Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  She tilted her head and pouted in mock sympathy. Returning to her monitor, she applied fingers to keys and clattered away. He had one hand on the doorknob when he heard her mutter under her breath.

  “Reamed you a new one, did he?”

  He swerved, not hiding his surprise. “Maddie, my dear. Such language.”

  She reddened. “It’s my daughter. She’s been visiting. I’m afraid her more colorful vocabulary is rubbing off.”

  He crossed back to her desk and kissed her forehead. “Change is good. You have a great day.”

  “You seem in bright spirits, considering.”

  He smacked his butt. “Fast healer.” He left her to her work and took the elevator to the second floor. Investigating Andrew Patterson would take longer if he had to do the searches himself, but the fewer people involved, the fewer chances something might get back to Patterson.

  He opened the door to the same workroom he and Miri shared earlier that week. The memory tightened his groin. He couldn’t decide if she was more of a distraction when she was with him or when she wasn’t.

  With him, he decided. He made a silent promise to forget Miri and spend the rest of the day earning his keep.

  “All right, buster. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he mumbled to the computer.

  Internet articles about Patterson’s migrant project were all hype and fluff. The same as he’d seen on the brochure. Disappointed, but not surprised, he backed up and started again.

  After an hour spent reading about the Andrew Patterson Modern Art Gallery, the Andrew Patterson Symphonic Hall, and the Andrew Patterson Theater, he knew he’d never survive as a desk jockey. He rubbed his neck while the computer brought another batch of hits. It would take an army of researchers weeks to ferret out everything about Andrew Patterson. Well, he didn’t have an army, and Blackie wanted results sooner than that.

  He wandered to the window, staring across the parking lot to rest his eyes. What would Patterson be hiding? What triggered Grace’s suspicions? In his experience, there were two basic lines of investigation. Follow the money or find the woman. When he thought back to what Grace said at Patterson’s fund-raising gala and at the Sandersons’ party, he dismissed the woman angle—temporarily. Money had raised her hackles.

  Damn, anything was better than tracking financials. He braced himself for hours staring at screens full of numbers, then trying to find correlations with more screens full of more numbers. He rubbed his temples as if the inevitable headache had already materialized. Maybe a cup of coffee would help. At the very least, it would put off the drudgery for a few minutes.

  Two hours later, his eyes burned and the headache pounded in full force. Blackthorne’s databases churned out yet another screen full of Patterson investments and investors. Why couldn’t the monitor flash, “Shady Migrant Worker Files” and be done with it?

  He glanced at his watch. Almost six?

  Time flies when you’re having fun.

  He grabbed his notes and strolled to the break room in search of some aspirin. He popped three, washed them down with a paper cup of tepid tap water, thinking about a cold beer.

  In the parking lot, he leaned against the front of his SUV. The cool evening air helped erase both the swirling visions of computer readouts and the throbbing in his head. Maybe Miri would like a cold beer, too. He unclipped his cell phone, momentarily puzzled by the dark display. Right. He’d switched it off while he was waiting for his appointment with Blackie. He pressed the “on” button and got the chime telling him he’d missed calls. He unlocked the car and slid into the seat while he listened to his messages.

  Miri’s voice brought an immediate smile to his face. Another part of him responded as quickly. He punched the call back button and an unfamiliar voice answered.

  * * * * *

  Miri paced the sidewalk in front of the bus stop. One hand clutched the cell phone in her jacket pocket, the other, balled in a fist, thudded against her thigh. A million perfectly good reasons why she hadn’t heard from Dalton raced through her head. But the one that rose to the top of the list no matter how many times she tried to bury it said, he’s no different from anyone else. Takes what he wants and leaves. Threw her a bone by sending Braddock over.

  Memories of the past few days said otherwise. He cared. He’d gone to bat for Jillian and Will. And that massage—he could have had her right there, but he’d waited until she made the first move. And when she did—she tingled at the memory. He’d been a compassionate partner in bed, giving her two orgasms for each one of his.

  A black car whooshed into the bus lane at the curb. A Navigator. The window lowered. Dalton’s voice floated out.

  “Want a lift?”

  She flew into the car. “Why didn’t you return my calls? What have you been doing?” She regretted the anger in her tone and wiped her hands across her mouth. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

  A bus swung in behind him. “Looks like I caught you in time.” He pulled away from the curb. “I turned off my phone because I was in with the boss. He frowns on interruptions. Then he put me to work, and I needed to score some points, so I didn’t turn it on until a little while ago.”

  “Score some points? Did I get you in trouble? Because of Jillian?”

  “Nah, it’s cool.”

  His grin undid her. She clicked the seatbelt and spent time testing it, adjusting it just so, avoiding his gaze. “I shouldn’t have bothered you at work. I know you’re busy.”

  “Don’t worry about it. When I returned your call, someone said you were off duty. Then I listened to your next three messages and was afraid if I called back, you’d hang up on me.”

  She buried her face in her hands. “I’ve got an impatient streak, don’t I?”

  “That last message sounded a little more than impatient.” His tone was only half-joking.

  “Sorry. Detective Braddock came by, and I wanted to talk. I’m over it.” More or less. He hadn’t been available when she needed him, and she got through it on her own. The way she always did.

  “He called me, too. I told him about Jillian’s husband.”

  “Yeah, thanks. But he showed me pictures. Of the people in the explosion.”

  “And?”

  “I knew three of them.”

  A momentary silence filled the car. “Aw, darlin’, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

  Was he? His hand pressed her thigh. Tension evaporated. “It wouldn’t make a difference. They’re dead. Nothing will change that. It’s up to the police to investigate. All I can do is try harder to make sure nobody else from the House ends up like that.”

  “You hungry?” he asked, clearly trying to move her thoughts in another direction. “Just dinner. No strings. I know a great sushi place.”

  That was something Galloway House didn’t offer. The gnawing in her stomach made the answer obvious.

  Later, at her apartment, he took the key from her hand and slid it into the lock. “May I come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  There was nothing suggestive in his gray eyes. “Sure.” She went inside and hung her coat on the hook by the door. “Work related?”

  “Yes.”

  “Coffee? Tea?”

  “If you’re having some.”

  Pleasantries. Small talk. She’d accepted his invitation for a sushi dinner, hoping a quiet evening would erase the pictures filling her mind. He’d filled her with fascinating stories about his first experience with sushi—in Japan, no less. By unspoken agreement, they didn’t talk about the meth lab, but then, nothing in their conversation touched on what they’d done last night, either. Kind of an out of sequence first date.

  “Have you talked to your sister?” He sat on the couch. In the middle. Was she supposed to sit next to him, or did he want the entire sofa for himself? She chose the easy chair.

  Stop overthinking everything. Relax. Answer the questions. Make conversation.

  “She called this afternoon. She’s happy
. She’s thinking about teaching.”

  “She likes the new lifestyle?”

  “It’s only been a day, but I don’t think Nancy cares. She’s going to feel productive—be productive—and that’s important.”

  “How’s the project coming? Patterson’s.”

  Is that what he wanted? To grill her about what Hunter and Nancy were doing? She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Moving right along, I guess. Nance said they’re building solid structures, and she likes the cottage she and Hunt are living in, and the construction noise and dust won’t last forever.”

  He studied his fingernails. “At the party, it looked like Hunter and Patterson were arguing, that’s all.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, Nance told me Patterson had been trying to talk Hunt out of letting her go with him. I guess he’s not used to people telling him no.” A current of unease rippled through her belly, and she didn’t think it was the octopus sushi roll. “Why are we talking about Nancy and Hunter? If you want my help, you have to be open about it. What are you working on?”

  “Maybe tea would be good idea.”

  Miri stood. “So would trust and honesty.” She’d revealed Nancy’s secret to him. If he was going to use it to hurt her, he’d have done it already. Or was someone else looking? “Are you investigating my sister?”

  He rose from the couch. “I’ll help you with the tea.”

  She scowled. “Because if you are, you can forget the tea, and anything else you have in mind.”

  “No, no. I’m not investigating your sister. Or her husband.”

  Confused, she went to the kitchen and filled the kettle while she ran through the options. “Patterson? You’re investigating Andrew Patterson? Mr. More Money than God Patterson?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “It would be nice if you didn’t announce it to the entire building.”

  She spun around, trapped between the sink and his overwhelming maleness. She laid her hands against his chest and felt the thumping of his heart. He stepped back, staring over her shoulder at the darkened window. She could almost hear the gears whirring as he wrestled with a critical decision. And she knew she was a part of what he was deciding, that his answer could drive a permanent wedge between them.

  His features relaxed. One corner of his mouth lifted. He traced her jaw line. “Will you work with me?”

  Although her brain told her it would be better if they parted company, leaving her with untarnished memories of one fantastic night, some non-logical part of her did an internal fist-pump that he accepted her as more than a sexual partner.

  Somehow, no matter how she’d tried to keep her emotional distance, he’d managed to chip away at the wall she kept around her heart.

  She returned his gesture, scraping her fingernail against the scratchy stubble of his jaw. “What can I do?”

  They sat at her tiny table sipping tea while he told her about Grace’s suspicions.

  “Well,” she said. “In my opinion, Patterson seems a bit full of himself, but Nancy thought working for him would be a big step for Hunter. What did Grace pick up on?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. A feeling, she said. That the migrant housing project was totally out of character.”

  “It does seem strange. I mean, there are enough ways to do good works and stay in his area of expertise. Head Start programs, music, art classes. The things the school board never has the money for. A man like Patterson would know you can’t cut them from the curriculum and raise well-rounded kids. Why would he throw his money into migrant programs?”

  “You’re probably right. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “Hey! Maybe he’s paying back an old, personal debt.”

  “Like?” His eyes brightened. “You have an idea?”

  “Don’t look so surprised.” She stuck out her tongue. “What if he’s got some connection to migrants himself? Like, his parents or grandparents came out of poverty and made good.” She grinned. “It can happen, you know. Not everyone with money is born into it.”

  He appeared impressed. She glowed inside. Partners. Sharing information. Brainstorming. It felt right. Energy bubbled to the surface.

  “Good idea,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll go back further. I’ve been scrutinizing the Patterson of today, not where he came from. Mostly following the money.”

  “What do you have so far?”

  “Not a lot. I’m going over what financial records I can tease out of Blackthorne’s databases.” He gave her a puppy-dog look. “I could use another pair of eyes.”

  “I might have a set I’m not using much.” Except for staring at him, which she was trying her damnedest not to do. “But are you allowed to show it to me?”

  “Most of it’s public record. Besides, my boss told me I could ask for help. I’m asking.”

  There was an evasive quality to his tone, but that was his business. Right now, if there was something going on that might hurt Nancy, she didn’t care if she was treading into areas of gray. “I’m in.”

  “Great.” He went to the living room and fished something out of his jacket pocket. “You can transfer what I have to your laptop.” He returned and handed her a flash drive.

  The glide of his fingers across hers reminded her of the magic they’d created yesterday. How his touch, his mere presence, filled her with an indefinable sense of being complete.

  She inserted the drive into the USB port and powered up the laptop. When her desktop icons appeared on her screen, the files she’d appropriated from Patterson’s study caught her eye.

  “I wonder if there might be something in these files,” she said, clicking one open.

  “What?” He leaned over her shoulder. She would never get tired of the scent he brought with him.

  “Some files I took when I was in Patterson’s study that night. One looks like plans for a remodeling job.”

  “May I?” He rested his hand over hers on the mouse.

  She sucked in a breath. He didn’t react, merely moved her hand and the mouse until the cursor pointed to the file. Apparently the connection didn’t send the sparks through him the way they did her.

  “Be my guest.” She went to pull her hand out, but his grip tightened. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. Okay, so maybe it did.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I love the smell of your hair.”

  “I love the smell of you, period. Your aftershave, and . . . you.”

  He laughed, deep, from his belly.

  “What’s so funny?” she said.

  “Nothing—I was thinking about what I normally smell like on the job.”

  Before she could consider what he meant, a word jumped off the screen.

  She jerked upright, forced the cursor back and clicked the mouse. “What the—”

  * * * * *

  Dalton moved back in time to avoid a collision between Miri’s head and his chin. “What did you find?” He leaned around her, trying to get closer to the screen. All he could see were schematics.

  Her hand relaxed under his. “My mistake. It’s nothing.”

  “A strong reaction for a nothing.” He lifted her hair off her neck and let it float down over his hands. “I’m starting to get a reaction, too. But it’s not a nothing.”

  She shook her head. “I saw the word Hobart. For a second, I thought it said Holden, the street where the meth lab blew up. But it’s a construction company. There are no dates on this. For all I know, this was done years ago or might be planned for years in the future.”

  He nudged her aside, then sat in the chair. “Don’t go,” he said and pulled her to his lap. “I want to poke around a little.”

  “Yeah, I get the idea.” She wriggled against him. “You’re awfully good at that.”

  “I had every intention of working when I came up here.”

  “Then let’s work. I’ve got a full day tomorrow, and Tuesday’s my volunteer night. At Elsie’s.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in the
obvious question. Would he join her? Rocking babies. His breath caught.

  “Hey, no sweat,” she said. “I don’t expect you to come along.” She swiveled, straddling him, and ran her fingers through his hair. “I understand.”

  “I should be over it,” he said. “But I don’t think I could do that again. Not now, anyway.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” Her eyes were golden, warm and caring.

  He stroked her chin. “Why? I thought you wanted me to come along.”

  “I do. But I know the time has to be right.” She covered his hands with hers. Brought them to her lips. “And I’m glad you were honest. You could have said you were busy, had other plans, made some excuse.”

  Emotion flooded him until it seemed too much for his body to contain. “I don’t think I can lie to you, Miri.” He kissed her, and it was familiar and new at the same time, yet still Miri.

  Time stopped for the duration of the kiss. When she broke the connection, he felt a different kind of emptiness. Not the dull ache he’d lived with for so long. This was specific. An ache that said, “Miri’s gone.” He clutched her head to his chest.

  “I want you,” he said. The sound was more growl than words.

  “You mean the extra pair of eyes?”

  “Darlin’, I don’t want your eyes. But you can bring ’em along.”

  Chapter 20

  Memories of their night fueled Dalton through the next two days. Miri had her job, her commitments, and he had his. Determined to find something to support Grace’s suspicions or prove them unfounded, he confronted the computers, not caring if he went blind doing it.

  So far, Miri’s idea hadn’t panned out. Patterson’s personal history was above reproach. His past, plastered over the Internet, filled countless magazine features and newspaper articles. Dalton wouldn’t be surprised to find someone making a documentary on the man’s support of the arts. Solid, upper-middle class parents. Solid, upper-middle class neighborhood. Scholarship to Harvard where he’d excelled in both the arts and business. Made his first fortune at twenty-four. His second, three years later. Moved his parents to a solid, upper-upper class neighborhood.