Evening Bags and Executions(49)

Then I spotted Jack—which really took my breath away. He wore a charcoal gray sport coat, a shirt in a lighter shade of gray, and black slacks, definitely an upgrade from his usual private-detective mode of dress. He looked way hot.

It had been his idea to meet here after work. For a guy who’d insisted he intended to tread lightly, this place was kind of romantic. Made me wonder what Jack would do if he was treading in the other direction—which was really bad of me, I know. After all, I had an official boyfriend—

No, I don’t. Damn. Why do I keep thinking that?

Jack sat at a table overlooking Pershing Square. He rose as I approached and pulled out the chair across from him.

A waiter appeared as I sat down. I ordered a glass of white wine, which I didn’t intend to drink much of, since I was driving. Jack had what appeared to be bourbon on the rocks in front of him.

“Is this where you bring everybody when you have a murder suspect for them?” I asked. “Or just me?”

Jack gave me smoldering-eyes. “There’re other places I’d rather take you.”

Did he just use his Barry White voice? Oh my God, why was he using his totally sexy, I’m-defenseless-against-it Barry White voice? Or was I just imagining it because he’s doing this treading-lightly thing?

My cell phone rang. No way would I answer it, under normal circumstances, but Jack had knocked me for a mental loop and I needed to gather myself.

I reached into my handbag—a magnificent Marc Jacobs—and got my phone.

Crap. It was Eleanor calling. I didn’t even say “hello” before she hit me with my quiz question.

“What was the name of the British record company that auditioned the Beatles in January of 1962?” she asked.

I had no clue. But I couldn’t afford to get any more of her questions wrong.

I covered my phone and whispered frantically to Jack, “Give me your cell phone. Quick!”

Then I spoke to Eleanor. “Oh, this one is easy. Everybody knows this one.”

Jack just sat there.

“I need your phone!” I hissed.

He gave me a what’s-going-on look—which I didn’t have time for, not with Eleanor’s I-can-get-you-fired clock ticking away.

“I need to get on the Internet,” I told Jack. That might have come out sounding kind of panicky.

He puffed up slightly—which was so hot—like men did when they thought something was wrong.

“Who’s calling you?” he asked.

“Just give me your phone!”

Jack looked as if he were about to come across the table, grab my phone, and punch out the person on the other end—somehow. It made my stomach feel kind of warm and gooey.

But no time for that now.

If I didn’t give Eleanor an answer in the next few seconds she’d hang up on me again, and I didn’t know how many more attempts she and Rigby would make to judge my Beatles-worthiness before she called Sheridan and told her to fire me.

“I need to find out what record company auditioned the Beatles in 1962,” I told Jack in my see-you-can’t-help-with-this-which-I-knew-all-along-so-just-do-what-I-asked-you-to-do voice.

“Decca Records,” Jack said.

Huh?

Jack gave me a see-you-should-have-told-me-when-I-first-asked-because-I-know-things-you-don’t look.

It was kind of hot.

I kept my hand over my cell phone and whispered, “Are you sure?”

He didn’t even bother to answer, that’s how confident he was.

It was way hot.

“Decca Records,” I told Eleanor.

“You’re correct,” she said, and I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised.

“You’ve been reading up on the Beatles, haven’t you?” Eleanor asked.

“Of course,” I told her. What else could I say?

“Rigby predicted you would, but I didn’t believe her,” she told me.

Now I was afraid Eleanor would hit me with another question, just to see if I was telling her the truth—which I wasn’t, but still. I had to head her off, and what better way to do that than to crush her with her own game.

As long as Jack could help me, of course.

“What was Ringo Starr’s real last name?” I whispered to Jack. “What album was ‘Eleanor Rigby’ on? What was the name of their first movie? Their first single?”

“Starkey. Revolver. A Hard Day’s Night. ‘Love Me Do,’ ” he said.

I repeated Jack’s answers into the phone.

Eleanor was quiet—stunned, I’m sure, and way impressed with me—then said, “Very good, Haley. Now we’re ready to move on to the difficult questions.”

Crap.

“I’ve got to run, but I’ll talk to you again soon,” I said, and hung up.