Together Again: Book 3 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) Page 8

  Chapter 10

  A plane flight had always been a way to get from one place to another while she napped. However, this time the trip home to Portland suspended Margo in thin air figuratively as well as literally, as she turned over and over in her mind what had happened in Philly.

  Her life in Portland was predictable, under control, the way she liked things. What had happened with Tony was about as unpredictable as it got. There were a dozen reasons she could come up with for why it wasn’t going to work, even more potentially bad consequences. But as soon as she started going down that road she heard Theresa’s voice asking her not to.

  Nothing about the situation sorted out into nice, neat boxes.

  When the pilot announced their descent into the Portland airport she looked out the window for a sight she knew would comfort her — the Columbia River, gushing its way from a glacier in Canada to the Pacific. Seeing it always meant she was home.

  But, in the end, the comfort of being home was superseded by discovering she had someone else’s messenger bag. As soon as she discovered the error, she called the airline. The only good thing about it was she’d stuffed the bag so full of research materials she’d had to carry a purse, too, or she would have lost keys, wallet and credit cards along with her case files and iPod.

  After she unpacked, she called Tony.

  “Hey, sugar. How was your flight?”

  “Tedious. Flight got canceled out of Seattle so I had a longer layover than I expected. And I got home with the wrong messenger bag. So, not great. How was Newark?”

  “About the same as your trip,” he replied. “We now have one less mobster to watch. The dead guy’s been on our list for a while. He was killed with a weapon similar to the one that did Jameson so he’s not the shooter Isiah’s looking for. And there wasn’t a damn thing in Jameson’s briefcase that looks like something worth killing over. Last, the two live Russians we picked up swear they don’t know anything about anything.”

  “So what’s this all about?”

  “Deal gone bad, probably, although we don’t have hard evidence. We think Jameson may have been trying to sell Microsoft information to someone. Problem with that theory is, Microsoft says there was nothing in the briefcase worth selling. And it doesn’t explain how we ended up with two bodies.”

  “What do our federal friends say?”

  “Not much. The ones I’m working with are as baffled as I am. The new kids on the block have been tailing the Russians — the same Russians who were found with the body — for weeks and didn’t see them shoot anyone. So they’re not likely to be the bad guys. It could be the internal politics of a struggle for control of the Bratva. Haven’t talked to our contacts in the Russian community yet. That’ll happen tomorrow.”

  “So not exactly a cleared case.”

  “No, just more mud in the water.” His voice changed to a softer tone. “Let’s talk about something less frustrating. I hear you had a long talk with Theresa.”

  “Yeah.”

  When she didn’t go further he said, “What’d you think about her theory?”

  “She told me to ask you what you said when she told you.”

  “Ah. So I get to go first. Okay, I laughed it off as another of her interferences in my life. But after I thought about it for a while, it seemed possible. Now, I’m positive it’s right.”

  “Me, too. But I don’t know what that means.”

  “I don’t either. We’ll have to sort it out as we go along.”

  She sniffled, trying not to cry. “I’ve been trying to figure it out and … ”

  “We need time to figure it out together.”

  “That’s hard to do when we live so far apart.”

  “We can have a weekend together every now and then. You’ll be here in September. Maybe come to Philly for the holidays like your mother always wants. I have a lot of vacation time I haven’t used. And I’ve never been to the West Coast. We can do it, if that’s what we want.” He paused. “If that’s what you want.”

  “I think so. Do you?”

  He said without any hesitation, “Absolutely. I want to give us a chance.”

  She was silent for a moment. “But, Tony, we have to be honest with each other.”

  “Haven’t we always been?”

  “Yes, at least up until now. There’s something I need to tell you. First, is theft of soap a misdemeanor punishable in the state of Pennsylvania?”

  “Theft of what? Soap? What are you talking about?

  “I wanted something to remind me of you so I took the soap from your bathroom.”

  When he stopped laughing, he said, “So, that’s where it went. Jesus, sugar, if it turns out this is in the criminal code, you could be disbarred.”

  “I know. Will you promise not to turn me in if it’s against the law?”

  “I’ll have to think about it. How about I call tomorrow night about seven your time? I’ll let you know whether there’s a warrant out on you for soap theft and you find out about a long weekend.” He paused for a heartbeat or two. “I know we can make this work, Margo.”

  “Can we, Tony?”

  • • •

  Margo had been working for two hours clearing her desk and computer of what had accumulated while she was away when Kiki Long popped her head into the office. When Margo had left on her trip, the twenty-four-year old paralegal had shoulder-length, platinum-blonde hair with dark brown roots. Now what Margo could see of her hair over a bright orange 1940s Rosie the Riveter head wrap, was brown with a big pompadour in the front. She wore lipstick to match the head wrap and had replaced last month’s black leggings, ballet tee and mesh sweater with men’s pleated front trousers and a vintage Hawaiian sport shirt.

  What hadn’t changed — what couldn’t change — were the climbing rose tattoos that twined around her arms, hid shyly under her shirtsleeves to burst out around her neck in red blossoms.

  “Welcome back, Margo. I missed you. How was Philadelphia?”

  “It was great, thanks. What happened around here while I was gone that’s worth knowing about?”

  “Not much. Willow, the jury clerk, is finally pregnant. Vince the security guard and his partner, Charlie, broke up after twenty years. That’s about it.” Kiki cocked her head and frowned slightly. “But something happened with you. You look different.” She circled the desk, studying her friend. “A bright blue shirt? No jacket? Who knew you even owned clothes like that?”

  “Kiki, I have work to do and so … ”

  “Something happened … like … oh, my God … of course … you had sex with the guy from the plane. Was he just a hook-up? Will you see him again? Was he incredibly handsome? He must have been very, very sexy to get you to look all glow-y like this.”

  “Stop. There was no man from the plane. I just had a good vacation. End of story.” From the sudden, extreme heat and flushing she could feel, all the blood in her body had taken up residence in her face.

  “You’re blushing worse than I’ve ever seen. There’s something going on.” Kiki walked out the door, saying, “I’ll find out. You know I have ways.”

  Margo went back to the pile on her desk. Buried in her caseload, she forgot about Kiki’s curiosity so when the younger woman walked into her office several hours later with a latte in her hand, Margo didn’t think anything of it. She should have known better. Kiki didn’t get lattes for anyone unless she thought there was a payoff, usually in the form of information.

  Kiki put the cup down in front of Margo. “Here’s what I found out: off and on during the week in Philly you were seen with a drop-dead gorgeous guy. He’s about six feet tall, has the sexiest brown eyes on the Eastern seaboard and a body to die for. He’s a police detective. You graduated from high school with him. You looked especially cozy in the bar at your hotel after the big dinner and the next night, too. I’m guessing he’s who put that look on your face.” She cocked her head and smirked.

  “For God’s sake, Kiki, who’ve you been talking to?
I was at a conference, not having a wild week. The guy I was with was my co-presenter. We were planning our presentation and enjoying our success.” Margo pushed the cup back toward Kiki. “Here, give this to someone else. No latte is worth this cross-examination.”

  “Keep it. I know I’m right. You’re blushing again. I always protect my sources but I will say, my source says Danny was pretty envious of you and Greer thought … ”

  “Danny Hartmann told you? And Greer’s talking? Jesus.”

  “No, I didn’t hear it from Danny. She just mentioned something about it to someone at the Justice Center who told someone over here who told me. And you know Greer. She always talks about the good-looking men she meets. If he made it onto her radar, he must be a stunner. When will he be here so we can meet him?”

  “Never, if I can help it. It’s my private life. Leave it.”

  With a parting smirk, Kiki opened the door only to bang into Jeff Wyatt, the Multnomah County District Attorney, her boss, as well as everyone else’s. She apologized and scampered back to her desk.

  “What was all that about?” Jeff asked. He scrutinized Margo’s face. “Whatever it was, you’re blushing.”

  “Just Kiki’s usual gossip-mongering. I swear, she could work on one of those TV entertainment shows, she’s that good.”

  “I’m just grateful she’s on my side. It’d scare the devil out of me if she was on the wrong side of the law.”

  “Point well taken. You have something for me, boss?”

  “Eventually, but first I wanted to thank you for standing in for me at the conference. I heard great things about your presentation. It was the hit of the day, a colleague from Seattle said.”

  “Really? I thought we did better than just hit of the day.”

  “Okay, maybe he did say it was one of the best presentations he heard. Actually, he asked if you’d repeat it at the West Coast DA’s meeting next year.”

  “Happy to. Just me or does this get my co-presenter a free ticket to the West Coast?”

  “I hear you know the guy you presented with.”

  “We grew up together. Been friends for years.”

  “Just friends?”

  Margo knew better than to try and fool her boss. Wyatt looked like the man half the witnesses to a crime described — medium height, medium build, medium coloring, no visible scars or outstanding features. But behind the average Joe looks was the best legal mind in the state and one of the savviest observers of his fellow humans anywhere.

  “We’ve dated, yes. But not … ” She stopped. But not what? Recently? Lie. Seriously? Also a lie.

  “Not so you want to talk about it, apparently.”

  “Thanks. That’s about it.”

  “Well, good luck with it. If that’s what Kiki has her teeth into, you’re doomed.” He started back to his office. “When you have time this afternoon, I do have a couple new cases I’d like you to look at.”

  She indicated the mess on her desk. “Oh, sure, Jeff, because I don’t have anything else to do.”

  “Like I said, Margo, welcome back.”

  • • •

  “Margo, Sam Richardson. You lose a briefcase?” The phone call from across the park at Central Precinct came first thing after Margo got to work two days later.

  “Has the city run out of bad guys for you to chase? Or has Chris Angel decided you’re best suited to running some bureaucratic boondoggle like the lost and found?” She considered Sam Richardson one of the best homicide detectives in the Portland Police Bureau and he returned her admiration. But as much as she respected him — and loved his wife, a well-known glass artist — giving him a hard time was still part of their relationship.

  “My boss wouldn’t put me in charge of anything that challenging so I continue to serve and protect. That doesn’t usually include missing luggage. However, this morning inside a messenger bag under a body in Forest Park, I found business cards with the DA’s logo on them and the name Margo Keyes. Good detective that I am, it led me to believe that the bag might belong to someone with that name in Jeff’s office. Want to clear my case for me and confess to the deed? Or, would you rather get back to my original question and tell me if you lost your briefcase?”

  “Ugh. Not exactly how I wanted my stuff found. But found is good. I guess. I didn’t lose it. It got swapped with someone else’s on the Seattle leg of my flight home last Sunday. The one I turned in to Alaska Airlines belonged to Brandy Nixon. Is that your vic’s name?”

  “That’s her. And she had a boarding pass for an Alaska flight from Sea-Tac to PDX in her purse so that clinches it. Listen, since you live out by the airport, any chance you can get hers back and save me a trip out there? I’ll call and tell them to expect you.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. If I get it, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. I’m in court most of the day so it’ll be late afternoon.”

  “No hurry. The owner doesn’t need it where she is.”

  Chapter 11

  “It took you longer than I expected to find your way across the park.” Danny Hartmann greeted Margo as she got off the elevator at Central Precinct.

  “Hello to you, too, Danny. Although I don’t know why I should be pleasant to you. Thanks to you, Kiki’s on my case about Tony. At least he’s three thousand miles away and out of her reach.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t say anything to Kiki. And what do you mean he’s three thousand miles away?” The detective looked confused.

  Margo scanned the area looking for Sam. “Your partner around? I told him I’d be over after I got out of court. I need to … ”

  “What’s Sam got to do with your being here?”

  Now it was Margo’s turn to be confused. “Are we in the same conversation? I’m here about the dead woman in Forest Park, the one who had my messenger bag. What’re you talking about?”

  Danny looked over Margo’s shoulder. “I think it’s all about to get straightened out.”

  From behind her, Margo heard the distinctive sound of Sam’s cowboy boots on the hard floor. “There he is. Sam, I … ”

  But it wasn’t Sam who said, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Nor was it Sam who put a possessive hand on the small of her back. And it sure as hell wasn’t his cologne she smelled.

  “Tony?” When she saw both Sam Richardson and Tony, her eyes widened and she could feel her face pale as she struggled to get words out. “You’re here? How’d you … ? When … ?”

  Danny rolled her eyes heavenward. “Hallelujah. I have lived to see the miracle of a speechless lawyer.”

  Margo looked back and forth between the two men standing in front of her, grins on both their faces. They made an interesting contrast. Shorter by three or four inches and older by close to a decade, Sam’s slightly sun-bleached, sandy-brown hair and weathered skin reflected his outdoor lifestyle as much as Tony’s dark hair and olive skin showed his Mediterranean heritage. The Philly cop’s taste in clothes ran to a well-tailored gray suit, white shirt and burgundy tie; the detective born in Eastern Oregon wore jeans with no tie and a blue shirt. And Tony’s Italian loafers were half a world away from Sam’s cowboy boots, a reminder he was raised on the ranch his great-grandfather had homesteaded.

  What was almost identical was the stare. Two pairs of brown eyes were looking at Margo, Sam’s full of amusement, Tony’s affection, while she stood rooted to the floor, trying to find her composure, or at least her voice. Eventually she got out, “You didn’t you tell me you were coming to Portland.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Well, that worked out for you,” she said.

  Sam frowned. “Christ, Margo, you’re the color of Tony’s shirt.” To the wearer of the white shirt he said, “Is this how East Coast men impress women? You scare the pea-wadding-green out of them so they have a heart attack?”

  “It’s how we weed out the weak ones,” Tony said with a grin.

  “What are you doing here?” Marg
o asked.

  Sam said, “I work here, remember?”

  “Not you, Sam.” Margo said.

  “Following the breadcrumbs from Newark.” As Tony explained why he was there, she fought the urge to throw herself at him, to kiss him, to hold him. Finally, having heard — or at least, understood — little of what he said, she put up her hand.

  “Slow down. I still don’t understand. The Russians led you here?”

  “Sort of. Mostly it’s because the working group of local and federal agencies here is further along in investigating this string of intellectual property thefts. So, against all odds and previous experience, we’re not going to reinvent the wheel but build on it. I flew in a couple hours ago with two feds. A guy from Long Beach and a woman from Seattle are due in soon.”

  “That’s where Jeff is this afternoon, isn’t it, Sam?” When Sam nodded, she added, “Jeff Wyatt’s my boss, Tony.”

  “And they’re all waiting for us,” Sam said to his new colleague. “But ten minutes of doing penance for scaring her’s okay. They’ll keep for that long.” He started to walk away.

  “Sam, I’m here to see you,” Margo said.

  “To what do I owe that honor?”

  “The messenger bag? From the woman in Forest Park?”

  “Christ, apparently you’re not the only one made witless by the arrival of our out-of-town guests. You get the bag back from the airline?”

  “Right here.” She handed him a dark charcoal gray leather bag. “I thought I was going to have to get a court order to retrieve it, but they finally gave it to me.” She turned to Tony. “Remember I said I’d gotten home with the wrong messenger bag?” He nodded. “Well, Sam found it.”

  Sam snorted. “Not sure ‘found’ is the best description. A hiker stumbled on a body in a wilderness park in the West Hills where perps like to leave dead people they want to hide. The woman had Margo’s briefcase with her.”

  “I apparently swapped bags with this woman who sat next to me on the flight from Seattle when we pulled them out of the overhead. Mine is exactly like this.”