Careless Rapture (6 page)

Clay understood the dilemma. He had worked
with an investigating firm in New Jersey when a case brought him to
D.C. After reconnecting with his sister, he’d decided to stay. At
the time he’d met Mack he had been working for an insurance-fraud
firm. They decided to work together after two drinks at a bar.
Fortunately, both were sober enough not to regret the decision.

Mack instantly took to Clay’s quick eye and
blunt honesty; Clay appreciated Mack’s grim police humor and
cunning mind. They’d worked together three years now At times Clay
wondered how much longer they would continue to do so.

He hung up his jacket, his eyes sweeping the
familiar surroundings with little interest. White walls covered the
rectangular-shaped room and a large poster of a silhouette of a man
in a trench coat hung on the far wall. Mack had a fondness for old
PI movies. Presently, he sat at his desk with his legs on the
table, staring at his laptop. He was a morning person. Clay learned
not to hold that against him. He tossed his keys on the desk, an
old pine desk, where one disgruntled worker had carved
This is
hell.
At times, depending on the case, he agreed.

“So, I take it you had a bad weekend?” Mack
asked, resting his laptop on the desk.

Clay ran a hand down his face and grunted.
“Yeah.” He went to the coffee machine and emptied out the pot. It
was a daily routine. Mack made coffee. Clay threw it out then made
his own. Neither complained. They both knew Mack’s coffee tasted
like tar.

After fixing his coffee, Clay sat, took a
long swallow, then began to feel human again.

Brent entered the room, tapping a file
against his palm. “Evans still hasn’t paid.”

Clay glanced at his watch then held out his
hand. “Get him on the phone for me in an hour. I need to schedule a
meeting.”

Brent’s eyes widened with excitement as he
handed him the file. “Are you going to rough him up?”

Mack shook his head. “He doesn’t have to.
Clay walks into a room and suddenly the money appears.”

Brent’s excitement died. “Oh.”

Mack watched Brent leave, then rested his
elbows on his chair. He grimaced. “So how bad was your
weekend?”

“Bad enough. What does that have to do with
anything?”

“I could wait a couple hours before telling
you about another case.”

Clay tapped his mug impatiently “Tell me
now.”

“Milton called again.”

Clay’s tapping increased. “And you turned him
down.”

Mack shrugged.

Clay’s expression darkened. “I thought I told
you to double his fee,” he said softly.

“I did. He’s willing to pay.”

“Then you should have said no. He’s wasting
his money.”

“That’s not our problem.”

“He’s wasting our time.”

“He’s making it worthwhile.” He grinned. “If
we were really mercenary we could just follow his wife around town
and do nothing else.”

Clay turned on his computer. “But we’re not
mercenary.”

Mack looked disappointed. “Really?”

“Yes.” Clay sat back in his chair. “Explain
something to me.”

“Ask away.”

“How much evidence does a guy need that his
wife is cheating on him? What level of denial can explain all the
footage away?”

“I think he gets off on them.”

His eyes turned cold. “What?”

Mack held up his hands. “It’s just a
theory.”

“That makes a lot of sense. What else could
he be doing with those pictures?”

Both men were quiet a moment as they pondered
the many uses of the evidence they’d provided. Clay swore. “We’re
contributing to some guy’s fetish? I knew there was something weird
about him.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Nearly a year of evidence? Something’s going
on here. That’s way past curiosity or even denial. Did he explain
why he wanted us to do it?”

“Same excuse: he wants to ‘make sure.’”

“He wants to make sure,” Clay repeated with
disgust. “Does he want us to give him a room key or perhaps bring
back some used condoms?”

“Clay, I don’t see why you’re upset. This is
easy money. Who cares the reason why? You get too involved.”

“I don’t like when people do foolish
things.”

“Then you’re in the wrong business.”

Clay entered his password into the computer.
“Perhaps, because I’m the biggest fool of all.”

Mack stood and leaned against Clay’s desk. He
began to grin. “All right. Who is she?”

Clay scowled. “I don’t know. What are you
talking about?”

“Only a woman can tie you up like this. I
should know.” He sighed with regret. “It’s over with me and
Verona.”

“She didn’t like you seeing Patrice on the
side?” Clay said in a dry tone. “Silly woman.”

Mack ignored his sarcasm. He tapped him on
the shoulder. “You know what? Women should be taught how to
share.”

“They don’t mind sharing if they’re told
that’s what they’re doing. You shouldn’t let women think you’re
dating them exclusively.”

“Why not? You get more devotion that
way.”

Clay shook his head, amazed at his partner’s
logic. “Perhaps you should get married again. Cheating never got
you into too much trouble.”

“Yeah, imagine that.” He folded his arms in
bewilderment. “Ten years of marriage, four with my mistress, and my
wife divorces me because I don’t want to have another kid.”

“So how is Megan?”

“Greatest kid on the planet.”

“That
kid
is twenty.”

“She’ll always be a kid to me. Her mother
wasn’t such a bad woman.”

“Which is why you treated her with such
respect.”

Mack took no offense used to the subtle jabs.
“What else is a wife for, but to cheat on? Once women become
mothers you can’t do certain stuff with them. It seems wrong. Why
are you smiling?”

“It’s always interesting to hear people
justify bad behavior.”

“You’ve never been married.”

Clay raised a brow. “Never been divorced
either. What’s your point?”

Since he didn’t have one, he let his arms
fall. “I did love her, but—”

“Not enough.”

“No, that’s not it. I think I was just
selfish.”

“You’re going to pay eventually.”

“Yeah, I do pay sometimes. Most times I don’t
have to. . .” He stopped at Clay’s expression. “Oh, you mean a
different kind of pay.”

Clay pointed three fingers in the shape of a
gun. “Yes, and you’d better not get caught—”

“Don’t worry, that was back when I was a
cop.”

Clay couldn’t help a grin. “That’s a
relief.”

Mack winked. “I was doing my job, buddy.
Getting them off the streets.”

Clay shook his head.

“So why do you think I’ll pay?”

“You have a daughter, yet you’re every
father’s nightmare.”

“Hey, if a guy like me comes into my kid’s
life, I’ll be able to spot him.”

“And that will be the one guy she wants to
marry.”

Mack narrowed his eyes. “Are you offering a
future scenario or a wish?”

“l’m just saying you can’t keep this up.”

“Hmm. I wonder . . .” He stopped, then
suddenly punched his palm. “Damn it, Clay! I hate when you do
that.”

Clay lifted a mocking brow. “Do what?”

“Get me to start talking about myself.”

“You seem to like the subject.”

“What happened this weekend? And if you don’t
tell me, I’ll investigate and find out. It’s Jackie, isn’t it?
You’re worried about the case.”

“I’m not worried about the case, but it does
concern Jackie. She wants to take me to her ex-boyfriend’s
wedding.”

Mack stared, waiting for more. When nothing
else came, he shrugged. “So? Go.”

“Did you miss the part about this being her
ex-boyfriend’s wedding? She wants to take me to prove that she’s
over him or something equally absurd.”

Mack shrugged again. “Yes, I heard you the
first time. I don’t understand the problem.”

Clay covered his eyes and groaned. “Oh, god,
it’s happening.”

“What?”

“Everyone else in the world is crazy, except
me.”

“Your problem is you’re not seeing this in
the right light. Do you know what kind of women there are at
weddings?”

“Don’t start. She presented me with that same
argument. It didn’t work then.” He sat back in his chair. “I’d
suggest she take you, except I wouldn’t want you within twenty
miles of any women I know.”

Mack rested a hand over his heart. “You wound
me.”

“You’ll recover.” Clay leaned forward,
reading something on his computer. “I think we’re closing in on the
Tanya case.”

Mack wasn’t ready to talk about work yet. “I
once met this bridesmaid.” He briefly shut his eyes, a smile on his
face. “What a night. Did I ever tell you about the bridesmaid at my
sister’s wedding?”

“Many times.”

“And it bears repeating.” He held his hands
out, cupping the air. “I mean, this woman—”

Clay shot him a cold glance, his patience
fading. Mack stopped, recognizing the warning. He cleared his
throat and switched topics. “So basically Jackie is still driving
you crazy.”

“She doesn’t drive me crazy.”

“After every holiday and family gathering,
that’s the only name I hear.”

“Possibly because she’s the only single
female there. Your subconscious blocks out the rest.”

Mack thought for a moment, then shook his
head. “No, that’s not it. I think it’s because you’re
interested.”

Clay finished his coffee.

“Take her to the wedding.”

Clay leaned back in his chair and bit his
lower lip, thoughtful. “You’re absolutely right. I should chuck all
common sense and go along with a shallow, childish deception for a
few hours of my life that I will never recapture again. Thank you
for making that clear to me.”

Mack patted him on the back. “That’s the
spirit.” He sat at his desk. “I’m impressed how you Brits make
sarcasm an art form. We Yanks catch it more often than you
think.”

“How amusing.”

Mack sent him a look, unsure whether he was
jesting or not. “Gabriella’s parents paid us, by the way. They
dropped by after you’d left Friday.”

Clay hit the PRINT icon on his computer. “You
can keep my half.”

He sighed. “You couldn’t have saved her.”

That fact still tore at Clay. It had been a
case he’d wished they hadn’t taken in the first place. Most PIs got
odd cases. Theirs was Gabriella Anderson, a young woman raised a
Catholic on Boston’s South Side, who’d ended up homeless. She’d
received a degree in museum studies and a masters in anthropology.
Her family had paid them to check on her every week. See that she
was still alive. That was all. He’d wanted to do more and had
gotten too close in the process. He’d wanted to get her off the
streets. Get her safe. He’d failed.

At quiet moments he could still hear the
thrilling sound of her voice, more eloquent than her haggard
appearance would suggest. He could remember the expression in her
eyes—a color between brown and gray—full of a knowledge about a
life few people would admit to. He’d gained that same knowledge as
a teenage runaway. She would have turned twenty-nine in three
months if she hadn’t been found dead in a street alley. It wasn’t
supposed to end that way. He couldn’t get the
what ifs
to
stop. He almost welcomed them as ready punishment.

“Let it go,” Mack urged. “Take the money. You
worked for it.”

“She had her whole life ahead of her. She had
a master’s—”

“Yeah, and she also had a nervous breakdown
at twenty-six and continued to spiral down until her family had
given up on her. Stick with the facts. We’re not in the job of
storytelling or of making happy endings. If you want your insides
ripped out, start caring too much. I know it’s your instinct that
gets cases solved,-but be careful not to get too involved. She made
choices.”

So had he, the wrong one. It wasn’t the first
time. He’d put Cassie’s life in danger by underestimating a
predator’s affections. The decision to wait so long before
interfering still haunted him; he hadn’t been focused then. He’d
been worrying so much about her relationship with Drake that his
real target nearly succeeded.

“You’re good,” Mack said. “You don’t give
yourself credit. If you’re not careful, you’ll burn out.”

Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “I think
I’m already burned out.”

“You had a bad weekend. You’re just tired.”
Mack changed the subject, “Tell me about Tanya.”

Clay nodded, relieved to focus on work.
“Vincent thinks he saw her in Germantown. At least she’s still in
the metropolitan area.” Tanya was the daughter of a prominent
family who’d disappeared with her boyfriend a week ago. It wasn’t
her first time. At fourteen she’d run off with a teacher. At
seventeen she’d at least run off with a guy closer in age, but with
the misfortune of having a ten-page rap sheet. He stood. “I’m going
to Dupont Circle to talk to him.”

Brent came into the room. “I have Evans on
the phone,” he said with pride.

Clay didn’t readily reply. When he did, his
tone was without inflection. “Why?”

Brent suddenly looked unsure. “I thought you
said you wanted to meet him in an hour.”

“No,” Clay said patiently. “I said get him on
the phone for me in an hour.”

“Oh. Well, he’s on the phone now.”

Clay waited.

“Uh . . . what should I say?”

Clay sighed. “Check my schedule and make an
appointment. Better yet, tell him to pay or I’ll have to meet with
him and I won’t be happy.”

Brent nodded. “Okay.”

“Write that down.”

He grinned, pleased. “That’s all right. I
heard what ...” His words trailed off at the look on Clay’s face.
He grabbed a pad and wrote down the message. Once Clay looked it
over he left.

Mack shook his head. “You realize that kid’s
an idiot.”

“He’s not an idiot. He’s still learning.”