Max drove me back to the office without giving me an answer. For once in my life, I knew not to push to get what I wanted. Don’t ask me where that wisdom came from. It just did. He pulled up behind my car. We weren’t totally alone. Another vehicle idled nearby.
“Well, thanks for the lovely evening,” I said a trifle awkwardly. How did one end a night like this? Would he kiss me? Would I let him?
“You shouldn’t be driving home after drinking. I’ve arranged for an associate to follow us in your car. I hope you do not mind?” he asked when we reached my car in the mostly deserted parking lot.
“I think the four cups of black coffee you insisted I drink have wiped all traces of alcohol from my body.”
His warm smile returned – something I hadn’t seen since I’d mentioned the mob to him. “Better to be on the safe side, yes?”
His offer touched me more than I wanted to admit. Definitely not a Ted Bundy. Not even an Al Bundy.
I nodded in agreement and instantly regretted it. Not the agreeing part, but the nodding the head part. Max was right. I shouldn’t be driving. Worse, I was going to have a first-rate hangover tomorrow. And that would mean I’d be subject to lecture 111 from my granddad.
It was one of the basics in his arsenal – The Evils of Over-indulgence. If I set the clock to be up super early maybe I’d miss him completely.
Max’s associate approached the driver’s window and the two men exchanged a few words in Russian. “Your keys, Becca?”
If it had been anyone other than Max, I would have hesitated. But somehow I didn’t think they planned to carjack my 1987 Honda. I fished the key out of my purse and handed it over. Maybe he sensed my hesitation.
“I won’t let any harm come to you.” He reached out and stroked my short blonde hair. A quick glance into his soulful eyes convinced me his concern was genuine, that he cared. And he wasn’t just assuring me about my car. He was warning me about the Russians.
I started to say something and then held my tongue. Bottom line, I liked Max whether he introduced me to the mob or not. We accomplished the ten-minute drive in record time. After parking my car, Max’s friend returned the keys to me and then moved a few paces away so we’d have a moment’s privacy. Can you spell awkward?
“Thanks for a lovely evening.” I reached for the door handle.
But Max leaned across my body and pulled up on the handle before I could. The nearness of his body sent tiny shock waves through me.
“No, my-ah sladkaya, thank you. Stay safe. Until next time.”
I got out of the car on wobbly legs, reminding myself to Google the Russian words first thing tomorrow.
I wished I could blame my dizziness on the wine/coffee mixture. But that wasn’t it. The blame laid squarely on what the Russian did to my insides. I gingerly strode to my front door and unlocked it. Max waited until I was safely inside before he pulled away.
Maybe, just maybe I should listen to Max about the mob. Maybe I should leave the investigation to the police. And then there were Max’s parting words to consider. Until next time. That suggested I’d get to see the sexy Russian again. I climbed into bed with that thought uppermost in my mind.
Six o’clock is a horrible time to get up in the morning. I tiptoed through the house getting ready for work, painfully aware that even the ends of my hair hurt.
Entering the kitchen, my stomach recoiled at the mere thought of food. I’d bypass breakfast and catch something later when my stomach settled down.
The usually cranky Higgins wound around my ankles. Food cravings must have overpowered his extreme dislike of me. “Go back to sleep. Granddad will feed you.”
I made my way to the back door congratulating myself on getting out free and clear at this ungodly hour.
MEOWOWWWW.
Damn traitorous cat! I held my fingers to my lips to shush him, but once started there was no stopping the monster.
MEOOOOOWWWWWWW.
“Shhh. I’ll get your food. Just be quiet,” I whispered as I popped a top on a can of disgustingly foul-smelling cat food. I almost tossed my cookies right there.
MEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWWW.
I dumped the contents of the can into Higgins’ special glass goblet. “Come on. I’ve made your breakfast. Now be quiet.” And still, the cat wailed.
The fluorescent light flew on bathing the darkened kitchen in too-bright colors. It was as though someone had pounded shards of glass into my poor aching brain. Granddad pulled his robe together and tied it with a tight jerk. He reached down and picked up the portly Higgins who purred so loud it made my head hurt even worse - if that were possible.
“What are you doing to him, Becca? I’ve never heard him cry like this.” Granddad stroked the cat’s shiny black fur, and I swear Higgins smiled at me as if to say take that.
“I tried to be quiet and not wake you. But Higgins had other ideas.”
Granddad continued to stroke the cat lovingly, and Higgins settled into his arms like a baby. “Next time, make a little noise. Higgins probably thought you were a burglar.”
He rubbed the cat’s white tummy before depositing him down on the floor. “Daddy will make the baby some good food. You’re a good watch cat. Yes, you are.”
I listened in horror while my ex-military grandfather baby-talked the cat. I was almost more nauseated by that than my hangover. Higgins twined around his legs as the perfectly good food I’d prepared got dumped out and His Royal Pain in the Ass’s goblet was thoroughly cleaned.
“Becca, you can’t expect him to eat this heavy seafood stuff first thing in the morning. A cat like our Higgins is too sensitive for that. He needs something light, just like we do. Substantial, but light. “You’ve had such a bad morning haven’t you, boy? There, there. Daddy’s going to make it all better.”
I watched in some car-wreck kind of fascination as Granddad reached into the cabinet and pulled out a tiny tin of food that cost more than my weekly food budget. I glared at the cat. And he Cheshire-grinned at me.
As soon as Granddad put the food down, Higgins sauntered over to it, tail held high and purred as he feasted.
“You’re spoiling him.” I couldn’t help it. It had to be said.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Granddad smiled at me through his half-awake eyes. “What are you doing up so early?”
That was my cue to get my butt in gear. I grabbed my purse off of the table and opened the back door. “Work. I’m way behind.”
I had almost made it out of the door when granddad said, “The work will still be there long after you’re gone, Rebecca Marie.” Uh-oh.
He only used my full given name in extreme circumstances. And since my middle name is not Marie, but the name of a particularly nasty workaholic ancestor, I willed my feet to keep moving before he could fully launch into Lecture 52, Dead at Her Desk at Fifty-Two. “I also want to discuss how late you came in without calling to warn me. Higgins also smelled alcohol on your breath.”
Dear God! It was worse than I’d anticipated. Lecture 52 combined with Lecture 14 (Always Call if You’re Going to be Late…Or Else!) twisted together with Lecture 44, Alcohol Will Get You Knocked Up. Just kill me now. I made a mad sprint for the door. He meant well. And I knew he was right. He just had no idea what I was up against. And all I had on my mind. If only that damn tuxedo cat had kept silent and let me make a clean get-away. And since when had Higgins become a feline breathalyzer? A showdown was coming. If Higgins didn’t change his ways, I could see nice warm tuxedo earmuffs in my future. Considering how fat he was, maybe a lovely pair of gloves, too.
I drove to work with the air conditioning on full blast. Not that it was that hot outside. I just needed something brisk like max air to wake me up. It reaffirmed to me that I wasn’t a morning person. Give me a sunset over a sunrise any day of the week.
The drive to the office took less than the ten minutes it usually did in Richmond’s morning rush hour – which compared to big cities was practically non-existent. Sure we had backups, but that was mostly due to crazy driving and fender benders, not to the large numbers of cars getting around.
Here in the River City, we have fantastic roads and interstates. For the most part, traffic flows as swift and as steady as the James River. But I tell you, this early morning before rush hour was a dream. You could count the cars on one hand.
I pulled into the Daley & Palmer lot way ahead of my usual time. If only Dr. Dick could see me now.
Using my key and the touchpad, I entered the building. Unlike the other night when I’d done my B & E job, this didn’t feel creepy or clandestine at all. Even though the docs wouldn’t be in for a while, I wouldn’t go snooping through their private files. No point in taking the risk. The way my luck ran these days, I’d slam smack-dab into a less-than understanding Dr. Dick. And that would be the final straw with him. My job would be seriously over.
I flipped on the switch to the corridor and watched as the lights came on all the way down to the end. No skulking or slinking around today.
I reached D & P at the end of the hall, and put my key into the lock.
“Keeping new hours?”
My heart jumped up into my throat. “Ryder! You scared me to death.”
He didn’t smile. What was up with that? Maybe he wasn’t a morning person, either.
“Just thought I’d get an early start. I’m way behind on the billing.”
He stood there, clearly not pleased about something. I rushed to fill the void in the conversation. “So are you coming or going?”
“Going for now.”
I had been kidding with my coming or going remark. Did this mean that he’d worked all night? And then it hit me. His suite of offices faced the parking lot. Had he seen me with Max Chernov? Before I could ask, Ryder spoke up, confirming my suspicions.
“I warned you about the Russian.”
I gulped. This felt a lot worse than when my granddad lectured me.
“It’s not what you think.” What did he think?
He shook his head. “You seem like a nice person, Becca. A little scattered perhaps, but still basically a good person. If you know what’s good for you, stay away from Chernov.”
Scattered? What the heck did he mean by that? And I didn’t want to be good. I wanted to be…I don’t know…sexy. At least, that’s how I wanted him to see me.
“I need an introduction to the Russian mafia,” I blurted out. Damn! I’ve got to learn to keep my thoughts to myself.
Ryder’s face turned to stone. And I mean Mt. Rushmore stone-cold chiseled marble.
I raced on to explain. “You see, I found out Robert O’Malley had this gambling addiction and he was into the Russian mob for two hundred large.
So I need to talk to them. To get more information. And if I can get a lead from them, it could very well lead to Mr. O’s murderer.”
Ryder didn’t blink, didn’t move, and definitely didn’t soften. Feeling more than a little awkward, I twisted the key the rest of the way in the lock, opened the doors to the suite and flicked on the overhead lights. When my eyes scanned the reception area, my STD/PTSD kicked in, and I half-expected to see a dead body sitting in the Queen Anne chair. Instinctively, I recoiled.
Ryder reached out to steady me.
“What’s wrong?” He pushed past me and stood inside the office looking around. He turned back to where I stood in the doorway. “Becca, what’s wrong?” he asked again with what I took to be concern.
I shook my head and tried to get a grip. “Nothing. It’s early. I thought I saw something.” It was the truth. The image of Robert O’Malley with Dr. Dick’s letter opener protruding from his belly was an all-too-common sight in my mind lately.
“You shouldn’t be in the building this early. It’s not safe.”
“You’re here.”
“That’s different. I’m a guy.”
Oh yeah. Here we go. The helpless female. The big strong man. Yada, yada, yada. How sexist can you get? I hadn’t pegged Ryder for a male chauvinist.
“I’m quite capable of—”
“Someone was killed in this office and they haven’t caught the murderer,” he cut me off.
His words chilled me. He was right. I collapsed onto the sofa, the closest piece of furniture.
“I’m not trying to frighten you, Becca. Just make you aware. You don’t seem to think before you act.”
“I do, too!” I jumped up too fast and the blood drained from my head. I fell back to the couch.
“I rest my case,” he mumbled as he helped me up and steadied me, folding his arms around me. His tight black T-shirt clung to his body and my intuition kicked in. Accountant, my Aunt Martha. If I weren’t so busy with the murder investigation, I’d do a little digging into R.J. Ryder and find out exactly who he really was.
“I’m not the ditz you think I am.” I hated the sudden smile that played about his lips. “I’m not. You just haven’t met the real me yet.”
His smile broadened and his embrace tightened slightly. “Oh, I see. I guess I’ve only been exposed to the Breaking-and-Entering Becca and the flirting-with-danger Becca. I’ve yet to meet the sensible, ordinary Becca.”
“Hush. You promised me you wouldn’t mention that B & E thing ever again.” I lowered my voice even though we were alone.
His eyes lit up. “That’s not exactly correct. I told you it would be our secret as long as you didn’t pull another stunt like that again.”
Okay, so he was right on that score. And then it hit me. He thought I’d come in early to continue my snooping. He didn’t trust me.
“You think I’m here to look in their confidential files, don’t you?” I accused, tossing my head in the direction of the doctors’ private offices.
“I don’t judge.”
“The hell you don’t!”
“Language, Miss Reynolds.” He smiled and those devilish baby blues sparkled.
“You overheard Dr. Dick?” Damn, how much other stuff had he picked up?
“I was leaving my office. The door to this suite was open. I didn’t eavesdrop. When you shouted, I couldn’t help but hear. I came this way thinking there might be more trouble and then when I heard Dick, I realized it was none of my business.”
My cheeks burned. Humiliated, I moved away from Ryder, unable to look him in the eye.
His hands reached out and stroked my arms. “I’m not your enemy, Becca. I would never give you advice that might harm you. Do your job, your job here at Daley & Palmer. Leave the murder investigation to the police. And stay away from the mob.”
He whispered the last word into my right ear, and I went all soft inside. First Max, and now Ryder. My senses went on full alert. Or maybe I was just horny. No, it was my spidey senses, hard at work. And okay, if I was being truthful with myself, a touch of horniness, as well.
I turned to say something to Ryder, but I was alone in the suite. The man moved on cat-feet. And not Higgins’ type of cat-feet. Smooth. Graceful. Predatory. Yum.
Sighing, I put my purse down on the desk and got ready to perform my morning chore of opening the office and making it ready for the patients. Then I’d attack the billing.
An hour or so later when Dr. Daley came in, he paused in surprise when he saw me.“Miss Reynolds, what are you doing here? And early, no less. Has the world come to an end without my being notified?”
This time claims and bills cluttered my desk rather than the contents of my purse. I noticed Dr. Dick wasn’t looking at the pile too carefully, probably afraid he’d find another Tampon lurking there somewhere.
“I fell behind on my work so I thought I’d get an early start.”
Dr. Dick did that blinking action with his eyes that drove me crazy as if he were processing the information to see if it computed or not. “That’s most commendable. Glad to see it. We could use the money generated when you send out those bills and claims.” His face wrinkled with worry.
“It’ll be okay, Dr. D. We’ll survive. The patients will come back. We’ve still got some money in the pipeline.” I pointed at my desk. “And I’ll get these out today so that pipeline stays primed.” Even I wasn’t sure what I was talking about, but it seemed to take the frown off of the psychiatrist’s face.
“Thank you, Miss Reynolds. Maybe I’ve misjudged you or been a tad too harsh.”
Wow, where did that come from? I certainly didn’t plan to contradict him, because I felt he had been too hard on me. If I could only make it past this probationary period, D & P would realize my heart was in the right place, and I would be an asset to the team.
Unsure of what response to give to Dr. Dick, I dug back into work, deciding no response, in this case, might be the appropriate one.
The morning passed in a flurry of activity, at least for me. Our patient count remained low and I’d noticed another story about the murder in this morning’s local paper, the Times-Dispatch. This one chronicled recent crime in the suburbs, the upscale suburbs. I decided to hide the paper from both doctors.
They had enough to worry about without seeing this.
I went to the supply room to get more claim forms, but a commotion in the hall distracted me. My granddad’s voice. And Ryder’s. This couldn’t be good.
I hurried toward the hall and the two men stood deep in conversation. My granddad had obviously packed another lunch for me, because he held the brown paper bag out to Ryder. A now navy-blue suited corporate-looking Ryder. The man would look good in a sack. Even a brown paper sack.
“Yep, I fix my Becca a proper lunch every day. Now if I could only get her to remember to take it with her when she leaves. But she was up at the crack of dawn this morning. That girl is dedicated to her job. I’m not sure that pansy she works for appreciates all that she does.”
Oh, no. Praying Dr. Dick hadn’t heard himself referred to as a pansy, I rushed forward to where Ryder stood with my granddad, an amused expression on the accountant’s face.
“Yep, it’s been real hard on my Becca since this murder happened, you know. She’s not sleeping well. We had this talk, her and me. And she confided in me that she’s got that STD stuff.”
The look of shock and horror on Ryder’s face would be permanently etched on my brain.
“Granddad!”
“Ah, there’s my little girl now. Becca, come on over. I was just telling Mr. Ryder here about your STD.”
“It’s PTSD, Granddad. PTSD. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Not STD.”
“There’s a difference?” my grandfather asked scratching his head.
“Yes! Most definitely a difference.”
“All of those initial things. I can’t keep them straight. So what’s that STD stuff?”
I flashed Ryder a look.
He had his hand up to his mouth to conceal his expression. I narrowed my eyes at him, daring him to laugh. If he did, I swear I’d make him regret it. He must have suspected as much because he wiped every hint of amusement from his face. Smart man.
“Come on inside, and I’ll fill you in,” I answered my granddad. I took his arm and led him away
Once we were out of earshot, I explained, “STD stands for Sexually Transmitted Disease.” I definitely used my inside voice as I conveyed this information to my grandfather.
He stopped in his tracks and used his outside voice, “Well, I’ll be. That would explain why all the folks at church looked at me so strange when I told them what you had.”
I peeked over my shoulder at Ryder and cringed when I caught his huge grin. Then he exploded with laughter. Great. Just great.
Did people actually die of embarrassment? If so, I was a goner for sure.
“C’mon, Granddad.” I prodded him forward into the office and waited for the Grim Reaper to come and cart me off.