Cold Ambition

by Rachel Sharpe

  A smile crossed my face, and I suddenly felt more relieved than I had all week. “Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry if I sounded surprised. It’s been a hectic trip.”

  Rick laughed warmly. “I can only imagine. I have a hard time getting over to my mother’s place in Winchester, so to me, your trip sounds like you had to go to across the globe,” he joked. I laughed politely, and he cleared his throat. “So it’s okay, then?”

  “What’s okay?”

  “Well, I know you’re coming back Monday morning, but I was hoping maybe to pick you up at the airport and give you the information I got from her right away. I hope I don’t sound too pushy or too needy. It’s just I’m really excited.”

  I nodded slowly in surprise before remembering he was on the phone. “Okay. That would be fine. But are you sure you want to get me at Logan? It’s pretty busy. You know, holidays and all. Wouldn’t it be easier to meet you somewhere?”

  “No,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t mind, really. Oh, and Jon said he’ll catch up with you later Monday evening.” Rick stopped and laughed again. “I don’t know why I told you that. I’m sure he’s already discussed it with you.”

  I heard the doorbell ring downstairs and my mother begin talking loudly. She then called my name.

  “Rick, I need to go.”

  “Oh, sure,” he replied quickly. “I’m sorry I took up so much of your time. It’s just, well, I feel really good about this case and about you. Well, about your taking it, I mean. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time does your flight arrive?”

  “At eight-forty-five. But listen, Rick, if something comes up and you can’t meet me, don’t worry about it. We can still meet tomorrow afternoon if it would work better for you.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he insisted. “I’ll see you tomorrow at eight-forty-five. Have a great evening.”

  Before I could reply, the call ended. I tried to process everything he just said. Although I was thrilled that I still had the case and even more thrilled that Rick had information that could help us solve it, I didn’t understand Jon’s behavior. He refused to take my calls, but he went to Rick’s mother’s house on Thanksgiving Day to work for me. I didn’t have long to think about it before a knock on my bedroom door brought me back to reality.

  “Jordan?” My mother opened the door a crack. “Jordan, Greg is here to see you.”

  “What? Why?”

  A look of surprise crossed her brow. “Didn’t you have plans to get coffee with him? He said you made plans.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and sighed deeply. “Technically, I guess I did.”

  She crossed her arms. “Do you want me to send him away? I wouldn’t have let him in except he said you made plans and he did call for you on Thursday.”

  I glanced down at my half-packed suitcase and then back at my mother. I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  After making a futile attempt to make myself look more presentable, I grabbed a purple sweater out of Alicia’s closet and made my way downstairs. I was surprised to find Greg talking with my father in the den. They appeared to be sharing a joke when I walked in. Greg immediately stood up and walked over and hugged me.

  When he released me, he smiled. “You look great.”

  I made a face and shook my head. “Uh, thanks?”

  He glanced back at my father, who had turned his attention back to the football game.

  “It was great talking with you, Mr. James,” he offered. My father turned to him and nodded.

  “You, too, Greg. We’ll have to take a trip over to the Northshore sometime to watch your team. I heard you have a pretty good shot at the championship this year.”

  “Thanks,” Greg grinned. “Let me know ahead of time and I'll make sure you get good seats. Well, as good as a high school stadium has to offer. Have a nice evening.”

  Greg motioned toward the front door, and I slowly headed into the foyer, wishing Alicia would get home or my mother would have some ridiculous Christmas project she needed help with so that I could avoid this “date.” Unfortunately, all she did was lean out of the kitchen doorway and wish us a nice time. Frowning, I hurried out into the brisk night air. We walked down the driveway in silence, and I stopped in front of his car.

  “This is your car?” I asked incredulously, staring at the silver sedan before me.

  He opened the passenger door for me and replied, “Yeah, why? What’s wrong with it?”

  When he climbed into the driver’s seat, I answered, “Nothing is wrong with it. I’m just surprised you own it. What happened to your little red coupe?”

  He started the car and laughed as he backed out of the driveway. “That was six years ago, Jordan. I got rid of that car in college. Sure, I loved it, but it wasn’t practical. Student loans are enough to repay. I didn’t want to worry about an expensive car as well.”

  “I thought your parents bought you that car.”

  He nodded as he turned off my parents’ street. “They did. They paid the down payment and all the notes while I was in high school. After that, my dad said that if I wanted it, I had to pay for it. I figured out quickly that I didn’t want it that much.”

  After driving for a few minutes in silence, he pulled into the parking lot of a local coffee shop and turned off the engine.

  “Is this okay?”

  I looked at the building. It was the same coffee shop he always took me to in high school. Some things never change, I mused. “Yes,” I replied, “this is fine.”

  We spent a surprisingly pleasant yet slightly awkward hour catching up and reminiscing about old times. In his version of events, he had amnesia about our breakup. I took a sip of my iced coffee and found myself longing for Dunkin’s brand.

  “Hey, did you hear what I just said?”

  I looked over at him blankly. “No, I’m sorry.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You’re still the same Jordan. Beautiful and brilliant, but you can zone out like a complete ditz.”

  “I do not!” I protested.

  He grinned. “So you don’t object to being called beautiful and brilliant then?”

  I returned the smile. Whatever feelings I once held for Greg Bell were long gone, and it was a relief to realize this. I glanced down at my watch.

  “Listen, Greg, this has been really nice, but I need to go. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

  His smile faded, and he nodded. “Oh, that’s fine. I need to be getting home anyway. Classes start back up tomorrow, so I should probably get some rest, too. I can’t wait to explain the legislative branch to sophomores,” he quipped sarcastically.

  I laughed politely. We drove back to my parents’ house in silence. It was a little after five when we arrived, but it was already dark. Hoping to avoid an awkward situation, I tried to open the car door, but he reached for my good arm before I could stop him.

  “Jordan, I want to apologize to you. I was a real jerk in high school, and what I did to you was unforgivable. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and when I saw you again . . . I don’t know. I’ve always liked you, Jordan.”

  I laughed, hoping to play it off, but he was serious. “Listen, we were kids,” I replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No,” he pressed. “It wasn’t right. When you decided to go to Brown, I was afraid . . . well, I hope I didn’t drive you away.”

  Heather’s going to LOVE this, I thought. Maintaining my composure, I said, “No, I promise our breakup did not devastate me so much that I couldn’t bear to be in the same state as you.”

  He seemed shocked by my words, and I used this moment to get out of the car. As I reached for the front door, I realized that he was next to me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “Listen, Greg, I really need
to go—” Before I could finish this statement, he had his arms around me and kissed me. Thoroughly mortified, I used my cast to hit him on the head. He winced in pain and let me go.

  “What’s wrong with you?” He moaned, rubbing the side of his head.

  “Me? What’s wrong with you? That was totally uncalled for!”

  He stepped back and stared at me in disbelief. “Uncalled for? I thought–you said . . . oh never mind.”

  He stormed down the driveway and peeled out. I watched him momentarily before heading inside.

  “Jordan? You’re home early. Where’s Greg?” My mother was carrying a long strand of garland through the foyer as I walked inside. I felt flushed and knew I was blushing. She turned on her four-inch heels and faced me, eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong? Did you two have another fight? For goodness sakes, Jordan, you haven’t seen the boy in nearly a decade! Couldn’t you be cordial?”

  I decided it wasn’t worth the effort to fight with my mother, so I headed up the stairs to finish packing. As I reached the door to my old room, I started laughing. No wonder I avoided guys in college; I seemed to attract the worst type imaginable. Down the hall, Alicia’s door opened, and she peered out. She looked worn out.

  “Hey, how was coffee?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  “It was fine,” I lied. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

  “Really? It was fine. That’s it?” I nodded. “Well, I’m surprised. I was afraid he would hit on you or something. I never liked that guy. He gave me the creeps.”

  “Well, I don’t like him either,” I admitted, “but coffee was fine. I’m just so tired and ready to get home.”

  A sad expression crossed her face. She changed it quickly and nodded toward my cast. “You never made an appointment with Dr. Hullen, did you?”

  I glanced down at my arm sheepishly and shook my head. She rolled her eyes as she walked over to me and took my arm in her hand. She carefully applied pressure in certain places but mostly stared at the cast itself. Finally, she released my arm.

  “I’m no orthopedist, but it looks like it was set well and is healing properly. When do you have to see your doctor again?”

  “In two weeks, I think.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jordan, don’t tell me you think. When you get home, figure out when that appointment is and make a point of not missing it, okay? I don’t want you in a cast for my wedding because you forgot to have it taken off.”

  I laughed and nodded. Alicia hugged me tightly. “Have a safe flight. And please take care of yourself. I know I haven’t been very good about keeping in touch lately, but I really want your help with planning the wedding. So I’m going to be calling you a lot.” I pretended to groan. “Yeah, well, deal with it.”

  She smiled for a moment before abruptly turning and heading back to her room. I waited until she closed her bedroom door before I shut mine. I sat down and looked around the room. It had been a hectic visit, but thankfully nothing terribly unpleasant had occurred. I saw my luggage half-packed on the floor by my desk. I walked over to my closet and searched carefully to see if there was anything else I wanted to take back with me.

  I grabbed a handful of sweaters and shirts and somehow managed to stuff them into the bag. As I attempted to close the bag, I noticed the picture of Alicia and me with our puppy, Max. I picked up the frame and smiled at the memory and decided to shove the frame into my bag, stuffing it between two sweaters. Once I had finished packing, I realized how exhausted I was and climbed into my bed and fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 12

  “Volare, whoa. Cantare, whoa. Let’s fly way up to the clouds. Away from the maddening crowds—”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I opened my eyes.

  “Miss? We’re preparing for landing, so you’ll need to turn that off and put your seat back in the upright position,” a perky flight attendant informed me. I rubbed my stiff neck and obligingly turned off my phone. Somewhere between New Orleans and Atlanta I had fallen asleep. Surprisingly, I was able to book a non-stop flight, and even more surprisingly, this post-holiday flight was not packed as I imagined it would be. As I fixed my seat, I glanced out the window. It was just as I thought it would be—gray and overcast. It was another perfect New England winter morning.

  Although I had told Rick when to meet me, I didn’t actually expect to see him waiting for me at the baggage claim as soon as I exited the terminal, but there he was looking sharp in a royal blue sweater beneath a charcoal overcoat with a pair of jeans and sneakers. He smiled when we made eye contact and walked over to me.

  “So how was New Orleans?” he asked. The automatic glass doors by my baggage claim area opened for a group that was leaving and I was hit with the first arctic blast I had felt in nearly a week. I shivered.

  “Warmer,” I muttered, directing my attention to the inert conveyor belt. It jumped to life once my fellow passengers were present. Bag after bag passed by in front of me but, mine was nowhere in sight. Rick stood by me silently as an anxious octogenarian picked up the last bag and darted for the exit with remarkable speed. Both frustrated and unnerved, I looked at Rick.

  “I’m so sorry to be wasting your time,” I muttered. “I need to go report that my bag is missing. Listen, I know you’re still in school, so if you need to go, I can find my way back home. You can either email me or call me later with what you found out.”

  A smile crept across his face. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “Listen, I really don’t have anything to do today. And it’s not your fault your bags didn’t turn up—”

  “Bag,” I corrected.

  “Bag,” he repeated, apparently even more amused. “I’d be glad to wait with you. More than likely it’s on the next flight headed here. I’ve had the same thing happen to me before.”

  My recent encounter with Greg had left me a little more suspicious than usual. I reminded myself that this was my first client, and if I hoped to have his case long enough to solve it, it would be prudent to behave civilly toward him.

  Nodding, I replied, “I'd like that. I just didn’t want to hold you up if you had something better to do.”

  “I don’t. So, if we’re in agreement, let’s go find your bag.”

  My bag did, in fact, turn up on the next flight from New Orleans—an hour and a half later. When we finally got it, it was just about lunchtime. We had spent the time talking but he didn’t bring up the case once so I didn’t push it. I picked up my bag and followed him out of the airport and into the short-term parking lot.

  I was slightly surprised to see him walk up to a vintage black Mercedes. He opened the trunk and carefully placed my bag inside while I stared at the car. I was still staring when he closed the trunk.

  “Like it?”

  “Yeah, it’s very nice. And in really good condition,” I marveled as I walked around the car. “What year is it?”

  “It’s a 1986 Mercedes Benz 190E. Everything in it is original.”

  I walked around to the passenger side and stopped. “It’s beautiful. It must have cost a lot. I mean, to get a car like this in such good condition.”

  He crossed his arms and stared at it. “Well, it didn’t cost me any money,” he muttered. “It was my father’s car.”

  The weight of his statement caught me off-guard, and we stood in silence until a loud wind blew in from Boston Harbor.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting cold just standing here. Ready to go?”

  I nodded and opened the front passenger door. The inside of the car looked just as new as the outside. There was not a single crack or scratch on the tan leather and the dashboard looked like it had just been cleaned in the showroom. I was nervous about sitting in such a fine vehicle. We shut the doors and sat in the car momentarily while Rick let t
he engine warm up. I took the opportunity to looked around some more, an action he found amusing.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “Nothing,” he smiled, adjusting the temperature. “I’ve never seen a girl show such interest in my car before.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a nice car. Is that a CD player?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I didn’t think they installed CD players in cars before the nineties.”

  He scratched his head and stared at the player. “No, it wasn’t standard practice in the eighties,” he admitted, “but my dad had some special modifications made to this car.”

  Again, this conversation seemed to take him to another place, so I waited patiently, unwilling to interrupt his thoughts. Finally, he looked at me and smiled politely.

  “Well, it’s almost eleven now. Do you want breakfast or lunch? What do you want to do?”

  “Honestly? I could really go for Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  He shifted into drive. “Dunkin’ it is then,” he replied as we pulled out of the parking garage. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. We made the fifteen-minute drive in silence, and I spent that time trying to collect my thoughts and figure out how I would question my first client about the information he received while still sounding professional.

  Rick found a parking spot across the street from Dunkin’ Donuts. He turned off the engine and we both quickly exited the vehicle and raced into the shop. I attempted to be inconspicuous in rubbing my arms to warm them up but Rick noticed.

  “Do you want my coat?” He offered as we stood in line. I shook my head.

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

  He nodded and turned his attention back to the well-lit, overhead menu, which had been crudely decorated with plastic garland. “So, what do you get here?”