The Fixer

by HelenKay Dimon

  “What are you talking about?” He almost preferred the fidgeting to the babbling.

  “I was trying to coddle that fragile ego of yours, but truth is I’m not interested.”

  It took him a second for his brain to catch up. He smiled, not because of what she said but because the thought of the card being about something else even popped into her mind. Very interesting. “It’s for you to contact me if you get any more information.”

  Her face actually fell. “Oh.”

  “It’s private. Only I answer it.” Only a handful of people shared that access. Most had a work number or another cell number he used for cases with particular clients and his employees. This one truly belonged to a very small circle.

  She turned the card around and studied it. Ran her fingers over the numbers. “You know I could do a reverse search on this and find out everything about you.”

  “No, you couldn’t.” She continued to underestimate him, which was an odd sensation. No one else did that. Of course, few others ever stood up to him and he couldn’t think of anyone other than Garrett who would have the nerve to track him down.

  She shrugged. “I have resources.”

  He knew anything he said would sound condescending, so he kept as close to the facts as possible. “They aren’t better than mine. I guarantee it.”

  “Huh.” She turned over the card, looked at every angle one last time, before pocketing it.

  He had no idea what point she was trying to make. “Which means what?”

  “Deal.”

  “Good.” But he wasn’t sure it was. She’d gotten what she wanted and letting that happen could prove difficult going forward.

  She tilted her head to the side again. “So, do I still call you Brian or are you going to tell me your full name?”

  He decided that was his signal to leave. He should have dropped the card and walked out five minutes ago, but something about her made him want to linger . . . and that was enough to make him get up now.

  He took the coffee with him. No reason to waste that. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She nodded. “I’ll count on that.”

  Later that afternoon Garrett walked into Wren’s office without bothering to knock. He carried three thick folders and a computer tablet. “Tell me who Tiffany Younger is again.”

  Wren kept working. “Emery Finn’s cousin who went missing years ago.”

  Garrett set his armload on the desk in front of Wren. “Oh, that clears it right up.”

  There was no need to put off this conversation. This was the sort of thing Garrett would poke and question until he had the specifics.

  Wren sat forward and opened the top file. “Emery thinks I’m involved.”

  “Yeah, you told me that yesterday.” Garrett put his hand on the folder, slapping it closed before Wren could read a word. “You’re not. Game over. Walk away and be done with her, right?”

  “Does Ms. Finn strike you as someone who will just take my word and scurry off?”

  A growl rumbled in Garrett’s throat. “Oh, shit.”

  This did not sound good. “What?”

  “You’re more than just intrigued by her. There’s something else going on here.”

  Three nights of research made that one hard to deny. “Of course. This woman, Tiffany, is missing, presumed dead.”

  “No.” Garrett made a dramatic groaning sound. “I meant about Emery.”

  Wren refused to discuss her. It was bad enough he kept imagining her naked and wondering what her hands might feel like as she touched him. That he thought about her last night when he should have been catching a few hours of sleep. That comments she made would come back to him and make him smile.

  Her face kept floating through his mind. That impressive body. The way she looked on the verge of rolling her eyes every time he opened his mouth.

  Not that he had any intention of divulging how intrigued he was by any of that. “I’m doing this as a favor.”

  Garrett stared at him. “To whom?”

  Good question. “The senator.”

  “Try again.”

  “Is it too late in the day to fire you?”

  “You usually threaten to fake fire me around noon. You’re late today.” Garrett folded his arms across his chest. “Of course, you might not remember that since you were out on a coffee date again this morning.”

  That fucking surveillance made having some privacy impossible. Wren toyed with the idea of canceling it. If Emery didn’t seem like the type who could walk right into trouble while digging around for clues and throwing his name around, he might have. “That was nothing.”

  “What about your visit to her house?”

  He should have known Garrett would find that out no matter what he threatened. “I have the sudden urge to fire people.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  Rather than debate employee relations or his interest in her, which he continued to hope was nonexistent or an aberration or a momentary confusion, Wren focused on the bigger issue. “I want to clear my name.”

  “You haven’t been implicated. Part of your name was written on a piece of paper on some random guy’s notepad. How is this even an issue worth discussing?”

  Wren couldn’t figure out if that looked bad for him or not. Didn’t really matter. He was all for stoking a dangerous reputation and letting that benefit him at work, but he couldn’t tolerate this. Other sins he accepted without question, but not this one. “The missing girl’s father. Not a random guy.”

  “Okay, look.” Garrett dropped his arms. Sighed. Even shifted his weight around.

  Whatever he was about to say made Wren nervous, and he did not get nervous. “Just spit it out.”

  “We’ve known each other for a long time,” Garrett continued. “Tell me this is not about—”

  “You’d be wise to stop right there.” Whatever connections might exist between his mother and Emery’s missing friend in terms of understanding the toll that sort of devastation takes, Wren refused to think his interest in one was a result of living with the other. He’d walked out of therapy years ago and never went back. He didn’t need an informal version of it now.

  “You have a soft spot for missing women.”

  That was a safe topic. Wren could keep it off a personal level. “We all should.”

  Garrett swore under his breath. “Don’t try to make me sound like an ass. You know what I’m saying.”

  From anyone else . . . actually, that couldn’t come from anyone else. No one else in the building knew about his real identity or his mother or the father he never talked about. “This isn’t about my mother.”

  Garrett didn’t move. “Are you sure?”

  “Did you get a psychology degree when I wasn’t looking?”

  “You have to admit there are parallels here.”

  He actually didn’t. “Not any I’m willing to discuss.”

  Silence screamed through the room.

  After a few seconds, Garrett nodded. “So, we’re going to open a case on Tiffany Younger. Got it.”

  With that emotional trap avoided, Wren pushed on. He needed to stay technical and distanced. He could do that if he thought of Tiffany as a case and not a person. Never mind the fact he could compartmentalize like that made him a shit.

  “You’re to operate as if the case is ours even though, in fact, there is no case,” Wren explained.

  “Didn’t I just say that? You know, right before you tried to fire me.”

  Wren could hear the amusement in Garrett’s voice. The building tension evaporated and they returned to their usual back and forth. “What’s the point of owning a company that deals in information if I can’t use it on a personal matter?”

  “Huh. That almost sounds logical. I hate that.”

  “Only you would hate logic.”

  “Wait.” Garrett glanced at the ceiling. “I’m thinking of a way around agreeing with you.”

  “While you’re doing that, get started.” Wren r
eached out and grabbed the files, stacking them on his lap.

  “You having coffee again tomorrow?”

  Wren refused to look up and see Garrett’s annoying grin. Hearing it in his voice was bad enough. “You have your own office. Work in there.”

  “This is going to backfire, you know.”

  That time Wren glanced up. “I won’t let it.”

  “We’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Emery worked later than planned that Friday. The early summer light had faded, so now she walked from the metro to her Foggy Bottom apartment in the dark.

  Not a big deal. The area hopped with activity. People poured in and out of nearby restaurants and bars. She spied a line of red brake lights as cars backed up at the intersections. The drunken revelry was still a few hours away, but from the sound of the yelling and cheering coming from the line of bars and restaurants around the block, it sounded as if a few people got an early start.

  The last two turns put her in a more residential section. Multistory town houses divided into multiple residences. In the spring the trees budded and framed the street in a flurry of pink. Tonight it was just sticky hot and not very pleasant.

  In part because of the air-conditioning, she did love her place. It had been listed as a junior one bedroom on the street level of an older red brick building, which was code for an oversized studio with a partial wall separating off the actual bed. Apparently once the landlord tagged it with the whole “junior” thing she got to charge more. Emery thought that sucked, but she didn’t get that much of a say. Plus, the apartment had the benefit of being familiar. She’d moved in during her final year at George Washington University.

  Her sneakers hit against the pavement as she walked at a steady clip. Between Wren and her father, she’d wrestled with anxiety from the time she got up to the time she went to bed. She hoped the fresh air would clear her head, but there wasn’t even a touch of a breeze. She’d be sweating through her silk shirt by the time she got to her door.

  The original plan was to leave the office a bit early, grab dinner and settle down with a mindless movie, preferably one without family drama. But her dad had called several times to complain about her leaving their dinner earlier in the week. He insisted on seeing her again, but she claimed to have a work issue. Guilt then compelled her to actually hang around the office until everyone else had gone and she’d blown past her scheduled leave time.

  Wren hadn’t contacted her since yesterday’s coffee shop meeting. But after he just showed up there she half expected to see him pop up everywhere. She wished she hated that idea more than she did. She wished she hated it at all.

  She blamed the handsome face and that whole broody, mysterious thing he had going on. That type never appealed to her before and she wanted to believe it still didn’t, but she kept thinking about him. Not in a he’s-dangerous sort of way. No, this was in an I-wonder-if-he-kisses-as-good-as-he-looks sort of way.

  Damn him for being in her head.

  She thought about the whole private number thing, how she acted like she wasn’t interested despite the fact her heart had swooped a stupid loop-de-loop in her chest when he handed it over. Even now the note with his number sat in the drawer right next to her bed. She’d added it to her cell contact list under a fake name. Clearly he had her as paranoid as he was, but she’d kept the note. She had no idea why and refused to believe it was because she wanted some sort of connection with him.

  Really, damn him.

  Just thinking about the men hanging around her life right now made her exhausted. She hit the last corner and had to drag her body to keep moving. Whistling helped. So did focusing on the . . . whoa.

  She stopped three houses before her own because Wren stood there, right on the sidewalk in his usual dark suit. For a second she worried just thinking about him had conjured him up.

  He stared.

  She stared back.

  Then she noticed the activity behind him. A police car and another dark sedan with its lights on parked right out front of her building. An officer moved around in the main doorway by the mailboxes, talking to one of her neighbors. Part of Emery wanted to run to Wren and demand an explanation. The rest of her wanted to stay put until she woke up from whatever hottie-induced dream she was in at the moment.

  Her choice didn’t end up mattering all that much because Wren walked toward her. Using long strides, he ate up the distance between them and stopped in front of her.

  She said the first thing that popped into her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Someone tried to break into your apartment.”

  “How can that . . .” Her world tilted.

  In a flash, he was there with a hand on her arm. “Emery?”

  His face came back into focus. A wave of shock hit next. She’d never been robbed. The building had security and an alarm system, which she knew were only as effective as long as the people in the building didn’t do something silly, like let a complete stranger walk right in. That had happened in the building across the street last year.

  He snapped his fingers. “Emery?”

  “Don’t do that.” The sound brought her winging back to the here and now. “It’s annoying.”

  “You sure sound fine.” He dropped his hand. “The color rushed out of your face for a second, but it’s coming back along with that tone.”

  She thought about pushing past him but wasn’t willing to give him the easy out. “What tone?”

  “The one where you sound like you’re barely tolerating my existence.”

  “Okay, that’s about right.” Then the reality of the moment hit her with full force. “You’re at my house again.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  Of course he thought that explained everything. Standing there in his usual black suit, but this time with a blue tie. He was really changing it up. “I thought we talked about this.”

  “You threatened me with a bat. I ignored it.”

  “You’re being over-the-top creepy again.” Just when she thought he’d pulled back from the edge and eased into human territory, this sort of thing happened. Not that she knew what was really happening, but she sure planned to find out. “Did you break into my house?”

  He had the nerve to frown at her. “Does that strike you as my style?”

  “No, you’d slip through the air-conditioning vent or something.” Though she had to admit for a shadowy figure who insisted no one know his name or be able to find him, he seemed to spend a lot of time in public. Near her. On her street.

  This time he sighed at her. “Your imagination is a bit out of control.”

  She was about to demand a real explanation when a familiar face came into view. He walked right up behind Wren and stopped beside him. “Detective Cryer?”

  Rick Cryer, the Maryland police officer from Tiffany’s case. Here in DC, at her house. This felt like the oddest walk down memory lane ever. Worse, Emery had no idea what was going on, and she hated that. Being vulnerable, not having any control, having to depend on others . . . not her thing.

  He smiled as he held out a hand to her. “Retired detective, and please call me Rick.”

  She shook his hand as her gaze went from him to Wren and back again. “What are you doing here?”

  The detective hitched a thumb in Wren’s general direction. “He called me.”

  She was two seconds away from needing to sit down. She wasn’t the fainting type and had no intention of starting that nonsense now, but with Wren just popping up in her life, knowing the people she knew, some of her blood left her brain. She couldn’t concentrate long enough and hard enough to put the pieces together in her head.

  She inhaled nice and deep and tried to keep her voice from rising to the screaming-for-her-life range. “Okay, someone explain.”

  Rick gestured behind him. “His people—”

  “Okay, wait.” Already he’d lost her.

  Wren turned to the detective. “She’s more difficult than usual
this evening. I blame the shock of the police cars.”

  “Stop talking.” She actually put a hand on Wren’s chest. She meant to shove him out of the way, but she stayed there . . . touching him. Go figure. She looked at Rick, the detective she’d known for years and always trusted. “Do you know Wren?”

  Rick shook his head. “Not in person, but I do know Brian.”

  “You mean this guy.” She gestured toward Wren.

  The detective threw her a funny look, too, as if her question didn’t make much sense. “Of course.”

  She refused to believe she was the confused one. “Don’t say it like that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  “So, you know Brian, here, and his boss, Wren.” She waited for the detective to nod. “Is Wren a first name or a last name?”

  “Let’s stay focused.” Wren put his hand over hers while he talked to the detective. “Is anything missing inside?”

  She tried to ignore the warmth and how much bigger his palm was than hers. And forget about the energy surging through her. That meant nothing. She would make sure it meant nothing.

  “We’ll need her to look around, but it looks pretty clean,” Rick said.

  She let her hand slide down Wren’s chest toward his stomach, just for a second and only a few inches. Enough to feel the firmness and send her mind scrambling again.

  She shook her head to push out the wild thoughts and the images that formed right behind them. Added in a bit of throat clearing as she backed up a step. “There actually was a break-in?”

  “Brian said Wren’s people saw the lights on inside and some movement, noted you weren’t home and called me. I called the police.” The detective listed off the events as if the words cleared up anything.

  Wren’s people? “None of this makes sense.”

  The blue light from the police car snapped off and the neighbors wandering around on the street started to head back to the front of their own buildings. The dark sedan didn’t move, and she was pretty sure she saw two guys sitting in it.

  Wren touched her arm, right by the elbow. “Maybe you should do a walk-through?”

  She pulled away. The whole touching thing was not going to make the next few minutes run any smoother. “All of a sudden you know all the police lingo and hang out with detectives?”