Together Again(42)

                Margo scanned the area looking for Sam. “Your partner around? I told him I’d be over after I got out of court. I need to … ”

                “What’s Sam got to do with your being here?”

                Now it was Margo’s turn to be confused. “Are we in the same conversation? I’m here about the dead woman in Forest Park, the one who had my messenger bag. What’re you talking about?”

                Danny looked over Margo’s shoulder. “I think it’s all about to get straightened out.”

                From behind her, Margo heard the distinctive sound of Sam’s cowboy boots on the hard floor. “There he is. Sam, I … ”

                But it wasn’t Sam who said, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Nor was it Sam who put a possessive hand on the small of her back. And it sure as hell wasn’t his cologne she smelled.

                “Tony?” When she saw both Sam Richardson and Tony, her eyes widened and she could feel her face pale as she struggled to get words out. “You’re here? How’d you … ? When … ?”

                Danny rolled her eyes heavenward. “Hallelujah. I have lived to see the miracle of a speechless lawyer.”

                Margo looked back and forth between the two men standing in front of her, grins on both their faces. They made an interesting contrast. Shorter by three or four inches and older by close to a decade, Sam’s slightly sun-bleached, sandy-brown hair and weathered skin reflected his outdoor lifestyle as much as Tony’s dark hair and olive skin showed his Mediterranean heritage. The Philly cop’s taste in clothes ran to a well-tailored gray suit, white shirt and burgundy tie; the detective born in Eastern Oregon wore jeans with no tie and a blue shirt. And Tony’s Italian loafers were half a world away from Sam’s cowboy boots, a reminder he was raised on the ranch his great-grandfather had homesteaded.

                What was almost identical was the stare. Two pairs of brown eyes were looking at Margo, Sam’s full of amusement, Tony’s affection, while she stood rooted to the floor, trying to find her composure, or at least her voice. Eventually she got out, “You didn’t you tell me you were coming to Portland.”

                “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

                “Well, that worked out for you,” she said.

                Sam frowned. “Christ, Margo, you’re the color of Tony’s shirt.” To the wearer of the white shirt he said, “Is this how East Coast men impress women? You scare the pea-wadding-green out of them so they have a heart attack?”

                “It’s how we weed out the weak ones,” Tony said with a grin.

                “What are you doing here?” Margo asked.

                Sam said, “I work here, remember?”

                “Not you, Sam.” Margo said.

                “Following the breadcrumbs from Newark.” As Tony explained why he was there, she fought the urge to throw herself at him, to kiss him, to hold him. Finally, having heard — or at least, understood — little of what he said, she put up her hand.

                “Slow down. I still don’t understand. The Russians led you here?”

                “Sort of. Mostly it’s because the working group of local and federal agencies here is further along in investigating this string of intellectual property thefts. So, against all odds and previous experience, we’re not going to reinvent the wheel but build on it. I flew in a couple hours ago with two feds. A guy from Long Beach and a woman from Seattle are due in soon.”