Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) (17 page)

I swallowed hard. His casual comment was painfully astute.

“Just hang on. Close your mouth so you don’t get bugs, and keep your big Italian feet where they belong.”

“Fine. But I don’t like this.”

“Noted, Romano.” He ooched forward, or whatever it is that one does on a bike, his long legs walking the two of us into traffic, and then we were off. Sort of. It was loud, and we stopped fairly often, merging here and there. Dan guided us with painstaking effort through the Monday gridlock until, at long last, wind in our hair, we moved up a single block. This is why I take the subway.

We crawled toward Manhattan. I was clueless as to why. I just sat there, feeling my nuts vibrate, checking out the city as it made its breathtaking transition from day to evening, and trying to keep my fingers from circling Albright’s beefy neck.

He relaxed back, his thick body between my spread knees, one hand on his thigh as we crossed the bridge. He should drive with two hands, shouldn’t he? That was alarming. But I was going to do this if it killed me, which come to think of it, it might.

Most of the traffic was flowing away from the city, so we had a clear stretch across the bridge when Dan hit the throttle and cold air blasted me. I curved against his back, the smell of leather and cardamom and smog mixing together, and stole warmth from Dan’s body.

It was sort of invigorating and, for the first time since last night, when Dan last led me into thrilling new territory, I enjoyed myself. I was flying again.

Until I realized we were headed uptown. “Where are we going?”

“Shep’s apartment.”

My knuckles tensed around his shoulders. I flexed my fingers. I was going to strangle him when I got off this thing.

It took twenty-five minutes to drive four miles up the FDR. It was nearly seven when we pulled to a stop a block from Shep’s building. The streetlights were on, and I was freezing. “You should have told me to wear a jacket.”

“And spoil your snit? No way. I have one in my saddlebag for the trip back. Calm down.”

“Stop saying that to me. I’m not going up there. I just watched his miserably antigay Mr. Potter, and I’m liable to gut him with a ballpoint pen.”

“Caesar. I need you to be the bad cop. Do you hear me? You can be as pissed as you want, that’ll work. Take your aggression out. Neuter him. I don’t care. I need Shep to load this software on his computer.”

“Why?”

He said flatly, “Because the PayPal account Mallory was told to use this morning? It’s Poppy’s.”

I swallowed.

“I want to see if Shep’s being blackmailed by the same person. And Rachel. Because you asked me to help you. Okay? I’ll be good cop. It certainly worked yesterday.”

I wanted to trust him. I did. “Fine. As long as you know that I’m only doing this for Poppy.” In the elevator, I tucked in my shirt and ran my fingers through my hair. “Do I have helmet head?”

“A little. But I like those jeans. Your ass is beautiful. Tight. I’d like to taste it again.”

“That’s out of the question.”

He laughed.

We made it to Shep’s door and Dan said, “Look. I’m sorry about this thing. I lied. I had to. And then there didn’t seem to be a good time to tell you.”

“Really? How convenient for you to tell me right here. That’s not good enough.”

Dan smiled his smug, knowing smile. He stepped close. His rough finger soothed my neck, right where I had a noticeable bite. I remembered his mouth there, his beard burning, his tongue, and my flesh sizzled under his touch. He leaned in, and his lips hovered a hairsbreadth away from my whiskered skin. He whispered, “It is good enough, baby. You’re just being difficult.”

My stomach dropped, and instinctively I turned my mouth toward his. He was so close, so warm, so—

Shep ripped the door open, eyes blazing. Dan took his time moving away from me. This was his idea of good cop?

“What the hell are you doing here? You can’t be here.” Shep stepped into the hall dressed in…was that Armani?

Dan crowded him, a police tactic that worked, because Shep stepped back and just like that, we were standing in the cavernous foyer. It took me only a moment to realize we’d walked into a dinner party. There were about fifteen people that I could see. Light jazz played over the sound system. I heard a cork pop.

Dan shot me a look. “Change of plan.” He pumped Shep’s hand and gave a hearty, “Hey, Sheppard. We were in the neighborhood again and, well it’s crazy, but I said to Caesar, we should drop by and say hello. Since we’re here.”

Estelle Rosenstein clopped in. “Mac? Everything okay?” Her eyes widened, then narrowed, on me—you know,
the stupid thing Shep had done in college.

“We were…we’re…we…are…are…I…” I was the worst bad cop on the force. I stumbled and stuttered like a fourth-grade spelling bee dropout.

Shep’s attention darted between us. His color was much better today, but perspiration beaded his forehead. “Estelle. Why don’t you see to our guests? This will only take a sec.”

From down the hall, over the music and the cocktail laughter, I heard a soft voice say, “Coconut shrimp?”

I knew that voice. I shoved Shep out of my way, my hand sliding on silk, and wandered toward the dining room. Stylishly dressed people milled around, sipping from cut-crystal tumblers full of pale liquor and tall glasses of what had to be fine Merlot. The gas fireplace was lit, the apothecary cabinet was spread with dainty, colorful hors d’oeuvres, and Poppy stood by a club chair with a tray of coconut shrimp in one hand and a handful of ivory-colored napkins in the other. Her headband was puce, her dress yellow, and she looked positively green around the gills. Chad Schumacher tossed a shrimp tail onto her platter and smiled icily. He gave her a dismissive look and turned to his horse-faced wife. Poppy’s smile flattened. She did not like that man, and rightly so.

“Poppy?”

Startled, she turned her pale eyes on me. “Ce? What are you doing?” She came wearily across the dining room, and every few steps, she swallowed grimly. She held that shrimp plate on a straightened arm, apparently to keep the smell away. I swear she was ready to vomit.

“I’m just…we’re…we…”

A real smile lit her eyes. “Slow down.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. “Are you all right?”

Estelle came clopping back into the dining area. “Well, I guess everyone knows everyone.”

I said without thinking, “What a happy coinci—”

“Not me.” Dan strode in with his arm slung around Shep’s shoulder in a friendly chokehold. He took in Poppy’s color, my nervous comment, Estelle’s accusing looks and Chad’s zealot eyes. “I’m Daniel Albright. I’m Caesar’s lover.”

Everyone turned to stare at me. I’d never seen so many tonsils in my life. Poppy dropped the shrimp platter. She covered her mouth—not to sick up, but to stop her giggles.

“I thought your name was Green,” Shep said, unable to hide his confusion.

“Dan,” I gritted out. “Behave.”

He flung a hand to the Nazi. “Name’s Albright. Daniel Albright, from the Baxter Miller Albrights of Westchester? Perhaps you know my Uncle Riley?”

Riley Albright, the State Senator. Hm. And a Democrat. Now that was hitting Chad where it hurt. I was certainly impressed. Chad Schumacher unwillingly shook Dan’s hand. “I’m familiar. I know Mallory. I think your uncle and I play golf.”

“Doubtful, but hey, if you say so.”

I coughed into my hand. Here was yet another personality of Detective Dan’s. This one was outrageously self-possessed. He stood taller, he smiled broadly, he was confident and he owned the room. Dan played his heritage like a trump card. Yup. He was a total asshole. Even Shep stood in his shadow. I was mad at Dan, but I couldn’t help but be amused by this incarnation. Honestly? My heart softened a smidge.

“So I just need to steal our friend Sheppard for a moment, and then we’ll be out of your hair. Caesar and I have some things we need to do.” He winked at me slow and sexy and, I can’t believe this, but I think I blushed.

Poppy said quietly, “So this is Detective Dan? I like him much better than the last one. Look at you. You’re all bitten up.”

I bent down and helped her pile fallen shrimp onto her plate. “Who are these people?”

“The money for Shep’s show. These are his new owners. He’s going to kill you for coming here. He’s been screeching all day about me keeping my lips zipped. He’s scared. If I didn’t need this job, I’d have cancelled.”

The two of us walked into the kitchen. Rachel was wearing another crazy frock—this one covered in vulgar cherries. She was standing at Shep’s six thousand dollar Jenn-Air range basting a leg of lamb. Pots burbled. I saw baby carrots. Asiago and sage scalloped potatoes. My stomach made a noise. The smell of Pish Posh’s Port Wine and Rosemary Roasted Lamb filled the kitchen, and I salivated. It was my absolute favorite.

Rachel grinned when she saw me. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.”

Poppy found a saltine and two Perriers. She stuffed a lime into mine. “Rach, could you go serve? I’m about ready to puke.” She handed me a drink and we clinked bottles. “To your new
lovah
. Oh my God. He’s fucking brilliant. Tell me he’s as good in bed. That was worth this entire horrible month, Ce. I love you.”

I moved closer to the cutting board, where two tied boneless beauties cooled. “I love you too. I love this lamb more. Dan’s fucking with Shep to get some information for Mallory Albright. He’s not a fan.” I tried to pick a tiny piece of lamb from the end.

“Mmmhmm, I’ll bet. But that man? He likes you. No hiding it.” She went to work getting the food in order, ever set on her goal. She sliced me a sliver of savory meat. It melted in my mouth.

Poppy swallowed again tightly.

“You don’t look good. Should you be working?”

“I’ve been sick all day. Nerves. I spent yesterday with my parents.”

“What did your dad say?”

“He said I told you so, and he’d see. The market’s not good.”

The kitchen door opened and Shep tripped in. He was having trouble with those fancy shoes. I blinked, because through the door, Jean Luc Pappineau stood hobnobbing with the Schumachers. Jean’s hair was as unkempt as ever, but he was decked in finery and dazzling.

“I thought you said this was all backers?”

“It is.”

“Why’s Jean here?”

Shep raked a hand through his platinum hair and said to me, “You have to leave. I’m not trying to be rude. But—”

Poppy’s knife came down on a hunk of lamb. Steam curled around her hand. She ignored her cousin. “He’s Shep’s guest. I’m sure they could enlighten us both as to why he’s here. Trying to find his own backer, maybe? Maybe he’s here as someone’s date. You watch out for that man.” She pointed at me with the blade. “He’s got issues.”

Shep blasted me. “Please, Caesar. I need you to go. I can’t concentrate with you here—”

“Are you kidding me—?”

“I’m working.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m sorry I came to the gallery Friday. Yes. I get it. I’m sorry. Please. Everyone here is relying on me…Estelle, Jean, Poppy, Chad. I can’t fuck this up. Okay? Take that boyfriend of yours with you. I let him do what he asked. I have to deal with these people.”

Poppy agreed with her cousin. “You should go. We’ll hook up later. I have to work. And damn it, where’s my truck?”

“Shit. I’m sorry. It’s at Nan’s.”

Dan appeared at the door. “Ready, babe?”

That was laying it on a bit thick.

“Sort of.” I hugged Poppy hard. She was skin and bones. “You need to eat something.”

She nodded. “Okay, okay. Don’t crap your pants. Just leave. I’m fine.”

I liked the bike because parking was so easy. We found a spot half a block from Rocco’s and walked down the dark side of the street to see my father. I told Dan I wanted ravioli.

He was fiddling with his BlackBerry. Occasionally he’d mutter, “Dr. Bronner charges seven seventy-five for Botox.” And, “It’s twelve hundred bucks to have a lunchtime lift. He sticks barbed thread in your forehead and knots it. Says here it takes less than an hour.”

“That’s what he had done. That’s barbaric. What costs five thousand dollars?”

He diddled with his thumbs. “Breast augmentation.”

I stewed quietly as we walked the block. I seemed to be stuck with Dan this evening, and I was still unclear about the whole Albright business. I was wrapped in his warm, spare jacket. It smelled just like him, but it was too big. “It’s Brandon. I’ve thought so from the get-go. He works for Poppy, he’s orange, he could easily blackmail Shep for having sex with one of Nosh’s staff, he needs money, and he’s had his finger in everyone’s pie. Including Rachel’s.” I shuddered.

“Except for Peter’s.”

“We don’t know that. Peter hasn’t called me since I quit this morning.”

Dan’s brow lifted without any medical assistance. “You didn’t tell me that. That’s bold. You good with that?”

“I guess I’ll have to be. Look, it’s Brandon. We should just go over there right now. He’s probably knocked out on OxyContin.”

He shook his head. “No. Not going to happen. I’ll check his place tomorrow.”

“Why? You’ve dragged me everywhere else.”

“Shep is a pussy. You could take him down with a finger. I think he’s a victim, and he’s a lead. Brandon? He’s another story. Let me handle this.”

“You didn’t have any problem with me earlier.”

“I needed you. I appreciate you wanting to do this, but you ever spent any time with real criminals? Like up there at Manhattanville? Anyone pushed far enough to commit a felony?”

I swallowed, thinking of my uncles. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought. We don’t really know Brandon, and he’s desperate. He may have raped Shep.”

“No way.”

“I’ll handle it, Caesar. You just keep your tight little ass out of trouble—”

What a dick. I’d go anyway.

“—I know you want to protect Poppy.”

“Well, it’s not Poppy. She has no reason to hurt me. And she doesn’t have a penis. She didn’t rape anyone, least of all her cousin.”

“You never know. Look at Rachel.”

“That’s not funny.”

It was only when we entered Rocco’s that I recalled it was the first Monday of the month. My hale and hearty Uncle Tino met us at the door, a huge smile lighting his face, the entire clan behind him. The Gathering. Oh no. It was cocktails and supper—Romano style.