Whiskey Sour (11 page)

I blared
Beastie Boys from the stereo and drove back to Broad Street, parking in the same place Savage had earlier that day. The street was still busy with traffic, so I blended in easily enough, but the Sirin building was getting no action. All of the floors were dark, and no one was coming or going from the building.

I didn’t have a lot going for me normally in this job, but I had pret
ty good instincts. Mostly. It was listening to them that was my problem. My gut was telling me anything having to do with this building was a waste of time. Natalie Evans had kept her records and businesses clean, and the dirty work wouldn’t be done here.

What I really needed to get a hold of was her client list. But short of breaking into her house and searching for it, I was at a loss on how to get it.

A shadow darkened my window and I jumped in surprise as a pale, round face stared in at me. Rosemarie’s face was plastered with a grin and she waved with the silly incoordination of someone who’d had one too many drinks at happy hour. Her red lipstick was slightly smeared and she had mascara under her eyes.

Rosemarie
kept her hand on the car as she made her way unsteadily to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Boy, I was just thinking about you. And here you are,” she said, giggling. “It’s like magic. Or voodoo. Or voodoo magic.”

She thought that was hilarious and laughed so hard she snorted, sending her into another fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“I was just thinking that,” I said. “You’re not driving
, are you?”

“Of course not!” She was so scandalized by the suggestion I had to grin. “You’re here. Now I don’t have to call a cab. I’ve got g
ood luck. My mama always said,
Rosemarie Valentine, you are the luckiest duck I ever did see
. I bet I could charge people to rub up against me and then they’d be lucky too.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in the state of Georgia.”

I looked at the time and winced. There was no way I’d be able to get Rosemarie home and make it back by the time Mike got off his shift.

“Is there a friend you can stay with here in the city? I’m still working, otherwise I’d be happy to take you home.”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I told you I’m lucky. If you’re headed out to catch vile seducers and criminals then you probably want me to ride along with you. Don’t worry. I’ll do it for free on account of how we’re best friends.”

“I appreciate that
, Rosemarie.”

I just closed my eyes for a second, knowing it was futile to argue. At least
she wasn’t wearing bright colors, so there was the possibility that she’d blend in a little better than usual. Of course, she was wearing a black halter-top that showed about three miles of white fleshy cleavage and a black skirt that looked like it belonged on a fifteen-year-old Catholic girl looking to seduce a priest.

I started the car and
cursed as I navigated the one-way roads until I’d found the one that would take me to the Savannah-Chatham Precinct just a few blocks away. Mike and Nick were stationed out of the same house, by far the busiest since it was responsible for two counties, but Mike worked out of the Property Crimes division, so they didn’t work together. Which was a good thing, because cops had a tendency to stick together and keep each other’s secrets. It was some stupid brotherhood code as far as I could tell. Even if the brother was a douchebag.

“So what were you doing out tonight?” I asked. “Was it a girls’ night out?”

“Nope. Mostly I was just trying to get laid. You can’t do that in Whiskey Bayou.”

This was true. The minute a woman walked in to Clampett’s Bar the men knew she was fair game
, and pretty much the first semi-sober guy that could get to her would be the lucky winner. Respectable women didn’t go to Clampett’s. Not even borderline respectable women went to Clampett’s.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone someday.” Though I wasn’t too sure her dogs would ever welcome anyone new into the family fold.

“Well, I tried,” she said, disgusted. “But I kept waiting for the Jason Mamoas and Colin Farrells to walk into the bar, but all I kept seeing was the Jack Blacks and David Spades.”

“That does make it difficult,” I agreed. “Physical attraction is definitely a must for good sex.”

“Not always. I was married once,” she said, changing the subject abruptly. “Did you know that?”

Considering I’d been at the wedding, I did
indeed know that bit of information. But since Rosemarie was slurring her words to the point she sounded like English wasn’t her first language, I wasn’t going to hold it against her for not remembering. She didn’t wait for me to answer.

“He was a rotten son of a bitch,” she continued. “
And he was ugly as homemade sin, but he could fuck like a racehorse.”

I swerved to avoid a car and wondered if I’d blacked out for a second. I
tried to get the picture out of my mind of Roger Valentine pounding away at Rosemarie, but I was pretty sure I was scarred for life. Saying he was ugly as homemade sin was an understatement.

“Then I started putting on a little weight, and he told me he couldn’t fuck properly if he actually had to look at me. I told him I’d managed just fine over the years by pretending he was Gerard Butler, but he didn’t appreciate that much.”

My mouth quirked a little and I decided being with Rosemarie was like watching a live soap opera. “
Bastard,” I said. “You’re better off without him.”

“Damn right
,” she said. “And anyway, it turns out I had a glandular problem, which was what was causing the weight gain. But what really put the kibosh on our marriage was when we found out I couldn’t have kids. Turns out he’d been planning to populate Whiskey Bayou with his seed and forgot to tell me. We tried and tried, but according to the doctors, I’ve got the eggs of a ninety-year-old wizard.”

I had no idea what the hell that meant, but I didn’t want to interrupt her story to ask. 

“Good riddance to him,” she finally said, spitting into the hole in the floorboard of the car to seal the deal. “He knocked up Denise Grizzoldi before the ink was dry on our divorce papers, and now they’ve got six kids and she’s the size of a monster truck. Serves him right. But I still hope his balls fall off and he’s cursed with constant diarrhea.”

I felt the need to make the sign of the cross, but I refrained. It was a hell of a curse to put on someone.
One that only the Holy Mother could cure.

I parked down the street
from the gated parking lot the on duty cops used so their vehicles wouldn’t get vandalized while they were trying to serve and protect. I left the engine running, but I cut the lights, slouching down in my seat some so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself.

Rosemarie was humming the theme to Star Trek and searching through her giant handbag for something. I took the time to look through Mike’s file while we were waiting. Mike was a big man—not fat—but just big. He was six foot six and solid as a brick shithouse. His hair was carrot red and he was a genuine throwback
to Scottish chieftains, and he looked like he’d be perfectly comfortable tossing cabers across a field.

I looked
over the picture of his vehicle and his license plate just to make sure I had it committed to memory, even though I passed it sitting in his driveway most mornings.

Mike was a creature of habit. Usually.
He played poker on Thursday nights, he and Kate had date night on Saturday, and every fourth weekend they’d take a little trip somewhere.

But all of that stopped three weeks before. According to Kate, he’d
been taking extra shifts to make a little extra money. That right there would have made me suspicious as hell. Kate and Mike were rolling in money. She made so much from the agency that Mike didn’t even have to work. And they lived in the Park Hill area of Whiskey Bayou, where all the mansions sat above sea level so they didn’t have to worry about flooding or sinking into the Atlantic like the rest of us did.

Kate put in the report that he’d been working past midnight most nights, and when he d
id get some time off, he didn’t seem to want to spend it with her. He hadn’t taken her to bed in over a month.

I sighed because that was a pretty good sign that Kate was probably right. When a man went that long without asking for sex, he was probably getting it from somewhere else. This
is something I also knew from experience, only I’d been stupid enough at the time to think Greg was being respectful of my needs since I’d been under so much stress with the wedding.

Rosemarie
found the stick of gum she’d been searching for and was now playing Angry Birds on her phone while we waited.

“You know what would make this a whole lot better?” she asked.

“Chris Hemsworth sitting in the backseat with his shirt off?”

She blinked at me owlishly. “I was thinking cake. I could eat a whole fucking cake right now.”

“That was my second choice,” I said.

It was past ten and a few of the other cops getting off duty slowly trickled out of the station and to their cars.
I could see Mike’s white Ford F250 from where I was parked, so I knew he hadn’t managed to slip by me. Another fifteen minutes passed, then thirty, and Mike still hadn’t left the station. Rosemarie snored lightly beside me, her head pillowed on her breasts, and I was really starting to wish for that cake. I’d skipped dinner.

It was just shy of eleven by the time I saw Mike come out of the station. I waited until he pulled out and was a good block ahead before I turned my lights on and started to follow.

Rosemarie jerked against her seatbelt as I stopped at a red light, and she looked up, wild eyed and disoriented.

“What’s happening? Do I need my gun?”

“Jesus, please tell me you don’t have a gun in your purse.”

“I left
it in the toilet tank at home before I left for the bar. I didn’t want to scare any of the men in case they caught a glimpse of it.”

“Good thinki
ng,” I said, heading north on West 37
th
street to the Savannah Parkway. We were headed into a purely residential area of middle class tract homes and apartment buildings built in the seventies. I had a squishy feeling in my stomach. My cell phone rang, but I was afraid if I looked down long enough to answer then I’d lose Mike.

“Ooh, it’s Nick,” Rosemarie said. “That is a sexy beefcake of a man. I bet he knows just what to do with a woman in bed.
”

I figured it was probably best to stay silent. Nick had his doctorate in fornication. Unfortunately, his morning after technique needed a little work.

“I’ll call him back later,” I said. “Grab the camera from behind your seat.”

Mike exited off the highway, and I slowed down and cut my lights again once I saw him turn onto a street lined with town homes
. I stayed two blocks back, parking on the side of the road and rolling down my window. He pulled into a driveway next to a white Honda, and I took the camera from Rosemarie.

“Why does that man look familiar?” Rosemarie asked, sticking her head out her own window so she could get a better look.

Thank God the camera had an excellent zoom lens. Hiding Rosemarie was almost impossible without the two-block spread. I focused on Mike as soon as he got out of his truck, and took several shots as he walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

“Well, fuck,” I said, taking the shot that had just sealed Mike’s coffin.

I recognized the brunette who answered the door. I’d seen her leave the police station about twenty minutes before Mike. She was dressed in cotton boxers and a tank top. The zoom lens amplified the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Mike had certainly noticed too.

I fired off rapid shots until he walked inside and she closed the door
behind them. I wasn’t up to sneaking around the house and getting the nitty-gritty details. And I think as much as Kate wanted me to get proof of Mike’s infidelity, that she probably wasn’t really ready to see them either.

“I swear I’ve seen that man before,” Rosemarie said.

“Nope, he’s just another client.” The last thing Kate needed was gossip, and Rosemarie had a mouth as big as a barn door. Anyway, it would only be a matter of time before it started getting out that they were having problems. “Let’s get you home. You’re probably going to have a hell of a hangover.”

“I never get them,” she said cheerfully.

I shot her a nasty look and turned the car back toward the highway. I had some thinking to do. And it was probably best if I avoided Kate until I figured out what to do. If I showed her those pictures, Nick would have another double homicide to investigate.

Sunday

I
rolled out of bed the next morning with a heavy heart and a tension headache that was wrapping its way around my head and squeezing like it was one of those wrestlers with forty-two inch crushing thighs on Smackdown. So I did what I always do when confronted with stressful situations—I popped a couple of aspirin and baked like I was the sole contributor to the Rotary Club bake sale.

I’m not going to lie, it felt damned good to whack a rolling pin against the helpless dough of the cinnamon rolls I was making. By the time I slid them into the oven, the kitchen was covered in a fine mist of flour and I was contemplating just eating the butter by the stick. The only thing that saved me from going down that dark and dangerous road was the ringing of the doorbell.

A scowl etched my face and I felt my blood pressure rising. I had a feeling it was Nick, and after more than twenty-four hours of post-coital bliss, followed by him pancaking on me, I wasn’t in the mood to do anything but use my rolling pin as an assault weapon.

I jerked the door open and found myself face to face with Agent Savage.

“You planning on using that?” he asked, nodding to the rolling pin in my hand. “I’d advise against it. I don’t think we’re at the handcuffs stage of our relationship, though I’m willing to try if you are.”

His dark eyes went all sleepy and sexy, and I started to close the door in his face, but he stepped inside before I could accomplish my goal. I looked around nervously, not sure what to do with him. Savage was a little suffocating. He was very male and his presence wasn’t one that could be ignored. And I was at a loss as to where I was going to put him, considering I’d had sex with another man on almost every available surface in the house. I didn’t want to cross-contaminate the men in my life.

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked, leading him back into the kitchen. “How’d you find me?”

He arched a brow and I sighed quietly. I was never hard to find. And after I’d seen how easy it was to
get information on people the night before, I couldn’t believe I’d been naïve enough to even ask the question.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little slow this morning. It was a long night.”

“Good thing I came over,” he said, sitting at the little breakfast table in the corner. “You’d have eaten all those cinnamon rolls and then you’d have hated yourself. Now I can help you ease the burden.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

I pulled the rolls from the oven and my eyes almost crossed as the smell of yeast, cinnamon and melted butter assaulted my senses. I might hate myself for eating them all, but it might be worth it.

“I got some new information regarding
the Sirin Corporation that I thought you’d like to know.”

“It turns out I have some information too. Computers are scary things.”

“More than you know,” he said, pulling one of the gooey rolls from the tray and taking a bite.

My mouth dropped open and excitement was gathering in places that had no business being ready to party with a man like Savage. A look of pure bliss came over his face, and I had a fleeting glimpse of what he probably looked like after achieving orgasm.

“Jesus, these are amazing. Why aren’t you married?”

The feelings of excitement stopped in their t
racks and shriveled back into the frozen depths of my love life.

“He decided the home ec teacher’s tits were more exciting than my cinnamon rolls, but thanks for asking.”

I bit into my own roll savagely and ignored his thoughtful look. We finished our rolls in silence and then I went to grab the papers I’d printed out the night before.

“So how are you learning anything new about this case if you’ve been ordered to stay away from investigating Sirin?” I asked, taking my seat across from him once more.

“I’ve got my sources. You don’t do this job as long as I have without learning a few tricks on how to bend the rules and not get caught.”

“So what did these sources tell you?”

“Tell me what you found first. Let’s see if any of our information lines up.”

I passed him the handful of papers I’d printed from Kate’s office the night before.

“It looks like Amanda Whitfield isn’t the only call girl to be permanently eliminated from the Sirin payroll recently. Amanda seemed to be closest with three of the other Sirin girls—Becca Gonzales, Andi Bachman, and Noelle Price. But their quartet is down to two. Noelle Price was found dead two weeks ago in Atlanta. Apparent suicide. A couple of cops were called in, but from what I was able to find, they didn’t even do a standard investigation for foul play. The medical examiner signed off on the death, and she was cremated within another twenty-four hours.”

“We need to get to those other girls. I want to monitor everything they’re doing. They’re probably terrified at this point, and I have a gut feeling Natalie Evans isn’t through with them yet.
Let me make a call. I need to get someone tracking them.”

Savage stepped out of the room and I helped myself to another cinnamon roll.

“Your turn,” I said once he came back to the kitchen and took his seat. 

I was
glad I was still wearing my pajama bottoms with a stretchy elastic waist. I contemplated making a trip to get another cup of coffee, but I was weighed down by six pounds of yeasty goodness and butter. I might not move ever again, and I secretly wondered if Savage would think bad of me if I just oozed out of the chair and laid down on the floor.

Savage must have read my mind because he stood up and grabbed my coffee cup, making himself at home as he saw to the domestic chore. The rolls hadn’t affected him at all. He still looked as deliciously fit as ever, and I couldn’t even see the slightest hint of a pooch hanging over his belt.
Bastard.

I might have said thank you as he set the coffee in front of me, but mostly I was thinking how unfair the roles of men and women were in today’s world. It would be much easier on everyone if we lived in a time where Rubenesque women were worshipped, and men were trying to constantly shove food into our mouths.

“
Addison,” he said, arching one of those devil brows in my direction. “Your eyes have glazed over. I can’t figure out if it’s because you’re full or you’re bored.”

“Sorry.” I did another cursory glance of his body. “I suppose you work out.”

“Every day. It gets to be a habit.”

“Figures.”

“Don’t worry. I like a woman with curves.” His grin showed a slash of white teeth against the copper of his skin and just the hint of one dimple.

“Nobody asked you,” I mumbled.

This was getting embarrassing. I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never had luck getting the attention of the opposite sex. I can make myself look more than respectable—granted, this wasn’t one of those times—but I was still having one of those moments where I thought the men showing interest in me might be a little above my hotness level. Maybe the universe was just playing a cruel joke. Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and get as many orgasms as possible from this predicament. Unfortunately, I had a lifetime of Catholic guilt and mostly stable morals to keep me from doing such a thing.

“Are you going to tell me what you found out?” I asked belligerently.

“Natalie Evans’ client list is one of the most sought after pieces of information in this country, right behind who shot JFK and how the hell Glenn Beck ever became famous. I’ve got a reliable source who says Natalie is very distrusting of technology.”

“I don’t blame her,” I interrupted. “I’m rethinking my entire outlook on life after working this case.”

“Eat another one of these and listen,” he said, shoving the last cinnamon roll past my open lips. “My source says she’s so paranoid about people being able to hack into her files that she keeps everything written down and locked away in the safe in her home office.”

“You have an informant inside the house?” That was the only way Savage could have come by information that specific as far as I knew. Not unless the Feds had the inside of the house wired, and I was thinking that was a big no-no considering they’d already had their hands slapped.

“I have informants everywhere. And that’s protected information.”

“So now what?”

“Technically, it would be unethical for me to search Natalie’s home without a warrant. But I’m thinking a private investigator could get away with it if they managed not to get caught. Especially if there was a guarantee that the alarm would be disengaged tonight between the hours of ten and midnight while Natalie Evans is at a political fundraiser.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. Talk about bending the rules a little. Agent Savage
’s sock rebellion had clearly gone to his brain.

“Are you out of your mind?” I stood
up and slapped my hands down on the table. “I don’t know anything about breaking and entering. I don’t know how to crack safes or walk silently like a ninja.”

He stood and mirrored my pose so we were practically
nose-to-nose. “This is the only way to get that client list. Someone in that book is a murderer. Are you going to let them get away with it?”

“Oh, no. You’re not going to lay the blame at my feet for this.” My vision was starting to reach that hazy red of anger.
“You guys are the ones who buffooned around until you got kicked off the case.”

“I’m almost positive the word buffoon was never meant to be used as a verb.”

“What?” I sputtered. “I’m trying to have a fight here. And you never interrupt a fight to correct grammar.”

“My bad. Please continue.”

“Now I don’t remember what I was saying.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and remembered it was in a haphazard knot on top of my head. Little specks of flour floated down in front of my face from my cooking tantrum, and I was distracted by Savage’s lips. I could tell he wanted to laugh, but if he so much as cracked a smile I was going to punch him in the eye.

“I think you should start calling me by my first name. It’s Matt, by the way.”

“Savage fits you a whole lot better. I think I’ll stick with that.”

“I bet Kate would love to go along with you to search for Natalie’s client list,” he said changing the subject.

I was starting to get whiplash from following his conversations. “Did they not teach you how to fight properly in FBI school? I bet suspects walk all over you in an interrogation.”

“I somehow manage to muddle through. The FBI has taught me many other things,” he said, moving in a little closer. “And I happen to know for a fact that Kate knows exactly what she’s doing when it comes to breaking and entering.”

My eyes widened at this bit of news, but I guess it seemed plausible. I’d think it would be par for the course for a private detective to know about such things.

“Except there’s one problem with that,” I said triumphantly. “Kate is
not
a rule breaker. She’s so squeaky clean you could serve dinner off her.” Savage looked slightly confused by the saying, so I pressed my advantage. “She will never agree to this. Nothing means more to her than the reputation of her agency.”

I always suspected Savage was a dirty fighter. He was obviously a man who didn’t like to lose. He leaned forward and took my mouth in another one of those tonsil exploring kisses, and I groaned because he tasted of hot sex and cinnamon rolls.

I managed to pull away before I ended up christening another table in my mother’s house, but I was slightly dazed and huffing like a steam engine.

“I told you to stop doing that. I’m in a relationship, dammit.”

It sounded like I was trying to convince myself of that information more than him. He quirked a brow but didn’t contradict me.

“I dare you to ask her,” Savage said, his own look of triumph settling over his features. “Kate is prime for the picking
s for a little adventure and rule breaking. Especially after what I saw last night.”

“Wait a minute.” I slapped a hand against his chest and pushed him out of my comfort zone. “How do you know about Mike? I haven’t even told Kate what I saw yet.”

“Just because you’re avoiding her,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t blame you. It’s a sticky situation.”

“Answer the damned question,” I growled.

“Did you know you swear a lot more when you’re angry? And to answer your question, I knew about Kate’s husband because I’ve been following you. You don’t think I’d just set you loose on a case like this and not keep track of you, do you? People are dying here. And you’re just doing the things that I can’t right now because of the politics Natalie Evans is playing.”

A whole myriad of things was whipping through my mind at his confession.
Indignation and anger were two I recognized right away. But another was fear. Savage had been following me around, and I’d had absolutely no inkling. Not even a twinge that there were eyes watching me. Of course, he was a professional, so that made me feel a little better.

“Just ask her,” he pushed. “I’ll be there as backup in case you get into trouble.
”