a Touch of Ice (25 page)

“I’m with you, sir. I seriously do not want to be explained to the press. Ever. Can we find a way for me to help without explaining me? Maybe merge information into Adam’s reports without discussing the source of the information?”

He gave me a nod. “We’ll work something out, Ms…Everly. I’d like to move cautiously on this. Detective, Annie, you have anything to say?”

Annie seemed hesitant, took a breath before she spoke. “El has been a credible help lately, with both the Civitelli and West inquiries. I would like to be able to employ her skills, but only if she’s protected. El is my friend, and that comes first.”

“I’m with Annie on this,” Adam added, “but I’m probably less comfortable with her skills—not because I don’t’ see the importance or accuracy of the input, but because I’m in the process of trying to merge her findings with mine, and the creative tweaking is a pain in the ass.”

The Chief nodded. “All right. Release Donny Civitelli. Use Ms. Gray as she and you see fit, keep her safe, and keep me in the loop. I don’t want my ass to be hanging out on this one. Got that?”

We all responded with appropriate ‘yes sir’s’ and left with expediency. I was done with cop shops—forever, I hoped.

On the way home, Annie’s phone rang. She looked at me with a what-the-heck expression, then answered. “Annie Stone.” Her expression changed to work mode. It was unnerving to watch as Annie became A.J., Super Spy. Guess it would take a while to get used to. She listened for a minute, responded. “El is with me.” She snapped the phone shut.

“Pierce is waiting for us at my place. You told him about me using myself as bait. He’s pissed. We’ll talk about that later.” She shot me a glare.

Oh, crap. I’d stepped on toes, big time. Knew I did when I made the call to Pierce, but that didn’t mean I wanted to face them. Together. “Want me to lose myself in the debris of my kitchen so you can work?”

“You’re not getting out of this one, so no. When Pierce comes to visit, he doesn’t give me warning. I don’t need warning, so I’m guessing this call is because you’re with me.”

“You and Pierce live in a strange world. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“My world? Who just spent an hour explaining herself to Chief Hayes?” Her eyes sparkled with a ‘gotcha’ look.

“Right. Pot. Kettle. I get it.”

Annie greeted Pierce with a mix of playfulness and professionalism. “Thanks for letting me know you were practicing illegal entry, Pierce.”

He’d made himself at home behind her computer. “Not illegal since I let you know. Fielding, Inc. filed a flight plan. RDU to Orly. Tonight.”

Annie shifted more deeply into her role as A.J. Playfulness disappeared, her spine straightened, her muscles seemed to shift into a place of relaxed and alert at the same time. I’d never seen anything like it. Scary. The light in her eyes hardened to tempered glass. “What’s the plan? Anyone but us staking out the airport? When I was actively hunting West he knew he was on my shoot-to-kill roster. Any reason that’s changed?”

“Only that it’s my roster now.” His words were crisp, decisive, leaving no room for challenge. “I’ve called for backup but don’t have an ETA.”

Their heads were together, diagrams unfolding under the skillful direction of their shared work experience. Not a place for me. Even my curiosity accepted that the process of designing the specifics of this plan was out of my skill level. The finished product, now
that
I wanted to see and participate in the final discussion. But that wasn’t happening any time soon. “I’m heading home. Ping me if you need me for anything.”

The response: two muffled grunts, their minds obviously on the task at hand. Exactly where they should be.

My house was quiet, empty of workmen. I wandered upstairs, checked the refrigerator for something to snack on, decided to clean it out instead. No way would I be cooking until the repairs were done. There was a large pizza, with everything but onions and anchovies, that we’d planned to eat when Mitch and I got back from his place. I set it aside to bring to Annie and Pierce, maybe grab a slice for myself. They’d need nourishment if they were going to confront Monster Man.

The day turned gloomy, and so did my mood. Gloomy and restless. I padded around the house looking for something to get into, maybe something to touch. And then it hit me. Now was the perfect time to work on my aversion to guns, and I knew exactly what to do. It had to be the right thing, what with the pizza and everything.

A slight modification on an assignment I’d given to a client, Annie’s cooperation, and I’d be set. Problem was, without her help, my plan was dead in the water. I hustled next door, pizza in hand, guilt dogging my steps. I almost turned back, knew I shouldn’t bother them, but—

“All right, pizza. Left over from the other night, right?” Annie stomach gurgled in approval as I trailed her upstairs and into the kitchen.

Pierce didn’t so much as nod in my direction, stayed focused on the computer, mumbling incoherent syllables as he typed.

“I’ll pop this in the oven. You want to hang around for a slice?”

“Um. No, not really.” My stomach knotted with tension. I barely got the words out. “I want to borrow a gun for a while. Maybe an hour at most.”

She stopped, pizza balanced on the palm of her hand, the pause barely perceptible. “Why?”

“I don’t want any, what do you call it, ammo. I just want to borrow the gun without bullets. If I spend some time handling it, learning to think of it as a machine, a tool, it might be easier to accept having Mitch’s gun in my house. I don’t want to break into a cold sweat if I see it sitting on the table, or even tucked into his duffle or his waistband.” The memories flooded my mind, making my vision blurry. “Fear is…not good. And if I handle a weapon for a bit, it’ll help. I know it will because it works for my clients.”

“You want to do this now? Right now?”

“Yeah. Timing’s a little funky, but I’m bored, edgy. Thinking about Mitch, about Monster Man. I need a break. Maybe I’ll find some balance if I’m busy.” I motioned to living room where Pierce worked his magic with the computer. “There’s nothing I can do here, and I need to do something.”

She glanced at Pierce, nodded. “Yeah. Keeping you busy is a good thing. You can borrow a gun, but only without the clip. It’s better to avoid weapons unless you’re trained. There isn’t a middle ground here.”

“I get that. If this goes well, I’ll see about training. I want Mitch in my life, and that means accepting all of him, including the fact that he carries a weapon.”

She disappeared down the hall, returned a minute later unzipping a black pouch. “Have you thought about the images you’ll pick up when you touch a gun?”

I attempted a smile, failed.

She pulled out the gun, removed the clip. “This is a Kimber Compact forty-five. It’s lightweight aluminum and packs a decent wallop. Trigger, safety. You saw how the clip fits.” Her voice was monotone, steady as she pointed out the various aspects of the weapon. She set the clip on a side table, put the gun back in the pouch, and handed it to me. “Be careful, Everly. I know the gun is safe; it’s your psyche I’m worried about. And just so you know, this particular gun has never been used outside the practice range. You shouldn’t pick up any images other than paper targets.”

My fingers hesitated over the pouch, hefted it. Light. Much lighter than I expected. Big difference between physical and emotional weight when it comes to guns.

“Thanks.” I gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be all right. Let me know when you’re ready to share your plan.”

I approached my kitchen table carefully, laid out a soft, white cotton blanket. For some undefined reason, it was important to do this on a soft surface. I unzipped the pouch, and for the first time in my life touched a weapon. Okay. So maybe it was only part of a weapon since the actual killing part was safely stashed in Annie’s house.

I closed my eyes and held the gun, ran my hands over the smooth surface of the barrel, the rough surface of the grip where the clip would be inserted to make it a viable weapon. I gently tossed it from hand to hand, played with the safety, and pulled the trigger. Finally, I opened my eyes and practiced sighting through the three little dots, then I put the gun on the table and examined it—the design, the steel gray color, the name of the manufacturer.

I didn’t notice I’d been shaking until I zipped it into the black pouch, until after the shaking stopped. I was so totally lost in my thoughts, it barely registered there was someone pounding on my front door.

“El? Are you there? Please open the door.” It was Shelly. Sounding hysterical.

I planted my feet, inhaled a lungful of air, and swung the door open. She flew into my arms, crushing me in a fierce hug. “Shelly?” I gave her a quick squeeze, then wiggled free and stepped back so I could see her face. Mascara ran down her cheeks, red eyes and nose. No question she’d been crying for a while. I leaned over to grab some tissues from the box on my desk, and a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, handed both to her. “Take a breath and sit. Talk when you’re ready.”

My heart thudded, suddenly too big for my chest. Something was very wrong. Shelly cries more readily than many of my clients, but this was unusual even for her. When the sobs degenerated into gasping sobs, I knew I needed to stop her. I grasped her shoulders, giving her a bit of a shake. “Shelly,” I said, sharply, “you have to stop. You’re making yourself sick.”

She focused on me, empty eyes finally making the connection, and then she collapsed on the floor. “He’s l-left me. M-Marcus has l-left m-me,” she stuttered through gasps.

“Tell me what happened.” I brought out my combination drill sergeant-loving grandmother persona and handed her another handful of tissues. She immediately shredded them.

“H-he said his business is finished here. He’s f-flying out tonight.” She broke down as more sobs escaped.

“Okay, Shelly. Take a swallow of water and blow your nose.” She drained the bottle and I handed her some fresh tissues.

“He said to cancel the wedding party we’d planned for my friends.” She looked at me with doe eyes. “The party is tomorrow night. Why couldn’t he wait to leave? It’s just one more day.”

“So, do I have this right? He still wants to marry you, but without having the party here. He wants to go straight to Paris. He hasn’t actually left
you
, but wants you to go with him. Tonight. Cancel the party, and get married in Paris tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “But I can’t do that. There’s too much to do, too much to just cancel. I can’t leave tonight, so h-he’s leaving without me.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, letting her cry it out. “Doesn’t he have minions to do that kind of thing for you?”

“Yes, but these are my
friends,
El. I can’t marry a man who would do this to me. I haven’t told him yet. He’s sending someone to pick me up soon. What am I going to do?”

“The first thing
we’re
going to do is get up off the floor.” I stood, offered my hand. None of the images I’d picked up so far were clear. Too much emotion and they blurred into a mirage of color and distorted shapes. I was hoping when I touched her hand, they’d snap into focus, but no deal. “Okay, Shelly. We’re going to sit down and talk about what you really want, what’s important and what isn’t.”

Shelly curled up in the corner of my sofa with a box of tissues and another bottle of water. The gloomy cloud hanging over me was fading away now that I had something to focus on. I had work, lots of work sitting right here in front of me.

“Tell me why this is so devastating to you. When we spoke last week, you thought Marcus was the most incredible man in the world. I understand what he’s asking of you, to forgo your wedding party is a big thing, but marriage consists of give and take. Is it that he’s uncompromising, disrespectful, selfish? Give me some words to help me understand why you can’t compromise on this.”

“I haven’t stopped loving him. It’s just that I hate him, too. All of those words apply. He knew I was leaving my friends, my job, for him. He knows how important personal training is to me, and he still wouldn’t postpone business for one day. I feel like a possession. I guess this has been building for a while, ever since you and I talked. You planted some seeds of doubt when you asked me about leaving my work at the gym. I thought he was the one. Believed he was the one. Now I just want him to go away.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe on the way to the airport. Can’t I just write a note and send it and the ring to the airport instead of going myself?”

“I don’t have a clue about the proper etiquette for breaking an engagement, but since he changed everything with a phone call, you should be able to finish it with a note. Are you sure this is what you want to do? When you got here, you were distraught because he was leaving you. Now you seem ready to leave him. You could, you know, make all the necessary phone calls from the plane and go on with your Paris plans as though none of this has happened?”

“No. I can’t marry him.” She tugged at her ring. “I need to get this off, I need to get if off right now.”

“Why don’t you step into the bathroom, use some soap to get the ring off and wash your face. See if you don’t feel better. Then we can discuss what you’re going to do about the party.”