Quintic (10 page)

The Guy and
Him

A
s soon as he went rigid the team
sensed something was wrong. Nobody said a word. Charles kept
looking at him, Patricia and Hamilton in turn, at a loss what to
do.

After what
felt like a long time, Patricia finally looked up at
Charles,
wide dark-blue eyes frowning. “I
need to talk to Charles, I think,” she said, nervously wetting her
lips. “Alone. Just for a couple of minutes. If you don’t mind.” The
damn woman was way too polite.

No way are you doing this alone, Angel
. He knew she would keep to herself and give Charles only
what she considered strictly necessarily; she’d walk all over the
poor guy just like she had done at the motel.
Your need-to-know routine isn’t going to happen,
Pussycat
.

He motioned
the
team back to the conference room.
“Why don’t we all sit back down? And maybe you can tell us the name
of the guy? If you please.” He too could be damn
mannerly.

She glared
at him, anger
spurred by her defence
mechanism finally kicking in. Good. Chris was getting angry
himself. The six-degree of separation theory did not apply to the
damn woman when it came to stiffs.

She stayed
by the door, ready to walk out.
Run
out. He flanked her side; he
was a fast runner, much faster than her.

She
s
tarted to talk before everyone had their
ass on a chair, “His name is Rick Lemieux.” She stopped and started
again, “His name
was
Rick Lemieux.” She stopped again.

Chris
waited;
she had more to say for sure. And
indeed, she had.

“
His
grandfather was French-Canadian.” That explained the name. “I don’t
think he had any relatives. His parents died about twenty years
ago. He had some money from the insurance his parents left him. He
didn’t hold a job.”

“
You sure
it’s the guy? How did you know him?”

She glanced
at the open door,
stared
at it before turning her
frowning gaze to them, chin set. “I met him a few years ago at a
book show. We went out a few times. I have not seen him in almost
two years. That is all I know. I don’t know where he was living or
anything.” She shrugged, end of story. She had given them a name,
and apparently that was all they fucking needed to know.

He replayed
the information. She had not seen
the guy
in two years. Two years ago was her Joshua period. Was the Lemieux
guy before or after Joshua? During? Chris studied her while she
blatantly avoided looking at him by frowning at Charles. The slight
blush colouring her cheeks and neck hinted that she was not telling
all. He waited for a beat, hoping for her to add more. Nope. She
had said it all. The fucking Joshua period. Those fucking bastards
again.

Chris had
promised himself to one day hunt each of the remaining ones and
shoot them down. Shoot them dead one by one. Even after the
outrageous amount of money he’d given the fat
Mario jerk for a job well done during the quarter disaster, he
still owed the guy, a strange debt of honour, so he would keep
Mario for last. He sighed. He would have to save Mario’s ass from
prison or something to clear the debt; then he was going to kill
him.

Back to the present, MacLaren. Now, what?
Damage control first. The team sat stunned, so
he called it a day. He could feel his guys’ eagerness to push her,
the questions hanging on Charles’s lips, but Patricia wouldn’t
answer, not now. She needed time to think − she often needed time
to think and ponder and overthink before she recklessly acted in a
spur-of-the-moment, fucking
spontaneous
, half-ass,
over-the-top plan − before she gave him straight answers.
Who was Lemieux, Darling of
mine?
Hopefully, she wouldn’t mourn this
dead. She was sleeping at his place tonight.

“
You guys in
the mood for a beer?” He asked around. “My treat.”

The team was
always in the mood for a beer. Even more so when they had open
cases or unfinished business. Fucking right, unfinished business.
“
Reid? Le? How about giving Patricia a
ride, I’ll meet up with you there?” He had a feeling LeRoy and Reid
wouldn’t be the only ones around for drinks. “Charles, Ham, my
office. Now.”

He didn’t wait to watch them
scamper out of the conference room.

“
Ham, I want
you to run a background check on Lemieux while I talk with Charles.
See what turns up,” he ordered midway to his office.

“
Charles,
let me make a couple of calls before we review the case again. Any
objection to working with us on this?” He didn’t wait for Charles’s
answer. To have the case transferred (and Charles temporarily
assigned to his team), he had to hunt for a replacement for the
local chief.

He
briefly
thought of the quartet’s
leftovers but decided against it. He had enough enemies already,
hadn’t he? Enemies but friends also, it took him about a dozen
phone calls, half an hour of favour calling, flattery and bribes to
set up everything; he even called Central to check it with them.
Not that it would have made a fucking difference for him.
Just keeping my eyes on Lemieux for
you, Darling of mine
.

He briefed
Charles about the way of the team. About his way
s. “I know you want in. I see it in your eyes, same as in
my guys, but Charles, it won’t be easy.” Fuck, the guy looked like
a kiddie cop. A fucking rookie.

He
briefly hesitated on what to tell the kid about
Patricia. “About Patricia. She works here part time. She. Is. Not.
A. Cop.” He decided to spell out precisely what was allowed and
what was not. “Anything she says, asks, demands, requests, orders,
or begs for, you clear it with me. She doesn’t do anything or go
anywhere without me breathing down her neck. Got it?” As he spoke,
he speculated how long it would take for her to trick the
rookie.

He
repeated, keeping it simple, “Never do anything
she asks; never go somewhere she wants to, unless I,
your
boss,
have authorised it specifically, out loud and face-to-face. And
Charles? I will never consent to it. Ever.”

To
, hopefully, loosen the kid up
and keep him out of trouble, he teamed Charles up with Ham and Des.
“No one on the team works a case alone, yet alone a new guy. So for
now, you’ll be working solely on the motel case with Officer
Hamilton and DesForges. I want the three of you to become the best
fucking pals on the job.”

Perhaps some
of the rookie’s politeness and wholeness and cleanliness would rub
off
on Hamilton and DesForges? Yah right,
fat chance. But teaming Charles up with those two had one major
advantage, DesForges was the least susceptible to Patricia’s
manoeuvres. This case was going to be hell.

Charles’s
t
raining was beginning as of right now,
and it was going to be a crash course. He took Charles with him to
the bar. About time they arrived too if he wanted to get to her
before she got drunk. Not that he didn’t like her drunk. All Chris
wanted now was a drink, the hint of sweet womanly perfume, and a
fair amount of skin contact with some serious rubbing on a soft,
sexy, damn female.

His men
were
in a chummy disposition at the bar.
The calm before the storm. Easy to tell they had already indulged
in more than one drink. As predicted, Shapiro and Frankke had
joined the fun. The guys scooted over to make room next to
her.

She smelled
damn
sweet, her hair was a bit
dishevelled, and she was in a surprisingly friendly frame of mind.
She never reacted quite the way he expected her to, did she? Maybe
she hadn’t been that close to the Rick guy. Her leg brushed against
his, and he watched indulgently her being a little flirty with
LeRoy and Charles.

They
ate
together, the guys making fun of one
another, of Charles. Mostly of Charles. The wine was excellent. She
didn’t eat much. She got drunk and fell asleep on the way back. He
guided her barely awake to the elevator, then to his bed. So much
for his skin rubbing plan. Something was definitely up. The case
was going to be fucking hell.

MacLaren Goes Back to
Work

C
hris was in the shower when
Patricia woke. He had already received a preliminary report from
Ham. Chris presumed she was hoping he’d get enough information on
Lemieux to keep them busy and her off the hook, although they both
knew he was going to drag it out of her. He always did.
Eventually.

She
was
at the present buried under the
sheets making as if to be asleep. She had underwear on but nothing
else since he had partly undressed her the night before, the least
he could do. Getting drunk was yet another, easier escape
route.
Way easier than being
forthright, isn’t it, Angel?
Like running
away without moving. Damn woman.

C
ould be she wasn’t sure exactly
what to tell him. Or
how
to tell him. Not good. Joshua
was a touchy subject between them. Joshua was in her past, and she
sure fought hard to keep the guy there. Perhaps not wanting Chris
to go on a witch hunt?
Whatever gave you the impression that I want to, Darling of
mine?

Chris woke
her up for breakfast. She didn’t talk, barely ate, visibly woozy
from her drinking. Chris being true to himself, he had cooked a
full meal: scrambled eggs, toasts (with jam for him and maple syrup
for her), strong coffee for him, orange juice for her. He didn’t
comment on her drinking or lack of appetite. No remarks still when
she took forever to get ready. He merely waited while she showered,
waited and admired while she dressed and dab on some makeup. He
sipped his coffee enjoying the show, a grin on his face.

Too bad she
didn’t seem to be in the mood for
a
quickie. His mistake, he should have gone down on her before she
was out of bed. It might have improved her spirit; it always worked
on him.

They arrived
at the precinct around eight without having uttered a word in the
car. With his sunglasses on, hands gently holding the shift stick
and steering wheel, he was in control. He liked driving, especially
with her in the car. He faked a relaxed attitude, a little smile
tugging at his lips when he felt her eyes on him. As they rode, her
perfume and his cologne mingled in the air as if they were making
out but without the breathing and the moaning. Fucking
poetic.

At a red
light, he pushed a wavy lock away, tucking it gently behind her
ear,
and let his fingers linger on her
neck. Pity. The touch was not enough to make her moan, but he did
hear her catch her breath.
Waking up slowly today, aren’t you, Angel?

Bridget was back at the
office.

“
We weren’t
expecting you back so soon, Bridget. You do look much better. How
do you feel?”

“
I do feel
much better, thank you. Perhaps a little weak, but nothing a good
day at the office won’t alleviate.”

“
Good then.
Glad to have you back.” And he was, for he would get his girlfriend
back. “Patricia can help you settle back. Have her explain the new
pad for the phone, you’ll see, it’s mighty impressive.”

Bridget
might
appear impressed by the thing, but
Chris suspected she wouldn’t use it once. The women kept each other
company, one weak from the cold, one distracted by sorrow. Together
they printed, sorted, copied, stamped, filed while he marvelled,
watching them through his office window, at where the hell all that
work had suddenly come from.

Why had
Bridget showed up early? Had Patricia’s convincing job not worked
as well as they had thought or had one of the guys complained about
her answering skills? Impossible. With the new pad, Patricia had
managed to keep up with the calls. Besides, even if she had been
lousy, nobody would have complained about her. Make fun or tease,
yes, but not rat her out.

Then what?

Bridget
kept Patricia quite busy
at that, so much so, the damn woman flatly turned him down when he
suggested coffee at Vitto’s.

“
Sorry, Big
guy. I don’t have time; we’re swamped. Too much filing.” She looked
tired from the previous night. Was she starting to wish she had
finished her breakfast or called in sick and stayed in
bed?

He
sh
ould have kept her in his bed, kept her
exhausted between his sheets. A quickie for him (two or three for
her, the damn woman was an amazingly sensitive creature), and he’d
have left her sleeping only to call later. She still owed him a
dirty phone call, didn’t she? Damn woman.

LeRoy showed
up
first, then Charles shortly after.
DesForges and Hamilton arrived as a couple. Then Reid.

“
Bridget, I
want everyone i
n the conference room in
five minutes.”

“
Everyone,
Chief?”