Perfect Crime (11 page)

“And she comes with a name.” Tessa again rolled her eyes. “Poor baby,” she teased, “flying into the unknown with only the clothes on your back.”

“Easy for you to say,” he countered. With a gentlemanly gesture, he took her carry-on, rolling the luggage as they walked towards the security check point.

Scott stole a glance at the monitors and checked the time. He’d been right in his earlier prediction—they never would have made it on time had he gone back to his car for his bag. There wasn’t much time to waste; already they were announcing final boarding.

He was tired. It was more than driving all over town and finding few answers that caused the fatigue. On the ride over, Tessa had shared nothing of her conversations at the Kid’s Club and he’d only heard one side of the discussion with Father Luke. She wasn’t acting much like his partner any more. A little of his cheerful front cracked, a frown settling between his brows as he stalked on towards the gate.

Tessa felt the twinges of guilt tightening her chest. What was she doing? What had she done? She chastised herself for not taking the chance and talking with Cy. She rubbed at a spot on her brow; trying to run from Cy was no different than trying to run from the Mob. And now she was dragging Scott down with her.

Maybe it made better sense to let Scott go on alone, Tessa pondered, trying to decide between the right move and the right thing to do.

She would stay back, make a few calls, try and get a few things straightened out and then meet up with him in New York. Decision made, Tessa stopped a few feet short of the attendant who stood sentry at the boarding gate. She reached for Scott’s arm.

“What are we doing?” she questioned, lifting her eyes to meet his. “You have plans made, and hell, I don’t even have a room.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm, and she pulled back. Now she could add embarrassment to her anxiety list.

“What?” Scott said, clearly confused. There were at least a million hotel rooms in New York; surely she knew there would be at least one vacant.

The gate attendant said something, urging them onboard. Scott ignored her, his attention on Tessa. “You can’t stay here,” he explained. Snatching the tickets, he handed them to the clerk as he added, “If you don’t come with me, I won’t tell you what the ticket cost, so you won’t be able to pay me back, which means you’ll owe me and that will drive you nuts.”

He took a tentative step toward the open door to the jetway. “I’m awake, you’re awake. You have two hours to try and get the information out of me.”

The smart remark she planned to throw at him was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing.

Scott held out an expectant hand as the persistent sound continued. “Are you surprised? I did say I’d call him back.” He tapped his foot. “Hate to keep him waiting.”

Tessa hesitated, and then rummaged through her purse for the phone. She handed it to Scott, who dispersed with the pleasantries, cutting right to the chase, by giving directions to Cy for a meeting. “Four a.m., Tessa’s place.”

Flipping the phone closed and handing it back to her, Scott said, “Now you can pick, him or me.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she kept any form of smile at bay. “You don’t even play fair,” she said, feigning slight annoyance. “Trying to plead to Cy’s sense of reason now would be about as futile as trying to light a match in a hurricane.”

“All he wants is a piece of paper—or so you say.”

The gate attendant moved forward. “I’m sorry, Sir, we need to…”

Scott swept a dramatic hand towards the open door, saying, “After you.”

The attendant was waiting, with one hand on the door and motioning inside with the other. Not as gallantly as Scott, but the message was the same. Unless Tessa could come up with a damn good reason why not, she was expected to get on the plane. Accepting defeat, she followed the direction they pointed.

Her phone rang again. This time she ignored it.

Following Tessa down the jetway, Scott said, “Let’s see if we can keep the focus on Darla. Might make this easier for both of us.”

“I doubt it,” she said, ending that conversation.

There were only two seats open in first class. Stepping to the side, Tessa motioned to the window seat. “I guess since you’re bankrolling this little getaway, you get the seat of honor.”

The need to look at the world from thousands of feet in the air did not appeal to her, nor did the feeling of helplessness when the plane banked. Scott took a lasting look at her before he agreed and took the inner seat. Slipping in next to him, she immediately did up her seatbelt. Her hands gripped the armrest, squeezing and twisting unconsciously.

“I remember the last time I was in New York,” she babbled. “It was in December, the weather was barely fit for penguins, let alone flying.”

“Yeah, if heights aren’t your thing, flying can be a hard way to travel,” Scott said, lowering the window shade. “Do you get motion sickness, too?”

“No, nothing like that,” she answered curtly, obviously not willing to fill in the finer details.

“Let me guess…Christmas shopping in the Big Apple.”

“No,” she said, her voice soft, “that trip was to claim my brother Rhen’s body.”

Scott gave a murmur of sympathy.

Feeling an unusual sense of vulnerability, Tessa blurted, “He was murdered…shot pretty much at point blank range; makes me consider, it was someone he knew.” She paused, and then added, “Did I ever mention, that Christopher and Rhen used to be pretty tight?”

Her companion looked at her, the betrayal she felt was so evident. “What do the police say?”

Tessa gave a snort of disgust; Rhen had been a hit man, plain and simple. “Oh you know, the usual, they’ll contact me if they get any leads. I haven’t heard a word. I doubt they’re out there looking very hard.”

He stared at her; she was so jaded. He pushed. “When was this?”

“December 23rd of last year.” The look in her eyes suggested a memory came with the disclosure.

Well, we’re talking my town now, I know people,” he said compassionately, “Let me see what I can find out. Let me have your phone.”

The flight attendant announced that all electronic devices should be turned off and began the safety briefing, but Scott didn’t heed the warning. He put through a call to an office at the New York Post.

“Marlayna,” he purred, “how are you doing, Beautiful?”

A smirk laced the response. “Hello, Scott. I’m busy Darling, trying to get the next edition out.”

“I need a favor.”

“Uh-huh. Well, since you don’t work here anymore, what can the Post possibly have that you want?”

He ignored the loaded question. “I just need a name this time. Was it Vincent White who was the reporter that covered those murders late last year? I remember him calling them something catchy in keeping with the holiday season.” Scott remembered but out of respect for Tessa, he didn’t want to have to repeat it with her in earshot.

“Which ones. Are you talking about the DeMarco killings in late November? White, the damn fool, titled one article, ‘Garbage In/Garbage Out probably in relation to that garbage contract dispute. All three of those gentlemen were from the same ‘family’, if you know what I’m saying….the Mob is clannish that way. And then there was a retaliation hit in December – Christmas Delivery. A bow was put on the victim’s chest.”

Scott could almost hear the frown in her voice as she added, “I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

“Retaliation hit?”

“Now I know that brilliant mind of yours is ticking, Scott.”

Suddenly, silence reigned on the other end. “What are you sitting on?” she asked. “I get dibs on the article, too. I want to know anything you find out. We have the time zone difference; I want it to hit New York before Chicago.”

“I have to go Marlayna but I’m coming to town. Pull the file for me and I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow night.” He didn’t bother saying it would be a group affair, the same dinner he had promised his contacts on the police force when he’d called them the day before.

Marlayna consented. “Fair enough. You can pick me up at six tomorrow night. My place.”

The flight attendant gave Scott a pointed glare about his use of the phone, so he finished the call and passed the phone to Tessa. He wondered if she would release the stronghold she had on the armrest to take back her cell phone. Barely, but she did.

“Do you ever turn it off?”

He mimicked her exasperated tone, “Have you ever dealt with Marlayna Reed?”

Taking her pointed silence as a no, he sighed, “You can come to dinner, too. I wouldn’t want you to starve.”

The airplane jerked backwards, pulling away from the gate. As the plane started to move, her hand flew back to the armrest, effectively slapping his arm in the close proximity. “Sorry,” she mumbled. To disguise her discomfort, she grabbed the in-flight magazine and flipped through the pages at random, only belatedly realizing that it was upside down.

Taxiing continued, and Scott reached out and gently took the magazine from Tessa. “You need to relax. Statistically, flying is safer than driving.”

Her head snapped to the side to glare at him, “Is that so? You don’t know how happy I am to hear that,” each word dripped with sarcasm. “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

Scott turned his head away from her, to look straight ahead, “No,” he said.

For the next ten minutes, he remained silent. Only then did Tessa clear her throat, causing him to turn his head. She was studying him in that intense way a cop does when they sense they’re not getting the whole story.

“What?” he said.

If she were tactful, she’d leave the question alone. “What’s the matter—you have the window closed, and your awfully quiet, almost tense – your shoulders are all stiff.”

“Oh?”

“Getting motion sick?”

He didn’t find the repeat of his earlier question amusing. “Nope.”

The plane leveled off. Tessa removed her seat belt and pulled a leg under her for comfort. The forced air in the compartment was drying and she welcomed a bottled water from the flight attendant. She took a sip. Curiosity about Scott’s actions took her mind off her anxiety. She wasn’t about to let the puzzle go unsolved.

“Want to play twenty questions?”

“Sure. Animal, vegetable, or…”

Tessa shook her head. “I’m the one doing the asking. I want to know who I’m spending the weekend with.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, coyly. “You think we’re going to solve this case by tomorrow? Great,” she replied, taking another sip. “Saturday’s my laundry day.”

Scott didn’t respond right away but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I get to ask as many questions as you do.”

“Okay.” she agreed, half glad for the distraction. “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

“At high speeds dodging bullets? The military,” he answered. “Is that your real hair color?”

“Uh, no.” Startled, Tessa touched the red tresses before she countered, “Why don’t you want to look out the window?”

“I don’t like to watch the ground moving away.” The answer was flimsy but true. “Did you change your name before Rhen was killed, or after?”

“Years before—right before I started at the Tribune.” She quickly moved on, “What did the military hire you to do in Afghanistan?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that.” Restless fingers now drummed on his thigh.

“Vague. Hardly worth playing the game.”

“I don’t have a problem with sharing,” Scott said.

“And you think I do?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“Fine, you wear it first,” she fired back. Before he could counter with a question of his own, she asked, “More…What happened?”

When Scott finally spoke, his voice was impersonal. “We were charged with humanitarian aid. I always thought it a bit of an oxymoron. Hunt down terrorists, kill people, and disrupt countless lives, then try and put things back in order. In the final month I was there, my unit was tasked with escorting Red Cross workers from the border, to their delivery locations.” Casually, he shrugged, making a point of loosening the tense muscles in his shoulders. “Not everyone appreciated our efforts.”

Tessa studied him as he paused. There was more here. Defending his actions or a simple explanation; it was difficult to tell. War was hard. Putting things back even harder. She’d made a conscious effort to stay away from war stories. Too many sides, too many angles, nothing was ever black and white, and the people pulling the strings never told the truth; a complete replication of what she was trying to leave behind in her personal life.

Scott looked at her fully, evasion over, he added, “One 18-year-old stole a car, loaded it with C4 and paid us a visit. I died in the helicopter being evaced out.”

“Died?”

“Yeah. For two minutes. Saw the white light and everything.”

The true impact of what Scott was saying didn’t register immediately. Shock, embarrassment, sorrow, the roller coaster ride of emotion wouldn’t stop and there was no way to hide it. The inference was all too clear; up until this point, Tessa had thought the military brat to be someone who flew under the radar; riding daddy’s Navy-coattails and using the legacy to gain an education without having a price to pay.

There was an edge in his voice. “Happy now? Anything else?”

“No,” she said quietly. Biting at her bottom lip, Tessa tried to mask the apology that threatened to spill from her mouth. “But it does help me understand.”

He wasn’t so sure he wanted to be understood. The play of emotions on her face was so freakishly transparent that Scott was suddenly uncomfortable with his honesty. Not everyone appreciated the military. But it was a reality for him, a family legacy and frankly a financial necessity. Even though the outcome had been less than optimal, he wouldn’t change the choice.

Tessa patted his hand with her fingers. It was a rather helpless and awkward gesture of comfort and it only caused him to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

The stewardess interrupted, offering them both a snack. Scott declined, using the opportunity to grab a pillow and lean against the wall, feigning sleep. He didn’t want to answer any more questions about his life, and while he was pleased that the tension between him and Tessa eased, he was at a loss as to where they should go from there.