Together Again: Book 3 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

“It’s how we weed out the weak ones,” Tony said with a grin.

“What are you doing here?” Margo asked.

Sam said, “I work here, remember?”

“Not you, Sam.” Margo said.

“Following the breadcrumbs from Newark.” As Tony explained why he was there, she fought the urge to throw herself at him, to kiss him, to hold him. Finally, having heard — or at least, understood — little of what he said, she put up her hand.

“Slow down. I still don’t understand. The Russians led you here?”

“Sort of. Mostly it’s because the working group of local and federal agencies here is further along in investigating this string of intellectual property thefts. So, against all odds and previous experience, we’re not going to reinvent the wheel but build on it. I flew in a couple hours ago with two feds. A guy from Long Beach and a woman from Seattle are due in soon.”

“That’s where Jeff is this afternoon, isn’t it, Sam?” When Sam nodded, she added, “Jeff Wyatt’s my boss, Tony.”

“And they’re all waiting for us,” Sam said to his new colleague. “But ten minutes of doing penance for scaring her’s okay. They’ll keep for that long.” He started to walk away.

“Sam, I’m here to see you,” Margo said.

“To what do I owe that honor?”

“The messenger bag? From the woman in Forest Park?”

“Christ, apparently you’re not the only one made witless by the arrival of our out-of-town guests. You get the bag back from the airline?”

“Right here.” She handed him a dark charcoal gray leather bag. “I thought I was going to have to get a court order to retrieve it, but they finally gave it to me.” She turned to Tony. “Remember I said I’d gotten home with the wrong messenger bag?” He nodded. “Well, Sam found it.”

Sam snorted. “Not sure ‘found’ is the best description. A hiker stumbled on a body in a wilderness park in the West Hills where perps like to leave dead people they want to hide. The woman had Margo’s briefcase with her.”

“I apparently swapped bags with this woman who sat next to me on the flight from Seattle when we pulled them out of the overhead. Mine is exactly like this.”

“Let’s get this done, counselor, and then Tony can walk you out.”

Fifteen minutes later, Margo and Tony were out on the sidewalk. “When exactly were you going to tell me you were in town?” she asked.

“Called you when we got in but it went to voice mail. So, I was waiting until I had five minutes to myself to try again. Failing that, I figured I’d call tonight and make plans for the weekend.”

“I was in court most of the day. That’s why you got voice mail. And I must have forgotten to tell you I’d be home late tonight. Not to mention that I have plans for the weekend.”

“Oh,” he looked dejected. “Maybe the surprise thing wasn’t such a good idea.”

“We-e-el-l-l,” she dragged out the word as if thinking seriously about her options, “I suppose I could change my weekend plans.”

From the grin on his face, he wasn’t taking the bait. “I wouldn’t want you to disappoint some guy by making you change plans.”

“The only guy who might be disappointed would be you if you didn’t like the plans I changed to include you.”

“What’re we doing?”

“A hike in the Columbia River Gorge on Saturday, then dinner and a soak in the hot tub of a room at the Bonneville Hot Springs.”

“Sounds like fun.” He raised an eyebrow. “If I take you out for dinner tonight, could you find extra space in your room for me?”

“I’ll think about it.” She smiled. “As for dinner, I have no idea what’s waiting for me when I get to my office. Probably won’t be finished until seven. Then I promised I’d meet a friend at the First Thursday opening at a local gallery.”

“We’re likely to be in meetings until late, too. And Sam said something about going to First Thursday for his wife. Is she an artist?”

“She is. And the opening I’m going to is an exhibit of her work. So Sam’ll get you out in time to go to the gallery. I’ll leave your name with security at that door … ” she pointed to the door on the east side of the courthouse. “The guard can direct you to my office.”

“Sounds good.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, a long, tender, and promising kiss. “Been looking forward to that ever since I boarded the plane. See you later, sugar.” He took the steps two at a time back into police headquarters.

She stood on the sidewalk for a few moments trying to sort out how her life had just changed.

A little before seven, Margo heard a commotion outside her office. It sounded like women giggling. In a few minutes, Kiki to come into her office, eyes wide. “Did you see that guy who came in with Jeff? He’s McSteamy and McDreamy rolled into one.”

Before Margo could go to the door and look, the object of everyone’s attention appeared at her office door. She might have known.

“Ready to go, counselor?” Tony asked. “We’re meeting Sam and his wife at the gallery.”

“Give me five minutes.” It was tempting to torture Kiki but she introduced them.

“Sweet. So, you’re the guy.” Kiki and Tony shook hands. “Alessandro’s Italian, isn’t it?” she asked. “Do you speak Italian?”

“It is and I do. At least enough to flirt with and read a menu,” Tony said with an expression suited to the first use of his language skills.

“Say something in Italian.”

“
Quella donna dietro lo scrittorio e molto bella
.”

“Which means … ?”

“That woman behind the desk is very … ”

“Okay, Tony, enough with the language lessons,” Margo said.

“I have to get out of here for my date, anyway,” Kiki said. “Come back again and teach me some more, Tony.” She wiggled her fingers goodbye, almost skipped out of the room, picked up her backpack and left for the day.

• • •

The Fairchild Gallery was in the Pearl District, Portland’s newest upscale neighborhood where art galleries, trendy restaurants and high-rise condos shared space with an armory, now renovated into a theater, a high-end grocery and outdoor equipment stores. Liz Fairchild had relocated her gallery there from a smaller space in Northwest Portland about two years before. She’d never regretted the move. Especially not on evenings like tonight with crowds of people dropping by after work to see the show of Amanda St. Claire’s new glass art pieces.

Liz, as always, was welcoming everyone in person, dressed tonight in an emerald green silk tunic over leggings that showed off her long, shapely legs. The streak in her brown hair and the polish on her well-manicured fingernails, as well as the color of her eyes, matched the tunic.

The place was crowded for the monthly opening. But only one of the people Liz was looking for had arrived. “Fiona,” she said in her distinctive, I-used-to-smoke voice, “I’m glad you’re here. Amanda is in her usual state of panic about no one she knows showing up. She’ll be glad to see you. I think she was expecting Margo, too.”

“You mean she isn’t here already? We’re supposed to meet her here and I thought we were late.” Fiona McCarthy kissed the older woman’s cheek and so did her date.

With mahogany red hair and creamy skin as well as a name like McCarthy it wasn’t hard to figure out Fiona’s ethnic heritage. A reporter for Portland’s weekly alternative newspaper,
Willamette Week,
she was with Mark Howard, a reporter with the daily paper,
The Oregonian
. They’d been dating for over a year and most people who knew them assumed it was serious so suited for each other were they.

“If she’s here, I have yet to see her and I’m pretty sure I’ve said hello to everyone, although it is crowded.” Liz looked around the gallery again and, when she still didn’t see Margo, shrugged her shoulders.

“Where’s Amanda?” Fiona said. “I’ll go give her some moral support until Margo gets here.”

“I’m right here.” The voice came from behind where a five-foot nothing little bit of a thing with caramel-brown curls and huge hazel eyes stood. Hard to guess from her looks that this was the artist in question. Amanda St. Claire looked more likely to be writing poetry in a garret than wrestling with tabletop-sized sheets of glass and twenty-pound kiln shelves. But everyone who knew art glass knew her as one of the most creative and talented artists in the region.

With her was her husband. Even for his wife’s opening, Sam stuck to his cowboy boots and jeans, although as a concession to the evening, he had put on a jacket.

“And if you’re looking for Margo, be patient. Sam says an out-of-town guest has just arrived so she may be a little late.” Amanda looked up at her husband with a knowing smile.

“Out-of-town guest? Has her mother finally decided to come see her?” Fiona asked.

“Not exactly,” Amanda said. “I hear … ”

“Well, if that’s her guest, I’m surprised she showed up at all,” Liz interrupted. She was looking toward the front of the gallery where Margo and Tony were just walking in. “I sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting my time at an art gallery if he came to visit me.”

Tony had his arm around Margo’s shoulders and she was looking up at him, laughing. His head was cocked to the side to get closer to her face as he spoke and the smile on his face went up into his brown eyes, lighting them up. She leaned into him, maybe to hear what he was saying, maybe just to be close to him.

“Holy shit. Who’s that?” Fiona asked.

“A Philadelphia police detective. He’s an old friend, she says. But they sure look like more than friends to me,” Sam responded.

“We should all have old friends who look like that,” Liz said. “He’s gorgeous.”

“Lotta women in the Justice Center share your opinion,” Sam said. “We had a parade of them through our floor today with the most wild-ass excuses for being there. Some of them giggled like goddamn teenagers.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“You said you’d been told he was a good cop, Sam. You didn’t tell me he was to-die-for good-looking,” Amanda said.

“Why would I notice something like that?” her husband said, his voice close to a growl.

The couple made it to the knot of Margo’s friends. She apologized for being late and started to make introductions.

Liz cut her off. “Hello, handsome. I’m Liz. Where’ve you been hiding?” She clasped the hand he held out in both of hers and didn’t let go.

Margo explained how she knew Tony and gave an abbreviated explanation of what he was doing working with the Portland police.

“Honey, what would it take for you to fly someplace to work with me? I’m willing to do anything up to and including murder.” Liz actually batted her eyelashes at Tony. And kept holding his hand.

“Liz, I’m sure we wouldn’t want you to neglect your other patrons,” Margo said.

“They can wait. I’d like to get to know Tony a little better.” She tucked his hand under her arm and led him away.

“Leave it to Liz to commandeer the new guy before the rest of us are even introduced,” Amanda said. “But it means I don’t have to worry she’ll take off with Sam tonight.”

“Yeah, I think he’s safe. Tony’s the target this time,” Margo said, laughing.

Mark Howard said, “As long as we’re talking about good-looking people, who’s that blonde over there? She’s the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Margo wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed her friend’s date was describing another woman that way or if it was the woman in question.

“That’s Greer Payne. I work with her. She’s a deputy DA,” Margo said.

“
That’s
a DA? Wow. Who knew they looked like that?” Howard said.

Margo rolled her eyes. And when Amanda looked like she was about to comment, she shook her head to signal her to leave it. Fiona avoided their eyes as her boyfriend went slack-jawed watching Greer in a navy blue tailored suit which was both going-to-court appropriate and, somehow, sexy.

With her was Paul Dreier, a local attorney. Dressed in Armani, his light brown hair carefully styled without a strand out of place, and his manicured nails and expensive-looking shoes both buffed to a high-gloss shine, he was a perfect match for Greer. Paul and Greer. Ken and Barbie. The only difference, according to most people who knew them, was that Greer had more brains than Barbie and a better wardrobe.

Greer must have had her radar out because just as Tony returned, she led her date over to the group. After the introductions, Greer extended her hand to him, peeked up from under her thick, perfectly mascara-ed eyelashes and said, “I’m so glad to see you again. I didn’t know we’d be seeing each other this soon.”

“Nice to see you, too, Greer.”

“Are you here on business or pleasure?”

“A little of both.” He smiled at Margo, who changed the subject.

“Amanda, tell me about your new work,” she said.

“It’s a further exploration of combining glass with metals. This time I used both foils and wire. I’m really enjoying playing with it. And I’ve started using reactive glass that changes color when I incorporate metal so I get an extra kick.”

“I love this piece,” Margo said, indicating a gently curved rectangle of creamy vanilla glass with a wide stripe in the middle created by the reaction of the glass with the metal foils. “It would look great with the other piece of yours I have.” She looked at the tag identifying the piece by name and price. “But you’re moving out of my price range, Amanda. Good for you. Bad for me.”

“That’s why I married her,” Sam said. “I couldn’t afford to buy her work.”

The group broke up into duos and trios; the conversations waxed and waned; various configurations of people went to look at what was on display or to refresh their glasses of wine. During one of the wanings of the group, Greer went off to get more wine, Tony went to the back, toward Liz’s office and Paul Dreier sidled up to Margo as she perused the jewelry case. Standing behind her and in a low voice he said, “Margo, we have something we need to talk about. How about lunch tomorrow?”

She didn’t turn to respond to him. “What would we have to talk about, Paul? You don’t have any clients involved with our office.”

“One of my clients — I’m not at liberty to disclose who — is concerned about a deal you’ve gotten involved in that could be dangerous. He asked me … ”

“A deal? A plea deal? I’ve been on vacation. I haven’t gotten into negotiations with anyone since I’ve been back. And even if I had, I wouldn’t discuss it with you or your client.”