T
he buzz of her intercom woke Maliha at 8 A.M.. She buried her face and tried to ignore it.“Ms. Winters, you have a visitor.” It wasn’t Arnie’s voice.
“Mmm.”
Correctly interpreting that she’d asked who it was, the voice answered, “It’s Mr. Amaro Reese. He’s on your approved list.”
She lifted her head and told the bellman that she’d expect Mr. Reese in ten minutes.
“I’m afraid he’s already on his way up. He has unconditional access.”
Maliha dressed and took the stairs down to the thirty-ninth floor, taking with her the envelope Arnie had given her the night before. There was no one waiting in the hall outside her public condo’s door, so Amaro had beaten her there. He had a key and didn’t hesitate to use it.
In the kitchen of her condo, she found Amaro licking his fingers, having polished off a croissant.
“You have any more of these?” he asked.
“No, but I can have some brought up. They’re from the bakery in the building.”
He rubbed his belly. She laughed and placed the order, and then ground some coffee beans. Her favorite, Kopi Luwak, was an expensive, ongoing gift from a former lover who hoped to get back in her bed. The coffee was rare because the beans were hand-collected from the Sumatran forest floor after having passed through the intestines of civets, catlike mammals. Amaro liked it, but she’d never told him the origin of the coffee. Some people reacted negatively to the whole idea.
While the coffee was brewing, Maliha noticed the envelope she’d put on the counter and opened it. Inside was a photo of her in her car that must have been taken before she went to Atlanta. It didn’t have the grainy appearance of a photo taken through a telephoto lens, so it must have been taken from close by. Drawn boldly across the image was the letter S, in red marker.
Creepy. I’ve had stalkers before. Must have picked up one, maybe a fan of my books. The poor thing has no idea who he—or she—has targeted.
She tucked the photo into a drawer before Amaro spotted it.
The bakery package arrived. She put the croissants on the kitchen table and poured cups of coffee.
“So what do you have so far?” she asked.
“For one thing, Nando and Hairy were doing a lot of work behind my back. I’ve turned up four clients for Nando and three for Hairy. They had two clients in common, Advanced PharmBots, Inc., and Shale Technology Services. PharmBots is a North Carolina firm, run by Diane Harvey, that makes equipment used in hospitals. ShaleTech is named for its founder, Gregory Shale, and it’s here in Chicago. It makes computerized control systems for power stations.”
“It’s possible that their deaths had to do with one of the clients they had in common. Were the jobs the dead coders did security tests?”
“Break-ins? Nope. These were straight coding jobs. I had a bid in on that PharmBots one. Nando and Hairy undercut my bid.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in coding jobs.”
“I’m not, but the money was good. If I’d gotten the contract, I would’ve subbed it out to them anyway. You going to talk to Diane Harvey?”
“Sure, I’ll talk to her. The Shale guy, too.”
“Ask Ms. Harvey about the lawsuit. Something’s going on with a lawsuit, but as far as I got, I didn’t pick up any details on it.”
She nodded. “No juicy tidbits about Gregory Shale?”
“You’re on your own there. Turn on that patented charm of yours.”
Maliha drained her coffee cup. “Are you planning to stay with me while we work on this?”
She saw heat flicker in Amaro’s eyes at the thought of staying with her, but he extinguished it and looked away. “Do I have to sleep on the couch?”
“Not unless you want to. There’s a perfectly good bed in the guest room. Two of them, in fact.”
He frowned, but good-naturedly. He was flirting, hoping for an invitation to her bedroom. Rescued from assault by a Brazilian gang when he was sixteen, Amaro had recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Since he’d surpassed Maliha’s apparent age, he’d begun flirting with her. She wasn’t sure if he was serious or just related that way to every woman.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s serious. Mmm, maybe I should talk to Rosie. Make that, talk to Rosie after she has the baby.
“I already checked in at a hotel, but I’ll move my stuff over here when I get the chance. The media’s latched on to the Geek Murders, you know. I figure it’s my job to stand up for the geeks, even though those two sons of bitches stole my code job. It’s not like anybody else will. I’m going with you to North Carolina to look into PharmBots. I’ve got a personal stake in this one.”
After he left, Maliha contacted Yanmeng’s wife, Eliu, in Seattle. She gave Eliu a brief summary and asked if she could use her press connections to set up an interview for Maliha with Diane Harvey.
“Your articles stink. You should stick to your novels. Speaking of which, don’t wait…”
“I know, I’ll get busy on it.”
Maliha opened up her manuscript on the computer and read it for a few minutes to get back into the story. Then she put herself behind the eyes of Detective Dick Stallion and got to work on A Lust for Murder. Eight thousand words, one jilted wife, one dead prostitute, and a suspicious fire in Stallion’s office later, she came up for air. The book was shaping up nicely.
On an impulse, she’d added a scene inspired by the way she’d met Amaro and Rosie: Stallion rescued a young brother and sister from a street gang. Her reading public loved that kind of episode, the kind where innocence triumphed, with a shove from Stallion.
Good ol’ Dick.
The phone rang and caller ID told her it was Randy. This time Maliha answered promptly, since Randy seemed to have a sixth sense that told her when Maliha was at home but letting the answering machine pick up.
“Ahoj, příteli,” Randy said.
“Hello to you too, friend. Do you want me to continue in Czech?”
“Nope. Just testing you. I sat next to an interesting guy at breakfast at the diner this morning, and he taught me how to say hello in case I go to the Czech Republic. He’s well-traveled.”
“So he’s not from…”
“No, silly, he’s American. But it made me think of you, because you’re well-traveled, too. In fact, he’d be great for you.”
“I don’t have any trouble finding men for myself.”
“So you say, but are they marriage material?”
“What?”
“Haven’t you thought about the big three-oh around the corner, girlfriend?”
“Occasionally.” Except the birthday I’m facing is closer to three three-oh.
“You want to have your family while you’re still young enough to chase after the kids, don’t you?”
In a moment, Maliha was back in village jail cell, her wrists tied, puffing her breath into her stillborn Constanta in a dark, hopeless place. In a few heartbeats she leaped through the years, to land in the nursery of Candice, sitting in the rocking chair with her own sweet baby lying in her lap, a cruel vision courtesy of Rabishu.
Setting to rest the secret doubts…my baby is fine.
Toes…check.
Fingers…
Randy took the silence for assent. “See, what you need is marriage material, not just those guys you fool around with.”
Could I go through it again? With the right man…maybe so. But what kind of man is right for me?
“Hello? Anyone still on the line?”
Maliha was jogged back into the present. “You’re a fine one to talk about marriage material. Tell me about Rip again.”
“Rip, schmip. I’m talking the ring, the gown, the whole thing. You gotta think about it sometime.”
“Remember the last time you played matchmaker, Randy?”
“You mean Ollie? Okay, I’ll admit he didn’t have good hygiene. I never actually met him in person, only saw his photo on Facebook. I met Jake in person, though. He smells like a man and he’s really hot.”
Randy’s words unexpectedly triggered the thought of sweaty bodies glued together, and Maliha felt a rush of sensation radiating from her lower spine that left her wobbly on her legs. She plopped into a chair.
Wow, it has been a while.
“Oh, God, Randy, you’re not trying to fix me up with a guy you just met in a diner.”
“I didn’t say that. Did I say that? You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“I’m putting words in your mouth because I know you. You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”
There was guilty silence on the line.
“Geez, Randy!”
“Um, I hope you’re not busy for lunch today.”
M
aliha took a taxi to Al’s Beef on West Taylor in the Little Italy neighborhood. Randy had picked the place, but Maliha approved of the choice. She got there early, hoping she could check out her blind date as he arrived. As she pushed the door open, she swore that this was the last time—ever—that Randy was going to rope her into something like this.A woman who’s danced in the arms of princes, and I’m having a blind date with some guy Randy thought was hot.
Jake Stackman was already there. There was no mistaking the red polo shirt and dark, curly hair Randy had told her to look for. She went to his table and he half rose to greet her.
She had to admit Randy was right. He was hot. He had a powerful physical presence, very fit, with broad shoulders tapering to a tight abdomen and lean waist. His hair was as black as hers, naturally curly and a little in need of a haircut, and he had intense blue eyes. His face was ruggedly handsome but not movie-star gorgeous. A small scar on his chin added a dash of intrigue. In her professional opinion, the scar was from a serrated blade, and she would bet it wasn’t an accident while eating with a steak knife.
This guy couldn’t possibly have any trouble finding dates. Maybe he’s got ’em stacked in the freezer in his basement.
At the last minute, Randy had warned her to be careful in case Jake turned out to be a wacko sex-freak serial killer, not that she’d detected any hints of that, of course.
“I can handle myself. You don’t have to worry.”
“I know…it’s just, you know, there’s CSI and all the shit in the newspapers, and I don’t want some old lady walking her dog to find your body in an alley.”
“No body in the alley,” Maliha said, thinking of the delicate touch of Nando’s spirit as it gathered around her body, gaining strength. “I promise.”
“Marsha Winters?”
“Yes.” She put her hand out to shake, something not all women did, but she thought it would start them off on an equal basis. After all, he hadn’t fully stood up when she came to the table. He gave her hand a hearty shake, and in return, he skipped coming around to push in her chair.
So we’ve established he’s not a gentleman and I’m not a lady.
“I’m Jake Stackman,” he said. “To get it over with right away, I’m an agent of the Drug Enforcement Administration, and I don’t care if or what you smoke.”
“Okay.” She sat quietly.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what you do?”
“Is this an interrogation, Agent Stackman?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because I’m hungry and it smells good in here. Predator senses prey, something like that.”
He was smiling, and it made his eyes light up.
“What would you like? I’m buying.”
This was where most men expected their date to demur and order a salad and a diet soda, claiming they’re watching their figure.
“We’re here for the Italian beef, aren’t we? I’ll have a Big Al with hot sauce, an order of fries, and a vanilla milk shake.”
The smile got bigger. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
He brought the food to the table and they dug in. His order was the same. Not much was said until Maliha leaned back, slurped up the last of her shake, and patted her tummy.
“I’m a novelist,” she said, “to answer your earlier question.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re that Marsha Winters? Pulp-fiction queen?”
“Guilty. Ever been on a blind date before?”
His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what answer she wanted to hear. “Nope. I’ll bet you’re as surprised to be here as I am.”
“I’ve been subjected to a few of these things before. The trick is, there have to be specific points when we can walk away without penalty.”
“Escape ramps from the highway.”
She was pleased that he got it. “One of them was when we first saw each other, and the next one’s right now. If either of us wants to stop now, we can take the off ramp. The bill’s paid”—she gestured toward her plate—“and that’s that. I report back to Randy that you were a nice man but we didn’t have much in common.”
“No phone numbers exchanged.”
“We’d regret having put on expensive lingerie. Well, one of us would.”
She’d been waiting for him to check her out. Unlike most men, so far he’d kept his gaze on her face, but the lingerie remark triggered the visual assessment. He took his time with it, letting her see the appreciation on his face.
No shy boy here.
“Ready for the off ramp?” she asked. Neither of them moved. “Okay. Tell me a little about yourself.”
“Thirty-two years old. Nonsmoker, social drinker. I’m devoted to my job. This is the first real date I’ve been on in a year, mostly due to the job. I like cats and classical music. I dread long walks on the beach and I fucking never walk in the rain. Is that enough?”
“Good start. I’m a nonsmoker, social drinker. I’m more of a leopard person myself, and I’ve loved classical music, well, a long time.”
Back when it was just music and hadn’t become classical yet.
“What about the beaches and rain?”
“I’ve had my fill of rain. Beaches are a different story. No long walks, but I’ve been known to pick up men in skimpy swimsuits and fuck their brains out all night.”
Jake’s eyes blinked as he processed this. “What beaches? I’ll be there.”
Another good answer.
Two hours later, the diner had cleared out after lunch, but Jake and Maliha were still sitting there. His hand rested familiarly over hers on the table. Their conversation was low and cozy, creating a sphere of personal space with room for two.
“When will I see you again?” Jake asked.
“If we stay here long enough, we can just order dinner.”
“I’m game, but I have some work to do. How about dinner around seven? At my place?”
“I need to make a trip out of town for a few days. How about Friday at eight?”
He took out one of his business cards and wrote his address on the back. “Shall I pick you up?”
“Do I look like I’ve fallen?”
He laughed and smiled. “I only mention it because my neighborhood isn’t what you’re used to, being a famous novelist.”
“So I’ll beat off the muggers with my books. I’ll be fine.”
They both rose from the table, and Maliha came around to stand next to him, leaving the next move up to him.
He gently tilted her face up and kissed her. The touch of his lips thrilled her. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She rested there comfortably, their bodies in full contact, with her cheek against his chest. He bent toward her ear, and she thought he was going to whisper something sweet.
“You taste like hot sauce,” he said. “I just missed all the off ramps for this date.”
A customer came in, and they broke apart.
“Don’t stop on my account,” the man said. “I like watching.”
Out on the sidewalk, he kissed her again, lightly, as if to seal some private arrangement between them.
Best Italian beef I’ve ever had.