Tina Whittle_Tai Randall Mystery 01

by The Dangerous Edge of Things

  I handed over the DVDs. While he got his geek on, I found an empty study carrel. And I sat there, me and my illicit boxes and a tote bag crammed thick as underbrush with file folders. I’d been ditched by Janie, fired by Phoenix, yelled at by Garrity, deserted by Eric. And when Trey found out about my latest subterfuge…

  I stared at the sealed box. Then I went to Doug’s desk and borrowed a pair of scissors. If I was going to be lectured, it might as well be for the whole shebang.

  I ran the blade along the flap and opened the box. And then I did a doubletake. “Oh my god.”

  My phone rang before I could examine the contents further. It was Trey.

  “I got your message,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

  “I’d rather explain in person.”

  “I can meet you at Phoenix.”

  I slammed the lid shut and shoved the box away. “This is not a Phoenix conversation.”

  “In that case, I’ll be in Atlanta in an hour. I have to stop by Beau Elan first, but—”

  “I’m thinking you don’t.”

  “What?”

  “I ran your Beau Elan errand for you. Call Jake’s office. The nice lady will fill you in.”

  Dead silence at his end.

  “Don’t be mad. I have all the materials with me, safe and sound.”

  “Tai—”

  “I’ll meet you at your place and explain everything.”

  A long pause. “I’m counting on it.”

  He hung up just as Doug returned. His eyes loomed large and skittish behind the glasses.

  “I got your footage loaded,” he said, his voice low. “And I’m really hoping it’s not what you’re expecting.”

  Chapter 37

  Seventy-five minutes later, I knocked at Trey’s door. He opened it in two seconds flat. He’d obviously just gotten in, hadn’t even turned the lights on yet. Behind him the evening sky melted orange and gold, deepening, burning.

  I came in and closed the door behind me. “I can explain.”

  He folded his arms and waited. And I explained. He listened. As I talked, his mouth remained tight, but his eyes unsquinched somewhat.

  “You should have called me.”

  “I did. You were in a meeting.”

  “Nonetheless.” He looked me right in the eye. “I would have shared the information with you.”

  I met his gaze. “Landon wouldn’t have.”

  “You’re an authorized agent of Phoenix. Unless there had been some specific prohibition—”

  “I got fired today.”

  Trey’s head snapped back. “What?”

  “Fired. They released Eliza’s body to the family, so Janie’s headed back to Jackson. Plus Marisa wasn’t happy about our little detour to the strip club last night. So yeah, fired.”

  I flopped myself on his sofa, throwing my tote bag down beside me. My feet hurt, shoulders too. My body throbbed in one great big ache. Trey shook his head.

  “I didn’t see any paperwork about this.”

  “I’m supposed to pick it up tomorrow.”

  “But I’m supposed to see it first. I didn’t even receive an e-mail.”

  “I guess you’re persona non grata now, too. But here’s a heads-up—my getting terminated isn’t nearly as problematic as that surveillance footage.”

  I retrieved the deplexed DVD from my tote bag and handed it to him. He slid it into his computer and watched as his screen blossomed into a tight shot of someone’s bikini-clad derrière. It was soon replaced by another bathing beauty slathering sunscreen on her ample breasts.

  “What is this?” he said.

  “Jake’s private collection, I’m guessing. Looks like he positioned the security cameras to catch some interesting footage.”

  Onscreen, a woman tugged a sweatshirt over her head. The shot was obviously taken through a window, and just as obviously, taken without the woman’s knowledge. I didn’t recognize her, but I knew the next subject. Trey did too.

  “Nikki,” he said.

  She lay in bed reading a magazine, wearing a thin t-shirt that barely skimmed the top of her thighs. Eliza sat at the foot of the bed, smiling, her mouth stretching, her eyes half-lidded. She leaned forward lazily…

  Trey stopped the video. The two women froze on his computer, still shots from a life that didn’t exist anymore.

  “This isn’t the worst of it,” I said. “Look in the box.”

  Trey did. “It’s a box of underwear.”

  “Women’s underwear. Bras and panties and things with straps and hooks.”

  Trey picked up a red leather thong. “This was in Jake’s desk?”

  “Apparently he had several private collections, not just voyeur footage. I’m thinking if we ask around, lots of Beau Elan tenants will report missing lingerie.”

  Trey put the scrap of underwear back in the box. He seemed at a loss for what to do next.

  “I am certain this is why Jake was sent packing,” I said. “And I am equally certain no one will be pleased that I got my hands on it first.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m not asking you to cover for me or get me off the hook. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No. It was the fault of the woman who released this to you without checking with me or Landon first. But I’ll still get in trouble.”

  He stood up and made his way to the kitchen where he pulled a familiar green bottle from the refrigerator. He unscrewed it slowly, then took a deliberate mindful sip. I waited while he finished. It took three minutes and he didn’t say one word the entire time. But when he was done, he placed the empty bottle on the counter and retrieved a second one. This one he brought to me.

  “Are you mad?” I said.

  “No.”

  I put the bottle on the coffee table. “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps we’re a team now, as you said. That comes with different rules.”

  I managed a laugh. “I’m not so good with rules, you know.”

  “I know. But you always have a good reason for breaking them. I don’t always understand the reason, but you seem to, so I trust you.”

  The thought warmed me. “You do?”

  “Of course. That’s how partners operate. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one, but I remember that much.”

  He was standing too close again—I had to tilt my head way back to look into his face. I thought of the MRI scans, the puzzle pieces of his identity. I’d seen his cognitive blueprint, and he was still unknown to me, perhaps unknowable. I thought again of bridges, and I decided the hardest part of building one must be deciding where to start.

  So before I could analyze my actions, much less stop myself, I stood up and put my hand to his face. And then I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him.

  His mouth was warm and soft, and he responded with easy abandon. And it was good, soooo good, but in the back of my head, I was thinking panicked thoughts—oh, God, I started this, what am I doing, I’m too stupid for words, gotta stop—but the kiss was so lovely and so mind-blowing that I just surrendered to it like an addict.

  He pulled away suddenly, his expression deeply curious. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  I laughed. “Yes, I think I am.”

  Without a word of warning, he put his hands on my waist and steered me backwards, then lifted me gently and settled me on his desk. And then he moved closer, and I looked him right in the eye. Something new burned beneath the cool detachment, and it made me feel powerful and reckless. I wanted him so much at that moment, wanted to lose myself in him, just for one moment. I reached for the top button on his shirt…

  And his phone rang.

  He didn’t even look at it, didn’t even blink.

  I sighed. “You have to get it, you know you do.”

  He hesitated.

  “Trey.”

  He fished the phone out of his jacket pocket and put it to his ear. “Seaver h
ere.”

  His voice was calm. I, however, felt like crying.

  “Yes,” he said. “I can do that. Give me twenty, no, thirty minutes.”

  He slipped the phone back in his pocket. Then he put his hand to the side of my face and ran his thumb along my jaw line. I closed my eyes, waiting for his mouth, but nothing happened. I opened my eyes.

  He was reading me. Like I’d lie to him, like I’d even try it. But still he watched my mouth, once again remote, once again the calculating machine.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  “I swear I don’t know, Trey. I really don’t.”

  He nodded. And then he abruptly pulled away and straightened his jacket, heading for the bathroom. His absence was a vacuum. The inevitable retreat, I thought, and I wasn’t expecting it.

  But then I thought, oh, sure I was. I’d been expecting it all along.

  I pulled myself together and slid down from the desk, knocking over his pencil cup as I did. It created a spot of chaos in the otherwise unbroken neatness, the kind of precise disaster that tornados inflict.

  Trey came out of the bathroom, a new tie loose around his neck. “Your blouse is unbuttoned.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I’m going back to the shop.”

  “You’re welcome to wait here until I return.”

  I shook my head and picked up my tote bag.

  He nodded. “I’ll walk you down then.”

  Shrugging into a new jacket, he opened the front door and disappeared into the hallway. I fastened myself up and followed him into the elevator.

  “So what’s the emergency?”

  He knotted the tie into a neat double Windsor. “Dylan Flint’s dead. Fish and Game pulled the body from the Chattahoochee thirty minutes ago.”

  “What!?!”

  The elevator dinged. Trey stepped out and headed for the parking area. I scurried to keep up.

  “What happened?”

  “He’d been shot, three times. Once in the chest, twice in the back of the head. Patrol located his car at the Morgan’s Fall boat ramp, keys in the ignition.”

  I didn’t know what news I’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been Dylan Flint shot to death and dumped in the Hooch. I followed at Trey’s heels.

  “So what are you doing now?”

  “Emergency meeting with Landon and Marisa.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No.”

  “What if I just follow you in?”

  “No.” He popped the locks on the Ferrari. “I have my orders—report to Phoenix ASAP. Alone.” He paused. “This is not my decision. Please don’t think it is.”

  He’d said “please” again. What was it with that word? It gave me this little frisson of intimacy, and I was suddenly very tired of fighting all the time, shadowboxing the universe.

  “Will you at least call me and tell me what you find out?”

  “When I can, yes.”

  He didn’t start up the car; didn’t shut the door either. He just sat staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other toying with the gear shift.

  I took a step closer. “What happened tonight doesn’t change anything between us.”

  He listened. His eyes slanted my way, but stayed somewhere at stomach level.

  “Of course you know that,” I said. “But I want you to know that I know it too.”

  He frowned, but still wouldn’t look me in the face. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “What?”

  “Did I—”

  “I heard you. I just…I mean…no, you didn’t. Everything you did was right.”

  He took a beat to digest that, finally sliding his eyes up to meet mine. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He hesitated, then I saw the quirk at the corner of his mouth, the almost-smile. “Okay. That’s very unusual. But okay.”

  I couldn’t fight the smile. “You know what, Trey? Maybe I will stay until you get back.”

  He handed me the key, all serious now. “There’s a deadbolt. Keep it engaged. I have a spare key, so don’t open the door until I get back. Not for anyone.”

  Chapter 38

  Back in his apartment, I remembered the number easily. I’d used it enough.

  “I was wondering when you’d call,” Garrity said.

  “Dylan Flint’s turned up DOA. You heard?”

  “Ear to the ground.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Looking like. But this is real early to be speculating who or why. I do have one piece of news, however, that’ll make your little heart thump. Eliza’s girlfriend came in this afternoon.”

  “Nikki?”

  “Now how did you—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just spill.”

  He spilled. According to Nikki, the last event Eliza and Dylan went to was the Mardi Gras party. Nikki reported that even though Eliza left with him afterward, the next morning she suddenly called off whatever deal they’d had, which pissed Dylan off royally.

  “What made her do that?” I said.

  “Nikki thinks it had something to do with the smacking around somebody gave Eliza late Tuesday night.”

  I remembered the bruises detailed in the coroner’s report, the ones Bulldog denied inflicting. Eliza had obviously pissed somebody off that night, and if it wasn’t Bulldog—and I was betting it wasn’t—it was somebody at that party.

  Garrity agreed. “Somebody who didn’t like her showing up with Camera Boy.”

  “But what were those two up to?”

  “Nikki had no clue. Eliza never said, not even to Dylan. The boy seemed clueless.”

  “If that’s the case, why is he dead?”

  “He certainly thought he knew something, and rumor has it he was gonna spill it to the cops. So maybe whatever secret he was close to was the kind of thing people get really paranoid about keeping.”

  “You think somebody shot him and dumped him in the Hooch to shut him up?”

  “People’ve been dumped in the Hooch for less.”

  “Revenge is just a form of wild justice.”

  “That right?”

  “So they say,”

  He exhaled. “Like I told you, ear to the ground. I’ll let you know if we find out something. But right now, all we’ve got is a dead guy who stinks of coincidence.”

  “Dead girl. Dead guy. Burned-up meth lab.”

  “Yep.”

  “Rumors and rumors of rumors.”

  “Welcome to my world,” he said.

  “You’re welcome to it,” I replied.

  ***

  After that, I went to the convenience store for some Winston Lights and a six-pack of Sam Adams, both of which I took onto Trey’s terrace. It was misty weather, prophetic of rains to come. I sat on a chaise lounge underneath a narrow sliver of roof and took out my phone.

  Then I called Eric. To my utter astonishment, he answered. His tone was matter-of-fact, and I kept mine the same as I told him the latest. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “Dylan was causing problems for a lot of people. At least the whole mess is over with.”

  “Sure it is,” I replied, opening the cigarettes. “Tell me about Gabriella.”

  “You know I can’t do that. I work with Trey, he’s—”

  “I wasn’t asking you to talk about Trey, just Gabriella. Unless she’s your client too, in which case, just screw it, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of figuring any of this out.”

  There was a pause. “They met through the Beaumonts, and she took him on as a…project would be the best word. Self-described sexual healer, certified massage therapist. I think she does a little fortune-telling on the side.”

  I remembered the tarot deck in Trey’s desk. “Of course she does.” I searched the grocery bag for the lighter. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation.”

  “Frankly, neither can I. Why are you?”

  “Because she’s connec
ted. I just don’t know how.”

  His voice softened a little. “You sound upset.”

  “It’s been a long day. I need sleep.”

  “So come home. We’ll talk.” A long pause. “There are some things I need to apologize for.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “No, it’s not. We said some hurtful things to each other, and we need to process that.”

  Process. He wanted me to process.

  “The thing is, I’m staying over here tonight.”

  “That shop isn’t safe, Tai, it’s—”

  “I’m not at the shop.”

  “Rico’s?”

  “No.”

  Another pause, this one ripe with unsaid something. He exhaled softly. “Fine. Whatever you decide. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Are you going to the reception tomorrow?”

  “I’m guessing I’m not welcome there.” I lit the cigarette, pulled in a soft, deep drag. “You doing okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been staying busy.”

  “Staying busy is not helping me get to fine. I just keep veering farther and farther away from fine.”

  A curious pause. “Are you smoking again?”

  “ No.” I tapped ash into an empty Pellegrino bottle. “Listen, I gotta go. But we’ll talk soon, I promise.”

  When he was gone, I sat and stared at the phone for a long time, finishing one cigarette and starting another. The smoke felt lovely in my mouth, velvety and warm, as I watched the streetlights and the bruised purple sky beyond. The rain dripped on my hair, my face. I didn’t wipe it away.

  ***

  I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until my head jerked. The sky had blackened to jet layered with yellow, the infamous Atlanta haze. I checked my watch. Twelve-fifteen. Trey wasn’t back yet.

  I slid open the terrace door and ducked inside the darkened apartment. A pencil crunched underfoot next to his desk. When I bent to pick it up, I saw his briefcase lying beside the door, dumped haphazardly on its side. Suddenly I noticed the disarray on his desk, the scattered papers.

  “Trey?” I called.

  No answer. I closed the terrace door and turned on the light.

  I saw him on the kitchen floor, curled on his side, his head at the base of the refrigerator. I ran over and put a hand on his shoulder. He was shaking. Even worse, his breathing was shallow and fast, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.