“The governor’s driving up. Have to look my best. What about you? Any plans for the day? You’re welcome to stay as long as you want to.”
“Thank you,” I say, beaming. “I don’t know. Rearrange your ties? Clean your bathroom? Have a tea party with Justice?”
Harry leans down and kisses me. “A full day.” We both smile. “I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”
“I know.” We smile at each other. Harry pecks me again before picking up his briefcase and walking to the door. As he opens it, I turn around. “Harry, I lo…” I say, but the words won’t come out. My face scrunches up with frustration. Shit. The truth is I want to love him, even think I can, but don’t know if I’m there yet. Crap.
Once again, Harry saves me from myself. “One step at a time,” Harry says with a smile, which I return. He walks out.
After finishing the paper, showering, and dressing, I flop back down on the couch, watching TV for all of five minutes before I’m bored and anxious. There’s something I need to do, but so don’t want to. After five minutes of psyching myself up, I pick up the telephone. Dobbs picks up on the second ring. “Pendergast residence.”
“Dobbs, it’s Jo.”
“Oh, Miss Joanna, we were so worried!”
“I’m fine. I’m staying with a friend. I’m safe.”
“Would you like to speak to Master Justin? He’s at the office, I can transfer you.”
My stomach tightens. “No. Just tell him I called, and I’m fine, okay? Bye.”
That went better than expected. Now what? I get off the couch and saunter around the apartment awhile, then watch more TV until there’s a buzz on the intercom. “Yes?”
“There are two men here to see you,” the doorman says. “They claim to be your bodyguards.”
“Big? Dark suits? One has a crew cut, the other a scar on his right hand?”
“Yes. Should I send them up?”
“Yes.” Ugh. I don’t know which is worse, Justice or them. How the hell did they find me? Harry, or maybe Justice, must have ratted me out. Oh, hell. They’re going to tell Justin. He’ll know I’ve been lying for months. In spite of last night I don’t want him to be angry or think any less of me. Nothing I can do now.
A minute later, through the peephole, I see Geoff and Bryan step into the hallway. They exchange a few words with Justice before he speeds away, off to play hero while I go mad in here. TV ain’t cutting it. Books either. I wander from room to room, settling on the office. I can’t help myself, I have to snoop. The files on the desk and boxes call to me. He’s left them out for a reason. It’s almost as if he wanted me to look. So I do.
Most of the files are on old, unsolved cases he must peruse from time to time, looking at them with fresh eyes. I have a few of those files myself. Maybe we can help each other. You know what they say, the couple that investigates together… I turn on the computer, enter the password he gave me when I needed to get on before, and find the Alkaline case.
The tip line’s six hundred fifty leads were all discounted. None of the physical evidence at the scene or his hotel pointed to his current location. “Joe Fallon” has not popped up on any database or other hotels within fifty miles. He must have moved onto another alias. As I’m reading through a list of all the evidence collected at the hotel, a thought strikes me. He checked in under my name the night he escaped. He had an ID and credit card in that name, which meant he had them made before the escape. Before I was even on the case. I’ve asked myself this question a million times, coming up with no answer: Why me? I was nothing to this man. Never met him, never had any dealings with him. I don’t have a clue how I got on his radar before the press conference. The working theory was that I put away one of his friends, but that didn’t pan out. It just doesn’t make any sense.
The next file in the computer is a report on the second interview with Logan Dodd, which took place yesterday. Still in the hospital, poor guy. He went into great detail this time, even down to the magazine he was reading when Moore was making rounds. Nothing new there, but when I’m scanning the rest of his file, I come across a name that gives me pause.
Logan Dodd’s father was Desmond Logan. I knew him, or of him, through the neighborhood. He brought cars into Uncle Ray’s shop sometimes. I remember him because he got a seventeen-year-old pregnant, Sophia Dodd, and then before he could marry her, he was gunned down outside her high school as she watched. The scuttlebutt was she traded one mobster from a rival gang in for Desmond, and the ex didn’t take kindly to that. Double homicide time as both men killed each other in the shoot-out. When it happened, I overheard Uncle Ray talk about how Desmond was a driver for Ryder’s then fledgling gang. Desmond was never arrested in connection to Ryder, so he wouldn’t pop up as a known accomplice. Dodd never knew his father, so maybe it’s just a coincidence. I hate coincidences.