was looking forward to the visit and the food. Al had come by which was really a surprise. “Just in the neighborhood. Had to suck up a grilling from Tyler. How long you planning on lying around here?” If Al had any feelings about the death of Rosalie Villareal, he wasn’t letting Zack know. Somehow Zack thought there was more than met the eye to Al Simpson’s emotions. He’d gotten an update from Al. Shaughnessy and Lyons accused each other of being the shooter in Ray’s death. But no one had seen Shaughnessy in the alley except for Lyons. And vice versa. Zack had given his statement knowing Rosalie Villareal’s accusation against Bull probably wouldn’t be admissable, or at least would be considered strongly biased.
Duke Washington had been by. He had been instrumental in making sure the bust had been clean. Zack was a little queasy about the way that had gone down. A woman had died. It had been a shock that Bull had murdered her like that. If they couldn’t get him on Ray, one witness actually saw him shoot Rosalie. The kid on the ground said he didn’t see anything. Who could blame him? Of course, a whole movement in support of Bull Shaughnessy had already sprung up.
The papers were having a field day and more than one reporter had tried to barge into his room. As he saw on the news, they’d been trailing Mo as well. Luckily she would be well guarded at the coliseum. Roddy would make sure, with the help of the security team that no one got to her. That brought his reveries back to Mo. They couldn’t be together. But how could he live without her?
Twelve
The lights seemed hotter than usual and Mo’s nerves were frazzled by poor sleep and anxiety. Claude had asked his share of rude questions and had made snide comments about Zack and fascist Americans in general. The other performers had been discreet enough to not say much. Misha was his shy, quiet self. Trollie had avoided her altogether. She didn’t have the energy to deal with the clown yet.
She had been read the riot act by the security team. She had promised her full cooperation with Roddy nearby to twist her arm just in case. She told him of the man on the terrace at Zack’s. With renewed interest, the security team and the Greendale police theorized that Ling’s killer was not only still around, but might be a current or past performer. If all the current performers had been accounted for, what had been missed? No one knew who might have that kind of grudge against Ling or Mo.
Al Simpson was the last person Mo wanted to see. Yet there he was looking up from the coliseum floor. She did a triple then swung to the platform, Claude catching her arm. “You always got the police on your trail!” He evidently thought it was funny. Mo was starting to wonder if she could continue working with him much longer. He still had his hand on her arm giving her a mocking look. She jerked it away and slid down the pole.
“Back to business, Ms. Whitman?” Al loomed but somehow his countenance seemed different. It was no longer the fixed visage of resentment and malice she’d come to expect.
“The show must go on.” Mo stretched eyeing him, waiting for some off the wall accusation. “What can I do for you, Detective Simpson?”
“I just got wind of the incident that occurred last night at Burnham’s condo. I would have appreciated hearing about it sooner.” He looked down businesslike but not angrily as she would have expected.
“I had other things on my mind, Detective. I did report it and since you’re here it seems you did ‘get wind of it’. Is there something I should know? Do you have some questions? Or are you just here to try to rattle a confession out of me?” Mo’s eyes met his with a defiant spark. “Maybe I climbed twelve stories up the side of Zack’s building to throw off the police.”
Unbelievably Al Simpson laughed. “Stranger things have happened, Ms. Whitman. A mold was made of a standard acrobat type shoe; a man’s size sixteen. A rope was found tied to the terrace below. Your intruder climbed a rope to the eleventh floor then managed to climb up to Burnham’s terrace from there. He jumped back down to the eleventh when he was seen by the neighbor. He repelled to the ground. That’s why he got away so quickly.”
Why didn’t the police find the rope?” Mo tightened her braid then twisted it nervously.
“The neighbor found it and pulled it up. She’d heard the commotion and didn’t want to be involved. Only when the police were canvassing the building did she show what she had found.”
“She must have been frightened.” Mo couldn’t blame the woman.
“Ms. Whitman is there anyone, anyone, you have any idea would want to hurt you or Ling Wong?”
“Again, I have no idea who would want to hurt either of us.” Mo sighed. “I hope you aren’t still considering Linc Harris a suspect.”
“He hasn’t been eliminated. Officially, no one has. Look, aside from fearing outright danger from someone has anyone seemed odd? Strange? Made you feel uncomfortable in any way? A word, a look even?”
She thought about Trollie. His not so subtle come ons. What he’d said
at the airport. Claude seemed to be in a permanent snit. But he had been a victim himself. A flush of guilt about that ran over her. They both had been eliminated. Yet they both had the skill to climb a building. She shook her head doubtfully.
“What?” Al Simpson put his hands on his hips. His giant frame leaned toward her. She looked around and blew out the air that felt like it had been expanding in her chest for hours. Then she told him about what Trollie had said at the airport.
“I don’t know if it means anything but I wish you’d told us sooner.” Al frowned, his face lined where jowls were just beginning.
“Please don’t tell Zack about this. I’d rather he not know until he’s feeling better. Please don’t drag him back into this as well.” Mo eyes widened at his snort. “Don’t you think he’s done enough cop hero stuff for one week? He’s not even on duty. I’d rather you stuck to your own heroics and left him out of it.” She sucked in a hard breath, suppressing a sob. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Ms. Whitman, are you sure you should be going up there?” Al jerked his head at the trapeze.
“Detective Simpson, unless you’re going to arrest me for performing while worried about a…a”
“No law against it.” This he said gently. “Be careful.”
“Now what?” Mo sat at the table in her private dressing room. She had finally given in to the insistence of the security team and taken the privilege she had been offered long ago. She was ready for the first show after the break and just wanted to collect her thoughts for a few moments. She had been doing deep breathing exercises to center herself when there was a knock on the door. “Yes?”
Hagman, who was stationed outside her door, poked his head in. “Mr. Mojonnier has asked to see you.”
She heaved a deep sigh. One more thing… “Momo, I need to speak with you.” Claude, sheathed in his costume sauntered in. Despite his Gallic good looks and perfect body Mo felt no attraction at all.
“What is it, Claude? We only have a couple minutes.” Mo checked her headdress and veil. It had been a miracle that she’d had any time at all to get her head together.
“I, I want to apologize to you.” Claude said softly.
“Claude if this is another ploy…” she rose from her seat and glared through the veil.
Claude put his hands up defensively. “No, Momo, I am serious. I think about what you said. We must work together. We must trust each other implicitly. I know I am an ass sometimes. But it is an honor to work with you. I will try to be friends. I don’t hold a grudge.”
“Did Roddy put you up to this?” Mo stepped closer to see his face.
“Well, he only suggest what I had been meaning to say all along.” He put a pleading look on his face. “It’s true. I am sorry. You know how it is. A man don’t want to say, ‘Look at me, I’m an ass.’” He pitched his voice high and did a stupid little jig waggling his fingers on either side of his head. Mo couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m sorry that you got in the way of this whole thing. It’s my fault what happened with the champagne. Thank you for this Claude, it really helps.”
“You’re welcome. But it’s not your fault. Hopefully we’ll know soon whose fault it is. How is Zack? I guess you two…”
“He’ll be fine…” Both heads twisted rapidly at the sound of the music.
The show went well and everyone was pleased and congratulating one another. As soon as she was out of costume Mo rushed to the hotel and packed a bag. She visited Zack that morning and had hoped to see him again that night. The two bodyguards assigned to her for the night shook their heads at each other. “What I’ll do for a seventy five thou a year,” said Meese. She was driven down the drive to the hospital where she was refused entry into Zack’s room. She thought of trying to sneak in but she felt the weight of not one but two albatrosses around her neck.
Resigned to not seeing Zack that night, she settled into Zack’s condo. After showing the boys, as she called them, the TV remote and where they could hook up their laptops. Mo slept a hard dreamless sleep and woke up feeling like a run. Once again they went through the routine of following her while she ran. Fortunately it was Saturday morning and the early morning traffic was sparse compared to weekdays. “You guys ought to get some running shoes. Might as well get some exercise.” The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
The ride to the hospital had Mo’s mind going in circles. The run hadn’t cleared her mind of the anxieties she had been feeling. Though it had braced her for what she had to say to Zack. She knew he would never leave his world for hers. She was realizing what she worked for her entire life for. What was possible for them? Could they still be lovers? How would that fit into their lives? She traveled ten months out of the year. While she had an apartment in Montreal, the time spent there was spent planning, practicing, rehearsing. Her job consumed her. If she wasn’t performing she was preparing to perform. And she had ideas for shows. The Egyptian theme had been festering in the back of her mind when she could take it off of Zack. She wanted to design and produce shows. That would be her fallback when she could no longer perform. Sure, she could coach, but the creative outlet designing shows offered was much more appealing.
In the meantime she knew that while still in Chicago, she couldn’t stay away. Could they have a little longer? Would it just make it that much harder when the time came? She had never ached for a man before. Part of her hoped she’d suddenly realize it was a momentary flame that she’d gotten caught up in. After all, they really didn’t know each other. The spark of passion between them might be easily extinguished by a cooling draft of mundanity. The difficulties of maintaining a relationship between their two worlds might quickly wear down the sharp edge of sexual thrill. Could a new and tenuous relationship survive that even under the best of circumstances?
Mo wished she wasn’t finding it so difficult to separate her sexual longing for Zack from this other new and even more intense need. The need to talk to him, laugh with him, sleep with him. Where’d that come from? It wasn’t the stuff of mere arousal. She was beside herself to see him and that was something that was totally outside of her experience.
In a whirling vortex of heat she had wanted him. This was more than that. This wasn’t just an extreme of emotion let loose like steam from a safety valve. It was a volcanic release of every desire she had ever stuffed deep inside in order to focus on goals that she had never questioned. She loved her work. Lived for it. She wasn’t quite sure when her grandmother’s goals had become hers. But those goals had become innate. Yet her feelings for Zack had her rethinking her entire life. Was this love? Did it make you reevaluate everything? Challenge every assumption you had about your future and how to get there? Her experience in that area was non-existent. Was love really such a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety? Mo found it thrilling and frightening. But she was unsure she knew enough to separate love from infatuation. She would have told anyone else they were crazy to think they were in love on such a short acquaintance. She couldn’t help but question her own judgment. If it wasn’t love, what was it then? Really, how the heck did she know what love was?
“God, I love you!” he had said. She couldn’t afford to take that at face value. For one thing he had been coming out from under anesthesia. She was on her way to the hospital to see a man she thought she might be in love with who had been shot twice and had come close to dying. Another what if. If everything were to somehow fall into place. If they found a way to be together. If they loved beyond the moment’s heady excess. How could she cope with his job?
Now she felt she was back to square one. Sure, she could sustain an injury in the course of her job. A serious one. But she was so highly skilled and conscious of safety; her death was an unlikely event. The company went all out for safety. Every possibly scenario had been thought of and accounted for. The worse that happened in the company was the occasional broken arm or leg. She herself had never had a severe injury. There was no foolhardy flying without a
net business with La Cirque du Celestial. Typically people weren’t murdering each other in her line of work. Bullets flying weren’t routine. Zack’s job was filled with unknowns. He wasn’t as exposed as a uniformed officer but there were certainly dangers. Why did he have to be a cop? Of course if he hadn’t been she would never have met him.
She remembered what Mayor Tyler had told her about Zack and the mayor’s daughter. He had given her up for the job. Might not have been the only reason but when it came right down to it the message had been clear. He was a cop. Practically born and bred. He’d even turned down having the path paved for him in yellow bricks. He’d worked, risen on his own and given up two major relationships to be a cop. He was in his early thirties. He had only been a cop for eleven years. What if he asked her to give up what she had worked for so long? On the basis of a few weeks acquaintance and a few nights of near insane lovemaking.
She wished it wasn’t a sunny day. It somehow felt even more bleak. Yet when she saw the hospital her heart raced and the car hadn’t fully stopped before she had the door open and was racing into the lobby.
Fly With Fire Page 27