Like Jazz (24 page)

I showered, having made my calls and marginally satisfying my hunger. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, I was searching for pictures of Greg Morrison online when I heard the apartment buzzer notifying me someone was at the main door. I glanced at the wall clock and noted it was nearly five o’clock. I pushed the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Cazz, it’s Sarah. Can I come up?”

Jesus, what was she doing here? I hesitated briefly, contemplating my options. There weren’t many. I’d just confirmed my whereabouts, and if I claimed to be feeling under the weather, she’d want to check on me.

“Turn right through the main gate and then left at the top of the stairs. I’m in two twelve,” I said, before pushing the pound sign into the intercom keypad that electronically unlocked the main door downstairs. I opened the apartment door and waited, surprised at how dark it was already.

When she reached the top of the staircase and walked down the hallway toward my door, my heart jumped. Her stride was its usual: fluid and confident. She was wearing a dark-gray woven blazer with black-accented lapel and pockets, black slacks, and a colorful scarf. She looked incredible, as always. I was still annoyed with myself for having opened up to her about the feelings I’d been harboring for so long, but hadn’t come across a time when it wasn’t damn nice to see her.

“Where have you been?” she asked as she approached.

I motioned her in and closed the door behind us.

“Greg said you quit and gave no notice. Are you okay?” Her look of genuine concern made me blush.

“I’m fine,” I said, feeling guilty for not coming clean about my true role at the Foundation. But our last conversation was on my mind: her telling me she didn’t want anything complicated, me telling her to get over her relationship hang-ups, and then of course my blubbering about how I’d treated her presence in my life as a gift all these years. I hardly felt things were comfortable between us and wondered why she hadn’t simply called.

We both remained inside the doorway. Feeling her eyes on me, I stepped back until I was leaning against the door and motioned toward the living room with a hand. “Welcome to my castle.” I looked absently toward the opposite wall. Anywhere but at Sarah. I could tell out of my peripheral vision that she kept her eyes on me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

I glanced at her and nodded. “Yep. I’m good.” I pushed away from the door and walked into the living room, needing separation. All I wanted to do was grab her and kiss her senseless, and that seemed a beyond-inappropriate way to thank her for her concern over my welfare.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t provide more notice to the Foundation. Something came up requiring my immediate attention. I apologize for behaving so unprofessionally,” I said in a stilted manner. I needed to focus all my attention on my case instead of how agonizingly beautiful Sarah was with her eyes ablaze with anger and worry.

“I’m not here as your God damn employer, Cazz. I’m here because the unprofessional behavior you’ve suddenly displayed is completely unlike you, the way you left my house the other night was—well, let’s just say it was disconcerting—and you haven’t returned my calls. I’ve been worried sick.”

“You called? When?”

Sarah put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “I’ve left three messages over the past two days. Haven’t you checked your voice mail?”

I walked over to the kitchen table where I’d tossed my cell phone and checked the display. The message icon was lit, which I hadn’t even noticed when I’d made my calls. After pressing the voice-mail button, I heard the robotic voice inform me I had three new messages. Sure enough, Sarah’s voice came through the speaker.
Crap.
I’d been too preoccupied with my travels and too reliant on my laptop to check. Until I’d contacted the realtors, I hadn’t expected any calls. Thankfully, from the standpoint of not having dropped the ball on my investigation, the only new ones were those Sarah had mentioned. Yet all of them sounded similar to what she’d just told me in person, and I felt like a heel. She really had been worried.

I set the phone down and faced Sarah, who stood in the adjacent living room with her arms crossed, exuding irritation. I didn’t have a good excuse and was upset with myself for potentially having delayed progress on the case due to my cell-phone snafu.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your messages until now. It was very thoughtful of you to stop by to check on me.” I continued my robotic responses and walked past her before stopping in the foyer. “As soon as things get settled for me, I’ll call you,” I said, not making eye contact. The only way I could have been more rude was if I’d tugged open the door and held it. She didn’t deserve any of it, but I was in a jam. I couldn’t tell her why I’d made my hasty exit from the Foundation because I couldn’t expose my investigation. And I couldn’t make many excuses because I didn’t want to lie to her. Being rude was somehow more forgivable than being dishonest, especially knowing how much it upset me when she told me she didn’t trust me. Not that I’d get a chance to ask for forgiveness after tossing her out on her ass.

“I’m going to ignore that big brush-off, thank you very much,” Sarah said. Through the corner of my eye, I saw her edge closer. Then her fingers lightly cupped my chin and tugged, gently forcing me to look at her. When I brought my eyes to hers, the full force of her light-blue eyes bore into me. “Tell me what’s going on,” she said in a soft tone that belied the command.

Though I had to face her because she was physically forcing me to, my eyes drifted down, away from her. I couldn’t speak. I shook my head as much as her grasp allowed.

“Look at me,” Sarah said.

I did.

“Tell me.”

“It…I…” I blinked. Sarah’s gaze penetrated me. I felt certain she could read my thoughts. It was ridiculous yet unsettling at the same time. I cleared my throat and flicked my eyes away again. “It doesn’t…” I couldn’t say it didn’t concern her. “I can’t…It’s something I have to handle on my own.” Time ticked by in silence. Finally, she released me and I slid my eyes back to hers. Her level gaze said she was expecting more. “Can you please leave it alone?” I said hoarsely.

The ringing of my cell phone interrupted my discomfort.

“Excuse me.” I headed to the kitchen counter and grabbed my phone. “Hello?” I listened to a woman’s voice wishing to confirm she’d reached Cassidy Warner. “Yes, this is Cassidy,” I said as Sarah walked to my laptop and glanced at the open browser page. After the caller identified herself as one of the realtors who’d acted on behalf of the Foundation, I asked whether she could describe the seller. She described Greg Morrison perfectly. Sarah could hear my end of the conversation, but I couldn’t do much about it. “Do you think you’d be able to recognize him if you saw a picture of him?”

The realtor thought it likely she could but, before doing so, requested further information from me as to the reasons for my inquiry and my role in it.

“I’m afraid I can’t go into it at the moment, but you’ll have all the information you’ll need by the time you see the photograph,” I said. I confirmed the realtor’s e-mail address and told her I’d be in touch shortly. I clicked off the phone and looked at Sarah, whose mood had further soured.

She crossed her arms and briefly pointed to my screen. “Mind telling me why you’re searching for information on Greg?”

“Do you have any good photos of him? The few I’ve found online are blurry at best.”

“I have some at home.” Sarah’s tone was cool, her stance unchanged.

“Do you have a scanner there? And high-speed Internet?”

“Yes and yes. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I ignored her question. “I’ll follow you in my car.” I grabbed my laptop and slid it into my messenger bag along with my cell phone. “Let’s go.”

Sarah gave me the evil eye before acceding to my wishes and walking out my door in front of me. I could handle her ire. But I could never forgive myself if something happened to her. The homicide investigation and the pace at which it proceeded were outside of my control. My investigation, however, was very much within it, and I was rapidly closing in on my target. With a little more evidence, I could give Ashby enough to take Morrison into custody without us having to await the outcome of the Perkins case. Above all else, even if it meant Sarah might never forgive my deception in the form of my cover, I needed to nail Morrison and keep him away from her.

As soon as we arrived at Sarah’s house, we doffed our footwear and took the steps two at a time up to her office. While Sarah searched boxes of photographs for a quality picture of Morrison, I drafted an e-mail to the real-estate agent that included a copy of my credentials. I informed her I was working on an investigation whose details I wasn’t at liberty to disclose and asked her to confirm whether the man in the attachment was Paul Gunderson. When Sarah returned with a large photo, I scanned it to my laptop and attached it to the e-mail. I sent the information off to the realtor and turned to Sarah.

“What can you tell me about Mastick Consulting?”

“No, no, no. You’re going to tell me what the hell’s going on first.”

I ignored her. “What does Mastick do for the Foundation?”

She huffed in disgust and stalked away. I followed.

I caught her upper arm and stopped her from heading downstairs. “It’s important.”

She whirled around to face me, her eyes wide and angry. She pointed at my chest. “Listen to me very carefully.” Her voice was dangerously low and modulated, as if she were wrestling back a very powerful beast poised to rip me to shreds. “Asking me questions about some company I’ve never heard of does not qualify as important. What is important is that if you don’t start telling me the truth, we have nothing to say to each other.”

“I haven’t lied to you.” I felt guilty, knowing I hadn’t been forthcoming either. I was glad she’d confirmed my suspicion that Mastick was one hundred percent Morrison’s baby, since Sarah would have surely known about any viable services for which the Foundation paid hundreds of thousands of dollars annually. But I wasn’t happy with her insinuation that I’d been lying.

She glared at me, spun back around, and rapidly descended the stairs. Again I followed. She reached for two pint glasses from a kitchen cabinet and began dispensing ice and water from the refrigerator into one. She seemed to need something to do with her hands besides throttle me, and getting us water was a far preferable choice.

“You said you’re an accountant.” She filled the second glass.

“I am,”
among other things
.

“Fine.” She shoved a glass in my hand, managing somehow not to spill its contents. “I see how it’s going to be. I have to be very specific, don’t I?”

I met her eyes but didn’t answer.

“What else do you get paid for, professionally, besides being an accountant?”

“I can’t talk about it.” I focused on my glass.

“So you admit you’re not what you seem?”

The subject moved away from the professional arena and I met her gaze. “This isn’t personal.”

“It’s completely personal!” Her glass came down hard on the counter, splashing water but miraculously not shattering. “You’re asking for information about a man I’ve worked with for more years than I’ve known you. You’re taking advantage of your position at the Foundation to look into something you’re not telling me about, and I don’t have to remind you that anything concerning the Foundation is personal to me. And you’re making me feel like a fool for wanting to trust you. Not just wanting to, damn it.”

She surveyed the corner beyond me where the wall and ceiling met, focusing on nothing, appearing to gather her thoughts.

“What else has been a lie, Cazz? Was getting close to me all part of this plan? You thought you’d take advantage of having known me in the past in order to help you find whatever it is you’re searching for?”

Astonished, I glared at her with incredible indignation and took some steadying breaths, trying to contain my rising anger at her suggestion that I’d lied about my feelings for her. I walked to the sink, took a few gulps of water, and set my glass on the counter, wondering how to respond.

An unbelievable tightness was weaving throughout my abdomen. Was it even possible to break down Sarah’s walls—walls that reminded me of myself at an earlier age, walls that never seemed to be part of Sarah’s repertoire in our younger days? The irony of our having switched roles, or rather, that she found it so difficult to trust, saddened me. I wanted to show her how I felt, though she was far from giving out “kiss me” vibes and my anger wasn’t leaving me feeling particularly tender. I also wanted to opt for the simplicity of honesty since I didn’t feel I’d ever lied to her about my feelings.

Deciding on honesty, I slowly turned and pressed the heels of my hands onto the counter, physically bracing myself for her reaction to what I was readying myself to say. I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and calm the tide of frustration that had washed over me. I looked at Sarah, who was facing me with her arms crossed, and kept my voice controlled.

“Since you’re not going to believe me anyway, I have nothing to fear by telling the truth. Since the day you first hugged me on the tennis court, then listened to me tell you why I wasn’t good with compliments, to the day we kissed at your parents’ house ten years ago, there’s never been anyone else for me. Then to reconnect with you after all these years, and feel you against me, and know how right it feels to be with you, it’s all come back, stronger than ever. You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with, Sarah. The only one. Don’t ever—
ever
—insinuate that any of it was a lie.”

In classic Murphy’s Law fashion, my cell phone rang. I groaned, annoyed by the interruption yet relieved for the reprieve. The surprise on her face told me she’d at least heard me, but I didn’t have time to study her for further reaction. I jogged past her and ran upstairs to my phone, hoping it was already the realtor.

“Hello?”

“I hate to interrupt a good argument, but it’s time for you to leave.” The male voice was unfamiliar.