Clouds In My Coffee (25 page)

Am I brilliant or what?

I make sure to take his phone off mute and stick it back in the pocket of his coat.

My timing is perfect as I hear them outside in the hall talking before the door to the conference room opens and in they come.

“Okay, I think we’re good to go,” Taz says. “Thanks for your help, Parrish, I think you’ve given us some very valuable insight into Judge Rydell’s background.”

Marco simply grunts something inaudible.

“You’re very welcome, Agent Matthews. I hope things go well today. How long do you think your interview will last?”

Marco gives me a puzzled look and then pulls his overcoat on. Damn, he looks awesome in black.

“We’ve only got a ninety minute window but, if we make good use of that, it should be sufficient. Got everything, Marco?” he asks.

I watch Marco dig his smart phone out of his coat pocket and toss it inside his opened briefcase. He pulls a manila folder out and hands it to Taz, closing his briefcase. “Yeah, we’re good to go. I’ll let you hang on to the file with the questions since you’re lead on this.”

“Let’s do it then,” Taz replies. “Oh, and, Parrish, we ordered lunch for you so they’ll be bringing it to you in just a bit. Sit tight until we get back, okay?”

“Thanks, Agent Matthews. Good luck.”

And they are out the door.

I keep glancing at the big wall clock above the door. The interview should be well under way. It’s nearly three o’clock.

Time for a blast from the past.

I pick up my cell and hit Marco’s name on the call list. I hold the phone to my ear, hearing it ring once, twice, three times, all the while I’m picturing Marshall Rydell’s face as he hears the familiar name embedded in the lyrics of that song.

Oh, Angie, don’t you weep, all your kisses still taste sweet…

After eight rings, it goes to his voicemail. I wait another seven minutes and then call him again. It rings eight times again and then goes to voicemail.

On the third round at three-fifteen, I call again. This time, the call goes directly to Marco’s voicemail.

Oh fuck.

Well, seriously, how pissed can he be?

Oh, you will soon see!

It’s damn near five o’clock and I’m at the drinking fountain just outside the conference room where I’ve been holed up all afternoon wondering where the hell Marco and Taz have been. God knows I’m not going to call Marco’s cell phone again.

No sooner is that thought processed, when I hear the sound of footsteps coming up the tiled stairwell. Taz is first up and, when he sees me standing there with what I can only guess is a deer-in-the-headlight expression, he gets this totally sexy shit-eating grin on his face.

Well that’s a good sign anyway, right?

Wrong!

Marco is right behind him and I don’t think there are words enough to describe just how utterly pissed off, angry, enraged and furious he appears to be.

With me.

I swallow nervously as Taz passes by and heads into the men’s room.

“You,” Marco snarls, “In here,
now
!”

He holds the door to the conference room allowing me to pass through before he slams it shut behind him.

I watch as he yanks off the wool Burberry scarf that still has flakes of snow attached and then unbuttons and removes his overcoat, dropping it onto a chair. “Sit,” he bellows, his brown eyes flashing darker until they resemble onyx.

“Are you pissed at me for some reason?” I ask, my brow furrowed as if I’m clueless, as I sink down into one of the wooden chairs at the conference table.

“Are you serious? Are you
fucking
serious?”

“Well…it wasn’t
rhetorical
, so yeah.”

He’s now standing behind the chair next to me and I can see his hands are balled into fists, resting against the top of the chair. “What you did, Parrish, was borderline obstruction. Do you even fucking get that?”

“Oh, come on—”

He interrupts that thought, “No,
you
come on! This isn’t some fucking game here! What? Do you think federal agencies operate at your whim? At your pleasure? Well, fuck that! I’m here to tell you that you’ve been privy to much more than any regular person off the street would ever have been privy to for one reason and one reason only. And that’s because you brought us credible information no matter how incredible the source happened to be. Did I laugh and send you away? Huh? Did I?”

Fuck, he’s hot when he’s pissed!

“No,” I murmur meekly, looking down at my hands clasped in my lap. “I didn’t do that as some…some party joke.”

“Then what the fuck?
Why
did you do that? What possible reason would you have had to program some old song with a dead girl’s name as the title into my phone?”

He leans closer and studies me intently. He wants an answer. I don’t have one. At the time, it seemed like a great strategy for psyching out the judge; to get him to confess. I mean, hell, I think I’d even seen something similar done on one of those shows I watch.

Law and Order? Or maybe it was Criminal Minds?

“I’m waiting,” he growls, slamming a fist on the table, which startles me back to the present.

“I—I thought maybe it would spur something in his conscience, you know? I figured by the time I made the first call, you would be pretty well into the interview and maybe hearing that song from back then, with Angie’s name would…I don’t know…conjure up some guilt or remorse from him? Make him more amenable to confessing?”

He slaps the back of the chair and whirls around, pacing away from me and shaking his head in frustration. “You have no idea how these things are handled and you had no business interfering that way. You could’ve blown everything to shit!”

I start to say something—to apologize because I feel tears welling up inside and I want so much to turn time back so that I can do things differently. I sure as hell didn’t mean to let anyone down, especially Cece.

“Marco,” I say, standing up and walking to stand behind him where he has his back to me, leaning against the white board on the wall. His one hand is rubbing the back of his neck. He’s trying to work the tension out of it. “I’m really, really sorry. I should’ve never played psychologist and pulled such a lame stunt.”

He turns to look at me and I can see that some of the anger has dissipated. Just as he starts to say something, the door opens and Taz pokes his head inside. “Marco, let’s go. We’ve got the Attorney General on the phone. He’s already listened to Judge Rydell’s taped confession and the federal prosecutor wants to finalize the details of his plea agreement.”

“Stay put,” Marco instructs, heading out. “We’ll discuss this when I get back. I shouldn’t be more than thirty or forty minutes.”

And he’s gone.

Now it’s my turn to be furious. What the fuck was all of that about? How dare he rip my ass, letting me think I’d obstructed
whatever
without even telling me that they got a fucking confession out of Marshall Rydell?

Fuck me.

I grab my cell and call for a cab.

I write a quick note to Marco, fold it in half, and leave it on top of his briefcase. It’s short and to the point:

Fuck you.

P.

In less than two hours, I’m on a plane heading for Salt Lake and, very soon, I’ll be heading back home—wherever I decide that is for the time being. But, one thing is for certain, it will be far away from Marco Trevani.

I figure I can stay with Mom for a while, just to regroup and then decide what I want to do with my life going forward. I have only one more thing to do before I leave and that is to give Cece the good news so that she can finally cross over.

One less stalled soul.

One more broken heart.

The following day, I’m at the cemetery and, as I wait for Cece to materialize in the sunny but cold February day, I think about her mother and hope that Marco plans on making a personal visit to her at the retirement home to give her the news. That’s his loose end to tie up as far as I’m concerned.

“Hey Parrish.”

I turn and there she is, smiling at me, with a bundle in her arms.

Rewind…what?

“Cece,” I start, walking closer, “I have good news for you. Marshall Rydell confessed everything to the FBI. He’s going to be prosecuted for your murder and I’m pretty sure Angie’s as well.”

“I knew you’d come through for us, Parrish. Your mom told me that you wouldn’t let me down. How can we ever thank you?”

“We?”

“Yes, Erika and me.”

“Not following.”

“Come see,” she says and, as I step closer, her ghostly hand pulls the blanket back just a bit so that I can catch a glimpse of the beautiful, angelic face of a baby.

“She’s our daughter. Erik’s and mine. She’s with me now.”

“Oh my God,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “Oh Cece, she is perfect and so beautiful, too.”

“Isn’t she though? And now we can be together because of you and what you’ve done for us.”

My eyes mist up as I gaze at the beautiful little cherub that never knew life on this planet but, blessedly, is now within her mother’s spiritual arms.

“There is one more thing I can do for you. If you want me to, that is.”

“Oh?”

I fill her in on how I helped Ma say goodbye to Dad that day in the cemetery in West Virginia, telling her that I would be willing to do the same for her and Erik.

“Hmm,” she said quietly, “Do you think it would freak him out?”

“Why don’t we let him decide for himself? Either way, I’ll be back tomorrow to say goodbye one last time, how’s that?”

“Far out, Parrish. Later.”

And she fades, still smiling and still holding their unborn child.

I turn to leave, a smile gracing my face, and immediately see Marco waiting by Sheila’s car for me.

Oh, what now?

I make tracks back to the parking lot, choosing to ignore his presence.

Yeah, that’s not happening.

He’s immediately at my side, grabbing my wrists and pulling me around to face him. “Why the hell did you run off yesterday?” he asks, his voice irate and a bit demanding.

“My note explained it all,” I reply, struggling to get free of his strong grip. “Take your fucking hands off of me, Agent Trevani.”

“Not until we finish talking.”

I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it when he gets strict with me. My belly tingles a bit and my heat has taken notice.

Oh,
what
? Doesn’t mean I have
daddy
issues!

I look up at him and god, those eyes of his are fucking intense as they bore into me, but shit, I have the right to be pissed off too!

“We’ve got nothing left to talk about. You ripped my ass for something that seems to have served the purpose intended, which, quite frankly, begs the question as to what the fuck is
your
problem?”

He relaxes his grip on me just a bit and I can tell that, for whatever reason, I unnerve him. “Parrish, fuck,” he replies, “It just doesn’t sit well with me that you seem to have this total fucking disregard for protocol with this shit. I mean, hell, you always want to jump in or take the lead and it makes me fucking crazy!”

“Well, no worries Agent. It’s not like I’m with the Bureau and you have to put up with me. My job here is done. I’ve just told Cece and now I have to pay Erik a visit.”

He releases his grip on me now completely and his eyes are searching mine. “Whoa, wait a minute. Why are you going to see Erik?”

“Don’t go getting your boxers in a bunch—oh wait, that’s right, you go
commando
, don’t you?”

I see a flicker of amusement cross over his face.

I ignore it. “I’m actually going to see if Erik wants to say goodbye to Cece and…their baby.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know it’s freaky, but I managed to pull it off with Ma and my father, so I thought I’d at least make the offer to them. I mean, shit, don’t you think they deserve it after all of these years?”

His hand rubs the five o’clock shadow along his jawline and then he gives me a sheepish look. “Mind if I tag along, Ms. Locke?”

I shrug. “Suit yourself, Agent.”

We drop Sheila’s car at the house, and then Marco drives us out to Erik’s business. He fills me in on the details of Judge Rydell’s confession, deliberately leaving out the part where my ringtone of “Angie” obviously helped initiate it.