Handled: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Heather Slade

  Five

  Ali

  As far as days went, this one was expensive. I forgot to call the roadside service company to tell them I was leaving, so they charged me a hundred bucks for what they said was a “no show.”

  When I finally got back to my car—via the car service, which also cost over a hundred dollars—and called roadside assistance a second time, they agreed my battery was dead, but not that I needed a new one. Instead, they predicted there was an issue with my electrical system.

  I talked to the security people in the parking garage and asked if I could leave my car there overnight until I figured out what to do with it. They said I could, but there was a hundred-dollar fee for that too.

  Roadside service towed my car to a service station within the free five-mile radius, which meant I had to take the car service back to my apartment. If I added in what it would cost me to get back for the hearing the next day, plus getting my car fixed, I figured I was looking at a thousand dollars easy.

  None of this was Sumner Copeland’s fault, except I’d wasted so much time sitting in the stupid CIA building, waiting for him. I should’ve left as soon as we got there. Then I should’ve left when an hour passed and he still hadn’t come down. When it hit the two-hour mark, I was furious. Not to mention that every time the elevator door opened, I worried someone who knew me would get off.

  My guess was Cope had forgotten all about me. I mean, would it have been so hard to send some intern down to tell me it was going to take a lot longer than he’d expected?

  The driver pulled up to my building, and I crawled out of the back seat, dead tired and laden with my messenger bag, my gym bag, and some other stuff from my car that I’d thrown into a paper bag. I was about to walk into my building when I heard someone shouting.

  “Miss, miss, wait!” I turned around and saw Lindsey from the café running toward me, carrying yet another bag.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “This is from…damn, I’m out of shape.” She tried to catch her breath. “Anyway, this is from Cope. You just missed him.” She took another deep breath. “He was waiting to give it to you himself, but then he got a call.”

  “Look, Lindsey, right?”

  She nodded, still trying to catch her breath.

  “This is really sweet, but I’ve had a really long, really hard day, and I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “He told me. At least his part in it. I’ll tell you, he really feels awful about it. Just take this. It’s dinner, plus stuff for breakfast and lunch tomorrow. By the looks of you, it’ll probably last you all week.”

  “By the looks of me?” I asked, not bothering to hide my scowl.

  “You’re tiny. You probably don’t eat more than a bite or two at every meal, am I right?”

  I was dead tired, my feet were killing me, I was starving even though I’d lied and said I wasn’t, and I was irritable. Nothing I was going through was the fault of the woman who’d run across the street to give me food.

  I smiled and shook my head. “You’d be surprised how much I can pack away. My grandma always said I had the appetite of an offensive lineman. Thank you for this. I really do appreciate it.”

  “There’s silverware in there and napkins, plus instructions for heating it all up. Oh, and there’s dessert too. I’m sorry you had such a shitty day.” She tried to hand me the bag, but with everything I was carrying, I had no way to take it.

  “You want me to bring this upstairs for you?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll get it.”

  I looked up when I saw the man who’d left me sitting in the lobby of a building for two hours, about to cross the street. “I gotta go. Thanks again.” I stuck out one finger, and she hung the bag on it.

  “You sure you don’t want help?”

  “Nope, I got it. Thanks,” I said, hoping my finger wouldn’t bend back any farther before I got upstairs.

  I rushed in the revolving door and over to the elevator, willing one of them to open when I hit the call button with my elbow.

  “Ali,” I heard Cope call out, but pretended I didn’t. Not that it mattered, because the damn elevators seemed to all be stuck on the tenth floor. Where the hell was the doorman, anyway?

  “Ali, I’m glad I caught you.”

  I wasn’t. I heard a ding and the sound of doors opening.

  “I’m sorry about earlier. Things really hit the fan, and it took a lot longer—”

  “Tell the truth,” I said, stepping into my escape route. “You forgot all about me.” I set the bag of food down on the floor and rummaged around for my key card, only remembering I needed it when the elevator didn’t move. In that time, he’d stepped inside.

  “You’re right. I did forget.”

  I found the card and looked up at him. “Okay. Well, thanks for the food.”

  “Can I ride up with you? Help you with that?”

  “No, I got it.”

  Someone else rushed into the elevator and stuck his card in the slot. “What floor?” he said, looking first at me and then at Cope.

  “Thirtieth.”

  The man hit the button for twenty-four and then the one for thirty. I didn’t speak again until he got out.

  “How did you know my floor?” I said as soon as the doors closed. They opened again, and he still hadn’t answered me.

  “Well?”

  “I’ll explain when we’re inside.”

  “Inside? You’re not coming inside.” I did my damnedest to pick up the bag of food while juggling the rest of my crap.

  “Quit being so stubborn and let me help you.”

  Cope grabbed the food and then took my messenger bag off my shoulder. He motioned toward my door, because he knew which one it was. That alone was enough to give me a panic attack.

  I stuck the key card into the slot in the door, and when it clicked, Cope grasped the knob and held it open for me. I stepped over the threshold, dropped the bags I was still carrying, and held out my hands for the two he had.

  “Thanks for your help.”

  He shook his head, turned his body sideways, and walked past me and into the kitchen.

  “Hey! I didn’t invite you in.” The heavy door slammed behind me as I stalked after him.

  He set the bags on the kitchen counter, and instead of walking back out, he sauntered toward the windows.

  “Come here,” he said, motioning to me.

  “What?”

  “Come here,” he repeated, waving his arm. I walked as far as I comfortably could.

  “Here,” he said again, pointing.

  “Just tell me.”

  “I’m not going to tell you; I’m going to show you how I know.”

  “You can show me from here.”

  “God, are you seriously this stubborn?” He stalked back to me and tried to take my hand, but I stuck it behind my back. He studied me for a few seconds. “You can’t walk over to the windows, can you?”

  “I can. I don’t want to.”

  “Take another step forward.”

  An imaginary line went from the wall, over to the far end of the dining room table. I already knew I couldn’t walk beyond it without getting vertigo. I spun around and stomped back to the kitchen. I was almost to the counter when I felt an arm snake around my waist.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked when he lifted me from the floor and carried me over to the windows. He was beyond my line, and I still hadn’t been able to wriggle out of his grasp. “Please don’t,” I begged him, tears threatening.

  He set me down between him and the window but didn’t take his arm from around my waist. “I’m right there,” he said in a soft voice as he pointed at the apartment I already knew he lived in. “And you’re okay. Your feet are on the floor, and you aren’t going to fall.”

  “I don’t like heights,” I muttered.

  “Figured that.” He turned to the left and spun me along with him. “Too bad because, look at that view.”

  In the distance, I sa
w the United States Capitol Building, just like the doorman had said. It truly was breathtaking.

  “I can tell you, that view never gets old.” His mouth was still close to my ear, and I could feel his breath on my neck.

  “You can let go now.”

  “Can I? You sure?”

  When he started to, I grabbed his arm and kept it where it was. “Maybe just walk me back.”

  He turned again, so I was facing the kitchen.

  “I’m good now.”

  He dropped his arm from around my waist, but I could feel his fingers on the small of my back.

  “I have one of those,” he said, pointing to the exercise bike. “Been on it?”

  I took a container out of the bag, set it on the counter, and tilted my head. “Look where it is.”

  “Yeah?”

  “No, I haven’t been on it. If I had, it wouldn’t still be sitting there.” I did want to try it out, though, and could use the exercise. Maybe over the weekend, I’d ask one of the doormen to help me move it away from the windows.

  I watched Cope walk over, kneel down, and flip a switch. “Have you ever tried out one of these? They’re amazing.” He tapped his finger on the screen. “The software needs to update, but once it does, I can show you one of its really cool features.”

  I had the containers out of the bag and stuck my fork into what looked like a gyro salad. “Oh my God,” I groaned when I took a bite of the succulent meat. “This is so good.” I took two more bites, barely swallowing in between. “No wonder you wouldn’t give it up.”

  He walked over and stood across the counter from me. “I’m sorry about that too.”

  “Too?”

  “And I’m sorry about forgetting you were waiting in the lobby for me today.”

  “And?”

  He cocked his head.

  “What else are you sorry for?”

  His eyes opened wide. He looked at the containers in front of me, and then he shrugged. “There’s more?”

  “Telling me I couldn’t be at the courthouse, for starters.”

  “I’m not sure I owe you an apology for that.”

  “You were rude.” I took two more bites, closing my eyes as I chewed, moaning at how good it tasted.

  “Anything else?”

  My mouth was full, so I nodded.

  “What?” he asked right before I stabbed another piece of the meat.

  “You snapped at me in the car.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

  “‘As far as anything to do with the trial, I can’t talk about it. Especially to you.’”

  “I was stating a fact. I didn’t snap.”

  I pushed aside the lettuce, looking for another piece of the meat, smiling when I found one.

  He reached over and opened one of the containers. Inside was baklava, and when he took a piece, I smacked the back of his hand with my fork. “Ouch! Why’d you do that?”

  “Put it back.”

  He didn’t. He took a bite, and I glared at him.

  “That was mine.”

  “I bought it.”

  “Oh, is that how it works? Indian giver much?”

  “Indian giver? You better watch it, Miss Graham. Word gets out you made an ethnic slur in the nation’s capital, you might get your hand slapped. Maybe by a fork.” He rubbed where I’d hit him.

  When I opened another container and, in it, found quiche, Cope snapped up another piece of baklava.

  “There should be soup and rolls in one of the smaller bags.”

  I grabbed the container of the sweet Greek dessert and moved it out of his reach.

  “Greedy,” he muttered, licking his fingers. “So, what were you going to tell me about the report?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before I snapped at you, you said, ‘So about the report…’”

  I was surprised he remembered, especially with how hard I was hoping he’d forget.

  “Come on, Tally, give it up.”

  “My name is Ali.”

  He reached across the counter and grabbed another piece of baklava. “Tell me this: have you at least figured out who Tally is?”

  “Yes, I’m not completely dense.”

  “Not completely?”

  I punched his arm. “Not dense.”

  “So, who is she?”

  “Tally Graham? You know I know.” Tally had been the nickname of the woman who became editor-in-chief of the Express when her husband, who previously held the job, suffered a debilitating stroke. Few outside the industry knew the story, though.

  “All right. Good enough. Now tell me what you know about the report.”

  “I didn’t say I knew anything.”

  “You were going to.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Did you see something suspicious?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Not something, but someone?”

  Fuck, he was good. With everything that happened, I’d forgotten all about the man I saw when I walked from the elevator to my car. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the car the guy had been standing near was Cope’s. Not that I thought he’d had anything to do with the report. I’d credited Stella with the false leak.

  “Could you pick him out of a lineup?”

  “I didn’t say I saw anyone.” I stood and tossed the empty food containers in the trash bin, hoping he’d drop it.

  “Was he hot or something?”

  I spun around. “Was who hot?”

  “You just got flustered. What happened? Did whoever you saw push all your buttons, Tally?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “It’s a compliment, you know.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Come on, just tell me.”

  “All right. I did see someone in the garage, but I don’t think he had anything to do with the report of a deal.”

  “What made you notice him?”

  “He gave me the creeps.”

  “Where was he when he creeped on you?”

  “He didn’t do anything on me. He was in the garage, near your car, actually. Although at the time, I didn’t know it was yours.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Asian.”

  Cope shook his head. “Now I understand. You thought I was going to call you out on it.”

  “No…” God, why was I lying about it? “Yes.”

  “It’s okay. You have to describe him somehow. What else do you remember about him?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” My mind was reeling, wondering how he’d managed to get me to tell him about the guy.

  “It’s okay. There are security cameras. We’ll take a look when we’re at the courthouse tomorrow.”

  “You will. I won’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have to figure out what to do about my car.”

  “Done.”

  “What’s done?” I smacked his hand when he started to take another piece of baklava.

  “Ouch.” He shook his hand. “I’ll get you more.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Do you want to hear what I did about your car?”

  I folded my arms. When he stood and turned his back, I took the last two pieces of the sweet, sticky, Greek dessert. He spun around, looked at the empty container, and then at me.

  “So…what did you do?”

  “I bought a battery. We’ll switch it out with the old one, and you’ll be good to go.”

  I shook my head. “It isn’t that simple. I had it towed. The roadside guy said it was probably my electrical system.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “What are you, a car guru?”

  “No, what I am is a guy—”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Let me finish. I’m a guy who works for the CIA, which means I see dishonesty on a daily basis. I’d be willing to bet that the ‘roadside guy’ has an in with the mechanic where he to
ok your car. They’ll tell you it’s something way worse than a seventy-dollar battery and then split the proceeds of your outlandish bill.”

  “They wouldn’t do that.”

  Cope shook his head. “Of course they would.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Sure. What? Another order of baklava?”

  “Nope. I’m thinking it’s gotta be more important than that.”

  I studied him. He was serious about this. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Six

  Cope

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” she asked.

  I couldn’t explain it, but there was something about this woman. “If I’m right, you’ll try out the bike. And you won’t move it.”

  “What? That’s crazy. No. And I didn’t say I wanted to bet. I just want to get my car fixed so I can do my job.”

  “You said ‘sure.’”

  Ali put her hands on her hips. “You’re a twelve-year-old in a grown man’s body. I may have said sure, but I didn’t shake on it, so no bet.”

  “If I lose, I’ll give you a story.” What the fuck? Had those words just come out of my mouth? I’ll give her a story? Had I lost my mind?

  “Which story?”

  “I don’t know. A good one.”

  She shook her head. “Warrick’s story.” Before I could say anything, she held up her hand. “Warrick’s trial. An exclusive. Daily updates.”

  I was ninety-nine percent certain I was right about the mechanic scamming her, but if I wasn’t, there was no way I could give her what she was asking for.

  “That’s what I thought.” Ali began putting lids on the food containers and loading them into the fridge.

  “Not really a fair bet.”

  She set the last container back on the counter and rested her hands on either side of it. “I’ve had a really long and not-so-great day. I’m tired, and I have to get up really early tomorrow to figure out how in the hell I’m going to get all the way down to Virginia without it costing me a fortune. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “I told you I’d give you a ride.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I won’t forget about you again, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll stop in the garage before I go up to my apartment, and put the battery on my seat.” I saw the hint of a smile.