Evening Bags and Executions(70)

I couldn’t take it anymore. I got my cell phone and called Muriel.

“Nothing yet,” she said softly when she answered.

“What’s up with that?”

All kinds of this-would-be-awful-if-it-happened scenarios pinged around in my head: what if the kidnapper was holding out for more money; what if the bobbleheads had somehow been damaged or destroyed; what if the kidnapper was shopping them around for more money elsewhere.

“It was supposed to be tonight. We haven’t heard a word. I don’t know what’s going on,” Muriel said. “I’m really worried that something will go wrong when you make the ransom payment. What if you don’t find the right person, or make a mistake doing the exchange? What if you do something wrong and we don’t get the bobbleheads back?”

Muriel sounded really tense and majorly stressed—not that I blamed her, of course—but I didn’t want her to cave and blab to Sheridan that I was handling the ransom drop, then hire a real security firm to take over.

“The delay in hearing from the kidnapper is normal,” I said.

I didn’t know if it was or not, but this sounded good. “It is?” she asked, and I heard a tiny glimmer of hope in her voice.

“It’s just a ploy, a tactic to make you worry more, make you anxious to cooperate,” I said.

It could have been true, couldn’t it? I mean, that’s what happened on those TV crime dramas.

“I’ve got a professional private detective—my partner—standing by ready to mobilize,” I said.

I didn’t, of course, but what else could I say?

And where was Jack, anyway?

“Stay calm,” I said, “and call me the minute you hear from them.”

“I will,” Muriel promised, and we hung up.

I hopped out of my desk chair and launched into total-panic mode.

Oh my God, why hadn’t the kidnapper called? What would I do if this whole thing went sideways? What if I botched the ransom exchange? What if I got the bobbleheads back and Sheridan was still so upset that she shot off her mouth to all her high-profile friends and put L.A. Affairs out of business?

I really needed to talk to Jack. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been doing all afternoon that he hadn’t returned my call. Was he really working? Or was he playing me? Was this part of his whole idiotic treading lightly idea?

I absolutely had to talk to him. I absolutely had to get him to return my call.

Maybe I should leave him a message and offer to have sex with him. Maybe that would get him to return my call.

But I’d been mooning over Ty all afternoon, so I couldn’t have sex with Jack—okay, well, maybe I could. Yes, I definitely could. No. It wouldn’t be right. Having sex with Jack would reduce our relationship to nothing but a hot, sweaty, prolonged—surely—physical encounter. What would that do to our friendship? What would—

My cell phone rang. Jack’s name appeared on the caller ID screen.

“Why haven’t you called me?” I’m positive I screamed that.

He didn’t answer—not that I gave him an opportunity. “I’ve been trying to reach you forever! I’ve left you a zillion messages!” My voice was really high-pitched now, and I was squeezing my cell phone so tight I thought my SIM card might shoot out.

“I was even considering having sex with you!” People in the hallway outside my office might have heard that.

“I’ll be right over,” Jack said.

“No! I’m not having sex with you now!”

“Do you have a fever?” he asked.

“What?”

“Have you recently hit your head on something?” Jack asked, sounding way too calm to suit me at the moment. “Because I’m sensing some erratic brain activity.”

“Something major is going down,” I said. “I need to talk to you. Now. Can you meet me at Starbucks at the Galleria?”

“I’m on my way,” Jack said. “And if you change your mind about the sex, surprise me when I get there.”





I drove to the Galleria and left my car in the parking garage. Even though it was just across the street from my office, I wanted to have my car close by when Muriel called.

I took the walkway to the center plaza where the restaurants were located. It was in shadows, thanks to the setting sun and the tall buildings. A lot of people were out—tourists in Disneyland T-shirts, couples, men and women with briefcases and messenger bags who’d just gotten off work.

I didn’t see Jack. He hadn’t mentioned where he was or how long it would take him to get here, so I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait. Yet I saw no reason to deprive myself of my favorite drink in the entire world. I went inside Starbucks and got a mocha Frappuccino and a coffee, then found a table on the plaza and sat down. I was only three sips in when I spotted Jack walking toward me from the parking garage.