Chapter Six

Andy stood outside his parked car. Hugh spoke behind her. “Wait, you want me to give you a ride in my Porsche?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Of course.” Andy had already broken her rule riding with him over here. She hoped he was indeed the police detective he said he was. Besides, he wasn’t a mark. He was a partner. Maybe. Andy couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling.

“You can’t have a bag lady coming out of a Porsche,” he said.

“Drop me off a block from the casino.”

He pinched his lips together in a frown. “You are not sitting on my leather interior in your costume.”

“You’re such a baby.” Andy furrowed her brow, her face hurt as it puckered under the glue. Facial movements would have to be kept to a minimum. “How am I supposed to get downtown?”

“Bus?”

“It would take four times as long. We are a little pressed for time. I have no idea when the city picks up the trash.”

Hugh grabbed some plastic bags from his trunk. “Place these over the seats, and we ride with the windows open.”

“It’s still chilly and wet outside.”

“I am not staying in a car with your stench. No close proximity, no enclosures.”

Andy rolled her eyes. “You are such a wimp. You could not handle doing my job.”

Hugh snorted. Andy spread the plastic bags out on the seat, then opened one and slid it over the back, starting with the headrest. “You should’ve been there when I was a sewer worker, wading through waste water trying to find…”

“Enough, girl. Get in.”

Hugh murmured about having to get the seats professionally cleaned and settled into the car. The car ride was silent. Silent because you can’t really talk when the windows are open and you’re driving down the highway. Andy had to hold on her knit cap to keep it from flying away. At least the wind messed her hair up more. When they exited for downtown, Andy elbowed him. He recoiled, checking if she’d rubbed off on him.

“Just a bit farther,” she said.

“If I could, I’d drop you off sooner.”

“Enough cracks about the costume.”

“This had better be worth it.”

“It will be.” Two blocks from the casino, Andy directed him to an alleyway where no one would witness a homeless woman descending from a steel-gray Porsche. Andy struggled to get out of the car, carrying several carrier bags and an opaque plastic bag to slip her weekender tote in to. With her many scarves, multiple jackets, she was a coat closet come to life. Maneuvering was a problem.

“Why are these cars so low to the ground?” she asked through the cracked teeth, tumbling toward the door.

“It makes them go faster.” The engine vroomed as he raised his eyebrows.

“Enough. Are you going to help me?”

“What would people think if I helped a bag lady out of my car?”

“Never mind.” She placed a grimy hand on his window sill with a purposeful stare in his direction and was on her feet. “Meet you back here in say, an hour?”

“Sure.” And he zoomed off.

Andy waited until the sound of his engine faded. She wanted so much to trust him, to be able to let go her apprehension.

Andy rummaged through her bags, feeling quite like a bag lady, until she found her cell phone she picked up at home with “Bethany’s” SIM. Badges were hard to fake, easier to steal, but she wasn’t taking anyone’s word. She was calling Fred.

“Oh, Fred,” she sighed aloud as she dialed his number, thinking of the red-headed freckled guy with a smile.

Andy actually found it quite respectable he wanted to make it on his own steam, to not use his father’s money as a crutch. To Carla it was unforgivable. Being a black sheep who dated bottom-dwellers was one thing; leaving the fold another. Standing in the alley dressed as a bag lady, Andy needed confirmation of one name. But his voicemail answered.

“Is your refrigerator running? You’d better go catch it! Leave a message. Or not. I don’t care.”

Immediately, she switched into character. “You’ll never guess who I ran into,” cooed ditzy “Bethany” into the phone after the beep. It was weird being Bethany while reeking of trash. “Detective Donaldson. He says he knows you from the STLPD. He just wanted me to say hello. Give me a holler when you get this message.”

She hung up, stashing the phone in her pocket. Why was she so suspicious of Hugh? It was possible the police department had a special forces she knew nothing about. Operatives trained in vice or narcs. Matters they didn’t want to get the feds involved with. Andy chewed her lip. Without further information, she had to trust him. She wanted to trust him. She just couldn’t trust him completely.

Andy headed for the casino. She judged her success on their reactions. Good, good. She must be convincing. People on the street avoided her gaze and her person. Their reactions caused tears to sting her eyes.

Meeting with Brad, she realized she missed family, close relationships. Even Carla was more of a fangirl.

Slumping slightly, she shuffled in her worn, mis-matched shoes, one of which pinched her small toe. The meandering cost her some time, but it had to be real. She had to be completely in character. They might still be searching for her.

Just outside the backdoor of the docked boat casino, she found an array of dumpsters. She paused.

She could leave it all. Let the garbage man throw Brad’s codes in a landfill. Wash her hands of the whole deal and just be Andrew Baker. Did she really want to risk her life for this?

A uniform truck idled by the loading dock. A man in a gray suit patrolled the dock with a walkie-talkie on his hip, surveying the area. And there were cameras. Lots of them. One near the back door, focused on the point of entry. One scanning the courtyard and at least one more focused on the alley. It rotated to span the length of the back lot, including the green oozing garbage containers. Her heartbeat quickened realizing this was all recorded.

The trash might have already come. It might already be gone. Then fate made her decision for her.

A little lump in the pocket of her pants pressed against her thigh. Brad’s tie-tack.

Her eyes stung with tears. She had to do it. For him. He wanted to be free. He wanted justice to be served. She had to make it happen. This had to be her best performance yet.

It pained her to shuffle slowly across the bottle and litter strewn asphalt when she wanted to run. But shuffle she must.

She had to suppress her gag reflex when the stark odor of the trash reached her nose. It was worse than expected, sweeter. It smelled like alcohol and rotten fruit mixed with week-old diapers. All she had to do was jump in and rummage through the flotsam for a bag with purple tape on it.

Jumping in the dumpster required fifteen minutes just to scale the side of the first looming green beast. She searched for a foothold. The truck tine hole sat waste high. She slid her feet inside the holes. A giant first step. The bulk around her midsection made it difficult to grab the top of the container at first attempt. Falling, her ankle knocked against the metal making a resounding clang. She was glad Hugh wasn’t around to witness this. Not her most flattering of moments.

Usually she had the agility of a cat, the grace of a swan. Right now, she resembled a renegade, greenish marshmallow scaling a metallic mountain. Her second attempt proved successful, launching her bag over the top to lock her into place like a grappling hook.

The trash had not come yet. In the first container, she rummaged neck high in plastic bags. The sides of the stained garbage bags had bits of discolored, matted paper towels stuck to them. Dozens of bags filled the container. The bathroom plastic bags would be easy to identify. They were clear with bunches of white paper in them. She searched top to bottom, tossing each inspected bag to the other side of the canister, grateful she had the protection of layers of clothing and gloves. She was sure there was some needle usage going on inside the casino, and she didn’t want to accidentally get stuck with something toxic.

After throwing several sticky bags around, her bag was nowhere to be found. Her arms ached, her neck hurt.

Not in the first dumpster. Rubbing her neck, she wasn’t discouraged. Four more awaited. She scaled the bags to slip into the neighboring dumpster. A startled cry scared her when she landed.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” A toothless mouth flapped open in accusation. A tallish man—or perhaps he only seemed tall because he was so lean—dressed in a ratty sweater and with a tangled mess of hair and scraggly beard, holding a chipped glass ashtray. Andy had to pinch back a laugh. She wasn’t expecting anyone else to be rummaging around in the dumpsters.

“Oh, sorry,” Andy murmured, her quick eye noticed at once this one was filled with black bags from the gaming floor. It was awkward with the two of them; she couldn’t be quite as systematic and quite as vigorous. She gave up and headed for the next one.

With a thump, she landed on a not so soft bed of trash. What if her tote was stolen? Throwing bags around, she continued scouring until she spied it. Tucked in a dimmed corner sat the marked bag. The tape hadn’t been necessary, although it was there, hanging off. A smear of red through the diaphanous plastic gave it away. She tore at the plastic, grateful to be there before the guy next door found it. What a relief! Peeling her tote out of the bag, she plucked used paper towels from off it. After hugging it, she slipped it inside her carrier bag.

A noise above her sounded familiar. It wasn’t helicopters. One time, when she was doing a story on homelessness, the first time she used this costume, she had a run-in with the ghetto birds. Not pleasant.

No, this wasn’t a helicopter. Andy blinked in sober recognition. It was a truck.

A garbage truck.

Andy’s heart seized. She had to get out and now. There weren’t as many bags in this one as in the other two. Anxiously, she piled them to help her scale the wall. Easy to get into, hard to get out of. The bags rolled and refused to stay stacked. The first dumpster landed to the ground with a horrid clunk—emptied. Metal scraped against the asphalt as the truck returned it.

Beep! Beep! The truck backed up. Her dumpster was next.

Then the close sound of the motor and the sound of metal scraping metal was louder than the boom of the heartbeat in her ears. As she climbed the hill of rolling bags, the dumpster rose off the ground. She climbed to the top, just in time to see the whites of the eyes of the driver as she floated above the windshield in her chariot of trash.

The mechanism stopped with a jolt and a whine. Andy breathed in silent relief. The dumpster lowered. Andy fell back again, the ground becoming suddenly steady under her. Maybe he would come and help her out.

“Hey, you,” the driver yelled. “Get outta there! I’ll call the cops.”

Or not. Andy did her best to scale the garbage and leaped an eight-foot jump to black asphalt. But she lost the trash bag around her red weekender tote as she hitched it to her shoulder.

“Crazy lady! You could’ve gotten killed.” The real homeless man was yelling at her now, too.

The scene garnered the attention of security. The man on the loading dock faced her way. Andy, clutching her bag to her chest, glanced up in time to notice him. He recognized the bag. The security man raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth, following after her with his gaze.

Andy’s heart lunged, spurring her to a run. As she rounded the first corner, pattering feet followed her. The security detail was after her. Andy’s adrenaline zoomed, powering her through the extra bulk of the costume as she ducked right through a darkened alley. With a great lead, she managed to withdraw the smokescreen from her pocket, igniting it as she ran. She tossed it into the debris collecting in a doorway. A small stream of smoke billowed from the canister until it began to fill the compact space between the two brick buildings, making her lungs hurt and obscuring her sight. Hidden from view, Andy dashed to the next street, crossed, and entered another alley.

When she was sure she no longer had a tail, she hugged the bag to her chest. She made it. The codes to the jump drive and the office were in her bag, safe. She sank down and breathed for a few breaths to rest. She rubbed off the glue and make up, pocketed her teeth, combed her hair into a pony. Then, transformation nearly reversed, she stuffed her coat into the trash and ran for the rendezvous point.

****

“Did you find your bag?” Hugh asked when he picked her up.

“Yup.” She climbed in, her face grim, slightly out of breath.

“You got it?” He was impressed. She outsmarted the mob. Maybe she would be an asset in this case after all.

Biting her lip, Andy hugged the red bag on her lap. He smelled bathroom tissue. She shrugged and inspected the contents.

He glanced at her again. She should’ve been happy to have just rescued her bag. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I was spotted.”

“By security?”

“Yup.” Her frown deepened as she faced away from him. Even with her disguise, facial recognition on the security cameras was terribly accurate. Casinos had top of the line stuff. “I always thought this bag was my greatest asset. But no more. It’s an obvious tell.”

“They’ll go back and review the camera footage.”

“Yup.”

Though focused on the road, he frequently glanced over at his companion, at her sunken eyes. “Can you remove your makeup now?” He wrinkled up his nose. Traces of bronzer and charcoal clung to bits of glue, like a leper. “I’d really like you to be beautiful again.”

“I’ll have to wash it off,” Andy said, glancing at herself though the window to the passenger-side mirror.

“At least you don’t smell as bad,” he said, checking his rearview mirror. “Want me to drop you off at your place?”

Andy swallowed hard.

Hugh detected her silence. “You’re nervous about going back there.”

Andy nodded.

“I’m also the only one with food.” He glanced over to Andy seated next to him in his car. “You’ll just have to shower at my flat.”

****

At the loft, Andy showered in his micro bathroom, exited in his bathrobe over the top of her sports bra and a pair of his unused boxers. He glanced up from his omelets.

“You don’t need makeup,” he said.

“I do, so I won’t get caught.”

“No, I mean, the makeup you usually wear,” he said. His expression was earnest. “I prefer you au naturel.”

Andy couldn’t decipher her feelings. She couldn’t be super attractive with a shiny, red nose. Her eyes appeared smaller without mascara, too. But she was flattered by the compliment. She mumbled a thank you and loved feeling his eyes shining on her, taking her in. A glow germinated in her heart. She stepped closer to him in the kitchen, standing in front of the stainless-steel fridge. Nearly touching, his breath warmed her.

“How do you want it?” he asked, peaking his eyebrows, propping his elbow up on the corner of the fridge, and leaning into her. Andy blushed, feeling a physical rush. Her heartbeat quickened. They were close enough to kiss. She caught him staring at her lips. Her brain turned to mush. What was he talking about?

Oh, the omelet.

She should push him away. But she welcomed his lusty glances, returning with her own appreciative smile. It was like she’d been living in a foreign country and finally found someone who spoke her native language, passing some innate understanding between the two of them. If Fred would just call and tell her what an awesome guy Hugh was, the nagging in her gut could relax. As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her bag. Andy, let it go a few times, clinging to the moment with Hugh, then stepped away. He caught her arm, stopping her.

“You don’t have to get it,” Hugh said.

“It might be important.”

She just needed confirmation before she can truly let herself be free. Hoping it was Fred, she fished through the bag for her phone. Carla’s mom. Sighing, Andy held it in her hand. She’d procrastinated long enough. She should take it, no matter how much she wanted a hot…Omelet.

The call had already gone to voicemail.

Andy faced Hugh, who was opening cupboards. “Is there someplace private I can go to listen to this?”

He pointed the spatula to the second door.

Andy opened the door and stepped into the darkness, playing the voicemail. Mrs. Vehemia was brief. “Amanda, call me at your earliest convenience.”

Andy forgot all about Mrs. Vehemia with the trauma of Brad. Andy hesitated, her finger over the redial button, but she was in a new, unexplored room in Hugh’s flat. Curiosity burned within her.

Switching on the flashlight app on her phone, she inspected the room. Wooden hat rack-like structures lined the walls. The ceilings climbed about thirty feet above. It was bigger than she supposed. Bigger than the other two rooms combined. The floor gave under her feet, her light reflected off mirrors on the walls. He’s either vain or…

She knew what this was.

Searching the walls, she found the switch behind the door. She flipped it on, her eyes blinking, adjusting to the light.

“This is a martial arts gym.” A serious martial arts gym. The “hat rack” stands were places to practice forms. Mats for sparring.

Hugh opened the door.

“You’re a master,” she said with awe and wonder. She had to change her paradigm. Here she was thinking he was some two-bit cop with a little training.

He smiled broadly, arching his scarred eyebrow. “Depends on your definition of a master.”

“How many?” she asked, gulping.

His eyebrows peaked. “Years? Seventeen.”

And she thought she was going to teach him something. In the light, she discerned more equipment, shurikens, swords, and a ball and mace. “No. Disciplines.”

“Depends on how you break it up. Do you count Muay Thai different from Tomoi? Is Taekwondo separate from Tang Soo Do? If you count them all individually, nineteen.”

Andy ran a hand over her face to hide her embarrassment from her first conversation with him. How she must’ve sounded like an idiot.

She faced him, poking his solid shoulder. “And you wanted to learn karate? You lied!”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You said you didn’t know martial arts.”

“No, I said I wanted karate lessons. It’s true. I do.”

“But you implied you don’t know any.” Andy’s face burned.

“I’ve never taken karate.” He shrugged. “Even I can learn something.”

Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even try to sound humble.”

He cocked his blondish head toward the mats, grinning wickedly. “Like to run a bout? I recall you bragging about your superiority.”

Andy wanted to die. Her ears burned but she kept her chin high. She was not going down without a fight. It was on! She was a sixth-degree black belt with judo training and a little Taekwondo. “I can totally take you.”

His eyes brightened. “Let’s take it to the mats.”

“Fine.”

He removed his shirt with slow and deliberate effort, his challenging gaze never flinching from hers. Muscles rippled down his back as he tugged his shirt over his head and off his arms.

Andy caught her breath. Every inch of his body was perfectly toned, his abs flat, his latissimus dorsi the perfect shape. He was attractive with clothes on, but with clothes off, he was chiseled art.

In the small of his perfectly sculpted back, she caught sight of a tattoo of a black seraph with words written above each of the three paired wings as well as the head and tail.

“Rules?” she asked, stripping down to her fitness bra and shorts, hoping she affected him. His gaze absorbed her, passing up and down her body. She savored the moment.

The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he gave a little shrug, then crossing his arms, warming up his shoulders. “Shinkyokushin rules, then?”

Without admitting she didn’t even know what he meant, Andy agreed.

“Anything goes,” he said, smirking a little.

“Anything goes,” she agreed.

She began limbering up, purposefully striking the most seductive poses, clasping her hands behind her back, thrusting out her chest. “How will we determine the winner?”

“Last man standing.”

“Or woman.”

He barely peaked an eyebrow to express, what? Doubt in her ability? No, confidence in his own. But there was something else. A sly smile. If she hadn’t been paying astute attention, she would’ve missed it. He enjoyed this.

“Before I engage in any sport, I always provide the proper protection.” He tossed her boxing gloves.

“So gentlemanly of you.”

He nodded in the direction of some pegs on the wall. “Wrap up.”

On the pegs were hand wraps. He grabbed a multi-colored, woven band, looping it over his thumb. “Given to me by a monk when I studied Muay Thai at a Buddhist temple in Southeast Asia for several months.”

He was only bragging to try to intimidate her. It worked. A little tickle of anticipation sprung inside her.

She grabbed black straps encircling her wrists, threading them carefully around her knuckles. Quick movement caught her out of the corner of her eye. Wrapping exceedingly fast, Hugh eyed her in goading competition. She stepped it up a pace, binding her fists and starting on her right hand, where she had more practice.

Her practiced fingers could’ve threaded this blindfolded, and she was quick. Maybe it was her smaller hands, her nimble fingers, her ample repetition but whatever it was, she finished weaving the cotton through her fingers just as he’d finished. Hugh still smiled smugly, smacking his fist into his other hand, but there was a nod of admiration.

But she didn’t want to get cocky. Boxing gloves on, the only protection needed, they faced each other on the tatami. Bowing to each other, they each formed a stance. She recognized the dragon stance from kung-fu.

“Want me to go easy on you?” he asked, just as she crescent-kicked at his head. He easily avoided it, lithely stepping to the side, but she smiled at his bemused expression. It was momentary, but it was there. He quickly recovered and blocked her right hook. “Woah, where’s the respect?”

“No rules,” she said, huffing as she blocked his attack then did a sweep of his leg. He grinned wide. Right before she socked him in the face with a right feint followed by a left uppercut. Now it was time to get on to business. Next, she used a judo hold and flip, grabbing him by shoulder but he escaped. He wasn’t a novice after all. Music thrilled in her. Far from it. It was nice to have someone outman her.

She couldn’t just use standard attacks. She’d have to plan a strategy. Catch him off guard. A man with this much training had almost pre-cognition. With a swift step around him, she attacked with a strike to his back. But he swiveled in time to block it, missing her with a kick, but knocking her off balance.

“Did you use Krav Maga?” she asked when he attacked in an unfair but vaguely familiar form. Krav Maga was the big guns of martial arts, with no formal katas. They trained recruits how to fight with the odds of ten to one, how to use the M-16 as a weapon, even after the bullets were spent. Kill or be killed. Certainly not standard repertoire for an undercover street cop in St. Louis. “Where did you learn that?”

“I trained with the Israel Defense League.”

“Are you allowed to train with them?”

“If you know the right people. Which I do.”

He circled her seeking an opening. Andy blocked his left hook, grabbing it, turning under his hand to a hold. He countered with a wheelhouse kick, which she blocked, sending them both downward with force.

They tumbled to the ground, him on top of her, pressing down. The moisture of his sweat wet her skin. The movement stopped. Their gaze locked in an intense stare. Both breathing heavily into each other. Then with all the intensity of the last few minutes of fighting, he bent over her and kissed her, hungrily eating her lips, her jaw line, anything he could touch. She reciprocated, pressing upward to meet him.

He tore at his gloves, releasing them. Tugging at the wraps binding his hands, tearing at them in one long string as they unwound. His hands, now free, immediately released her hair, letting it loose in strands all around her. His thumbs followed the length of her throat, the base of her neck, her bare shoulders. Andy tugged at her gloves to touch his skin, his hair. But being overcome, overwhelmed, she succumbed. Her heart pounded as if they still fought. No more lies. She could just love and be loved. He broke her down. And she liked it.

Then Hugh stopped and released her, rolling to his side. “I can’t let it go this far,” he said, wiping his hand down his face, freeing the perspiration.

“Oh?” Andy said.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Sighing, he sat back against a punching bag lying on the floor, allowing her to settle into him. He slid his arm around her, holding her tight, letting his lips brush her jaw line. “Not now.”

He drew her in closer. Kissing her again.

When they finally broke for air, Andy’s throat ached for more.

“I am sorry you had to suffer so much these last few days,” he said, stroking her bangs back to where her hair fell in pools on the mat.

Tears pricked at her eyes. Her gaze met his, so full of concern, deeply searching hers.

“Brad.” Her voice broke. “And then Conner.”

Hugh waited patiently for her to speak. Calmly, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. The act of intimacy warmed her heart.

“It was so hard to lose him, even if I hadn’t seen him in ages,” she said.

“How long had it been?”

Andy’s heart bled it all out. Things she’d never been ever allowed herself to give expression to before, let alone confess to anyone bubbled to the surface. “He broke up with me the night of the movie festival in the park.”

Hugh nodded, continuing to stroke her hair, letting her talk. Up close, she could count the scars on his face, marking his jaw, marring his rugged five o’clock shadow, not just his eyebrow. Slits of white. What hid behind those eyes? Other pent secrets? Some pain, some suffering, an understanding of her ache and longing?

“I thought he was going to propose.” Her heart heaved when she said it, as if for the first time she was admitting this to herself. A burning in her nose was a sure tell the tears would come. “He finally had the right job, making a lot of money and bam! It hurt. It hurt so bad I couldn’t believe emotional pain could hurt so bad, real physical pain.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dribbling in her ears. “Brad told me he was planning on proposing. He broke up with me instead.”

“Did he give a reason to breakup?” Hugh asked.

“He said we were going in different directions, but there was more. Last night Brad said Conner was afraid.”

Hugh’s face crumpled with disapproval. “He was a fool.” Andy smiled wryly. Hugh’s gaze focused on where his thumb and forefinger stroked a strand of hair above her head. Hugh continued, “So, what else did Brad tell you?”

Silence passed. His chest rose underneath her as he breathed, his nose breath blowing fly-a-ways on her neck. “He said he belonged to some secret organization called Imperium. They were doing something bad. Something huge. He wanted me to investigate and expose them.”

“What was it?”

Andy shrugged.

“Why was he telling you?”

Andy shook her head. “He wanted to relieve his conscience, I guess.”

“You don’t think there was some other reason?”

She’d never considered anything else. “Could there be another reason?”

“I don’t know, I’m just asking. Why didn’t he go to the police? Or why didn’t he go to the newspapers himself.” His eyes narrowed, focusing on her. “Why you?”

Andy pondered on the simple two-word question. “I guess he trusted me.”

“What specifically did he ask you to do?”

Andy gulped, feeling coerced to share this burden. “There’s an encrypted jump drive with information he wanted me to recover behind an aquarium by his desk.”

Hugh listened intently, but didn’t speak.

“I had to get my bag because I had Brad’s entry code for his office.” She didn’t reveal she had an authentication code for the jump drive or say anything about Dr. Armstrong. She wasn’t even sure of Hugh’s connection yet. She hadn’t even had time to search the Internet. Besides, you shouldn’t tell all your secrets.

Andy finished. “I’ve told you everything I know. It’s only fair if you tell me everything you know.”

He struggled internally.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you know?” she asked.

“I don’t have anything.”

“You don’t have anything?” Andy elbowed him away.

“All the information we know, I got from you. We need the jump drive. And we need to get into the T-Building.”

Andy fumed. She’d been dealt her own medicine, and she didn’t like it. He must be who he said he was because if he was part of Imperium, he would’ve killed her already.

Hugh bit his lip. “We just need a way in.”

“Can the police help us?” Andy asked.

He shook his head. “No, they might be able to set us up with communications and back up, but access, no. Requires warrants.”

Her phone buzzed in her purse on the other side of the room.

Supposing it was Mrs. Vehemia, Andy sighed. She’d put her off too long. “I’d better answer it.”

Reluctantly, Hugh let her up, kissing anywhere there was exposed skin.

Frantically, she raked through her stuff to find the right phone in the midst of flashlights, toothpicks, matches, and ammo clips. With her purse tucked under her arm, she found the phone just as voicemail picked up. She recognized the number. Fred. Her heart leapt.

She flashed Hugh a nervous smile. He waited for her, propped up against a punching bag lying on the floor. “Someone important?”

She hoped he would leave a message. An icon blinked red.

Perfect.

“Nah,” she said, her voice wavering. “It already went to voicemail.”

He stood, heading to the door. “While you’re listening, how ’bout I get cleaned up and make those long-awaited omelets?”

Shaking, she held the phone to her ear, eager for Fred’s validation of Detective Donaldson as an upright member of the STLPD despite his scars and his exceedingly scary tattoo. And his IDF experience.

Her throat tightened at Fred’s baritone voice.

“Hey, Brittany. I was a little confused by your message. As far as I know there is no Donaldson on the force. Maybe he’s with the St. Charles PD or from some small town like Bella Villa or Georgetown. Or the guy’s messing with you. Impersonating a cop isn’t cool, Brittany. If you need me, call. I’m a little worried about this guy.” Andy’s phone slipped from her ear.

Andy swallowed, her breath jagged.

There was no Donaldson on the force. Andy’s heart thundered. Lied. Again.

And she fell for it, let her heart go, let him in.

Trembling, Andy searched her bag again. Found it. She had retrieved it from her apartment. Her Sig Sauer. She laid it on top of her bag. Just in case.