Window of Opportunity
Archie
have I had such a difficult time wording a text. Part of me wants to message Lancaster to ask how to proceed, but my gut instinct says this has to come across as natural. Georgia is a bit of a skittish creature. One wrong word or gesture can send her running off without warning. I have fifty-four days left to crack this case, so I can’t afford to scare her away again.
Beyond that, the art thieves hit another target, but we had no idea they did it at the time—we’re only learning of this three weeks later. They were in and out without being noticed and left a passable forgery behind. It wasn’t until the museum’s art restoration specialists went to work on the painting that they realized it was a fake. Upon playback of security footage, in the half-second the crew is on camera before they hacked the computer system, we determined it was the same group who performed the other heists. So now we’ve realized we only know of twelve stolen works, but we could be missing countless more.
Time is of the essence.
Archie: Need a good recommendation for dinner. Any suggestions?
Now we wait.
I walk over to the window to look at my not-so-impressive view and find one thing that captures my interest. Georgia, sitting behind an easel, focused on it with great intensity. I watch her for a few minutes as she moves her pencil across the canvas with a flourish, then places it in her mouth to tweak something with her hand. That’s no doubt how she ended up with a smudge on her cheek on Sunday.
She hasn’t messaged me since our coffee outing, and I got sick of staring out my peephole, waiting for her to emerge, hoping I could “accidentally” bump into her. That’s not progress and I don’t have time to waste; I need to take down this crew before they strike again.
The first four incidents, the heist crew attacked the security guards on duty, with one ending up in serious condition. They hacked the security systems and were able to get in and out quickly. The galleries were smaller, high-end locations with less security. The last two, however, have been higher profile targets, and they’ve been even more efficient each time. Criminals usually progress in their efforts, getting more brazen and confident with each successful heist. Now, with each job, they’re leaving behind less and less evidence they were ever there.
They need to be stopped. Between local police and the FBI resources, there’s no reason why a four-person crew should be able to evade capture and get away with multiple felonies. If I’m going to work my way up in the bureau and enact change, solving cases like this is necessary to make my name known.
My phone rings, distracting me from the building frustration over this unsolved mystery and the enigma in the rooftop courtyard. I smile at the photo on the screen and answer on speakerphone. “Hey, Nate. What’s going on?”
“Good to know my little brother’s still alive. Haven’t heard from you for over a week.”
That comment takes the lightheartedness out of our conversation immediately. I normally make it a point to check in every other day. “Sorry, man. Got distracted on a case.”
“Janine and I are in the city for a doctor’s appointment and wanted to see if you want to meet. Grab a late lunch or something.”
“Doctor’s appointment? Everything okay?”
He chuckles and I hear Janine in the background asking which way she should be going.
“Just regular follow-up stuff. No change,” he replies. The usual levity he uses to mask his disappointment is obvious in his voice.
“You’re perfect the way you are,” Janine adds.
“I second that. No change means nothing has gotten worse, so that’s something to be happy about.”
A notification pops up on my screen with a text message, so I tap it as my brother replies, once again trying to convince me he’s looking on the bright side and content with the hand he’s been dealt.
Georgia: The Firehouse. Food is great and you’ll love the atmosphere.
“How late are you guys in the city?” I ask.
“We’re in no hurry to leave. Do you have something in mind?”
“I’m not sure. Why don’t you guys go to my place? I’ll meet you there in a bit. You still have your key, right?”
Nate murmurs with his hand covering the phone, then returns to agree with my plan. We end the call with the understanding I’ll be home within the hour.
Now comes part two. When I first texted Georgia, I wasn’t sure how I’d convince her to join me for dinner, but this works out perfectly. I hope.
Archie: Want to meet me there? 6pm?
Hardly a poetic invitation, but I don’t want her to read too much into it. I need her to open up to me. This isn’t protocol, but if I play my cards right, it could be the catalyst to get her to let her guard down.
Georgia: Why?
Archie: For a friendly dinner. My treat.
I walk back over to the window and notice she’s no longer outside. Just then, I hear the elevator ding, and before I can get to the door to look out the peephole, there’s a knock.
Georgia stands on the other side wearing a gray long-sleeve shirt with black smudges on it. She doesn’t have any on her face this time. Her hands are also empty, with no sign of whatever she was working on. “Don’t you have other friends you can ask?”
Her question surprises me, but I stutter out a reply, “I’ve already gone for dinner with my other friends.” I blow out a long sigh, really trying to sell my desperation. “My brother and his wife are in town and want to meet up for dinner. I can’t handle being the third wheel again.” I paste on my most convincing smile, which is easy to do when her indignant scowl is so amusing. “Will you save me? I’ll owe you.”
“You want me to go on a double date with you and your brother?”
I could say no. I could play this off like that’s not what I’m asking—really, it’s not—but I don’t. “Yes.”
She stares at me for a second, then spins to walk toward her door, where I notice a canvas leaning against it. After a few steps, she calls back, “Fine, but I’m ordering the ribeye.”
“I’m sorry. You want us to be part of your undercover assignment? You want to bring a criminal to dinner?” Nate stares at me from across my living room. His hair is freshly cut and his face clean shaven. It makes him look younger than me, even though he’s two years older.
“She’s not part of the Outfit. I just want her to feel comfortable, so I need someone who’s familiar enough around me to help her relax. I’m on a tight timeline here; I’m going off-book.”
Janine unhelpfully adds, “I say if we can get this guy to go on a date, we take our shot.”
“Thanks, J. I can always count on you.” I roll my eyes like a petulant teen, which is how she seems to still view me. “Please, Nate. I need to solve this case.”
He doesn’t reply for a moment, appearing as if he’s running a cost-benefit analysis in his head. “What makes you think she’s guilty? Or at least what is she supposedly guilty of? I’m not taking my wife to meet a criminal without knowing what we’re dealing with.”
Janine claps a hand on her chest as her mouth gapes. “I can handle myself, thank you very much.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you when I can.” Nate flashes her a tender smile. “I need assurances she won’t be in any danger,” he requests from me.
“You know I can’t tell you details of an active case, but I’d never ask you guys if I thought that was even a remote possibility. Plus, I’ll pay for dinner. Whatever you want. Then you guys can stay here tonight so you’re not driving back in the dark.”
Nate and Janine exchange a knowing look and nod at each other.
“Fine. But if anything happens to Janine, I swear—”
“Nothing will happen. But I do have some ground rules I need to go over with you both.”
We spend the next couple of hours rehashing my cover story, making sure they know about my fake job that justifies my unusual work hours, my new accommodations, my vehicle, and everything else they should know to maintain my new identity. Any childhood stories are fair game, but nothing that refers to college years. I don’t want either of them bumbling up and talking about my degree in criminal justice when I’m supposed to be a fire-safety investigator.
Once I change into a clean suit, I head back to my apartment building to park there. The Firehouse is less than half a mile away, so it’s easier to walk instead of dealing with city parking. Janine and Nate go directly to the restaurant to get us a table. Since Georgia agreed to meet me there, I walk the one block west to our location, go inside to make sure Nate and Janine found a suitable spot, then return outside to position myself out of sight to wait for Georgia.
The temperature is unseasonably warm for the first week of October, hovering around seventy degrees. My suit jacket feels stifling for the first time since my senior prom, and I’m not sure why. Once I see a vision in a long-sleeve burgundy satin wrap dress come into view, it makes sense.
Eighteen-year-old me may have thought Amy Brenerhoff was gorgeous, but next to Georgia, who is the embodiment of a femme fatale, I’d rate Amy right around the same as my brother. No offense to either of them, but Georgia is in her own league. With her hair down in loose curls, bouncing with each step, she looks angelic. Her black-framed glasses make her look innocent. The way the silky wine-colored fabric drapes over her feminine curves has me hypnotized. Nothing about her screams criminal.
That’s what makes her so dangerous.
But I’ve never been afraid to flirt with danger.