Full Disclosure (6 page)

“She's not seeing anyone. To be fair to the question, Ann's gone out with lots of guys, and always parts friendly in a month or two. She dated the former VP's Secret Service guy for a few years, and I thought it would be the one that lasted. He's a good guy, the kind you'd want a friend to marry. She trusts him—you can see it when they're together. But even though she still pulls him along for holidays when he's at loose ends, it's another of those relationships she's closed off and keeps as a friend. She doesn't let a guy stick. I don't know why.”

Paul stopped walking. He wanted to make sure he understood what Dave had just said. “She dates for short periods of time, keeps the friendship, but never gets serious?”

“It's different than that, but yeah, that's the pattern.” Dave thought about it and then shook his head. “I'm probably getting it wrong.” He started walking again. “The problem is she's nice. Everyone asks Ann out. She's good company, Paul. She's the kind of lady that makes you glad you shifted your calendar
to spend the evening with her. She gets asked out a lot. She's too polite to say no.”

It didn't explain why she hadn't settled down. It did suggest she had had plenty of opportunities to get serious about a relationship if she wanted to do so, and hadn't taken that step. Paul wondered at the reason, or reasons, and wondered if he'd be one of the many with whom she parted friendly in a month or two. “What's her background?”

“She'll be forty in June, grew up poor in south Chicago, spent her summers with her grandparents on a farm in central Illinois. No brothers or sisters. Never engaged. Her parents and grandparents have now passed away. She's been a cop since she was twenty-six. She started out in Chicago in robbery and fraud, moved to major crimes, then to homicide. She worked directly for Howard Benson for eight years. He'd toss Ann into a case or a task force ahead of him and let her sort out what was really there. He put a deep well of experience under her belt, and when he retired, cops started calling her directly. Urban, rural, state, federal—she fits in wherever she finds herself and makes a contribution without stepping on toes. They all like working with her. She was voted in as the MHI five years ago, and they have done that unanimously every year since. I haven't met a homicide cop in the Midwest who doesn't have something nice to say about her. She's made for the job.

“She's learned to leave the cop at the door and turn it off—the job and the weight of it—and be somewhere else for an hour or two. When she was in her twenties I didn't think she'd be able to do it, in her early thirties it was getting bad, but she's doing it now, managing the images that come home with her. They're there, behind her eyes, but it's not pain bleeding out of her the way it did for a season. As MHI she gets called when a case is stressing out and getting on top of another cop, so it's the worst of the cases she's living with now. Grace is there now, and sacrifice. She's seen so much of it she's willing to deal with
more of it just so someone else doesn't have to. She's coping, and she's making a point to cope.”

Dave's somber mood lightened and he laughed. “She's a truly awful cook. Ann doesn't like to keep house, garden, putter, cook, remember vehicle repairs, or go shopping, so she has people she trusts do most of what she calls the stuff of living.

“I buy her a new pair of tennis shoes for her birthday every year because she needs them. Ann walks—her hands in her jacket pockets and a pad of paper tucked in her back jeans pocket and no particular destination. She's off somewhere with that dog of hers. She's not one for crowds, or concerts, or fancy places, or collecting things. She wants a sunset and a dog, a cold drink and a book.”

Paul had been listening intently. “It sounds like she knows what she wants in life.”

“She knows what she likes. She's busy, and she stays busy. She's an experienced pilot, she holds a computer-engineering degree, she built a fabulous rare coin business, she traded during the last bear market and remodeled her current place with cash, and every seven years or so she picks a new direction and something else appears in her life. She's carrying around art books recently. Her version of relaxing is to be doing something that isn't a murder case.”

Paul understood perfectly that search for a diversion. It took an intense focus on other things when off the job to balance the weight of working homicide. “I can relate to that way of relaxing.”

“Ann takes it to an art form. She's a writer. She won't tell you. Not many know. She's published fifteen books now. She thinks about the book while she flies. She'll have thought through her book on yellow legal pads of paper and hours of flying, and it's there when she sits down to put it into story form. She's written Kate and my story, Lisa and Quinn's, turned them enough into fiction they don't jump out to friends as ours, but the heart of them is ours. All fifteen are that way—fiction, but
people Ann knows well, who have stories she's heard and seen and understood. They are good, solid books and optimistic, which is quite a statement for a murder cop to make. The flying, the writing, the hobbies that turn into businesses, that's how she dumps the weight of the job. It keeps her able to be a good cop.”

Paul remembered her in his office, telling the story of the crash. She was indeed a storyteller. “You've got her books?”

“I can loan you a set,” Dave offered.

“Keep going,” Paul said. “While you're willing to cross the line and talk about her, what else?”

“She doesn't carry stress with her, Falcon. Memories of blood and murder, that's there in spades. But not stress. Hang out with her for a few days, and it doesn't seem like she's that busy. She puts her feet up and tells stories, pokes at puzzles, buys things that look cheap to her, and sells things that look expensive. She watches the weather like it was breathing to decide when to fly, and writes down notes when she has an idea, reads whatever is handy, and pushes murder cases along, cracking them like peanut shells to find what's inside. She just keeps all these balls floating around. It adds up over the years to being a lot of stuff she's accomplished. But the odd thing is, of everyone I know, she's the only one who does not have a list of goals or timelines or a plan for her life.”

“She doesn't waste her life. She just lives it.”

“Exactly.”

Paul liked what he was hearing about her. He looked at his friend. He understood the matchmaking sales job he was getting from Dave. Nothing but the good points, and laid on thick. Paul could read between the lines. Dave might not like to talk about Ann, but once he decided to, he was determined to make the point Ann was worth a guy's time. Dave had never taken a strong position one way or another about who Paul was going out with among Dave and Kate's friends. Ann was a different
matter. Paul thought Dave was acting quite a bit like the older brother Ann didn't have.

Dave paused in his walk. “It seems odd to me that Ann isn't married. She's good at relationships, in a way that cuts out the fluff and leaves the substance. The things that matter to you are on her radar screen. You part ways with her in better shape than you arrived. And it goes both ways. She shows up with her life, not some plastic-wrapped version of what she thinks you should see. She's quiet, she's private, but she's authentic.

“Ann once told me no one can sustain more than a handful of good friendships over a lifetime. She's intentionally and carefully choosing hers. She's never told me a number, but I think she considers thirty to forty her personal limit. She's watching people to see who is a good fit, because she's going to try to keep them as her friends for a lifetime.

“I don't know if it's the job that has her wanting to stay unattached, or if it's her history. She's a good cop, she likes to write, she invests time in her friends and the interests she enjoys. She'd have to give up something to make room for a serious relationship, and she's probably decided it's not worth the cost. It may be that simple. Ann can be that practical. You'll have to give her a reason to want something more,” Dave said. “No one has ever made that sale with her. You are the one guy I think could, but I honestly don't know what the answer is going to be.”

“Okay, I'm going to ask. Has she ever slept with a guy?”

Dave stopped.

Falcon stopped.

“No.” Dave shoved his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath. “And don't ask me when or why she bothered to tell me that fact. It's rather a point of pride with her that she's not been stupid in such matters. She's got too much self-respect for one thing, and some lines that she lets no one cross.”

“So she's got some common sense then, to go along with those high standards. She's solitary, Dave, and marriage is a
two-person life. She's good at being single. Why risk something good for something that might not be?”

“Speaking as the married guy, I was doing fine with single until Kate walked into my life. There's more to living than what Ann has settled for. That's what bothers me. I agree with my wife on this one. It would be a travesty if Ann stayed single all her life. I don't want to see that happen. So I'll meddle like I'm doing tonight and risk the consequences.”

“Have you told Ann that?”

“On occasion. She'll give this wise smile and gentle thanks, and she'll even agree to meet the guy Kate's decided to introduce her to and do it with grace, even have a sincerely good time, and yet no one ultimately changes her mind.”

“She made a decision and closed a door.”

“Then someone better find the key.”

They both pondered that reality while they turned back toward the office.

“I appreciate you being willing to meddle,” Paul said. “You've made the sale that she's near perfection. Care to tell me her flaws?”

Dave laughed. “She's got them. There are a couple obvious ones. She hates to multitask. She doesn't like to drive at night. She can be persistent, bordering on stubborn. It's hard to shake her off the course of action she's decided on. Oh, and my favorite—she has the patience of a sea turtle. She can outwait just about anything. Drives me nuts. I think she waits because she knows someone else will eventually go deal with the matter, and she won't need to. She doesn't burn energy on stuff she doesn't have to.”

Paul thought about what Dave had offered, smiled, then asked, “Is she a morning lark or a night owl?”

“Night. She'll spend her evenings with friends, then go back to work. Ann has worked from ten at night to two in the morning for as long as I've known her. Cop work, or personal work, or just a book she wants to read. It's her four-hour block of
uninterrupted time. She calls it her piece of sanity. I wouldn't have said she's an introvert if I didn't know about that four-hour window of time. But that's the real Ann. No people around and time to think.”

“The stories should have told you that,” Paul replied. “She lives inside her mind, solving puzzles, writing books, thinking about people and watching what they do. She's likely a very strong introvert, and people wear her out. That's why she's careful not to make a mistake by choosing the wrong friend. It's too costly.”

“So you think you can figure her out?”

“No one figures out a woman like Ann; you just hope to get the center of it right before you make a fool of yourself. She's interesting. I like interesting.”

“You're going to call her.”

“She dropped a case on my desk that is going to have me busier than she is for the next few weeks. For now, I'll take those books she wrote. The rest I'll think about for a bit. You walked a mile of leather off my shoes tonight to make sure I knew she would be worth my time. So let me mull it over. Whatever I decide, I'll be careful, Dave. I give you my word on that.”

“You'll like her novels.”

“Likely. She convinced me this afternoon she can tell a good story. It's a bombshell of a case she dropped in my lap. The guy in her morgue was the middleman for my lady shooter. And Treasury is falling all over themselves because he might also be the middleman for their currency thief. The thief has hit Federal Reserve currency shipments and stolen more than fifty million over the last decade. I don't know who is busier tonight, my team or the guys over at Secret Service. There may be enough in the current day planner this guy was carrying to locate their thief. I'm convinced there is enough in the older day planners to put a name on my lady shooter, and at least two of the people who hired her.”

Dave stopped walking. “That's the ‘just dumping what I can stretch to be federal' case she mentioned in passing?”

“Your girl likes understatements.”

Dave started to say something, stopped, and then just laughed. “That's Ann. Falcon, you want to know who Ann is, you just saw it. That is quintessential Ann.”

P
aul didn't often bookend a day with family business, but when he walked back through the doors of Falcons just after eleven p.m. he thought the day reflected his priorities. He'd started with family, handled the job, sliced out an hour for a personal interest, and returned to end the day with family. He turned on lights as he walked through to the main dining room. The crime scene had been released, and during the course of the day everything in the dining area had been carried out in preparation for a remodeling job. Paul placed a call. “I'm here now, Dad. The carpet is gone, and the contractor has the three half-wall changes marked out.”

“Kevin took what happened personally. He called at dawn and offered to step in with a full crew, and I wisely said thanks. Jackie wants to come in at first light and oversee the work.”

“She'll drive the contractor nuts, but it will be okay. She needs to be able to walk around this place without flinching when a tray gets dropped. It no longer looks like a crime scene.”

“Take photos for the board and share them with the family. They need to see as well as hear that restoration has begun.”

“I will. How are arrangements coming for the victims' families?”

“I've gotten in touch with friends of the families to confirm
a visit would be accepted, and I'll be making brief visits tomorrow to pay our respects. From there, it depends on how we can best help each family. They died in our restaurant. We'll help however is needed.”

“We will.” This was personal. The restaurant bore the Falcon name. They wouldn't be forgetting the victims' families. “I've got a case that needs my attention, but I'll free up whatever time you need. Let me know how else I can help.”

“You got Jackie home, made her smile, and made it possible for her to sleep without a nightmare. You did what was most important, son. The rest is simply putting the pieces back together.”

“You got my message about Kate?”

“I spoke to the mayor this afternoon and conveyed the family's appreciation for the way the Chicago Police Department responded to the shooting and handled its aftermath. Kate runs a case with care and speed and has this family's thanks. It will filter down to her boss.”

“Thanks.” Paul shut off the lights on his way out. “How's Mom?”

“She was braced for hearing you were the one that had trouble, not Jackie. So she's hovering a bit, and Jackie is indulging her. This will ripple a few more days, but it will heal. Head home, Paul. I know it has been a very long day. The family survived. I'm glad you were near.”

“Wish I had been closer. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Dad.”

“The prince waiting for the king to die”
—Dave's words still lingered like a bit of grit in the back of Paul's mind as he stacked a bacon sandwich together for breakfast. The fact he would one day be head of the Falcon family was a heavy responsibility that often felt like a burden even as it was also a great trust. Even though he was adopted, his father was honoring him as the eldest son. He headed to his home office, sandwich on a plate
and coffee in the other hand. It was six a.m. and the extra hour of sleep had helped with the fatigue, but it left him feeling like he was running late.

His phone beeped, and he saw a voice message from Kate sent from her office number. He listened to it as he logged on to his computer and made a note to follow up with her on his way in to work. He glanced again at the time and reached for the phone. Kate at work, Dave at home—he had a question to ask.

Dave answered on the fifth ring. “Tell me you're not calling me this early.”

“Kate just left me a voice mail from her office phone, so I know you've got Holly duty this morning. Your daughter is up at five a.m. whether you like it or not.”

Dave was silent trying to come up with an answer and gave up with a sigh. “I really dislike the fact you're a detective. What do you need, Falcon?”

“What's the biggest mistake people make with Ann?”

“Seriously? You called now to ask me that?”

“You're the one that went from not going to tell me about her, to trying to be a matchmaker. If I've got a question, I'm going to ask it,” Paul replied, smiling. “So what is it? The biggest mistake people make with Ann?”

“Calling her at five a.m. She's a night owl.”

“You already told me that.”

“Well, she's not as forgiving as I am,” Dave replied. “I'll give you it's a good question.” He was quiet for a bit, then said, “People think they have time to win her over, to gain her trust. The truth is Ann's efficient and decisive, and she's acutely paying attention from the point she meets you until she makes a decision about you. She wants to know if you keep your word. She wants to know how you treat your current friends. People think she keeps an open mind about them. Actually she doesn't.

“Once she's seen who you are, once she's made a decision about you, the door closes. She'll be just as friendly, cordial, polite, and helpful as before, but once she's made a decision
about you, it's final. You're either on her list of potential friends, or you're not. It's the small stuff that is the most telling to her. If you tell someone you will do something, do you remember what you said, and do it? Do you remember who your friends are and create space for them in your life? If you don't create that space for current friends, you don't need another one. If you can't remember and keep your word, you can't be trusted. It's a brutal standard, but if you want a chance with her, you have to pass that character test.”

“Thanks. That will be useful.”

“I sure hope I'm not making a mistake encouraging this interest. I'm dropping Holly off at my sister's on the way in to work. You can call me until seven if you've got another question.”

“I haven't made the decision to call Ann yet.”

“You're not an idiot. I'm hanging up now. Holly wants her breakfast.”

Paul set his phone back on the desk. He thought about Dave's answer. Ann was a very cautious woman if those were her personal lines. He wouldn't have seen that answer coming.

He set aside the conversation to come back to at a later time and turned his attention to family business. He logged into the private email system the Falcon family maintained and brought up the secure family website. His dad believed those old enough to press a button on a camera could keep the rest of the family updated on what was happening in their lives. The photo book was filled with pictures of family meals, school outings, and pets doing funny things. Paul uploaded photos from the restaurant, confirming the rebuild was under way, read over Jackie's post about what had occurred, appreciating her ability to finesse the seriousness of what had happened with the reassurance she was okay, then took time to read over his mom's shoulder from her chat two days before with his niece Celia, who apparently now had a new boyfriend.

Despite the tragedy, life went on, and Paul made a conscious point of trying to come up with normal things to post. He sent
brief personal notes to his brothers, ribbed Joseph about his new haircut, asked Harper how his busted finger was healing, made an impassioned plea for Boone to find him another one of Scott Hickory's seascapes, and sent slightly longer notes to his sisters. He sought advice from Marie about birthday gifts for his nieces, and sent Jackie his grandfather's peanut-brittle recipe and bargained for a tin of it for his team. He asked his mom about her friend Linda, and forwarded to his dad a cartoon link he knew would get a laugh.

It meant something to be a Falcon, if only because a group of people knew the real you and would laugh at your jokes and take you down a peg if your ego got inflated. His dad worked the phone and the emails for three or more hours a day, discussing business, reviewing ideas, and keeping in touch with grandkids. The Falcon world revolved around him.

It was a good family, sprawling in its interests. There were pockets of animal care, art-quality paints, electrical work, boat manufacturing, magazines, restaurants, and numerous bakeries and food distributors. His father bought when a business was in trouble, got it back on its feet, and sold it—then moved on to the next opportunity. Paul thought at times being a Falcon made business part of how you looked at the world, for only a few of them had veered off into law enforcement or the military as their chosen path as he had done.

His dad had posted three messages before the shooting had taken precedence, and Paul took time to consider his answers as he ate the sandwich. Five to seven a.m. had been for family business ever since he was a young man in high school. Paul replied and posed a few more questions. His brothers ran the day-to-day operations of the businesses now, but all sought their father's perspective.

When the time came that his father died, controlling interest in all of this would pass to him as the eldest son. Paul was still surprised his brothers saw that as a good thing—that majority control would pass to him. They meant it. They loved him,
appreciated him, and didn't want the top job. The business empire and the Falcon family would rest on him. His responsibility would be to see that it stayed stable and passed safely into the hands of the next generation.

He loved them all. And he wasn't going to let them down.

Satisfied the family overall was content and quiet, Paul logged off.

He wasn't looking to get married because of his family, but he was certainly keeping them in mind as he looked for a wife. It was a family without a history of divorce. He didn't intend to be the first. Common sense told him if he wanted a good marriage, it began with a wise decision on who to date. He wanted someone who could share what he had, who he was, and what was inevitably coming as his future. He wanted a partner in every sense of the word.

He had avoided dating a cop. Two of them with schedules like his, burdens like his, it could crack even a good marriage. But maybe that was worth reconsidering. Ann Silver was interesting.

A cop who worked murder cases—on the face of it he almost liked the idea. She'd be someone who could talk about work and know which questions to ask, how to care about the cases. He could share his life with a murder cop. But for his family—he had hoped for something other than a cop, for a softer person than a cop would often have to be.

Dave had laid out a biography of Ann Silver that spoke of a fully alive and wise woman doing a tough job with grace. She wasn't a small-town cop, that was for certain.

Paul turned the idea around and looked at it from the other direction. The husband of a cop. They'd live with the constant undercurrent that one of them might not come home that night. The amount of traveling she did, the number of cases she worked, the odds she would be killed on the job or in transit to one were slightly higher than the odds it would be him.

He returned to the kitchen to fix a second sandwich and get another cup of coffee. If they had children, the risks of the job
were going to be an issue for both of them. He drank some of the coffee and pondered that problem and weighed again if he wanted to open the door to consider dating a cop. There was nothing simple about this decision. He didn't plan to mess with her heart, or with his, by starting something that didn't make sense. He didn't have time for it now, for a misstep that could cost him months.

Ann was a night owl. He was a morning lark. Of everything that needed to mesh, he'd never thought through a way around that basic difference. He wasn't inclined to make a pro-and-con list when he tried to get to know a lady, but he'd have the things that had to be mulled over and sorted out in his mind. Schedules for them would be more than just a casual matter. A night owl and the current MHI—he couldn't conceive of a schedule more difficult to finesse.

“God, I'd like to ask you a couple questions.” He licked Miracle Whip off his thumb and added lettuce to his BLT. “You know the subject that has been on my mind for several years—the idea of getting married. Even in yesterday's chaos, it managed to get an hour of my attention, so I don't need to tell you how big a matter this is becoming. I'm not that lonely, and I'm close to being too busy, but I want something more. I want to share this life you've given me with someone, and have a wife to care for, kids and pets to run around here, with the inevitable stuff cluttering the counters. I want someone else in my life, the messy disarray that is sharing life with another person, and I don't know how to find that right lady.