“So that’s what you’re going to do, Steve,” said Frank, deliberately leaving off the “n.”
“You’re not a judge,” said Steven, acting like a brat. “You’re not even a cop.”
“Yeah, but he was with the Navy Seals that took down Bin Laden,” I said.
Steven shot a look to Frank, a fearful respect there all of a sudden. I had no idea if Frank had been in Seal Team Six. But it seemed like he could have been, and saying it had the desired effect.
“I’ll take care of it,” Steven said, defeated.
“Go back to Claudia,” I said. “She obviously loves you enough to fight for you.”
Steven looked none too sure about that.
I felt bad even though there was no reason to anymore. I’d made a mistake and was now trying to fix it. It’s not like I was the first woman to have made this particular error. And falling in love with a married man wouldn’t get me pounded with rocks unless I was a Muslim woman living in rural Turkey.
Steven rose to leave, and it was all feeling sort of final.
“She has your word you’ll make sure there’s no trace of the photographs?” Frank asked.
“Yes.” Steven looked at me. “I’ll make sure. What would be the point now?”
As he walked out the door, I felt a twinge of sadness, but that’s all it was. No breakup is ever “all good,” and saying it is belittles what was there.
“It wasn’t Team Six,” Frank said after Steven had gone. “It was Team Twelve. We were nowhere near Bin Laden’s compound. What gave it away?”
“From the first day I met you, you struck me as one of those really capable, no-bullshit types. But it was just a guess.”
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You recognized the character from the movies.” There was an almost imperceptible smile on his face, but I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me.
“You know,” I said, smiling, “movie characters are often based on
real
people. They’re just ‘embellished,’ with timelines speeded up for full effect. But I’m sure if someone were to put Frank Sexton in a screenplay, no embellishment would be needed.”
Except, of course, if a screenwriter were writing the script for Frank and me, he’d need to add the scene that hadn’t happened—the one where the handsome private detective and the woman he’s protecting make crazy, undeniable love in the midst of playing a dangerous cat and mouse game involving international forces of evil wielding the technology sector’s most advanced weaponry.
The guy’s right, Quinn; your life is not a Tom Cruise/Matt Damon/Dwayne Johnson/Jason Stratham movie
.
But oh, how I wanted it to be.
What I really wanted was for Frank to take me in his arms and hold me; the holding would hopefully develop into more active movements. He liked me, I could tell for sure now, but that didn’t mean he felt romantic toward me. Slugging Steven had been within the purview of any decent man seeing another guy abuse a woman, let alone Frank Sexton, P.I., who was supposed to be watching out for me. Any man worth anything would have done the same thing in his situation, so I shouldn’t interpret his chivalry as any sort of testament to how he felt.
On the other hand, I didn’t feel him pushing me away. And I wasn’t making it up when I’d caught him watching me a few times when he thought I wasn’t looking—like at Kiki’s house.
Maybe there was some rule or protocol in his company against having sex with your clients. But hell, that rule gets broken all the time, doesn’t it? What about
Klute?
Or
Someone To Watch Over Me?
There I go with the movies again, but it can’t be said enough:
Movies are sometimes based on real life!
Clearly, life and art had merged dangerously in my head.
“My life wouldn’t make much of a movie,” he said, his hand reaching into his pants pocket and coming out with his phone, which he flipped open.
Was he just being modest? Or did he really think himself uninteresting? Either way, his humility seemed refreshing after all the male bravado I’d been exposed to in my own line of work.
He snapped his phone closed. “I’ll check with the office tomorrow, but I expect your case will be closed—unless there’s something else that needs to be done.”
There
was
something that needed to be done, starting with him planting a kiss on my lips. I hadn’t even thought about the case being over.
Oh no—
if there was nothing else for him to investigate, that meant I might never see him again, and I didn’t want that
.
I don’t
think
it was just that he made me feel safe—even though he was paid to do so. I don’t
think
it was because I didn’t know anyone else like him who does what he does and did what he did. I think it was all that and more. Even his clean-cut appearance had grown on me—his traditional off-the-rack Brooks Brothers clothes and the throwback sunglasses he wore. I liked his quirky sense of humor and his way of catching me off guard.
If anything was going to happen between Frank and me, it was clear I would have to make the first move. Just as I’d realized when I was deleting winkers and other bottom feeders sent by
NowLove
: The good guys take more work. As much as I wanted him to pursue me, Frank was the kind of guy who needed a signal.
“If they close the case, does that mean we won’t see each other again?” If he doesn’t get that this is something I didn’t want to have happen, I’ll need to get a hammer.
“I don’t think there’d be a reason to, unless you intend to file a complaint about me.” He smiled so enigmatically I couldn’t read a deeper meaning.
“No complaints here,” I said, while sending major vibes for him to jump my bones.
Sheesh, how blatant did the move need to be?
“Not even when you were losing your mind because it took me so long to get back to you?” He was smirking.
What did that mean?
“Oh, that, well… ” I drifted off, frustrated that he was either not picking up on or ignoring my subtext.
How quickly new concerns obliterate the previous ones
.
I had to think of another reason for us to see each other. I considered asking if he wanted to have lunch sometime—maybe meet me at Katsu-ya for old time’s sake. I could simply tell him I wanted to see him again, but that seemed too direct. How far was I supposed to go with this signaling business? I felt as though I’d already told him I liked him in several different ways, and he’d chosen to ignore me. How much more could I lay myself out there before I appeared desperate?
Screw it
, I’ll just be obvious.
“So what will you do now, Frank? Get assigned to another damsel in distress?”
“This was kind of a unique situation.” He shook his head. “It’ll probably be another corporate espionage case—theft of trade secrets, that kind of thing. I don’t generally do damsels.”
“Too bad for the damsels.”
Could I get any clearer?
“This one liked having you around.”
He knew what I meant now and held my gaze. I could see his brain working as he figured out what to say next.
Please, please don’t make it be about the weather
. I stood close to him in my stocking feet, he in his basic brown loafers. And he was just a teensy bit taller than me—
perfect
.
His mouth opened and closed just as quickly. It felt like he was going to move in to kiss me. I know I didn’t make that up. But he didn’t, and that enigmatic expression of his returned. He glanced at the table where my book lay. Safer territory.
“When Will There Be Good News? Is it good?”
“Excellent.”
Picking up the book, he opened it, perusing the dust jacket. “I read a lot—pretty much anything.”
“If you like police procedurals, you’d like it—even though it’s written by a woman, if that matters to you.”
“It doesn’t. I’ll put in an order.”
Right answer
. He put it down
.
”Well, good night, Quinn.”
A slight wave of embarrassment washed over me even though I felt like he’d been tempted; I could even see it. But he hadn’t accepted my invitation. A guy like Frank wasn’t about to get involved with somebody like me—a shallow, Hollywood type with a history of adultery. No, he was too high-minded, I concluded. He just nodded, opened the front door, and was gone.
I stood with my back against the door for several long seconds, playing the events of the last couple of weeks over in my head, and wondering if there might have been anything else I could have said or done. But short of throwing myself at him physically, I decided there hadn’t been.
Flipping off the light in the entry, I headed for the bedroom ready to call it a night. I took a sharp inhale realizing when he’d said good night, he’d called me Quinn.
With the mystery of who sent the photographs solved, I knocked on Jamie’s open door the next day to tell her.
“Come in.”
She barely looked up from what appeared to be frenzied note taking. It was immediately clear that something was off. She was not her typically put-together self—her hair not so coiffed, her outfit not so pressed. At 10 a.m., with very little of the day gone, it was unusual for her to have a hair out of place.
“What is it?” She was also in a snitty mood.
“I’ll be brief.” I stepped closer to her desk so as to avoid being overheard. “I came to tell you that the pictures were sent by the wife of an ex-lover of mine—that’s another story and this isn’t the time. But essentially, she had both her husband and me followed by a private investigator with instructions to take any pictures she could use as evidence or to shame us. They have money, so following me to Japan was apparently not a problem. Anyway, when I fell running for the plane, the guy tailing me saw an opportunity to get some of those embarrassing pictures and when the wife saw them, she decided to send them to you to make my life hell.”
“I see.” Jamie continued making random marks on her note pad.
Was she doodling? It didn’t look like work.
“I hope the investigator hit her with a big bill for sushi expense.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was a joke, Quinn. I don’t condone adultery, but there are limits to what is acceptable behavior on the part of the wronged spouse. Sounds like she crossed it.”
Maybe I’m off the hook
. “Thank you,” I said, suddenly remembering there was more I needed to fix. “The pictures have been deleted from the wife’s phone and computer, and the private investigator is no longer in the employ of the wife. So other than the investigator who was told to destroy them, you are the only person with those pictures.”
Jamie nodded her head, appearing to ponder the possibilities. “What about the marriage?”
“No idea,” I said flatly. “It could go either way, but I want you to know I don’t feel good about the affair and if I could go back, I would never have started it.”
Jamie was definitely doodling. I could see a little face on the pad—was it frowning?
She was giving me nothing, and I realized I’d better point out what was, to me, obvious, just to make sure she fully understood.
“If you’re wondering whether those pictures might still make an appearance on the Internet, the answer is ‘no’—that is, unless
you
decide to put them there.”
She glanced up.
“Not that you’d do that,” I said quickly. “Only that I don’t believe there’s anyone else who has access to them, so Talent Partners will be spared any backlash.” I finished with a flourish, hoping to hear something from Jamie about how the matter was now well behind us, and we can forge ahead into many new celebrity commercial ventures—maybe even
Hello Kitty
!
She pursed her lips and made an effort to smooth her hair. “Could you please close the door, Quinn?”
Suddenly, it seemed she had nothing but time for me, but something was lurking behind her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was pain.
“Sure.” I quietly pressed the door shut, hearing the latch catch.
“How did you find out about all this?” she asked.
I considered the downside of telling her. Could I have figured everything out on my own? Sure, eventually. Would I be satisfied the pictures were destroyed just because Steven said they were? No. Having Frank had made all the difference.
Frank
.
“I had someone helping me.”
“Another investigator?”
“Yes, a friend’s husband’s company let me borrow him.” I figured that much couldn’t hurt.
“I see,” she said, deep in thought.
I waited for more, but she just kept doodling.
“Can I ask ‘why’ you asked if someone helped me?”
She looked up. “I was just wondering what else your private investigator might have found out.”
“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to volunteer anything.
“It’s no secret that you and… ” She hesitated. “You and Titania don’t like each other.”
“I don’t mind her, really. She’s just so… ” I was trying to form the word
perfect
, because that’s what Jamie had called her, but my lips wouldn’t obey.
“Not really,” Jamie snapped, reading my mind. “What I’m asking is, in the course of the investigation, did your private investigator follow Titania at any point? Did he try to find out if she might have been the one who was behind the pictures? And don’t deny you suspected her. I ask because that would have been
—
if I were you, that is
—she
would have been my first choice for who would have sent those pictures.”
As demonstrated by her halting language, Jamie was uncomfortable discussing any of this—at least with me.
“Oh, well, sure,” I said. “I mean
—
yeah, I did. That is—I did think she might, you know, have thought
—
or wanted to get me fired. But there seemed so many other people… ”
I wasn’t doing much better.
“And? Did he follow her?”
Clearly, all was no longer blissful with the happy couple. Jamie was desperate for information.
I
knew that Titania wasn’t gay, of course, but it was now clear that Jamie had also begun to think something was amiss with her perfect princess. But did she suspect another woman of stealing her beloved’s affections, or did she know Titania liked cock?