Crime & Counterpoint

by Daniel, M. S.

  She had good taste, he grudgingly thought. But he said nothing as he pulled off his ruined tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  She kept her gaze floor-focused. “Would you like me to wash your shirt?”

  “No. I’m going to toss it.”

  “Seems like a waste.”

  “What do you care?” he returned bitterly. A grimace passed over her countenance, and he knew he’d wounded her. Good.

  Surprisingly, she walked over to the bed, laid out the tie, and then started ripping open the shirt’s packaging. “I had to guess your size.”

  He came over, other shirt discarded, nothing to cover his scars and muscle. She smelled his musk and the dangerous odor he seemed to carry with him always. Goosebumps spread over her arms and legs. It was like she could feel him. She didn’t dare look; as it was, she had a clear view of his chiseled torso through the giant gold-framed mirror over the bed. “You don’t seem to have very good luck with shirts,” she ventured as she pulled out the pins holding the crisp shirt in a perfect fold.

  “Only when I’m around you,” he returned.

  His icy intonation could have frozen a hot spring, but she refused to display her distress. “I really doubt that.”

  Zach moved closer until he was right behind her, all but brushing against her. The powerful memory of her lips came rushing back to him, filling him with inexorable need. But that diamond ring rattled his cage.

  Feeling vindictive, he put his freshly-destroyed hand on the small of her back, sliding across tortuously. “I forgot to congratulate you. Carter’s a good guy.”

  “Yes, he is.” Her voice was stable, but he could see her breathing had shallowed.

  “He must really trust you,” Zach said. He moved his hand along the curve of her hip now, feeling her through the satin, keeping that breath’s distance between them. Close enough for her hair to graze him. The desire to take her grew alarmingly. “Maybe I should tell him I was in your bed yesterday.”

  Sharply, she looked at him through the mirror. And he was satisfied with her distress. Quickly, she held up the shirt, checking for any blood-drawing menaces. Finding no pins left, she whipped around. “Here,” she said brusquely, thrusting it to him.

  But he caught her by the waist before she could run away. “Did Jared trust you, too?”

  She gasped. Her eyes filled with pain and anguish. “Why are you doing this?”

  He let the silence linger as his gaze drilled into hers. “I need help,” he said, quietly. His fingers climbed into her hair and drizzled down her neck and bare shoulder, sending pleasurable, feverish tremors down her body.

  He was temptation itself. Sorrow filling her limpid orbs, she choked in barely above a whisper, “I know.”

  He felt a tingling through his hands like an electric shock. And he knew he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what she’d done. No matter what she ever did. He dropped his gaze and let her slip through his grasp.

  As she rustled off, he took the new shirt and donned it, barely aware that it was a perfect fit. His mind slogged through quagmire, and didn’t want to take another breath.

  Moments later, he heard the water in the bathroom running. Curious, he went to see what she was doing while he started on the buttons. Pausing at the threshold, he pushed the door open fully so he could see her. She was washing out his shirt, the brown turning back to red and running down the drain with the water.

  In the mirror, he saw her contorted face. Tears trickling, dropping one at a time onto his shirt as she scrubbed. Her hair jostling with her movements. The sight of her tore at his heart.

  But he backed away silently and tried to harden himself to her – harden or he wouldn’t survive.

  A minute later, he had his shirt fully buttoned, properly tucked, and tie in adequate place. He slipped on his gun and holster and then shrugged into his jacket so he could get the hell out of here.

  Then, she came out, and the sight of her set his pulse fluctuating again. Likewise, she let her stirring, heart-rending gaze linger on him, and he felt her desire. She couldn’t hide it. Not now, anyway.

  Anger blazed in his eyes. Why was she doing this? Why was she with Carter? But then it hit him – he wasn’t good enough. That’s why Rachael Dixon had left him, after all. He’d put three and a half years into that girl. Gave her his everything. And then she dumped him deceitfully for a doctor the second his football career tanked. But now look at her. She was dead. Because of him.

  Shelley held out to him a laundry bag with his now stain-free but wet shirt and tie in it. “Put this in the dryer when you get home. On low.”

  She lifted her hands to fix his tie. But after a few attempts, she gave up and decided it needed to be retied. “How did you get this right before?”

  “My Grandmother.”

  Softly, she smiled. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

  The genuine comment singed a hole in his defenses. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his chin up but acutely feeling the backs of her fingers brush his neck.

  She tightened the noose and stood back to appraise him. “There. That’s better.”

  “How are you getting to the club?”

  His thoughtful question squeezed her heart. “I’m just going to take the subway.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  She cooled at the command in his tone. “You know what? I really don’t care.”

  Then, with indignation, she swept out of the room. But he caught the door before it slammed shut, hit the lights, and stalked after her.

  40

  They rode down together in silence, both equally annoyed by the elevator music. Much to their discomfort, the lift stopped at every floor from seven to three, accumulating disgruntled hotel guests, all of whom complained about an out-of-service elevator. Thousands of dollars on a night’s stay and they had to wait to descend to the lobby. God forbid. On level six, Shelley had spied several police officers congregating the corridor. She chanced a peek at Zach, but his focus remained forward and blank, giving away nothing.

  As soon as the pleasant ding sounded and the doors parted to the eminence of the third floor, Shelley was the first to jettison through them. So intent was she on getting away from Zach that she completely missed the yellow police tape criss-crossed over the second elevator. But she did notice that Mr. Ericson was gone, more cops had come, and a young woman of well-packaged beauty stood with Carter and two other officers, answering questions.

  Carter failed to even glance her way as she strode towards him – a fact which did not suit her in the least. Fiancés were supposed to be attentive, doting, drooling. But he’d spent most of the reception letting her do her own thing with occasional kiss-and-run checks while he schmoozed with every invited government official, noteworthy prosecutor, and politician in the Big Apple. The thought lit a fuse to her inner struggle.

  On the flip side, Zach tailed her like a faithful dog, or perhaps Secret Service. Wanting to slap them both, she went up to Carter and tugged at his sleeve childishly.

  Carter ripped his gaze from the voluptuous blonde, and gave Shelley his lukewarm, transparent attention. “Hey you. Did everything turn out?”

  “See for yourself.” She gestured behind her as Zach strode casually through the slough of cops.

  Alarmed, Carter quickly met up with him, putting distance between them and the officers. “Those guys in the elevator have been taken to the hospital for treatment. Rick just texted and said the Feds might be getting involved. I told him to stall. But if they show up, get the hell out of here.”

  Zach shrugged noncommittally and glanced at Shelley who was a meek flower again, fading into the backdrop. “What about my Father?”

  “He’s been taken down to the Central Park precinct. He put up quite a fuss, but they threatened to arrest him, and he cooperated. They found the money like you said. It was in his car.” Carter appraised the woman. “Is that her?”

  Zach threw a pained glance at Vienna, remembering her dripping voice. H
er body. “Yeah.”

  “She was with a Ron Hightower,” Carter said.

  “I want them both taken in for questioning.”

  “I agree. I’ll see what I can do.” With zeal, Carter marched down the long foyer, pulled open the first set of French doors to the Grand Ballroom, and disappeared into the still-pumping reception, basically ignoring Shelley.

  Zach saw the way she watched Carter walk right by her without a word. Her jaw might as well have dropped. Considering the fact that she was content not to return to the wedding crowd, he joined her in her wall space. “What do you know about a Ron Hightower?”

  Surprised he would be asking her, she replied, “A lot. Why?”

  “Does he have any connection to the club?”

  Shelley’s gaze darted about as she searched her memory. “I think he’s an investor. Shouldn’t you know? He works with your dad.” Seeing his face darken, she quickly added, “Ron was the reason I even knew The Purple Gazelle was hiring musicians. He said Cervenka wanted me to audition. That I’d be doing him a favor.”

  Zach narrowed his eyes.

  She felt his worry. “What? What’s wrong?”

  He wasn’t about to tell her what he really thought. Spotting Vienna, he nodded towards her. “Is she Ron’s girlfriend?”

  Shelley let out a short, derisive laugh. “Ron doesn’t have girlfriends. He has dates. Expensive ones.” She looked at Zach, conveying her insinuation. “He flirts tirelessly with eligible, wealthy bachelorettes, but he never sleeps with them.” She eyed Vienna and sighed. “I’ve seen her before, I think. Ron tends to recycle the girls he likes,” she said with saccharine inflection.

  At that moment, one of the cops, a Lieutenant Jordan Fox, came up the carpeted stairs from the lobby and spotted Zach. “Hey, Ericson!” Fox shook Zach’s hand, white smile against his mocha skin. “Look at you all spiffy. Didn’t know you ran with the upper crust.”

  Zach grimaced. “Run from is more like it.”

  The white-shirted officer jerked his head towards the elevators. “You hear what happened?” he asked, his Harlem origins coming through. “Elevator was stuck between the fifth and sixth floor with three guys beat to shit.” He eyed Shelley and gave her an apologetic nod. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied, thinking she wasn’t needed, shrinking away. But without moving, Zach caught her wrist, pulled her back, and made her stand beside him.

  Fox’s gaze shifted to Shelley briefly and then returned to Zach. “Anyway, it was something,” he said. “You didn’t happen to see anything, did ya?”

  “Yeah. It was me.”

  Jordan’s expression went from a half-smiling ‘yeah right’ to a dawning ‘oh hell’. “You serious?”

  Zach felt Shelley’s shock and judgment.

  Shifting closer, Fox asked in a lowered voice, “What’re you doing, man? Aren’t you on probation?”

  Aware that Shelley stood anxiously beside him, Zach explained. “I got in the elevator to head up. Those men were already in it. I didn’t know who they were, but one of them made a call and spoke in Russian. About me. Then another guy stuck his hand in his coat. I assumed the worst, hit the emergency stop. Before I could do anything, two of them jumped me. I fought them off. Third guy pulled a gun, fired it, it shattered the glass, and then I–”

  “Put him out of commission.” Scoffing, Fox shook his head, writing on a notepad he’d produced. “Are you carrying?”

  Shelley tensed as Zach unbuttoned his jacket and flashed his concealed Glock in its holster.

  Brushing a glance at it, Fox nodded. “Did you fire it?”

  “No.”

  For this, the lieutenant checked Zach’s face instead of the gun to verify. Satisfied, he jotted it down and then: “So you immobilized them, then what?”

  “I searched their pockets, took some pictures.” Zach showed the officer his cell phone. And as he thumbed through, he said, “I found a room key for 1121.” He took out the correct card from his pocket and handed it over. “That’s where I saw her.” Zach subtly indicated Vienna who was now being led away by the other cop, her coat draped over her arm.

  She looked at him; her eyes held a glimmer of recognition. He had the urge to shake the truth out of her. Did she know he was a detective? That he was the son of the man she’d just slept with? The veins in his neck popped.

  Zach proceeded with the rest of the story, trying to take his emotions out of the equation. He had no stomach for the details so he stuck to broad generalizations. The cop took pity on Zach, knowing that David was his father. So, after verifying a few details via his radio and checking the phone number Zach had written down, he let him off without any issues.

  Touching Zach’s arm with her ringed hand, Shelley said, “I need to get going.”

  “Get your coat. I’ll drop you off.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. Zach kept his eyes on her receding form as she walked off and reentered the reception. The music swelled and then decrescendoed as the panels clicked shut.

  Lieutenant Fox smirked, following Zach’s gaze. “She’s a doll, Ericson. About time you found yourself a–”

  “She’s Carter’s fiancée,” Zach bit off, voice sounding hollow, gaze distant.

  “The guy from the DA’s? Lucky dog.” Fox pocketed his notepad. “Well. See what happens, I guess. I’ll call you if I need more details.” He started walking off and threw Zach the universal call sign. “Make sure you answer your phone. ‘Kay?”

  Depressed, Zach gave a casual reply and began striding to the ballroom, wondering what was taking Carter so long.

  41

  Cutting through the still-pumping crowd, Zach searched for Carter. He looked to his left through the gyrating crowd on the dance floor and spotted his grandmother chatting with Carol Mitchel. Brad was dancing with Melissa with Janine in one arm. All three happy, smiling. The sight wrenched Zach’s chain.

  Quickly, he averted his gaze and checked the open bars. Plenty of men and women in line for more drinks, flirting with each other, turning up the heat for the rest of the night. No sign of Carter.

  His “step-mom” flagged him down out of nowhere, mascara smudged from crying. “Zach, what’s going on? You have to tell me,” Lexi pleaded, holding onto his arm. “No one’s saying anything. Is David coming back?”

  Zach bit down hard but took compassion. He rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to look at her. “It’s just questioning. Everything’ll be fine. Just…” He sighed and gestured to the general fray. “Try to forget about it.” He forced a flat smile and moved on, not giving her the chance to prod him further.

  But Jared, standing with his effervescing bride, noticed Zach and extricated himself from Carrie and the couple with whom they were talking. “Hey,” he said with an air of apology, falling into step with Zach. “Can we talk about yesterday? I want to explain.”

  Curtly, Zach stopped and glared at Jared. “Did you explain it to Carrie?”

  Worry entered Jared’s face. It was a clear no.

  Clenching his teeth, Zach stormed off, thinking it was no wonder the Greene’s had graciously volunteered to pay for the whole affair with no expense spared. Looking about the outrageous venue, he now recognized the signs of guilt. The champagne bar; the buffet tables piled high with innumerable fragrant delicacies; the professional jazz orchestra; the ice sculpture fountains; the gourmet Italian chocolates in little bags on every table; the scores of orchids dyed in vibrant sky blue and fuchsia; the enormous six-tiered cake in ice blue and vivid pink layers which was in and of itself a Metropolitan Museum work of art, requiring its own table, platform, and enhanced lighting. Oh, and the photographers. Complimentary portraits for anyone and everyone who wanted red-carpet-perfect shots in the timeless hall.

  He couldn’t help but think – unkindly – that this giant production was just a bribe to keep everyone’s mouths shut. Because surely, this whole damn crowd knew way more than he did. Anyone of them could have said just a few words
within Carrie’s ear, which would have ruined her special day. And – Zach looked at her – she was more than happy with Jared. He wasn’t going to be the one to trample upon her happiness.

  Just then, the music cut out at the end of the number, and Zach heard several men talking, one of whom sounded like Henri Mitchel. Turning around, he encountered the table of glittering presents and only a shot away stood a gathering of powerful-looking men. Zach was certain he’d reached his destination.

  Barreling through the Capitol Hill ensemble, Zach reached the main attraction and found Carter, Henri, and a man who was undoubtedly Ron Hightower III. White teeth, blonde hair, suit that likely cost half of Zach’s yearly salary. He looked nervously between Carter and Henri who were lobbying their arguments back and forth. Zach caught the gist and gleaned that Henri was Ron’s lawyer as well. How had Shelley not mentioned that?

  Carter was trying hard not to disrespect his future father-in-law. But Henri was a beast. And the venerated attorney refused to let his client get taken in for questioning or anything else without a warrant. To make legal matters worse, the state attorney general and other interested NYC lawyers were in attendance for the proceedings. All four Mitchel sons stood behind their father, watching him work effortlessly.

  Henri’s voice grew louder as Zach neared. “…without sufficient proof, and since you have none–”

  Zach boldly interrupted, stepping between Carter and Henri, causing all eyes to fall on him. “I’d like a moment,” he said to Henri. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

  Though it was clear Henri found Zach’s intrusion rude, he allowed it and stepped outside the circle.

  “Hightower’s the reason Shelley auditioned at the club. Were you aware of that?” Seeing that Henri wasn’t, Zach continued. “And his escort? I have reason to believe she’s working for Kazanov.”

  Henri scowled.

  “If he’s going around your back, talking to Shelley without your knowledge, what else is he hiding from you? His legal counsel.” Zach met Henri’s dark glare. “If I were you, I’d throw him to the sharks.”