The Wharf

by Carol Ericson

  “I dropped by to pick up the file on my dad’s suicide. There was something I wanted to check before dinner.”

  She widened the door and made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Enter. It’s on the table where we left it. I’m still getting ready.”

  He squeezed past her into the room, checking her out from head to bare toes. “I’m glad you’re not done getting dressed. I’m no fashion expert, but that shirt doesn’t go with the skirt.”

  “Thank you for your advice, Mr. Givenchy.” She plucked at the hem of her skirt and curtsied.

  Ryan cocked his head. He sauntered to the desk and scooped up the folder. “You’re getting a call.”

  She held up her hands and he tossed the buzzing cell phone at her. Cupping the phone in her hand, she read Unknown Number on the display. The unknown was nothing unusual in her line of work.

  She answered. “Hello?”

  “Why, hello, Kacie. This is Daniel Walker.”

  Chapter Eight

  The low voice as smooth as a sharp blade sent a cascade of shivers down her back and she dropped to the edge of the bed. She’d never shown one ounce of weakness to Walker, and she wasn’t about to start now. “How are you calling me?”

  Ryan jerked his head up from the file and mouthed the words What’s wrong?

  Had the fear seeped into her tone? She cleared her throat and put her cell on Speaker.

  Walker chuckled. “It’s called a phone.”

  Ryan’s brows collided over the bridge of his nose as he crossed the room in two steps and crouched beside the bed.

  “You know what I mean, Walker.” She met Ryan’s eyes and dipped her chin as his mouth formed an O. “How is it you have access to a phone to call me?”

  “All things are possible in prison, Kacie, my dear.”

  “The cops will be onto you if you decide to send your thug after me again.”

  He clicked his tongue and even that sound caused her to clench her jaw. “Kacie, Kacie, that’s why I’m calling. The warden had a little chat with me and I assured him, like I’m assuring you now, I never sent anyone after you. I’m an innocent man, biding my time and preparing for my appeal.”

  “B.S.” She bounded up from the bed, nearly knocking Ryan over, and paced to the window. “Duke Bannister warned me that you were coming for me, and then you had him killed.”

  “Who’s Duke Bannister? Sounds like a boxer.”

  “He was a fellow inmate of yours at Walla Walla.” She licked her lips. “Just stop it. You know who Bannister is.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never had the...pleasure of meeting Mr. Bannister. Or does he prefer Duke?”

  “He doesn’t prefer anything now. He’s dead.”

  “So, an ex-con comes out of nowhere claiming to know me and proceeds to warn you that I’m after you? Sounds perfectly logical to me.” Walker coughed.

  “Yeah, he warned me, and then I got locked in the hotel sauna, and I got that doll.”

  As the silence on the other line dragged on, she shrugged at Ryan. Maybe Walker had been busted for the phone use.

  “Hello?”

  “What doll?”

  “Someone sent me a doll just like the one your daughter had. I got the message.”

  She heard Walker begin to sob and the sound had her bobbling the phone. She closed her eyes, fighting the sympathy that surged through her body. He didn’t deserve it.

  She heard shouts over the phone and then a harsh whisper from Walker. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Planting her hands on the table on either side of her laptop, Kacie hunched over, the phone still clutched in one fist.

  She felt the warmth of Ryan’s presence behind her and then his strong fingers squeezing her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath and turned to face him, close enough for her breasts beneath the baggy T-shirt to brush against his chest. Close enough to see his green eyes changing color at the contact. “I’m fine. He’s so good, so convincing, isn’t he?”

  “What do you think he meant at the end? He didn’t kill his family, or he didn’t have someone stalk you?”

  “I don’t know—probably both. To deny the one is to deny the other. If he never killed his family, he wouldn’t be the type to go after me for proving he did. Threatening me would almost be like admitting his guilt—and he’ll never do that, not as long as he has breath in his lungs.”

  “He seemed really broken up about his daughter.”

  “He’s a good actor.”

  “Why would he go through the trouble of contacting you to tell you he wasn’t threatening you?”

  She shuffled away from him and peered out the window at the darkening street below. “I don’t pretend to know what goes through the man’s mind.”

  “Really? Because in the book you sort of did pretend to know what was going through his mind. Think about it. If he did discuss his plans with Bannister and then send someone to carry them out, why would he direct attention to himself by calling you, especially after the warden already talked to him about Bannister’s murder?”

  She yanked on the rod of the drapes. “He enjoys the attention, Ryan. He saw it as another opportunity to maintain his innocence to me.”

  “If you say so.” He shrugged.

  “Besides, I don’t have any other enemies. Who else would be locking me in saunas and sending me dolls? Bannister was offed for warning me about Walker.”

  “Was he?”

  “Of course. What are you talking about?” She folded her arms over her stomach, grabbing handfuls of the T-shirt on both sides.

  “You were going to meet him that night because he’d called you at lunch and said he had something to tell you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’d already warned you about Walker. What more did he have to say?”

  “Maybe he was going to tell me something about the doll.” She bit her bottom lip, not enjoying the direction of the conversation.

  “Why would he do that? If he even knew about the doll, he’d know that you’d figure out he was telling you the truth about his warning. What more would he have to say?”

  “So what’s your theory?”

  “He was going to tell you the truth—that someone besides Walker had sent him.”

  She threw up her hands. “You’re basing all this on Walker’s insistence that he didn’t do it. They all say that, don’t they?”

  “I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.” He tucked the file under his arm. “I still want to look this over. You can finish getting dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  He jogged up the stairwell to work off some tension. Kacie hadn’t been wearing a bra beneath that T-shirt. She may have thought it was loose-fitting, but every time she moved, the soft material conformed to her breasts, making it hard to concentrate on the conversation...or just making it hard.

  When he got to his room, he splashed some cold water on his face and brushed his teeth. Then he stretched out on the bed and skimmed through the file on his father’s suicide again, flipping to the back pages.

  At the time of his father’s suicide, Cookie Phelps had been a streetwalker, plying her trade in the Tenderloin and turning over most of her earnings to a pimp. How had she broken out of that cycle? Where had she gotten the money to attend real-estate classes and take the test for her license?

  That had all happened in quick succession, shortly after his father’s death. According to her website, Cynthia Phelps had been a Realtor for almost twenty years.

  Had one event influenced the other? The thought that his father may have made some arrangement with Cynthia left a bad taste in his mouth.

  He checked the time and stashed the file in the nightstand drawer. He’d bring all this up with Kacie at dinner. Maybe she could arrange to wear a potato sack, because that was the only way he was going to be able to focus on anything other than not peeli
ng off her clothes.

  No such luck.

  The sway of her hips as she approached him in the lobby made the flounces of her skirt twitch back and forth. She’d replaced the baggy T-shirt with a V-neck sweater, and although she had her breasts properly ensconced in a bra, there was nothing proper about the way the soft material of the sweater hugged her assets.

  He closed his mouth and hoped the drool hadn’t made it to his chin.

  Standing up at her approach, he smiled. “That sweater is a much better match.”

  “I’m glad you approve. I feel so much better about my selection now.”

  He pointed to her feet in a pair of low-heeled sandals. “Can you walk in those? I’m thinking seafood at the Wharf.”

  “No problem. I don’t feel like battling traffic and searching for a decent place to park. Let’s skip the big touristy places.”

  “Agreed.”

  They stepped into the cool night and Kacie threw a light jacket over her shoulders.

  “Let’s beat the light.” Ryan grabbed her hand and pulled her into the crosswalk as the red hand blinked at them.

  “You like living dangerously, don’t you?” She freed her hand from his on the pretext of clutching the collar of her jacket. “Drivers in this city are an impatient bunch.”

  “You seem to know San Francisco well. Do you spend a lot of time here?”

  “I...” She fussed with her jacket, finally shoving her arms through the sleeves. “I come here a few times a year—meetings, book signings. I like it.”

  “Do you like it better than Seattle?”

  “Both cities have their charms.” She stopped at the curb and smacked her palm against the light for the signal. “How about you? Do you miss it?”

  “Crestview isn’t that far away, and two of my brothers are here, so I come in at least once a month.” He touched her elbow and pointed to the right. “This way.”

  Hunching her shoulders, she said, “I’m glad you said that. Bannister was killed in the other direction. Do the police have any leads in the case?”

  “If they do, they’re not telling me.” He guided her around a crowd of people watching a man dressed up like a robot, his face caked with silver makeup. “But I’m calling the lieutenant tomorrow to let him know about Walker’s call.”

  “Oh.” She rubbed her nose. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “He’s not supposed to be calling you, Kacie. He’d been warned. How does he have your number, anyway?”

  “We were in very close contact at one time. I guess he kept my number.”

  He shook his head. “You never changed your number after giving it to a psychopath like Walker? Come to think of it, how did Bannister get your number?”

  “I gave it to him after he emailed me from my website. With the type of writing I do, I need to keep the lines of communication open. It’s a risk I’m willing to take to get and keep my contacts.”

  “Talk about living dangerously.” He opened the door of the restaurant for her but felt like wrapping her in his arms instead. She might see herself as a tough cookie dealing with these criminals, but they saw her as an easy mark.

  After the waiter brought their drinks and food, Ryan settled back in the booth and wrapped his hands around the chilly mug of beer. When Kacie pulled her mini-recorder from her purse, he groaned. “You’re kidding.”

  She cocked her head. “I told you it was a working dinner.”

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe me? Did you think I’d need time to recover just because Walker called?”

  “It’s okay if you do.” He flicked her wineglass with his finger, and the golden liquid inside shimmered in the candlelight. “I don’t mind a little business with my pleasure, but can we do this without the recorder?”

  She swept it back into her purse. “Done. Did you discover anything else from that file after you left my room?” she asked as she picked up her fork and dug into her salad.

  “Just that Cookie turned her life around shortly after my father’s suicide. She went from streetwalker to house seller in record time.”

  “Maybe the tragedy inspired her to do something more with her life.”

  “Possibly, but it takes some quick money to turn your life around like that.”

  “Are you suggesting she got it from your father?”

  Ryan took a bite of his food and a long swallow of his beer, then placed the mug on the table. “I hate to even think it, but it sure seems like a coincidence that she winds up with the means to change her life after witnessing Dad’s suicide.”

  “That’s one proposition I would’ve liked to have heard.”

  “Maybe Cookie didn’t know why he’d asked her to join him on the bridge.”

  “Why would he even want a witness? Wouldn’t leaving his personal effects on the bridge be proof enough that he had jumped?”

  “I don’t know, Kacie. Maybe we’re just reading way too much into Cookie’s presence on the bridge. She was there, and she saw him, a cop who had arrested her pimp. Maybe it was what it was—a coincidence.

  “I’m not sure questioning her again will do any good, but I might give it a try anyway.” He dropped his napkin on the table. “The discovery of Cookie does indicate there’s a lot of untapped information on my father’s case. Who knows what more we’ll find out when we start going through the case files—witnesses, suspects, victims.”

  Kacie slammed the glass she’d been drinking from on the table, and the water sloshed over the rim. “Sorry. You know, Ryan, I’m not sure we need to delve into all of that. This is more of a personal story from your perspective.”

  “Really?” He tapped his unused spoon against the table. “I thought the point of this book was to prove my father’s innocence. That’s why I signed on.”

  “And I think we can do that by telling your story.”

  “It’s not my story, Kacie.” He cocked his head. “It’s my father’s story, and to get it right we need to burrow into the past.”

  She threaded her fingers together. “We’ll have to dig into the case file after we pick it up from Records when we drop off the suicide file. Maybe we can split it up. I’ll take the victims, and you can have...whatever.”

  “Yeah, and the best part is we don’t even have to go back to Records to muddle through the stuff. My brother’s fiancée made copies of everything in the case file and organized it.”

  “Even the pictures?”

  “Everything.”

  “That’s great.” Kacie glanced at her phone. “Can we get going?”

  “Dessert?”

  “No, thanks.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I’m not feeling that great.”

  She didn’t even make a move for her wallet to pay for the dinner. He placed his own card on the table and covered her fidgeting fingers with his hand. “We’ll take a taxi back to the hotel.”

  “That’s okay. I could use the fresh air.” She waved her fingers in the air to get the waiter’s attention. “Where are these cataloged and organized notes?”

  “In my hotel room. My brother Eric gave them to me before he went back to D.C.”

  “That’s convenient.” She took a sip of water and closed her eyes. Then she pulled in a long breath and straightened her shoulders. “Not sure if I’m up for any more work tonight. Maybe my body’s trying to tell me to take it easy.”

  “Then let’s get out of here so you can...take it easy.”

  By the time he’d paid the bill and they stepped out into the cool night, Kacie had gotten her color back.

  “You’re feeling better?” He adjusted her jacket around her shoulders, and his fingertips brushed the smooth skin stretched across her collarbone.

  Her eyes met his, and her lips parted. “I feel...fine.”

  She wriggled deeper into her jacket, and he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from pulling her lush body into his arms.

  “Great. If you start feeling lousy agai
n, let me know.”

  She hooked her arm through his, pressing her shoulder against his shoulder. “What’ll you do? Sweep me up in your arms again and carry me back to my room?”

  The scent of her perfume and her soft hair tickling his chin overwhelmed his senses. Was she coming on to him? She’d been holding him at arm’s length up to that point, despite his broad hints that she pushed his buttons in all the right ways. Maybe it was just because she’d been feeling faint. Once she came to her senses, she’d probably push him away again and insist on professionalism. So, should he take advantage of her momentary lapse of professionalism?

  He left his hands in his pockets. “If you collapse on the sidewalk, I’ll definitely call an ambulance.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder like a satisfied cat.

  This time the strands of her hair caught on his beard. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and curled his arm around Kacie’s waist. He waited for her to pull away or engage with some distraction, like her phone.

  She snuggled against him, her curves fitting against the hard lines of his body.

  He tightened his hold, his fingertips sinking into the swell of her hip.

  They strolled down the sidewalk, side by side, fitting in with all the couples on their date nights.

  They stopped to watch the robotic man. Kacie pulled a dollar bill from her purse and dropped it into his bucket.

  “Is that tax-deductible, too?”

  She laughed, a warm, sultry sound that made him feel as if they shared some deep secret that set them apart from everyone else around them.

  “No, it is not.” Then she smacked his backside, allowing her fingers to linger and brush against the denim.

  She’d better not have been teasing, because she’d just made him hard past the point of no return.

  As their hotel rose before them, Ryan grabbed Kacie’s hand and quickened his steps. When they hit the elevator, he punched the buttons for both floors. His room, her room—he didn’t care where this happened.

  But she apparently had a preference. When the doors opened on her floor, she punched the button to close the doors. When the car hit his floor, he took one step off the elevator, straddling the door, and she brushed past him into the hallway.