Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) (26 page)

I round on him and stand my ground, going no further into the room.  My primary concern is getting away from him.  I’m not exactly afraid of him.  I mean, I don’t think he will actually hurt me but I sure won’t put it past him to make a few physical advances while pleading his case.  “
We
don’t have private
anything
.  Any business involving
Covered
should be discussed
in
my partner’s presence as well.”

Fitz crowds me at the demand for Tom’s inclusion.  It takes everything I have not to take a step or two back in cowardice.  “Our business
is
Thomas, sweet.”  He is well within the boundaries of my space bubble.  We are practically nose-to-nose as I peer up at him and he peers down at me.

“
Empathy,
” I seethe, “or have you forgotten my insistence on professionalism to continue doing business with one another?”

“My apologies,” he offers in a sardonic tone, “but onto business.  With this police scrutiny on Thomas, I have doubts he’ll be able to mentor you as we previously outlined.”  He pauses dramatically, as if awaiting my agreement and pleas for his guidance.  His false smile falters when I don’t.  “My other business ventures are well managed currently.  I was thinking
I
will take over your mentorship.”

What?!
  “What do you know about producing?” 
He has to be joking!

“Nothing.  My skills lie in fundraising, in garnering attention.  You know the theatre.  I know money.  Together we’ll make
our
show a crowd-pleasing
goldmine
.”

A tension headache builds behind my eyes. 
God damn him to hell!  This isn’t about mentoring me.  He is using the circumstances to make a play and worm his way into my bed!
  If Fitz gets me to agree to cut Tom out then
we
will be alone for the remainder of the planning meetings.  The production contracts, the marketing campaigns, the previews, the press,
everything,
alone together.  There is no way in hell that is going to happen.  “If Tom can’t produce, then neither can I!”

Richard Giordano: Em’s Apartment

Em stalks off the elevator, swearing up a storm, right as I set the phone down from ordering dinner. 
Jesus, who is this woman because I haven’t met her yet?!

“Breach of contract!  That bastard must think I’m an idiot!  Does he think he can hold me hostage with my own show?”  She doesn’t acknowledge me at all.  I stand to follow her but only make it as far as the hallway when she slams the door to the bedroom.  I immediately hear the click of the lock on the door. 
What the hell happened?

Empathy Delacroix: Ultimatums

Pick up, pick up, pick up!
  “This is Thomas Worthy.  Please lea—” 
Damn it!
  I hang up and call my lawyer only to get his voicemail as well.  Is no one available?  I dial again.  “Tom this is Em.  I need you to call me about my contract for
Covered.
  Fitz wants to cut you out.  Is that possible?  Call me!”  I hang up and throw my phone on the bed. 
Shit!  How did my life end up like this?
  I pace my room, running my fingers through my hair, and wringing my hands.

I don’t know how long I frenetically wander.  “Em!”  I jump at the sound of my name as Richard yells through my door, pounding against it.  “Em!  I’m starting to get worried.  Will you please let me in?  What happened?”  I stare at the door and wonder what to do.  I wish I never found that damn phone.  “EM!” accompanies three more knocks. 
You’re a “we” now.  You can’t hide your troubles from him forever.
  But how to explain?  Just because Richard didn’t do cartwheels at the news of Tom’s questioning concerning Annie’s death doesn’t mean he will eagerly accept that I
need
Tom to buffer Fitz.  “You realize the only thing keeping me from breaking this door down is my damned ribs!  At least answer me and let me know you’re alright!”

I take a deep breath and move towards the door.  I unlock it right when my phone rings.  I abandon the door and race to the bed to snatch up my phone.  “Hello,” I answer as Richard enters the room.

“Em, its Tom.”  He sounds broken, defeat heavy in his tone.  I feel awful.  “You okay?”

Richard approaches me but I turn my back to him.  Right now, I need to focus on my friend.  “You’re asking if I’m okay!  Seriously, other than an extremely unpleasant meeting with Fitz, I’m fine.”  The sentence dies from my lips and I impatiently wait for a reply.

An ungodly silence follows, in which Richard is successful in tangling our fingers together and pulling me down to sit on the edge of the bed, before Tom blows.  “We have got to get you out of that contract!  You can’t be alone with Fitz. 
Ever!
”

“I can’t get out without it costing me money, which isn’t really a big deal. 
But
, I can’t leave the show in his hands either.  Please, tell me he can’t cut you out?”  I break away from Richard and stand to resume my pacing.

Tom sighs.  “We all have essentially a cut clause in our contracts if we are involved in anything that garners negative press and could harm his investments.  He has the option to either immediately request his money back or replace the problem.  Short of being told not to open my mouth to the press, I haven’t heard from him and neither has my lawyer.  What did you tell him today?”

“I told him we are a package deal, whether the contract says so or not.  I don’t know anything about producing and I’m sure not going to entrust that endeavor to him.”  Tom sighs again.  “What aren’t you telling me?  We’ve never inherently trusted Fitz but you sound outright scared.”  Tom’s fear sends my heart racing.  My fear pulls Richard off the bed and to my back as he folds me into the safety of his arms.  His warmth offsets the sudden chill freezing me in place.

Tom hems and haws multiple times before beginning.  “It’ll be fine.  I’ll make sure of it.”  That absolutely does not make me feel any better.  Especially because there is no confidence in his voice whatsoever.  “How much of a fight do you want to put up for
Covered
?”

Oh, God.  This is either going to cost a fortune or ruin the show
.  We should have left them alone.  With everything that is going on we shouldn’t have jumped into another show.  But Tom had already been involved with the show, and Fitz was already an investor.  Currently, the best protection
Covered
has for a successful future is me.  Had Tom remained the only producer, Fitz probably would have disowned the whole fiasco.  “This is it, Tom.  No more shows with Fitz, at least for me.  I’m not going to ruin all those people because we got them mired in chaos.  How do we protect the show?”

Richard Giordano: Em’s Apartment

I
haven’t seen Em in weeks.  She works fourteen to sixteen hour days in the “war room” as they refer to it.  Pulling Worthy in for questioning sent the shifting of
Covered
to Broadway into a tailspin.  All hands are on deck; they are applying pressure to stop the bleeding; all guns are manned.  Pick your analogy and they are doing it, full on crisis management and she is in the center of it all, flanked by Fitzwallace, and thankfully, Worthy.  Never thought I would think that.  Somehow, Em managed to keep Fitzwallace from cutting Tom out.

When she isn’t there, it is non-stop events.  I have all the access I could ever want to Fitzwallace and still haven’t gotten any closer to nabbing the bastard.  I always assumed he is somewhat cunning with seriously deep pockets that allow him to wiggle out of potential criminal situations.  While all of that is true, I have come to learn he’s also a paranoid psychopath.  He doesn’t trust anyone.  Never leaves a glass, plate, napkin,
nothing,
unattended.  He carries wipes in his pockets and constantly cleans his hands and sometimes even the surfaces he touches.  Frisco and I try many different tactics to get him to abandon
anything
, but we fail every time.  We did manage to pick up a thing or two from the other suspects on Annie’s case.  They didn’t match either DNA profile.

The situation with Fitzwallace, Em, and the case have me out of sorts and Bobby takes notice after IA informs me that Steve is on permanent suspension.  “Let’s grab a bite,” Bobby offers later that afternoon.

We head over to a deli restaurant.  Our cheeks aren’t even in the seats before he starts in.  “Empathy?  You needed a theater chick to bring down your partner?”

What the hell?
  It takes me a while to catch up to his implication.  What with everything that has gone on since dinner at Mama’s I forgot Bobby thinks Em is my CI.  “Steve brought this on himself,” I respond.  We were worried about evidence tampering but when we tested Steve’s DNA he didn’t match either of the profiles collected from Annie, and neither did Worthy.  Problem is, even a mismatch doesn’t mean Steve didn’t tamper with evidence.

Worthy adamantly denied a sexual relationship with Annie, stating they took meetings in his office from time to time to discuss her contract.  His assistant, Beth, confirmed that she was in the office the day before she died which explained why his carpet fiber was caught in Annie’s heel.  We are back to square one on who slept with and strangled the girl.

“I don’t disagree with you there,” my brother continues.  “Steve’s a fun guy but smarts wasn’t always his forte.  Which was why you were the perfect partner for him.  You do nothing but think.  Kept him out of trouble, at least you did.”  He pauses and sips his water.  “I’m trying to determine how you knew the girl’s phone would be in that office?  When did you figure out you needed the choreographer to get it?”

I have no idea how to answer these questions.  Plus, Bobby just confirmed that Steve knows about Em’s involvement in locating the phone.  “Why does Steve think she had anything to do with it?  We’ve been tracing that phone for months.”

Bobby opens his mouth to respond but it snaps shut when the waiter drops off our meals.  He wastes no time diving back in when the man leaves.  “Do I look like the world’s biggest dumbass?” 
That depends, what angle are we looking at?
  “Shit, even Joe wouldn’t believe that line, Dicky.  Cell phone batteries don’t last for months.  Don’t need to be a
detective
to know that. 
How. Did. You. Know. And. Why. Involve. The. Choreographer
?”

I
HATE
it when Bobby talks to me in this holier than thou, sarcastic tone.  “Details of the case aren’t something I can discuss with you, given your friendship.”  He shoots me a glare filled with irritated fury.  It’s a good thing looks can’t kill.

“There is no friendship, not anymore anyway.  I don’t put up with that kind of bullshit.  It’s one thing to chase skirts you meet through your work channels.  It’s quite another to hide pertinent facts and endanger the integrity of not only the case but also my baby brother.”  I can relate to this is the side of him.  Love us or hate us, the Giordano brother’s stick together.  “So you know, I had your back when I got questioned.”

The admission shocks me and I drop my food back on my plate.  “What are you talking about?  When were you questioned?  Why?”

“Couple days ago,” Bobby answers after wiping his mouth.  “It’s no secret we were poker and drinking buddies.  Got myself grilled on was it really possible that you wouldn’t know his girlfriend.” 
Girlfriend?
  In all the years we’ve known Steve, I don’t think either of us would have ever qualified him as boyfriend material.  “Yeah, girlfriend.  Stunned me too.  I had sort of picked up that he was seeing someone.  It never occurred to me that it was serious.  I confirmed to IA that if Steve was going to confide in anyone, it would have been me over you.”  That is true.  If Bobby wasn’t aware, there is no way I would have known.  “Now
back to the choreographer, e
specially since the DA’s office still hasn’t seen any paperwork on her.”

Damn it, he isn’t supposed to focus back in on Em!  “Look Bobby, you know how undercover operations work.  If you don’t
need
to know, you don’t.  Sorry, but you
don’t
need to know.”

He seems to accept that with a shrug.  “Fine.  When do you think they’ll arrest Steve for murder?”

What?!  Even
I
don’t think he actually did it.  The timeline doesn’t match up since we drove to the scene together.  “I don’t.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he argues.  “You don’t hide your relationship with your victim because you’re innocent in her death.  You hide it because you’re not.”

“Not this time.  Gut says Steve didn’t do it.  Why he kept everything to himself?  Well, you said it earlier, he’s an idiot,” I offer with a shake of my head.

The bill arrives and Bobby throws down some cash.  “My treat.”  We get up and as we walk out he adds, “Watch yourself, Dicky.  This woman, CI or not, Steve said you’re pretty hung up on her.  I get the appeal.  Whomever you’re using her to chase, and I got a good idea who, be careful not to endanger her,
or yourself.
  I’ve only got one baby brother.”  Then he punches me in the arm and turns in the direction of his office.

Empathy Delacroix: A Way Back

“Hey, you doing alright?  I expected a more blissed out Em, what with Richard and you being joined at the hip.  You miss him that much when you’re not together?”

I have been a bad friend of late and haven’t left a lot of time for Sabene.  Between
Covered
and Richard, there is no time even for myself.  I do miss Richard, his smile, his voice,
his kiss
, but a part of me is scared that I am losing myself.

I confess this to Sabene and witness the struggle she internally wages.  Will I get empathetic Sabene who will help me figure this out or perturbed Sabene who will scold me for not appreciating the good man I have found.  In the end, I get a mixture of both.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” flies with exasperation from her lips.  She sighs as she pours me a glass of wine.  “That man is so far gone over you.  Why can’t you be happy with that?”

Why aren’t I happy with that?  What am I so afraid of?

She snatches the wine glass out of my hand and sets it on the table when the first tears fall from my eyes.  Her arms wrap around my shoulders.  “I’m sorry.  I know this is hard for you, especially this time of year.  Tell me all that’s been keeping you up at night because I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been mind-blowing sex with your good-looking detective.”

I sigh and search for the words to say the things I somehow can’t say to Richard.  “For some reason I struggle to talk to him about the things that are hard: my frustrations with Fitz and Tom, my conflicting feelings about turning over Annie’s phone because of all the fallout, the difficulties this time of year presents, the disappointment at still not meeting his family.”  I just stop mid diatribe, having run out of steam.  “What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”  That is not at all what I expect and it is completely unhelpful.  She meets the confusion and disappointment on my face with a laugh.  “Em, nothing is wrong with you.  You’re just a little late to the party and confused by what you’ve missed.  Having never had a
real
boyfriend before you have no idea how to be a couple.  That’s all.  He gets that.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

“How do you know?”  I just can’t believe that Richard truly can understand
everything
I am going through.

“I just do, Em.”  Sabene’s hands run up and down my back.

“How do I get over it?  How do I talk to him?”

She arches an eyebrow and flashes a quirked smile while shaking her head.  “Last time I checked, you open your mouth, move your tongue, and sound comes out.” 
Oh, sometimes I really hate her!
  “I don’t understand why you’ve created this wall in regards to talking to Rich.  He already knows your deepest, darkest secret and didn’t bat an eye at it according to you.  Was that not the case?”  I shake my head.  “Look, you’re stressed out beyond measure.  Between work, a new relationship, and this time of year, you’re overwhelmed.  Don’t put too much stock in it.  Have you told him how much it bothers you that he still hasn’t told his family?”

I roll my eyes before glaring at her.  “Would I have mentioned it if I had?  I need something helpful, Sabene.”

“Fine!  You want helpful?”  I nod.  “Go home and
talk
to your boyfriend!”

Richard Giordano: Em’s Apartment

“Em?”  She looks up and fixes me with a quizzical stare.  “Is everything okay?”  Sadness fills her eyes when she cocks her head to the side and I cowardly add, “With the show?”  Today was my last day of desk duty.  No more set schedules after this weekend.  A few days ago, I was convinced we aren’t talking anymore because she is so busy and there isn’t time.  Now I realize that isn’t exactly true.  We aren’t talking because we aren’t talking.  There wasn’t time when this started but the crisis is managed and in the last week her workdays have been shorter.  My fear is we have gotten used to it and now we just-

“The show’s fine, Richard.”  The sound of her voice halts my paranoid thoughts… “But everything is not alright.” …until she says that with a sigh.  She doesn’t need to utter another word.  I know. 
We
aren’t okay.

She opens her mouth to break my heart but the sound of ringing phones delay the death sentence of our short-lived relationship.  I believe we both are desperate to put off the inevitable because we leap at the chance to answer.  The conversations are brief.  “Something’s come up at the Foxwoods,” she announces.

“I’m being called in for a case,” I say over her.

Neither of us rushes for the door, though.  She still sits in the chair of her living room and I am standing in the hallway.  We stay that way, just staring at each other for quite some time.  A hundred things race through my mind, all pleas for her not to cut me loose, but they bombard my mind so that nothing comes out.  Em finally stands and erases the distance between us.  My heart beats with each step she takes, the blood pounding as a death march in my ears.

“Richard,” my heart stops.  She wraps her arms around my neck and nudges my nose with hers.  “We’ve been out of sync, lately.  Can we have dinner tonight; no phones, no interruptions?  Just you and me?  I want to get back on track.”

That kick starts my heart.  I am unable to voice my agreement and crush her to me, kissing her as I haven’t in weeks.  I don’t release her until I feel her knees weaken.  “I want that too.  I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Empathy Delacroix: The Blind Date

We will be alright.  Richard is obviously as worried as I am.  The tension that built between us over the last few weeks immediately evaporated.  I’m not foolish enough to think all our problems are solved, but his reaction gives me hope that they easily will be.

I send Tom a text on my way down the elevator.  Fitz didn’t call him about the theatre problems but he agrees to meet me in front of the Foxwoods.  His instant agreement puts me at ease.  Being anywhere alone with Fitz makes me nervous.  That I shouldn’t be is also one of the only things Richard and Tom agree on.

Tom is out front waiting when I arrive.  He greets me as he opens my door before paying the cabbie.  “You know I can pay my own fare, right?”

He chuckles, ignoring my statement.  For whatever reason, he always thinks he needs to take care of me.  And though in most things he doesn’t, I am glad he feels that way since when it comes to Fitz I don’t know what I would do without Tom constantly by my side.

We walk into the house to find music trilling from the speakers.  There is a table set for two on the stage, lit by soft stage lighting and candles.  I stop dead in my tracks when I realize there is nothing wrong with the theatre. 
That son of a bitch!  What kind of woman does he think I am?
  Tom shoots me a look that asks how I want to proceed.  I’m torn between two options, fleeing or killing Fitz, but don’t get the chance to make a decision.