Cal slept fitfully. She’d known she was going to have trouble unwinding after the meeting with Luger. Every time she drifted off, she fell into restless, wild dreams as if feverish. Her desperate brain tried to process things even as she tried to sleep.
She dreamed of Luger. She dreamed of Thomas, dressed in chainmail. When she tried to talk to either, he would move away from her, ignoring her pleas, eventually disappearing from sight. And then she would wake up again, tense, provoked, ready to punch someone.
Yet she was not only alone in her room, but in the house. Even Snowflake stalked off after a couple of hours of tossing and turning forced the cat to relocate every time Cal tried to find a comfortable position.
She dragged herself out of bed in the morning and guzzled two cups of coffee, cooled just enough with milk. She needed to figure out what was going on. She needed someone with the bigger picture, someone who knew about Luger and Pete Potoczek of the Misty Hills. She needed someone with an objective viewpoint and a wide, inquisitive mind.
In other words, she needed Cole Sage.
Cal attributed the extra flutters of her heart to the two cups of coffee. She was over Cole Sage. They’d never been compatible to start with. So she’d had a crush. Everybody had crushes. When it became obvious the older, prizewinning journalist would never return her feelings, she had been mature enough to move on.
At least, that was how she felt the last time she talked to him. She had Thomas—sort of. She had Tanner Brody—if she wanted him. She had creeps like Luger. She had passing carnal offers from people like that security guard—what was his name? Tyrell, Tyrone? She could afford to let Cole Sage go. Release him like a trout that was too old and canny to ever be caught. There were plenty of other fish in the sea.
Only she hadn’t heard from Thomas in a while, and she had the feeling she’d missed the boat with Tanner. They just couldn’t seem to connect at the right level. They were both disappointed with how the cruise had gone, but neither brought it up.
Rather than trying to pin Cole down by phone, which was always a hit-or-miss proposition, Cal decided to drop by the Chronicle. Hopefully, he would be there and not out investigating a story. She wanted to be able to look him in the eye and to discuss the details with him, face to face. No hanging up because he was busy, or dodging her through the pool secretary.
She wasn’t able to waltz by the security guard, though. She supposed it had been tried too many times by too many people, including her.
“You have an appointment?” asked the guard, a big ape of a man with sweat rings under his armpits despite the cool weather and underheated building.
“I’m Cal Corwin, here to see Cole Sage.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Not per se…but—”
“I don’t see your name on the visitor list. If you’re not on the visitor list, you don’t have an appointment.”
“Well, no. But if you call him, he’ll see me.”
“You’re going to have to talk to the front desk and get an appointment. If they okay it, they’ll give you a visitor badge and a pass. Otherwise, no go. Sorry, lady.”
“What is this? The White House? I just want to talk to a reporter. He’s an investigative reporter. I’m an investigator myself, and I have something for him to investigate. He’ll be really ticked off if he finds out that I was here and you wouldn’t let me in. He’s going to want to hear from me.”
“If he wanted to hear from you, maybe he could have put your name on the permanent access list.” He flipped the papers up and down on his clipboard as if to make the point. “Nope, don’t see no Cow Corbin.”
“That’s—never mind.” Cal growled and withdrew.
The guard watched her for a minute. Then he sat back down, relaxing again behind his counter, ignoring the people with Chronicle press badges who buzzed in.
Cal pulled out her cell and waited impatiently for Cole to answer. He’d better not ignore her when she was right outside.
“Cole Sage.”
“Cole! Cal Corwin.”
“Hey, Cal. How’s life treating you?”
“Like shit, if the security guard out here is any indication. Why am I not on the list? That’s what you should be asking.”
“You’re here now?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Poor Cal. You must be losing your touch if you can’t sweet-talk your way past ol’ Harvey.”
“I guess that was my mistake. I’m not in a sweet mood.”
“Hang on. I’ll come down.”
Cal put her phone away, folded her arms and stared at the sweaty security guard. She didn’t approach his station, so he ignored her. In five minutes, Cole Sage stepped off the elevator. Cal couldn’t hear what he said to the guard, but soon she was strolling past him. She ignored him, he ignored her, and then Cole escorted her onto the elevator.
“So, what’s up, Cal?” Cole said after they’d reached his floor, giving her one of his patented talk-to-me smiles, which didn’t fail to make her heart skip another beat. It was a moment before she could answer him.
“Maybe we could go out for a coffee and Danish,” she suggested. “Discuss it over breakfast.”
Cole looked at his watch. “Bit late for that. I’ve had breakfast and I’m booked for lunch, so if you want me, you’re going to have to take me when you can.” He started walking slowly down the hall, ignoring the bustle of people and rattle of fingers on keyboards.
Cal breathed, fighting her silly fantasies—fantasies she’d already rejected. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. She tried to calm her thudding, over-caffeinated heart and get her brain back on track. She was there for a reason, and it wasn’t to flirt with Cole. He was a source. He was going to give her information, and that was all.
“Fine. I’m hoping that you know, or can do some digging around and get the word for me, on the Renaissance Faire people around San Fran. There’s a guy, a Pete Potoczek, who’s a bigwig in the local society. I met him at the Renfaire going on in Escondido last weekend.”
Cole frowned. “Pete Potoczek.”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“Never met him. I know quite a few things about that name from a while back, though.”
“How far back, and what things?”
Cole ran a hand over his perfect hair, considering his answer, and then motioned her to follow. He led Cal not to the reporters’ bullpen, but to a small conference room where they were less likely to be overheard.
Cal sat down as Cole paced the length of the room and back, obviously working his brain as he considered what he knew and what he might tell Cal. There was a pot of coffee sitting on a hot plate and she poured them each a cup, despite his assertion that he didn’t need it. Cal certainly didn’t need another cup herself, but she sipped at it anyway.
Cole leaned on the edge of the table, half sitting on it. He took a sip, winced and put it on the table next to him. “I hope that stuff was actually made today, and not for a meeting last week.”
Cal chuckled. “It’s pretty bad.” But only sitting-on-the-burner-two-hours bad, not sludge made days ago. “So…Potoczek…?”
“You met him at a Renfaire, you said?”
“I’m looking into a homicide. One of the members of his chapter was killed. At first, he was just my starting point, but later I got some hints that he might be something more. Some kind of player, power broker, something? Something maybe illegal, even?”
“Yeah, there are rumors. This Renfaire stuff, Cal…I don’t know that you want to get involved with that crowd. Things aren’t always as they seem.”
“I’ve already heard all that. Some people say it’s all innocent; some people say there’s a dark underbelly. I’m looking for something more substantial.”
“You’ve looked into his background?”
“Mickey’s running it, which is what triggered these warnings to stay away from him,” she half-lied smoothly. “That’s why I thought I’d see what you could tell me. Mickey might be able to give me his social security number and his credit score, but I need the real story. You’ll know what he’s been up to the past twenty years.”
“Don’t flatter me too much. I don’t know everybody in this town.”
“So where has he been the past twenty years?” Cal persisted. “I take it he’s done time?”
“He’s done time,” Cole agreed. “Like any mobster. They’ve got to make their bones, and sometimes they get caught.”
“Mobster?” Cal pictured friendly, courteous Prince Petros in his regal robes. He’s not a buffoon, Luger had said, but it was a struggle for Cal not to think of him as an overgrown kid playing dress-up. But she’d seen the ink under his collar. “That’s pretty strong language.”
“It is, and I can’t guarantee he’s not still connected. You don’t think I would tell you to stay away just for the heck of it, do you?”
“You’re telling me to stay away?”
Cole considered, then nodded. “Advising, let’s say. You’re the last person I’d tell to keep out of it, because I know you’d just go rushing in, caution to the wind. Like telling a teenage girl to stay away from the bad boy on the motorcycle. But Cal…Potoczek is dangerous. The police may think that he’s reformed, and that he’s been quiet for a long time, but…well, a leopard doesn’t change his spots. Not without a religious conversion, I’ve found.”
“Do you have sources in the Renfaire scene? Or is the society just a smokescreen for something else?”
Cole let out a long breath. “It’s real, and mostly innocent, but I’m fairly sure he’s using it for his own purposes as a smokescreen,” he said slowly. “He’s grown his chapter up a lot, beyond the usual starving-artist hobby scene. I think it’s a legitimate venture being used to hide a much larger, more sinister enterprise. I’m not sure exactly what, but it’s always about making money, usually through vice—drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, something like that. Of course, not everyone in the Renfaires has anything to do with Potoczek’s syndicate. I’m sure most have no idea what’s going on—just a few trusted people. Secrets can’t be kept by more than a few. But that doesn’t mean you can just blunder in there and ask questions without attracting notice.”
“I’m investigating a homicide. I didn’t use a cover because I had no idea I was walking into a hornet’s nest. But I do not blunder. I stalk. I observe. Lately, it seems, I flush out the game with some well-placed bush-beating. No blundering.”
Cole smiled. He picked up his coffee cup for another sip, apparently forgetting how vile it was. He made a face and put it back down. “Well, I’m not writing your obituary right now, so you at least survived your first meeting. I may not be able to say the same if you dig into his background without taking precautions. Don’t make me investigate your death.”
“He knows that I’m looking into Jenna’s homicide. I’ll tell Mickey to be extra-careful—that reminds me, I need to see what he’s come up with—but if Potoczek has something to do with Jenna’s death, I can’t ignore it.”
“I’m not asking you to ignore it. I’m asking you to back away, be careful, and feed the police the information they need to find out the truth.”
“Nice idea, except the police tend to ignore me, especially with my history. They like neat cases. They want to believe this is as simple as it looks on the surface. That means I have to dig up something really compelling. Something that proves Jenna’s death was a murder, not a domestic tragedy.”
“But what would Potoczek have to do with that? Even if he’s still dirty, he’s been very circumspect for years. This would be sloppy, and draw attention.”
“Maybe it didn’t go down as planned,” Cal said. “It feels to me like a hasty cover-up. Jenna knew she was in danger. When she was killed, she was wearing chainmail. And that means—” as Cal spoke, she suddenly saw what Luger had been trying to tell her the night before. “It was something to do with the Renfaire society. That’s why the mail was taken off of her body and removed from the scene. So no one would connect her death to the Society.” She stared at Cole. “She knew something was going on with the Renfaire and she knew she was in danger because of it. I have to get to the bottom of this.”
“Dangerous ground, Cal. You can’t stir up Potoczek’s organization. If they did kill Jenna, they’ll kill you too if they think they have to.”
“You really think he’s that dangerous? Luger never said—”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “Luger?”
“Uh…a source in the drug scene warned me that the Renfaire people don’t follow the same rules as the rest of society. But he meant…” she trailed off, looking at Cole and trying to sort it out. “I thought he just meant because they were following medieval or renaissance rules…you know, chivalry and ‘might makes right’ and all that…” She pondered on her own words. “Those do sound similar to mob codes, actually.”
“You didn’t meet with Luger without your muscle, did you? The M&Ms?”
“Well, yeah.” And not for the first time, either. “My two guys wouldn’t stand a chance against all of Luger’s soldiers anyway. Not walking in the front door of his lair.”
“Walking in his front door? You’re not even meeting on neutral ground? In a public place?”
Cal’s mind drifted back to sitting across the red-draped table from Luger, drinking wine and eating Chinese food. “No…not exactly.”
“You don’t have the weight of the police force behind you anymore, Cal. If Luger or Potoczek decided to make you disappear, you’re just one private eye, one citizen in all of San Francisco. How many resources do you think SFPD would put into it?”
“For me? Not much.” Hopefully, Brody would do everything he could, but what pull did a rookie like him have? And Jay Allsop? Would it be a matter of pride to solve his old partner’s murder? Or would he treat her in death as he treated her in life? “Ron might have something to say about it, though.”
“One brother in the FBI isn’t magic. There are a lot of people who care about you, Cal, but none of us could do anything if someone like Luger decided to get rid of you. The best we could do is bring them down, which wouldn’t be much consolation for your mother and your friends.”
“Nah. Luger likes me. More than likes me. Got a thing for me…” Cal trailed off.
“That wouldn’t stop him. Not a cold fish like Luger. Scumbags like him have a long history of disposing of anyone who gets in their way. Family, friends, lovers, it doesn’t matter. Not if you interfere with his enterprise. Or if he decides you’ve spurned him. Lovers kill each other all the time if they feel betrayed.”
“I’m not his lover!”
“You may be in his fantasies. You’re playing with fire again.”
“I wasn’t causing him problems, though. He called me because he was worried about me, just like you are. Not because I was interfering with his business.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know how much business he and Potoczek might have together. Why would he be concerned about you stirring up trouble, unless it impacted him?”
“I figure it was an excuse to see me. He’s always playing the mystery man. Probably thinks I actually like mysteries.”
“You do.”
“I like solving them, not investigating them per se. That’s just a way to pay the bills.”
“That’s like saying a poker player only likes winning—but as Shakespeare said, the play’s the thing. Don’t fool yourself, Cal—you love every minute of it. The hunt, the chase, the kill. Only sometimes, the prey turns and kills the hunter.”
Cal slumped back in her chair and stared at the vile coffee.
So she should have stuck to the smaller, safer jobs? Divorces? Surveillance? Corporate background checks?
Oh, who was she kidding? Cole Sage was right. She loved the race, the chase, the catching and the winning. She loved it all. Why be alive if your heart didn’t pound now and then?
Still, when everyone was telling her to back off, her friends and not-friends alike, maybe she should listen.
Yeah. No. Where was the fun in that?