“Why?” Isabelle felt like she was seeing Holt in all her glory, anew, and she just wanted to stare.
“Because I’m too tired to not tell you you’re beautiful.”
“I don’t mind hearing it,” Isabelle said quietly, moving closer to Holt.
“Everything that has been complicated since the beginning is still complicated. Hard to ignore that.”
“We could for a night.” Isabelle was so close she could taste Holt’s essence on the air.
Holt froze. Isabelle could tell how conflicted she was, and how tired. She could see it on her face. If she pushed, she was sure Holt would give in. But seven days of this intimate living arrangement and she was seeing Holt differently. She wasn’t just a hot woman to fuck anymore. Holt was putting herself on the line to protect her and she deserved better. She kissed Holt gently on the lips, took her hand, and led her to the couch.
“Tell me a story. How did you become a bounty hunter?”
“I can’t tell that story tonight. You want to see a big bad bounty hunter cry?”
“Telling me would make you cry?”
Holt looked uncomfortable. “If I say yes, will you pretend I never mentioned it?”
“Um, no, definitely not.”
“Then no, it won’t make me cry.”
Isabelle was wildly intrigued, but just as she did when the topic of sex arose, Holt looked too vulnerable to push. “Okay, no bounty hunter origin story. We’ll save that for another night. What about your family?”
Holt visibly recoiled. “Can’t do that one either. Besides, it’s pretty much the same story. Why don’t you tell me a story? How did you become an accountant?”
Isabelle was a little hurt that Holt didn’t trust her enough to share important parts of her past, but she tried not to let it show.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Holt said, as though she could read Isabelle’s mind. “I trust you too much. I want to tell you everything, but I’m too damned tired tonight to deal with what comes next. Emotional regulation isn’t always a strength of mine.”
“Okay, mind reader Holt, sit back and enjoy the story of Isabelle the accountant. It all began back in elementary school, where I’m sure almost all accountants begin. It really is a tale as old as time, the hopelessly nerdy math geek gets teased mercilessly throughout school and figures the best way to exact revenge is to forever control the monetary wealth of the people who tormented her. In the back of every client’s mind is a tiny shred of worry that they went too far in high school and their accountant is secretly making them irreparably poor, a realization they will come to much too late. All of this is of course accompanied by ominous music.”
“Oh, that’s cold. Are you really holding high school tormentors hostage? I never suspected this side of you,” Holt said.
“Me? No, alas, my revenge is only a figment of my imagination. I grew up in a small town in Nebraska, far, far from here and moved long before I became an accountant. As far as I know, I’m the only one from said town living here now, except my sister of course, and I would never torture her like that.”
“I liked your sister. She looks just like you, but somehow not as hot.”
Isabelle leaned back into the curve of Holt’s arm, her head resting on Holt’s strong chest. “Ellen hasn’t stopped talking about you since dinner. If her husband wasn’t the most laid back, sweetest man alive, I would imagine he’d be mighty jealous.”
“How did you both end up in Rhode Island from Nebraska? I love my home state, but most people would have blinked and missed us on the way to New York or Massachusetts.”
“My parents got divorced when I was fifteen. Ellen was seventeen. My mom said as soon as we were out of the house, she was moving to Florida. So one night, Ellen and I got out a map of the US. She spun me around about a hundred times and told me to point. I fell over an ottoman and my index finger punched right through Rhode Island on the way to the floor. Ellen applied to schools here, got into Brown, found an apartment, and we both moved. I finished high school just before we left. The best and only advantage to being the nerd I described before is you can finish high school really fast. I followed her to Brown a year later, and then went on to accounting school.”
“And your mom moved to Florida? What about your dad?”
“My mom is about as happy as I’ve ever seen her in St. Petersburg. She has a boyfriend and a bridge club and a much better tan than me. My dad’s dead.” Isabelle saw the shocked look on Holt’s face and rushed to explain. Once she started, it all spilled out before she could stop to think about how much she wanted to disclose. “Well, that’s not technically true. He’s remarried and lives in Arizona the last I heard, but it’s easier to say he’s dead. I haven’t spoken to him since the day my mother said the word ‘divorce.’ He has no idea he has grandkids. Ellen says he never will.”
Isabelle sighed as the memories cascaded over her. Sharing them with Holt felt natural, but they didn’t hurt any less. “I came out when I was fifteen. Just plopped down at the dinner table one night and announced that I was into girls. My mom and sister hugged me and said it didn’t matter to them, but my father slapped me so hard he knocked me out of my chair. He came around the table, put his knee in the middle of my chest, pinned my arms over my head, and said no child of his would be a homosexual and live under his roof, and then he broke my jaw. I couldn’t breathe because of how he had his weight on me, but he stood up after he hit me so he could start kicking too. He pulled his foot back to kick me, and my mom hit him in the head with a frying pan, which, unfortunately, still had our dinner in it. It was all very soap opera. He started raging again, my mom said ‘divorce,’ packed us up, and I never saw him again. I presume she had to see him in court, but that was the last time for me.
“He’d hit my mom before, although she tried to hide it from my sister and me. There were a few times he would be dissatisfied with Ellen for her grades, or that she didn’t have a boyfriend, and he would shake her too hard to ‘get her attention.’ I broke my arm when I was twelve because my father cuffed me when he caught me looking at a ladies’ underwear commercial too intently during his football game. I tripped over the cord for the window fan. He made me stay and cry on the floor for twenty minutes until the quarter was over before he got my mom to take me to the hospital.
“He was an angry and miserable man. Even when he wasn’t hitting someone or something, the threat was always there. We never could figure out what it was that set him off. To this day, I don’t know why my mom stayed as long as she did, but I think the bravest thing I’ve ever seen is her standing up to him.”
Isabelle felt at loose ends having told Holt as much as she did. On the one hand, it felt wonderful to share such a personal story and open up to Holt. On the other, she was a bit embarrassed at her emotional vomit.
“I’m really good at finding people,” Holt said, rubbing Isabelle’s hand and forearm. “I would love you to tell me it was okay to track this guy down and give him a piece of my mind. I can’t fathom someone treating you or your sister so cruelly. If I knew your mother, I’m sure I would feel the same about her.”
She should have known Holt would want to right the wrong and come to her defense, even years after the fact. It was one of her most endearing features. It also provided a bit of relief, since Holt didn’t seem to think she had over shared. “He actually tracked my mom down in Florida a few years ago to invite us to his second wedding. My invite was addressed to ‘the homosexual,’ so I didn’t think it was worth the trip.”
“It seems shocking to me that someone else would marry him, and yet, your mother did, and he is part of you, so there must be something redeeming about him,” Holt said. “No wonder you aren’t thrilled with my job.”
“I appreciate you saying that. Most people just trash him as an ass, which he is, but he’s also my father. I just hope his particular brand of horror isn’t genetic.”
“If anyone is going to understand about complicated parent
al relationships, you’re looking at her. I promise the full story another night. Thank you for telling me about your dad and your childhood.”
“Hey, in the end it worked out for the best. Ellen and I moved here, started over, and now I get to spend my nights with a sexy woman, hoping desperately that a deranged man doesn’t break in and try to kill me.” Isabelle needed to get back on emotionally lighter ground.
“Well, I don’t think your mother was the only one in your family to display a whole lot of bravery.”
Even though Holt was listening intently and laughing at her jokes, Isabelle could tell she was tired. She was probably awake on willpower alone.
“When was the last time you slept?” Isabelle asked.
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Have you been working during the day? Lola always tells me you’re at home sleeping, but I don’t believe her. The amount of ground espresso she buys every day while I’m working at my rotating coffee shop interim offices is a giveaway.”
Holt nodded. “We’ve got other cases, and Lola is with you while you’re working from home, so we’re down a man. I mostly just push paper around my desk and catch a catnap or two at my desk or on my office couch.”
“Catnaps aren’t enough, Holt. I’m assuming you have to work today?” Holt nodded again and Isabelle continued. “After work tonight, you go home. You can’t stay here another night without some sleep. When you’re rested, you can come back.”
“I’m responsible for your well-being.”
“Not tonight you aren’t. Besides, you need sleep to be in tip-top baddy-repellant mode. Right now you look like Mickey Mouse could bowl you over.” Holt started to protest and argue her fitness for duty, but Isabelle surprised them both and shut her up with a long, lingering kiss.
“You can send everyone from your office to stay here tonight. You can have people do walking patrols and park a tank on my front lawn, whatever you need.”
“Then Lola goes to work with you today,” Holt said. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Isabelle’s lips, but closed slowly as she fought exhaustion.
“It’s my first day back at the office. She might stand out.”
“I’ll leave the tank in the garage if you let Lola go with you today.” Holt dragged a hand through her hair, looking bemused at having to negotiate someone’s protection.
“Deal.” Isabelle pulled Holt to her and rested her scruffy head on her lap. Holt was asleep instantly.
*
Holt walked through the door to the bounty hunter office still seething at her own carelessness. As wonderful as it had been waking up on the couch, curled up in Isabelle’s arms, she had left Isabelle unprotected while she slept like the dead. It was unprofessional and unacceptable. Her mind was filled with “what ifs” and that in itself was so unusual it was adding to her general bad mood.
As had become rather routine, Max was sitting at a desk in the main office, staring intently at a computer screen, tapping at the keyboard and clicking away with the mouse. She didn’t notice Holt’s arrival.
“Report,” Holt barked. “Anything else on the flowers? Have you found Caldwell?”
Max jumped out of her chair, knocking over three empty coffee cups in the process. Holt noticed five more scattered around Max’s workstation.
“Um, good morning, boss.” Max looked frazzled as she scooped up the empty cups and dumped them in the trash. “How’s Isabelle, ma’am?”
“With Lola,” Holt said. “Report, please.”
“Superman is on his way over. Amy asked if you could watch him for a couple hours. Something about a shift change problem. Two new cases for you to look at. Neither look too high profile or difficult. One drugs, one domestic.” Max counted things off on her fingers as she ran down the morning report.
“The flowers came from the shop listed on the card, paid for by Parker Caldwell. It seems his office had an open purchase order with the flower company, and he used that to send the bouquet to Isabelle. I guess if someone else knew about the open account, they could have made the purchase. It’s almost as tough as if he’d used cash. But Danny came through with the ATM video. Nothing cooking on the break-in though.”
“Max has been working on it all night,” Moose said, strolling into the room, two cups of coffee in his hand. He deposited one on the desk in front of Max and took the other to his own desk. “We should probably force Max to sleep once in a while, but, damn, she’s doing fine work.”
“I’m right here,” Max said, her face pinking.
“What’d you get from the video?” Holt made her way quickly to the computer screen, feeling anxiety and hope in equal parts.
“The footage isn’t great, and parts are blocked by bank customers, but we did get this shot.” Max pulled up a blurry picture of a person, probably a man, across the street from the ATM.
“Max, I can’t tell a damn thing about him. This could be me.” Holt wasn’t really upset with her, and she regretted the harsh reprimand as she watched Max recoil. Max’s eyes were red and it looked as if she had been getting makeup advice from a raccoon.
Moose glared at Holt and came over to lean on Max’s desk. He put his hand protectively on Max’s shoulder and encouraged her to continue. “Ignore the dragon lady. Show us what you were able to do with that picture.”
Holt appreciated Moose’s protectiveness. He didn’t choose his friends casually, and if he was willing to put Holt in her place for Max, Holt was smart enough to get the hint.
“Max, please show me what you have.”
“Well, I was able to enhance the quality and I ran it through a program I’ve been working on. Do you want to know the details?”
“No,” Holt and Moose said simultaneously.
“Oh, okay, well, here’s the final product.”
Max tapped a few keys and a mid thirties, bald man with dark eyes and a long face appeared on the screen. He was holding a ski mask in one hand and seemed to be motioning to another person, out of the camera sight line.
“He was the only one to look at the camera. By my count, there were a total of three people, two men and a woman by the body shapes. They were in the building for twenty minutes.”
“Who is this guy?”
Max looked at Holt, panic across her face. “I don’t know, ma’am. I haven’t been able to find him, although I haven’t run his face through all possible databases.”
“Print his picture and have some of the crew show it around. I want to know his name. And, Max,” she said, remembering something Isabelle had mentioned to her a while ago, “find the names of all the local methadone clinic owners.” Before Holt could intimidate Max any more, a flurry of tiny redheaded action distracted her.
“How’s my favorite guy?” Holt asked Superman, scooping him up and flipping him upside down. He was the best bad mood killer she had ever found.
Superman only giggled in response. After a few minutes, he began squirming, and one, “Down peas,” was all he needed to be on his way. He made the rounds, tapping all Holt’s employees on the leg and then grinning before yelling “Hi!” as loudly as he could. Two-year-olds were ridiculous creatures.
While Superman was working the room, Holt greeted Amy and deposited Superman’s diaper bag and mountain of toys in her office. She never minded the days her office turned into a playroom.
Eventually, Holt trailed after him and checked in with each of her employees, a normal routine to begin each day. This was a job she loved, and the people who worked for her were competent and loyal. Hers was an empire she had built over time and with great effort. Some of the tension of earlier relaxed. She trusted that this group, and the ones on patrol, or off work, would help her find Isabelle’s attackers. And she wasn’t doing anyone any good being a grumpy ass.
“Hey, Superman!”
He stopped mid climb, almost halfway onto Max’s lap and looked at Holt. “What waydee?” he asked with typical two-year-old attitude.
“Oh, your mother and I are going to hav
e to have a talk,” Holt muttered under her breath. “You ready to go play?”
Superman jumped down from Max’s lap and ran, as well as a two-year-old can run, full speed at Holt’s knees. “Fissy chair, fissy chair” he squealed as Holt scooped him up and carried him toward her office. For some reason, her office chair was his favorite toy. He never tired of spinning himself around and around until he was so dizzy he could barely stand.
When Superman was comfortably settled in her chair and contentedly spinning away, Holt stretched her aching legs in front of her on the floor and leaned against the wall. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and flipped it from one hand to the other wondering if she would seem like an overbearing stalker if she called Isabelle.
After waking in Isabelle’s gentle, sure arms, she couldn’t get images of Isabelle from her mind, and if she were honest with herself, she didn’t really want to banish the slide show that was making her belly flutter. It had been much easier to see Isabelle as a client before Isabelle had briefly kissed her and before Holt had unromantically fallen asleep on her.
She groaned when her phone rang and her mother’s number flashed on the screen. Just when she was starting to snap out of her bad mood.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?”
From hard-won experience, Holt didn’t say a word, just waited for an explanation for the call from the other end of the line.
“The gala is coming up. You must be there.”
“Fuck!” Holt said under her breath since Superman was five feet away. She had forgotten all about the event her mother spent a year planning. How could she have forgotten?
“Language!”
“Sorry. Shit! Better?” Holt didn’t know why needling her mother came so easily, or provided so much perverse pleasure. Sometimes she felt guilty about it until she realized her mother probably got the same joy from hassling her. It was really all they had in common.
“Marginally. Have you produced any grandchildren yet?” It was a standard question during these chats. Holt hated it.
The Chase Page 10