Project Northwest

by C. B. Carter

  “Wake up. We have to get moving now.”

  She sat up again, “Do I have time for a shower?”

  “No, just grab my robe from the hook in the bathroom. Drop me off and you can eat breakfast and sleep until you go to work at five.”

  She rushed to the bathroom, put on the robe, slid her feet into her most comfortable slippers, kissed James at the door. “Sorry, baby, you know I’m always running late.”

  “I know, baby, I know.”

  She pulled in front of the bank. James leaned toward her, kissed her and tapped the robe where the note was written. He tapped it again and said, “I love you and will meet you at your work later.”

  She said she loved him too and waited for him to cross University before blowing him a kiss. She was back on University, eager to get home and crawl back into her warm bed. Traffic was heavier than she expected, although she admitted to herself she was rarely on the streets at this time, so she wasn’t sure against what she was comparing her idea of traffic.

  The door to the condo closed behind her as she made her way to the kitchen, quickly devoured the cold eggs, and took a slice of bacon and a bottle of orange juice from the fridge into the bedroom with her.

  She jumped onto the bed, landing on her stomach and that’s when she saw the first part of the note on the inside of the robe. She stared at it, thinking at first that it was some type of love note.

  The note was barely visible, but she managed to read the first few lines. What she read was enough to scare her and she froze, Are they watching me right now? she asked herself. Calculating every move, she repositioned the robe and read the entire note. She read it again and again. Was this real? Of course it was, James would not joke about something like this—he loved her and his job at the bank.

  She pulled the robe tight around her, put her face into the pillow, and screamed. She came up for air, buried her face, and silently screamed again. The robe smelled of James, hints of Irish Spring soap, Polo cologne, and some unknown shaving cream. She loved the smell almost as much as she loved him. There was no question as to what she was going to do, she just hated that she had to do it. Hated that James had put her into this situation, she despised doing it, but the evidence of the note had to disappear and she felt she had to—she had to do laundry. She silently screamed into the pillow again.

  Having taken a shower and applied her make-up, all the while self-conscious because of the hidden cameras, she sat on the edge of the bed, dazed. She took a deep breath, picked up her cell phone from the nightstand, dialed the number to James’s office, let it ring twice, and hung up.

  Having collected the dirty laundry from the hamper into the basket, she carefully placed the robe on top and headed to the laundry room off the kitchen. The whites along with the robe were in first. She was up, angry, and used the pent-up energy to clean the rest of the condo before heading to her apartment. She wanted to flip off any area in the condo that looked like it might have a camera. Not the devilish type of middle finger, but the one filled with so much contempt that it makes your jaw tight, eyes squint and tongue stick out when one does it.

  She swallowed her contempt and put her trust completely in James. We’ll make it through this. She kept reminding herself. Luckily for James, she wasn’t the panicky type, she was the trusting type and believed love could conquer all.

  * * * *

  Moments before, James was having a hard time focusing on the numbers and Shelly could tell his mind was elsewhere.

  “This will all be over soon,” Shelly reminded him. She said it as if she were trying to convince them both. She was about to dispense some other valuable advice, when James’s office phone rang. He looked at the digital display and saw that it was Bridget’s cell. It rang once more and stopped, the screen went blank.

  “That was her. You didn’t answer, are you two having a lovers spat?” Shelly nosily inquired.

  “Not at all, she is the most beautiful creature in the world. I’m going to marry her and have a ton of kids. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” James felt empowered and relieved—two emotions that were finally in balance. Today was going to be a great day. He was in love with a remarkable woman.

  Chapter Nine

  ~ Mark DeSantis AKA Mr. Smooth ~

  Mark pulled into the post office parking lot on Royal Oaks at 3:30 P.M., parked his Ford Explorer, and entered the government building. He hadn’t been in a post office in years. He had a P.O. Box somewhere in the building, but his secretary took care of all the business mailing needs.

  The interior was stark, gray-government paint on the walls with blue trim as an accent placed on the walls and furniture with no imagination. There were about fifteen customers, all older or business types, in the lobby. There wasn’t a single young person in the post office. They instead communicated through social networks, text messaging, and phone calls. He was sure there wasn’t a soul under sixty in the lines.

  Somehow, and he couldn’t figure out how, there were three lines and two clerks. He singled out one clerk. She was bubbly and talkative, not gorgeous but certainly cute. She was in her early twenties, in shape and he decided to join the line in front of her. He felt like a ticket holder at some relegated kissing booth at a local fair. He surveyed the older people in front of him and noted one man, in his sixties, had at least a dozen letters—this will take some time, he thought.

  He scouted the people in the third line, a line that had somehow situated itself onto an empty clerk position and watched with amusement as their heads started nervously darting around. They finally figured out something was wrong and were looking for direction. Each started piecing through the history to determine who they had come in after, all of it leading to the difficult decision to leave their line and merge with one of the other lines, all at the risk of being impolite or losing their spot.

  “You’re welcome, honey. Next,” the cute postal clerk announced.

  The older lady at the front of Mark’s line slowly moved toward the clerk, conducting business before she was even at the counter. “I want to send this to my grandson, but I want it to get there by Saturday. It’s his birthday,” she spoke as she shuttled the present across the floor with her left leg while leaning on the cane in her right hand.

  The older women all cooed and congratulated her on the upcoming family birthday. Mark was fearful she would turn, a feat he was sure would take an hour in itself, and strike up a conversation with the rest of the patrons, but, thankfully, her priority was the package, making it to the counter and he saw his chance.

  He went around the rope barrier. “Miss, may I get that for you?” he offered as he bent and picked up the present. “Wow, it’s heavy, I bet it’s a train set.”

  “Thank you, young man. Nope, not a train set. Sent that last year.”

  “I bet it’s a chemistry set, then.”

  “Yes, yes it is, that’s amazing. You must have a boy of your own. The set plus a little of my home-made fudge. Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked as she wrapped her arm in his.

  “He’ll love it, what little boy wouldn’t? If I weren’t an honest man, I might just take it myself,” he teasingly suggested.

  She chuckled at the thought and leaned in. “I bet you can’t keep the ladies away.”

  “Now why would I want to do that?”

  The postal clerk listened to their conversation and was as equally charmed as the grandmother. Who was this guy? Nice smile, deep eyes, boyish charm oozing from his pores, quick wit, and hopefully not gay.

  Before she had even met Mark DeSantis, he had altered her demeanor.

  “Sending a present today? Anything perishable or toxic in the package?” she asked the grandmother as Mark slid the present onto the weighing surface.

  “No, just some fudge and it’s certainly not toxic.”

  “I bet it’s delicious. To get it there by next Friday you could use parcel post. That would cost $8.95 or you can select priority mail for $13.95 and it will get there in abou
t three days.”

  The choices appeared to take considerable thought from the grandmother. James, still standing beside her, shared his opinion through the old adage ‘better to be safe than sorry’ and the grandmother selected to go with priority mail and was slowly on her way back to the parking lot.

  Mark looked back and studied the customers still in line. Now three lines had democratically merged into two. The men had sour faces, they knew what he was doing—he was cutting in line and they didn’t like it one bit.

  The women were all smiles.

  “While I’m here, is there any way you can check for a letter for me?” he asked the postal clerk.

  “Sure. Your name?”

  “Mark DeSantis, it was sent general delivery.”

  “My pleasure, Mark,” said the clerk. She disappeared behind a make-shift wall, and quickly returned with the envelope and what appeared to be a business card tucked in her right hand.

  “Can I see your ID, Mark?” she asked, hinting that it was only a formality.

  He showed his ID. She didn’t even look at it. Say something, she kept telling herself.

  “How did you know it was a chemistry set?” she finally asked. She wanted to know the answer, but more importantly, she wanted to keep him there, talking, charming her, she just wanted more.

  “What, and ruin the moment? No, I would feel more comfortable telling my secrets over a nice dinner.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Yes, but can you blame me? Beautiful woman, beautiful attitude, I bet you get this a lot?”

  “No,” she truthfully replied. Everything about her body went into a bashful state, yet she somehow managed to move closer to him and her eyes were locked onto his. They both slowly smiled.

  “You’re cute,” she said in an almost whisper.

  He leaned in close, touched the sleeve of her uniform, allowing his hand to trail down her arm to touch the card with her name and phone number on it, and responded in his deep, playful voice, “You should see me naked.”

  The card was suddenly thrust into his open palm, as if she had to do it quickly, else she would lose her nerve. He didn’t even look at it, just kept eye contact and said, “Keep Friday, seven P.M. open for me. I’ll call you with the details.”

  He was back in his SUV at 3:44 PM. The entire exchange had only taken fourteen minutes. He quickly made reservations at Spataro and dialed the number on the card. It rang four times and went to voice mail, just as he had hoped.

  “Kara, this is Mark. Meet me at Spataro at seven P.M. and wear something black and slinky, we’re going salsa dancing. I’ll be there at six-thirty to watch you walk through the door. Can’t wait to see you there.”

  I’m a bad, bad boy, he told himself, a bad, bad boy.

  He tossed the envelope into the passenger seat, thought second of it, and tucked the card into his inside blazer pocket. He scrolled through his contact list on the phone, selected, ‘Tina’ and pressed dial. Tina answered on the second ring, “Police Lab. Tina.”

  “Hey, you, its Mark, are we still on for dinner tonight at seven?”

  She confirmed. She was leaving at five on the dot and couldn’t wait.

  Three hours later, he was at Cafe Americain, one of the finest Russian houses in Sacramento, sipping bourbon at the bar when Tina walked in at ten after seven. She was absolutely stunning—long black hair with brown highlights teased and curled inward, highlighting the perfect symmetry of her face. The caramel coloring of her brown eyes only enhanced her allure. It was impossible for any red blooded male to take his eyes off her.

  She saw Mark, stopped, slowly twirled showing him the all-encompassing present wrapped in the sexy evening gown. He stood, picked up the fresh cosmopolitan he had arranged the bartender to make when given the signal, and slowly walked to her, taking in every inch of her being. He delivered the drink along with a gentle, soft kiss on her cheek.

  “You are lovely, elegant, and without a doubt, on every male in this room’s naughty Santa list and it’s only April,” he calmly said as he drew in close and smelled her perfume.

  “Thank you,” she replied. She brought the cosmopolitan to her ruby red lips and savored the tartness of the lime and cranberry. “Am I on your Santa wish list?”

  “Yes, since I was eight, I think.” She smiled and she wrapped her arm in his. He stopped to pay the bar tab by tossing a twenty, and led her to the reserved table.

  Mark and Tina had been casually dating for about two months and it was mutually understood it wasn’t exclusive. They used the non-exclusivity to heighten the playful parts of their rendezvous. Mark was falling in love with each date and she, reluctantly, familiar with the reputation of Mark and of private investigators in general, found she was falling for him—that thought haunted her when she wasn’t with him, but completely vanished the moment she saw him.

  They slowly ate the caviar appetizers for which Cafe American was known, sipped champagne, and while eating the main course, they passed compliments saturated with sexual undertones.

  Dessert would have to wait, as neither could stand it anymore. The clothing had become restrictive, the other patrons in the restaurant too impeding, they had to have each other. The check was quickly paid and within thirty minutes they were in Tina’s bed, their clothes trailed like breadcrumbs from the front door, to the kitchen, to the hallway. By the time they were at the bedroom door, they were naked. Tina only took the time to close the bedroom door.

  An hour later, they were both sweating and enjoying the elation couples feel when they’ve both been satisfied. Mark took what he considered a big risk. He asked the favor.

  “Tina, please say no if you can’t do it. I will completely understand. But would it be possible to process a hair in the lab? It’s a favor for a friend, not work related at all.”

  Tina, moving ever closer to being head over heels, was up for anything. “Sure, I’ll do it first thing in the morning, but only if you can satisfy my appetite again.”

  Mark was more than happy to do so. It wasn’t an imposition at all, but he was foiled by a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Mom, I’m hungry and you have unmentionables all over the kitchen and hallway,” said Aaron from the other side of the bedroom door.

  The math was easy, Mark was twenty-seven and Tina had a thirteen-year-old son. That put Tina in the thirty-two-year range. Mark realized in the beginning he had specific thoughts about the packaged family and none of them were kind thoughts, but as he got to know Aaron and Tina, he’d slowly warmed up to the idea. Aaron was a good kid, lively, as self-assured as a thirteen-year-old could be, and smart as a whip when it came to computers.

  “Sure, baby, thought you were staying at Steve’s tonight. I’ll be right out,” shouted Tina, while getting dressed and feeling a little guilty. “You hungry?” she asked Mark.

  “I can eat something.”

  “Stop playing and get dressed.” She fell onto the bed and kissed him.

  Another talent Tina had among some of Mark’s favorites was that she could cook, and both he and Aaron always requested her farmhouse grilled cheese when given a choice. Mark wasn’t sure how she made it, but the pancetta, cheddar cheese and fresh tomato on brioche was reason enough to fall in love with her.

  She placed the sandwiches in the oven and saw two pieces of computer equipment near the kitchen door.

  “Aaron, what are those?”

  “Oh, two servers I bought off eBay. I’m going to build a Linux raid server from the ground up.”

  “And what will you be raiding?” she asked with some concern.

  “It’s not that kind of raid, Mom, it’s nothing bad. It’s an acronym, the r stands for redundant. It’s a storage system.”

  “I don’t know where you get it, all this knowledge.”

  “I get it from you, Mom. I mean, you do DNA and lab work, right.”

  “Yes, right. But I just use the machines, I don’t build them.”

  Mark listened to the bant
er while he eagerly waited for his farmhouse grilled cheese.

  “Speaking of DNA, Mark, who is the suspect?”

  “Oh, we don’t know yet.”

  “Well the DNA on the hair will be pretty useless without a suspect to match it to.”

  “I know. I’m heading up to Seattle in the morning to do a little digging, will be gone a couple of days.”

  “Still want me to move forward with, you know, want me to process it?” she asked as she pulled the gooey goodness from the oven and sat them on the counter to rest. Mark could feel his mouth water and didn’t answer her.

  “Mark?

  “Oh, sorry. Yes, process it. My friend said he needed it quickly, so it would be nice if everything comes together about the same time.”

  She cut the sandwiches in half, placed them on plates, and poured a glass of milk for Aaron. She grabbed a couple of beers for her and Mark.

  Mark devoured his sandwich, savoring every crumb.

  Tina noticed and smiled. She slanted toward him, tapped his beer bottle with hers, and said, “You know, as smooth as you are, you fall to pieces when I cook for you. I think I’ve found your weakness. Want another?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yep,” Aaron piped in, using his tongue to wrangle the dangling cheeses.

  Mark comically threw his hands in the air. “Guess the gig is up. You had me at farmhouse.”

  They all laughed.

  “Aaron, mind if I use your computer? I need to send a message to a friend.”

  “Sure, it’s okay with me. Do you want me to load an email pop account for you?” Aaron asked.

  “No, I do have a bachelor’s degree in computer science, you know. I think I can find the website, but stick around in case I need your help.”

  “I’ll be waiting on pins and needles,” Aaron joked.

  Chapter Ten

  ~ Wild Ginger ~

  Shelly insisted she and James have lunch, but not upstairs on the patio. She wanted to go out, wanted to try the pan-Asian cuisine she had heard about. In a one-sided conversation, it was apparent that she was intrigued by the fusion of Chinese, Malaysian, and Thai and she knew just the spot where they could eat lunch, and asserted it would offer a much needed break in the routine.