Deceived (17 page)

Taylor checked her phone for messages from Collette. There were none. She put the phone and her purse down next to the baby’s things, as Sara looked through the items that Lisa had selected for her baby. After a few minutes, Max asked, “What does Brandon want for a theme?”

“Happy,” Taylor said, remembering his note.

Max shook his head. “Seriously? No theme? No direction on build outs? Nothing but happy?”

“Happy,” Taylor said. “That’s it.”

“Boats would be nice,” a deep voice said from the doorway, “if you can work that in.”

Sarah, Max, and Taylor turned in the direction of his voice. Sarah’s soft intake of breath matched her own. Max’s under-his-breath, but audible, “Oh my word,” was less subtle.

Brandon held a half-empty plastic bottle of neon orange sports drink. His hair was wet. He wore only a pair of loose runner’s shorts, which sat on his hipbones and stopped at mid-thigh, and running shoes. Yards of lean, muscular limbs and smooth, flushed-from-heat skin were exposed. Beads of moisture accentuated muscles that ripped across his not-too-hairy chest. His abdomen was flat and taut. The stained glass fleur-de-lis tattoo on Brandon’s right bicep was one of several. A wing-like outline, in shades of gray, charcoal, silver, with touches of white, started at his heart, arched over his left shoulder, and covered his left forearm. Small Chinese letters, in dark purple with lighter borders, formed a lace-like paragraph that spanned from the bottom of his right ribcage to the waistband of his shorts. The tattoos were done with a light hand and were almost whisper-like across his body. The designs were, well, elegant was the only word that came to Taylor’s mind. They softened his hard body and didn’t bring any of the knee-jerk “ick” factor that she usually felt when she saw tattoos.

No,
Taylor thought.
No ick.
More like positively, deliciously compelling. With his lean runner’s body damp with perspiration, and wisp-like tattoos skimming over his ripped muscles, he looked wicked, in the best sort of Hugh Jackman or David Beckham-ish way. Taylor dragged her eyes to his as a heated flush formed on her cheeks. His green-eyed gaze was on her. She squared her shoulders and said, “We can do boats.”

She introduced him to Sarah and Max.

He gave them a nod from the doorway. “Thanks for coming out so fast. Taylor says that you’re good at expediting these things.”

Max cleared his throat. “Depending on the build-outs for media, we can get this done in ten days. We’ll give you a couple of alternate plans and budgets tomorrow afternoon, and we can get started after that.”

“Great. My assistant, Pete, will be your contact.” His gaze fell on Taylor. “I have to shower. You’ll be here a while?”

She nodded. Brandon turned away from the doorway, revealing broad shoulders and a muscular back that was covered with a tribal maze that looked about halfway complete. It shimmered in hues of silver, gold, and black. He was gone only a few seconds before Max whispered. “Taylor, please tell me you’re getting some of that.”

Taylor shook her head. “Max. Don’t say things like that. He’s only a friend.”

“I don’t know if I’d get involved with him,” Sarah said, a worried expression in her eyes as she held Taylor’s gaze. “Think about his recent history. Heck. Look at him, because it’s written all over him. Literally. The man has more issues than muscles, and,” she gave Taylor a stern look, “there’s plenty of those. Be careful.”

***

Brandon showered, pulled on jeans and a polo shirt, then answered a call from Marvin. “Yo, Brandon, I got something, and it isn’t ’bout Tilly, cause so far I haven’t found the fucker and the cops haven’t either.”

“What is it?”

“Neighborhood chatter from a kid. Problem is, he won’t talk to me. The little shit won’t talk to you, either. He’s six years old. Got issues with men. His auntie said that he might talk to a woman.”

“Will he talk to the cops?”

“Not likely. His auntie is more likely to bother the kid for your green incentive than for NOPD brass.”

“What do you think he knows that might be helpful?”

“Well, if rumors are right,” Marvin paused, “I think he saw something that gives me more doubt about whether Tilly did it.”

Brandon paused, thinking for a moment. “Would he talk to Taylor?”

“Your date last night?”

“She wasn’t a date, but yes.”

“Well, she ain’t a dude. It’s worth a shot.”

“All right,” Brandon said. “Where and when?”

“Central City. The high rise that borders Calliope Street. Now is best, cause I don’t think you want to drag your lady friend through there too much after dark.”

Brandon hesitated. The buildings that made up the Central City project, and what went on in them, had inspired rap artists to write chilling lyrics about violence and hopelessness. “I’ll let her decide,” Brandon said, pretty sure that Taylor wouldn’t consider saying no. He detoured downstairs and scooped Michael from the pack-n-play. Michael, who had been having his last bottle of the night when Brandon came in from his run, was crying. As Brandon lifted him, he seemed momentarily happy at the change of scenery. He sat with Michael a few minutes. His diaper was dry, his skin was pink, and the fresh scent of baby powder wafted around him. Everything seemed all right, but Michael’s lower lip started trembling, and his ensuing wail was desperately unhappy. Jett started to pace around the kitchen and gave Brandon a glance that said
do something, stupid
.

“Why is he crying?” he asked Anna, who had taken Laura’s place at seven. The sisters both had auburn hair, with some gray, dark brown eyes, and freckles. They were of medium height and build. He guessed that Anna was the older of the two, but they both looked about sixty-ish. They had a quiet calmness that he found reassuring.

“I think he’s getting sleepy,” Anna said. “We’re pushing it with an eight o’clock bed time.”

“I think Lisa had him up as late as seven. Is an hour that big of a deal?”

“It can be,” Anna said, “and right now, everything is different for him.”

Brandon paced around the kitchen. Jett followed, and Michael became quiet. Brandon carried Michael upstairs to the rooms that were going to be his, with Jett at his heels. Taylor, Sarah, and Max were deep in conversation. Michael gurgled, interrupting them. Brandon said, “The little guy wanted to say thank you before he goes to bed.”

Taylor, Sarah, and Max crossed the room. “He’s big for a two-month old,” Sarah said. Brandon smiled.

“Those full lips,” Max said, “His eyes. Gosh. That black hair. No mistaking that he’s yours.”

Taylor reached towards the baby and, with her left index finger, she smoothed a cowlick in his dark hair. “It looks like you’re doing better with him than yesterday,” she said. “Good job.”

Her deep gaze told him that she understood more than the sadness of the circumstances. He’d bet that she understood that this odd twist in his life was a good thing, even a great thing.

“Would you like to hold him?” Brandon asked.

She answered with a confident reach, slowing, for a second, as he shifted Michael into her arms. He leaned towards her, hoping to detect her fragrance. It was light. She hadn’t over-applied it. While his body responded to the essence of gardenia, her soft smile as she stepped away from him and pressed her lips to Michael’s forehead stole his heart. Her gaze rested on Michael, then her eyes found Brandon’s. She whispered, “He’s falling asleep.”

Max mumbled something about being done for the evening. Sarah agreed. They said goodnight, leaving them alone. Taylor said to Michael, “Your rooms will be wonderful and happy, with boats and a gorgeous black lab who will never leave your side.”

“Thank you,” Brandon said, meaning it more than he could express.

She held his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, then he mentally shook himself.
Damn it
. No more long looks, he had told himself earlier in the day. No more. “Marvin called a few minutes ago. There’s a kid with information in Central City. He’s six years old and scared of men, so we thought maybe you’d talk to him.”

“Of course,” Taylor said, letting him take Michael. “Should I follow you?”

“No. One car would be better in that neighborhood.”

They deposited a snoozing Michael with Anna on their way out. When they reached the interstate, she asked, “What happened to this child that makes him scared of men?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He watched her shiver. He reached over and gripped her hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m going to.”

He left his hand on hers a second more, then slowly pulled it away when his grip become more about touching her soft skin than reassuring her.

“I went to the corporate library,” she said. “There’s plans and drawings for hundreds of boats, but no plans and drawings for the landing craft. My father’s private library may have them. I didn’t have a chance to go in there tonight, and…” She shook her head, then didn’t complete her thought.

Brandon glanced at her as he took the exit ramp onto Claiborne avenue. She was nibbling on her lower lip, a mannerism that seemed inconsistent with her usual poise. “And?”

“Tomorrow there’s a party at my father’s house. I’ll be able to break away and see what is in his library then.”

“You seem troubled,” he said.

“Rough day, that’s it.” She drew a deep breath. “While I was looking for the nonexistent drawings, I topped off the day with an argument with a friend, who told me that working with the company will be the biggest mistake of my life, and I followed that discussion with an argument with my father.”

“Is your friend in a position to know?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s Claude Westerfeld, newest and youngest member of the HBW Board, who is struggling with his duties. After speaking with Claude, I asked my father about any conversation that he may have had with Lisa, and he told me not to worry about it. He said it was none of my business. So, while the board is conducting heated, behind-closed-doors meetings, my father reminded me that my duties this weekend are to make sure that the parties go smoothly. Now, I’m wondering why. Why have I signed my life away to work for my father? I feel like I’ve voluntarily agreed to a death sentence.”

“There’s no delicate way to say this,” he said, “but the reality is that your father won’t be there forever.”

“He will never retire and he’s not slowing down. He could conceivably be a force to reckon with for two more decades. I can’t do it. I’m suffocating, already, and I haven’t even started.”

“I don’t have the answer for you,” he said as he turned the car into the run-down neighborhood. “But you don’t strike me as the type of person who will let others, even your father, suck the life out of you.”

He pulled up to the high-rise buildings of the Calliope projects as the sun set. Pete pulled into a spot on the opposite side of the street. Before Brandon locked the car, Marvin was at his side of the car, with two young men. Marvin and his two men wore bulkier clothing than the July night warranted. Brandon, who had a pistol tucked into a holster that he wore around his waist, under his loose shirt, didn’t doubt that everyone except Taylor was armed. Brandon glanced at Taylor. “I’m coming around to your side of the car. Me. Pete. Marvin. Whatever happens, stay within touching distance of one of us. Got it?”

She gave him a wide-eyed nod, then he stepped out of the car to get her.

“One of my guys will stay with the cars,” Marvin said as they walked together. “We gotta go through the quadrangle.” His voice was lost when two police cruisers sped past them, sirens blaring. “It’s the third high rise on the left. It’s a second-floor apartment, one that looks out onto Calliope Street, where they found Lisa’s stuff.”

“Tilly Rochelle’s mother lives in one of these buildings,” Taylor said, remembering what she had learned while looking though Rochelle’s records.

Marvin was on one side of Taylor, Brandon was on the other, and Pete was right behind her. “Yeah, but Tilly’s mom hasn’t seen him in years,” Marvin said. “Tilly lives with his grandma, when she’ll let him in, and that’s about twelve blocks from here. So the fact that Lisa’s things were found near Tilly’s mom isn’t something that connects Tilly to Lisa’s murder.” Marvin gestured with his chin to the courtyard. “Anyway, according to what this little boy’s auntie told her hairdresser, this kid saw who dropped the stuff on the sidewalk. The auntie went outside in all of that rain and picked up Lisa’s bookbag and purse. She called the police the next day, when the news broke of Lisa’s murder. She told the police she found the things. She didn’t tell the cops about the boy seeing who had dumped the stuff. Then when news hit the streets that Tilly was tagged for the murder, she talked at the beauty parlor. Auntie knows Tilly and so does the boy. Those Rochelles are notorious here, and not for good reasons. According to the auntie, the boy says Tilly didn’t dump the stuff, but I know we need to hear it from him.”

“He should be telling the police this,” Taylor said.

“This kid’s scared of men,” Marvin said. “He probably thinks policemen are aliens.”

“There are police
women
,” Taylor said.

“Cops are cops,” Marvin answered, as they reached the third building on the left. “Up the stairs, then last door on the left.”