Paid in Full

by Ann Roberts

  Somehow Molly carried her to the couch and they stretched out, lying in each other’s arms. Ari’s whole body tingled and they remained still, listening to each other’s heartbeats. When the room stopped spinning and she could breathe again, Ari surveyed the apartment, her eyes instantly drawn to the black baby grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. Everything else was inconsequential. The few pieces of furniture Molly owned were either family rejects or garage sale purchases. Two cheap nature prints hung on the walls, one too high and the other too low. A bookcase made of planks and bricks sat in the corner, a framed family photo on top next to a CD player. It was an interior designer’s nightmare and paled in comparison to Ari’s House Beautiful masterpiece.

  Without uttering a word, Ari broke from Molly’s embrace. Molly watched her circle the piano and settle on the bench, running her fingers lightly across the keys from one end to the other. The sight of Ari, naked, glowing from sex, and leaning across her prized possession, refueled her desire.

  Unaware of her effect on the detective, Ari innocently asked, “How long have you been playing?”

  “Since I was a kid.”

  Ari’s amazement grew. “You must be really good.”

  Molly shrugged off the compliment. “I don’t know. I was never in any competitions or recitals, so I’ve never had anyone to compare myself to. I just play because I like to play.”

  “Would you play for me?” Ari asked.

  Molly stared at Ari, her head cocked to one side, her black hair cascading over the finished wood, almost as if she were a part of the instrument. She joined her on the bench, and poised her hands over the keys, closing her eyes.

  Ari watched Molly’s fingers sail across the keys, mesmerized by the music that suddenly floated around the room. Pictures of her family, friends and past lovers flashed in her mind, a slide show for which Molly provided the music.

  The music grew in intensity and tears streamed down Ari’s cheeks, for her father, her brother, her mother, each of the women who had left her—all gone, but mostly for Molly, who would most certainly leave her once she learned of her deception. Ari let her mind focus on the crescendos and their evening, what would most likely be their only evening together. The music ended abruptly before Ari could contain her emotions.

  “I didn’t realize I was that bad,” Molly said, wiping away Ari’s tears with her palm.

  “No,” was all Ari whispered. Then she added, “I don’t know much about instrumental music. Who’s the composer?”

  “I am,” she said with a slight grin.

  “You wrote that?” Ari asked. “It’s incredible. Does it have a title?”

  Molly blushed. “I call it Aria.” Ari’s eyes widened in surprise. Molly cupped the beautiful woman’s face in her hands and kissed her. She pulled away long enough to say, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I’ve sat down to play this week, I’ve only seen your face.”

  The sentiment melted Ari’s heart and her promise to Bob seemed irrelevant, based on a debt from the past that at the moment she couldn’t remember. The words formed in her mouth and just as she was about to betray Bob, Molly smothered her with a kiss that forced the confession back into Ari’s throat and her body down on to the piano bench. Molly hovered over her, gently parting her legs and massaging her inner thigh.

  Forgetting her battling conscience for the moment, Ari asked, “How many other women have you written music for?”

  “Only you,” Molly said, her index finger trailing down Ari’s abdomen to the edge of her black patch. Ari’s eyes remained glued to Molly’s progress, her breath ragged from excitement. Molly’s finger disappeared and Ari’s mind emptied all its thoughts, lost in the detective’s touch.

  “Deeper,” Ari murmured. Molly complied and Ari gasped. A cry forced itself out of her mouth. She had no idea when the moans subsided, only that Molly held her, still gently exploring, touching her with a tenderness she had never experienced.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday, June 21

  6:18 a.m.

  The sunlight crept across the room as morning arrived. Molly smiled as her thigh passed over a damp patch of sheet. Ari stirred and pulled her closer, a sound of contentment emitting from her lips. “You didn’t sleep much,” Ari mumbled.

  “We didn’t sleep much,” Molly corrected, an observation that made Ari chuckle. Molly stared at Ari’s body, remembering every caress.

  As incredible as the sex had been, for Molly the best part was wrapping her arms around Ari, their legs entwined, creating a human blanket. They had slept that way all night, Molly dead tired from waking up every hour. She couldn’t fall into a deep sleep, afraid if she did, that Ari would slip from the sheets and out the door. She kept a still watch, her head buried in the soft silk of Ari’s hair, touching her creamy skin, amazed that the beautiful woman was actually in her bed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Molly said, staggering toward the bathroom.

  Ari’s eyes followed the naked detective’s backside until the bathroom door swung shut. She blinked, waking up in more than one way. Last night was an escape, truly one of the greatest nights in her life, but with the morning came reality, the end of a dream vacation. She had not told Molly about Bob and the hand of deception rested on her shoulder, weighing her down, reminding her of what she had promised, and now, what she had done. She wanted to throw her clothes on and run out, but the door opened and Molly emerged, more beautiful than ever, and Ari suddenly wanted to be held, conscious that she’d been alone in the bed for a few minutes.

  Molly dropped in front of Ari and took her hand. “My fragile ego has to know if you enjoyed last night.”

  “Enjoyed it?” Ari said with a laugh. “If I’d known how great sex was with a pianist, I would have gone after Kathy McMillan in high school.”

  Her tension eased, Molly joined in the laughter. “Who was she?”

  “She played the organ for the school choir.”

  Molly shook her head and climbed back into bed. “Not as good. Organists don’t have the same spread,” she observed, holding out her right hand.

  “God that’s so sexual,” Ari said, her eyes focused on Molly’s long fingers. Molly snuggled against her, kissing her shoulders, whispering in her ear, informing her of several other things she wanted them to try, things she had thought about during her restless night. Ari showed her interest by rolling on top of Molly and letting her tongue roam across most of the detective’s body. Only an hour later, when Molly’s pager went off, did they reluctantly get out of bed. Molly had to get downtown immediately.

  *

  Sometimes it was just dumb luck that broke a case. A cop would pull a driver over for a broken taillight and find a dead body in a trunk. All the legwork and analysis couldn’t replace a twist of fate. When it happened, Molly always thought of it as early karma for the criminal and a break for her. She didn’t have any pride. If providence could solve a crime, who was she to argue?

  She’d actually hoped they’d get lucky with the Michael Thorndike case, but doubted it would happen, simply because it rarely did. So when Andre paged her with a 911 saying there had been an anonymous tip about Bob Watson’s whereabouts, she was skeptical. She felt a little guilty about not telling Ari the truth about where she was going. But the fact was, Ari was a civilian and had no business in the midst of her investigation. At least that’s what she told herself as she raced north on the freeway, her mind sifting through the facts Andre had mentioned on the phone. He’d been so excited, and she laughed when she thought of him spewing information so fast that she couldn’t write it all down. He’d sounded like a kid at Christmas.

  He’d headed out early that morning to ask Russ Swanson questions about Speedy Copy’s bank statements and some questionable withdrawals after learning that Bob Watson didn’t handle any aspect of the finances. As he pulled out of a coffee shop, the anonymous call came into the precinct. They patched the caller through, who Andre could not identify as a man or a wo
man, but who said he or she knew that Bob Watson was staying at an upscale motel on I-17.

  Molly inadvertently floored the gas, the needle shooting up to eighty. While she liked Andre, the fact that he got the call, and maybe Watson himself, bothered her. She was only five minutes behind him, cruising in the car pool lane, avoiding the rush hour traffic. Her thoughts bounced between her night with Ari and arresting Bob Watson. She had to laugh at the way her mind worked, one minute remembering the procedural manual and the next envisioning her legs spread open, Ari’s silky tendrils of hair covering her abdomen while the real estate agent pleasured her.

  Up ahead, Molly could make out the roadside sign for the motel. She deftly zipped across four lanes of traffic and focused on her driving. It didn’t take much detective work to locate the two patrol cars and Andre’s unmarked Cavalier, all three vehicles huddled in a corner of the property, one of the room doors wide open. She sensed something was wrong immediately. A look inside the comfortable suite confirmed her suspicions and sent her stomach into freefall. Bob Watson was gone, and Captain Ruskin would feast on her for lunch. The patrolmen and Andre avoided her gaze, knowing she would endure the wrath for losing Watson again. They gave Molly a wide berth as she toured Bob Watson’s hiding place for the last four days, opening cabinets and checking drawers, finding any clues to his new location or his possible crime. Molly doubted they would find anything.

  Her anger reached an apex as she stared into an empty closet. Andre drew near to her, holding a plastic baggy. “We found this on the counter,” he said. Molly looked at the piece of motel stationary and the simple message written in black ink: I am innocent.

  She glanced back into the closet. “He knew we were coming,” she growled, stalking back into the kitchen. “All that’s left is his worthless trash,” she said motioning through the heap the officers had lain out on the kitchen table.

  “Not quite,” one of the officers said, holding up a rectangular piece of paper with some tweezers.

  Molly recognized the logo from a distance before she read it, because she had a similar one in her wallet—Ari’s business card, only hers didn’t have the business phone scratched out. The importance of that simple blue line hit Molly in the gut. She stared hard at the card before turning to Andre. “I want you to find Russ Swanson—now,” she said, pocketing the business card and heading for the door.

  “Where will you be?” he called to her, but she was out the door.

  Possibly arresting my lover, she thought.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday, June 21

  11:10 a.m.

  It had not been a good morning for Ari. When the appraiser called on one of her properties, she knew it wasn’t good. Her sellers had demanded a higher price than what it was worth. She had warned them it might not appraise, but as she hung up the phone and faced the prospect of telling them the bad news—she knew they would blame her, the perpetual scapegoat.

  She called them immediately. There was a lot of swearing, mainly in Spanish, and although she could wander through a conversation, she wasn’t fluent and only caught part of the dressing down they gave her. Eventually the punctuated language ceased, and they listened to the options, but it consumed an hour of her time and sent her hunting for aspirin and relaxation on her balcony.

  She almost didn’t hear the phone ringing over the traffic from the street below. “Hello?” she mumbled.

  “Ari Adams?”

  “Yes?” she answered, her finger over the flash button, ready to cut off the voice after her next sentence. She hated phone solicitors, although she was one herself.

  “My name is Lorraine Gonzales, and I’m the acting broker for Southwest Realty.”

  “Oh, hello.” Ari relaxed. It was just someone who wanted to know about one of her listings. She was reaching for her briefcase as she asked the standard question, “Which listing did you want to know about?”

  The woman laughed. “Well, actually, all of them.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I heard you quit Allstar and made that bastard Harry Lewis look absolutely ridiculous.” Lorraine started laughing and Ari imagined she’d heard the details of the explosion. “Listen, chica, I want you to come for an interview,” she stated directly, her rich, Spanish accent getting thicker with each sentence. “I’ve got a small company, but we do some big deals. I’m not into any games. I’m straight with my people and everybody gets along great. We’re like a family and that’s not bullshit. So, how about an interview?”

  Ari smiled at the prospect of working for a woman and someone who shared her opinion of Harry Lewis. “I’d love to,” she answered and she meant it.

  “Terrific! And maybe you’ll tell me what it was like finding Michael Thorndike’s body.”

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “I keep my ear to the ground, chica. That’s why I’m the best, and that’s why you should work for me.” She took a breath and changed the subject. “That Michael Thorndike was quite a mover. I do some commercial, but nothing on his level. You know, he was trying to purchase the Emporium.”

  Ari was stunned. “No, I didn’t know that. The League was going to buy it?”

  “That’s what I hear. Michael wanted to turn it into a museum. Apparently, he was strong-arming his partners into seeing things his way,” she added. “Can you come in Monday at nine in the morning?”

  “That’s fine,” Ari agreed absently.

  “Our address is in the book, so I’ll see you then,” Lorraine said, cutting the connection. Ari stared at the receiver, pleasantly surprised by the opportunity that had just materialized, but more interested in Lorraine Gonzales’s bombshell about the Emporium. The financial implications were enormous, so much so that someone might kill over it.

  She was still pondering the situation twenty minutes later when the doorbell rang. Ari absently opened it without bothering to look through the peephole. The shiny badge caught her eye first, its wearer a somber-faced Tim Greer, an old family friend. Her brain connected this information in the time it took Molly to storm past her and into the center of the living room.

  “Where is he?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

  “Who?” was all Ari said, still confused about Tim’s presence and Molly’s abrupt mood shift from a few hours before.

  A flicker of discomfort crossed Molly’s face. “Tim, look around out here. I need to talk to Ms. Adams alone.” Without an invitation, Molly stalked into Ari’s bedroom, checked the closet and adjoining bathroom. A bewildered Ari followed her, mouth agape.

  “What are you doing?” she finally thought to ask. Molly took the business card from her pocket and dropped it on the bed. It was hers, that much registered, but it didn’t explain Molly’s behavior. “I still don’t understand, honey. Why are you so upset?”

  “We found it this morning in a trash can at the Residence Inn out on the interstate.” At the mention of the motel, Ari’s face paled, a fact not lost on Molly. “An anonymous caller tipped us off that Bob Watson was staying there. Unfortunately, when we arrived, he was gone. This and four days of TV dinners were the only things he left behind. Somebody told him to get out, Ari, someone who knew where he was staying.” The weightiness of Molly’s accusation hung in the air.

  “Look, I didn’t even know . . .” Ari said, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

  Molly’s face turned beet red. “Don’t!” she shouted. Then, remembering that the patrol officer was in the other room, Molly leaned closer, and whispered, “Don’t lie to me.” She picked up the card and put it under Ari’s nose. “You see how the business phone is crossed out and your cell number is written above it? You’ve only been unemployed since Tuesday. Now, how would Bob Watson know that unless you’d seen him, or at least talked to him?”

  Ari had no answer, and she couldn’t lie to Molly anymore. She sighed deeply. “There are things,” she began, her eyes filling with tears, “things you do not know about me. Bob . . .”


  “Bob?” Molly’s harsh whisper rang in Ari’s ears. “Bob! What about me? We’ve made love,” Molly said, her voice crumbling at the end. Ari reached for her, tried to put her arms around the detective, but Molly took a step away to regain her composure. In a few seconds she traded hurt for anger. “I just can’t believe I was so stupid. Now it all makes sense. You got close to me to learn about the case. That’s why you went out with me.”

  “No,” Ari said, shaking her head adamantly. “That’s not true.”

  Molly’s face set like stone. “I can’t believe anything you say. You knew where he was last night before we slept together. You know my career is on the line here, and you chose to hide this from me.” She looked away and laughed. “At least you must have had a little guilty conscience. That’s why you didn’t want to talk about the case last night. I thought that was odd, considering you’d pumped me for information at every turn. I let it go, because I figured you were genuinely interested in me. God, I was stupid.”

  Ari brought her hands to her head and sat on the bed. She was shaking all over, unable to believe that everything had fallen apart so quickly.

  “I was so stupid to think that a woman like you would ever really be interested in someone like me. As a detective I should know better.” Molly stared down at Ari, her eyes focused on the floor. “I just have to know,” she said, her voice filled with venom, “did you fake the orgasms?”

  The question jolted Ari upright and into Molly’s face. “Get out. Unless you’re arresting me for something, get out of my house,” she said, her index finger pointed at the door.

  Molly’s natural temperament surfaced. When pushed, she always pushed back. “I’m taking you in for questioning regarding the whereabouts of a prime suspect in a felony.”

  Ari turned away while Molly watched Ari’s shoulders rise and fall with her breathing. Molly swallowed hard, suddenly aware that her mouth was dry and her heart was racing. When Ari faced the detective, her face went hard. “I would like a few minutes to change, please.”