Clouds In My Coffee (19 page)

I stop and pull a gun out of my backpack, taking careful aim at his crotch. Just then, a hand reaches out from beside me and pushes the gun down towards the ground.

“Dreams like this are bad karma, Parrish. Don’t waste karma on that cheating bastard.”

“Ma?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else?”

“Wh—why are you here?”

“I think I’m needed,” she says, taking a seat on the soft grass in my dream, patting the ground beside her so that I will follow suit. I crumple down beside her, burying my face in my hands.

“I just can’t believe he did this to me,” I wail. “I thought I knew him. Turns out, I didn’t know him at all.”

She rubs my back. “Sometimes these things are a blessing in disguise.”

Seriously?

“That’s it?” I ask. “Those are your words of comfort?”

She laughs and leans in closer. “Ma knows these things, Parrish. No one goes through life without having their heart broken at least once. You should know that from the little journey we took together.”

“It’s not the same,” I sob.

“Everyone thinks that, sweetie. But it
is
the same and, this too shall pass. In the meantime, I want to know why the hell you’re back here and not where you’re supposed to be.”

“Where’s that?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“With Cece...or with Marco I should say. You know, finishing what you’ve started?”

I give her a glare. How can she possibly think I am up to any of that right now? But, even in my dreams, she can read me.

“If nothing else, it’s a distraction for you. It will keep your mind off of the shit Ryan’s done and, besides that, you know what they say, don’t you?”

“What do they
say
?” I deadpan.

“When one door slams shut, another one opens.”

“Not following.”

“It’s okay. You’ll get with the program soon enough. Get your ass back to Utah, Parrish. You’re needed there.”

I feel her press a kiss to my tear-stained cheek and then she fades from my dream. The sound of her voice echoes as she disappears, “Mommy loves you.”

I come awake and realize that she’s right. I can’t hang out here indefinitely, filling my stomach with comfort food and sleeping ten or eleven hours a day.

I get up and go into the bathroom and take the first shower since I’ve been here. I know it’s gross that I haven’t even bathed, but hell, it’s called grieving.

Afterwards, I feel a sense of rejuvenation.

It’s after ten in the morning and my cell rings.

God.

Don’t let it be Ryan asking when I’m going to get the rest of my shit out of the apartment, or worse yet, wanting to give me his sorry-ass explanation.

It’s not Ryan. It’s Marco.

“I’ve been wondering what the hell happened to my assistant,” he says immediately after I answer. “Was it
something
I said?”

I’m forced to smile because his voice is unusually light and teasing. “It’s
always
something you say, Trevani,” I reply, “But, in all honesty, I didn’t think my expertise was needed any longer.”

Brief pause.

“Well, I would think you’d want to see this finished. There’s a lot more to be done. Of course, if your career is calling you back East, then I completely understand.”

“No no,” I reply, “It’s not that. It was something else...but now, it’s nothing.”

God. I’m blubbering.

“You’re blubbering,” he replies, “Are you coming back or not?”

I smile genuinely for the first time in a while. “Yes,” I reply. “I’m coming back. I’ll see you in a day or so.”

“Good to know. The exhumation is scheduled for tomorrow. The forensic autopsy will be conducted in Salt Lake City on Thursday.”

“That was quick work.”

“I like to move quickly when something needs to be done. I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me when you get to your father’s place.”

“Okay, Marco. And thanks.”

“For what?”

I feel my cheeks warm. “For needing an assistant,” I reply.

Dad gives me a fatherly hug as soon as he sees me at the airport, “I’m sorry, Bambolina. Men can be total pricks.”

“You’re not,” I reply, giving him a kiss on the cheek, as he smiles warmly at me. “Ma says that another door will open.”

He quirks a brow, taking my suitcase from me. “Would that be Karlie?”

I nod. “She visited me in a dream the other night. Gave me those words of wisdom,” I reply with a smile. “Also told me to get my ass back here to finish what I started.”

He chuckles softly. “Was she referring to the ‘Cece situation’?”

I feel my forehead crease in confusion. “Well...
yeah.
What else is here that I need to finish?”

“You’re right,” he replies, placing his hand on the small of my back as we weave through the throngs of people near baggage claim. “I’m sure that’s what she meant.”

“Am I allowed to see the report,” I ask, blowing a bubble with my gum. I’ve become addicted to bubblegum again for some reason. I think it’s a sexual tension aid. Ever since the whole thing with Ryan sunk in, I’ve had this tremendous sexual appetite that is going unappeased. Part of me believes it’s a “get even” reflex, knowing that he’s probably fucking Cassie blind and the other part of me just misses having sex.

“Here,” Marco says, handing me the top sheet he’s just read. It’s Cece’s forensic postmortem report. “If there’s anything requiring interpretation, just let me know.”

My bubble pops as I look up at him. His dark brow is furrowed as he appears to be speed-reading the second page. “It’s in English, isn’t it?” I ask.

He glances over at me briefly. “I only meant some of the technical terminology,” he says.

“I’ll try my best to get through it.”

I’ve been here all afternoon playing the waiting game with him on this report. It’s fresh off the printer. I skim through the first page, which is basically just shit about the date, time, who is present, the condition of the corpse, which apparently is pretty good from what I can glean, and the instrumentation being used.

Yadda. Yadda. Yadda.

“When does this get interesting?” I ask, as he hands me the second sheet.

“At the bottom of page two. I think you’ll like what you read there,” he replies, reading through the third page and then shuffling through some of the postmortem photos, which I clearly do not wish to view.

I skim to the bottom and see the reference to the fetal skeletal remains found within the pelvic cavity of the decedent. It says that measurements and density analysis were conducted indicating that the decedent was seven to ten weeks gestation at the time of her death. Further testing, including DNA analysis to be conducted per the request of the federal investigator assigned to this case.

I feel my pulse racing as Marco hands me the third sheet and it shows that the cause of death has been changed from death as a result of massive head injuries due to an automobile accident to: suffocation due to homicidal act, primary cause deferred upon further investigation.

“Hot damn,” I say, feeling the adrenaline pumping. “Okay, so first to tie up loose ends, can DNA testing substantiate that Erik fathered the fetus? Or is that even important?”

Marco looks up from the last page of the forensic report and smiles. “It might be useful if Erik was our suspect,” he replies, “It could show motive, but we’re not looking at him.”

“So, I don’t know, maybe interview Marshall’s mother?”

He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. I can tell by his shoulders and triceps that he works out. Even beneath his black cashmere v-neck sweater the bulging muscles are kind of obvious.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Good call. I’ll put a call into my field office and get some background information on Dr. Rydell, along with some personal information as to her relationship with her only child. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so to get a preliminary dossier on her. That will provide us with the framework for a strategic approach.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up, say, around seven? We can have drinks and dinner and discuss strategy then.”

I practically swallow my gum. “Wait. You’re asking me out to dinner?”

“I like to be in a relaxed atmosphere when I strategize,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And we both have to eat, right?”

I nod.

He stands up, putting the forensic report pages back in order and puts them inside his briefcase. He glances at his watch. “Okay, so I’ll see you in a couple of hours then. Dress is casual.” I notice he peruses my ripped and holey skinny jeans when he says that and I truly wonder if he knows that I bought these ninety dollar jeans looking just as they do now.

“Yeah, see you then,” I reply, shrugging my jacket on and leaving the office he’s been loaned at the Salt Lake field office.

I can’t help feel a tingle of anticipation as I drive Sheila’s car back to the resort. I know it’s just drinks and dinner but, somehow, it feels good that Marco no longer objects to my involvement in this investigation. More than that, he’s starting to mentor me, which I find totally hot.

I smile and squeeze my thighs together still thinking about Marco’s ripped bod as I pull up into the steep drive at Dad’s house.

Oh God. Dad.

How do I explain to him and Sheila that I’m going to dinner with Marco? I mean, doesn’t it seem kind of
soon
after my heartbreak over Ryan to be having dinner with another man?

It’s
only
dinner, I chide myself as I get out of the car and head inside. It’s not like a date or anything.

It’s just dinner.

We need to strategize after all.

My mind moves on to what I should wear this evening.

Casual can still be sexy, right?

Marco has selected a cozy bistro for our strategizing dinner. It’s about ten miles outside of Salt Lake and overlooks some of the best natural forests in the area - or so he tells me.

I’m on my second glass of Chardonnay when he orders appetizers for us. I kind of like the way he takes charge. I mean, most guys would be all like “What kind of appetizer would you like?”

Not Marco.

He simply catches the eye of Michelle, our waitress, and nods. Immediately, she’s at our table, eager to see to his needs. Did I mention that she has drooled over him since the moment we stepped over the threshold of this establishment? And that she’s been treating me like the “invisible” woman’?

“What can I get you, Marco?” she asks, winking at him.

He orders Parmesan Zucchini strips with Romesco sauce and Strawberry Bruschetta.

“Coming right up,” she gushes, turning from us.

He’s sipping his first bourbon and water and I can’t help but notice how flippin’ hot he looks in his jeans and the dark teal v-neck sweater he’s changed into, along with some kick-ass Ferragamo power boots. The man has style. I like that.

He pulls some papers from his briefcase, handing me a copy and keeping one for himself. “Here’s the intelligence that came in from the Bureau,” he says, glancing down at it.

My eyes are staring at his hands. His nails are neatly trimmed and his fingers are long, thick and ringless. His hands fascinate me for some reason. They are intriguing, just like the rest of him.

I sigh.

“Parrish?”

I’m drawn back to reality and I flush, putting the report up in front of my face. “Sorry,” I reply, “My mind was somewhere else.”

I scan the report, absorbing nothing in front of me.

What the hell am I doing here?

“So, what do you think?” I ask. It’s a safe question. It’s a reasonable question for someone who suddenly can’t focus on anything other than the Italian Stallion sitting across from her.

“I think it’s fairly obvious that Dr. Rydell isn’t close to her only child, which could prove beneficial in getting the information needed. I put a call into her before I picked you up. I’ve arranged to meet with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Really?” I ask, lowering the paper to look over at him. “What did you tell her?”

He shrugs, taking a slow swallow of his drink. “Nothing too specific. Only that the Bureau has some interest in reviewing some of her old records relative to her veterinary practice for the purpose of post-mortem analysis.”