The Negotiator

  There were days she was a fool.

  She might as well have never gone to bed. Kate lay staring at the ceiling, watching the moonlight paint shadows around the room. The depression was heavy.

  Dave was a nice guy, and instead of being able to have something with him, she was in a situation where they were both getting hurt. She should have stayed with Stephen and not come back here despite the media risk and the threat it would mean to be out in the open. She didn’t want to look like a coward, but she didn’t have the strength to deal with this. Dave deserved better, and she’d managed knowingly to hurt him this afternoon.

  She was running, mentally, emotionally. She just didn’t want to deal with the past, and every time he got close, she felt it clawing back at her. The survival instinct of her childhood was back center stage—run away before she got hurt.

  She rubbed her hand across her face, looked again at the clock. Two minutes had passed since she had last looked. At this rate she was going to count the seconds until dawn.

  Wondering if insomnia was going to be a permanent reality, she rose and quietly dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. It would help to get out of the closed four walls. The night looked quiet and calm; she might as well sit outside and enjoy the stars.

  She turned off the alarm as Dave had shown her and descended the stairs. Two steps from the bottom, the world around her erupted. The lights snapped on, a piercing alarm sounded.

  Dave was at the top of the stairs, breathing hard, before she had oriented herself in the confusion. “I didn’t set it off, I swear.”

  He hurried down the stairs past her, pulling on his shirt. He silenced the audible alarm on the pad by the front door. “Grab your phone and get back upstairs. There’s a second sidearm in the safe in my room. I left it open.” He was already moving to the back of the house, keying the radio he carried. “Ben, what’s on the video?”

  She nodded and bolted back upstairs. She hadn’t set it off, she knew she hadn’t.

  The picture over his dresser had been set with a hinge and was moved to the side, leaving visible an open safe. She reached for the Glock inside and fitted a clip. She felt marginally safer just carrying the weapon although it came with a sense of dread for the possibility of ever having to use it. A reporter? Please let it be something innocent. She moved to her bedroom, scanned the front grounds and saw nothing moving.

  She moved downstairs to rejoin Dave. This was a big estate; even with one other agent stationed at the guardhouse, Dave would need the help doing the search.

  The sliding glass doors to the back were open an inch. She stepped outside. “Dave?”

  “Here, Kate.” He was crossing the grounds to the south of the rose gardens. She moved to join him.

  “You two can relax. I’ve got the culprit,” Ben radioed. “Our prowler is back, Dave.”

  Dave visibly relaxed. He flipped on his flashlight and directed her toward his partner coming around the house.

  “Who?” Kate asked, confused.

  “Marvel. We thought he had found a new home; it’s been a couple months since he last put in an appearance. But I should have planned for him.”

  Ben was carrying a fat, yellow tabby.

  “He’s named Marvel because it’s such a marvel he’s still alive. He must be the dumbest cat in the city,” Dave remarked, smiling. “For some reason he likes to warm himself on top of one of the sensor posts. He has to climb a tree to get up there and dangle himself in the air to drop down on the camera perch, but he keeps doing it. The only thing we can figure is it’s warm and it feels good on his old bones.” Dave took the hissing cat from Ben and gave him a good-natured rub behind the ears. “You just like to cause us all kinds of trouble, don’t you?”

  “I’ll reset the grid,” Ben said, slipping his radio back on his belt.

  “Thanks, Ben. And you might as well kill the camera feeds, just leave the infrared hot for the night. I’m sure he’ll be back to his old habits as soon as we set him down.”

  “Will do.”

  Dave glanced speculatively at Kate. “Want to carry him? He’s your typical tomcat. Bad mannered. Likes to eat.”

  She laughed softly, well able to see the two of them had nevertheless reached an understanding. She bet the cat set off the security alarm just so he would guarantee he got a meal out of the deal. “Sure, give him here.”

  She let out a small huff as the cat became hers to hold. “This isn’t a cat; it’s a small beast covered in fur.”

  “It would be nice if he got too fat to climb that tree.”

  “You could move the camera you know.”

  “He’d just get more creative.”

  She rubbed the cat’s ears, ignoring the rumble. She somehow figured it was as close to a purr as this cat could get. “What are we going to offer him to eat?”

  “There’s some grilled fish left.”

  “That sounds like a four-star feast.”

  “He’ll have it on the back patio. I made the mistake of letting him inside once. A house cat Marvel is not.”

  Already becoming attached to the heavy cat in her arms, she found the idea amusing. “Well, while you fix him some baked fish for his delight, fix me a milkshake, and Marvel and I will share some dessert.”

  “Deal. Now hand me that Glock. I’m more comfortable without my guests being armed.”

  “Gladly.” She handed it over, and he removed the clip.

  They walked back to the back patio. The earlier depression was gone, and in its place were a few moments on the back patio entertaining a cat with an attitude.

  She fell in love.

  When Dave brought out the dish with fish, the cat attacked it.

  Dave handed her a tall glass. She had learned early on that milkshakes were one of his specialties. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He settled on the chair beside her with a tall glass of his own. “Greedy little devil.”

  “He’s hungry.”

  “Somehow I think he’s always hungry.”

  When the bowl was empty, Kate filled it with a little of the milkshake. Marvel wasn’t sure what to think about it, was tentative about getting his nose close to it, then began to cautiously lick it.

  She was surprised when the cat stepped back from the dish and hissed.

  “What?”

  “He’s got an ice cream headache,” Dave explained.

  “Oh, you poor darling.” She felt horrible. She scooped the cat up to rub its head while Dave laughed.

  “The cat will live. I promise you.”

  “You could have warned me.”

  “Why? You would not have given him the ice cream, and he loves it.”

  She shot Dave a skeptical look, but the cat was trying to get out of her hands. She let him, and he returned to the dish, showing a little more caution this time.

  “What were you doing up when the alarm went off?”

  She had hoped to avoid the question. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Fair enough. We’re taking tomorrow off.”

  “What?”

  “We’re taking a break. No case files, no notes, no interviews. We both need a break.”

  She thought about it. The idea felt wonderful. Maybe she’d be able to sleep again. “Deal.” The cat finished licking the bowl clean and walked, tail swishing, over to the next empty chair, leaped up, and promptly began to groom his coat, pausing occasionally to stare at them.

  “Think he’ll stick around?”

  “Probably.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Dave winced as the cat jumped across into his lap, dug in his claws, and tried to get near the tall glass he held. “It depends on your perspective.”

  She laughed.

  “If he sticks, he’s yours.”

  “Marcus gave me a dog with an attitude; you’re giving me a beat-up tomcat. Should I see a pattern in this?”

/>   “Absolutely.” He scooped the cat from his lap and held him out. “Marvel, if you’re smart, you’ll be nice to her. She’s the one who thinks you’re adorable.”

  Kate had to hold him still while he thought about bolting, then he malevolently stretched out across her lap.

  “Looks like you’ve got a cat.”

  Kate looked over, hearing the satisfaction in Dave’s voice. “And here I don’t have anything to give you,” she said tongue in cheek.

  “Just make very sure it’s something that doesn’t breathe, okay?”

  “Come on, Kate, the day is wasting,” Dave called from downstairs.

  She hurried to get her hair brushed. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

  He had gone to church on his own, leaving her to sleep in, and she was grateful in a way that he had backed off what had been such a painful collision of values the day before. He’d come home, brought lunch with him, and announced they were going out for the day. He’d proceeded to inform her there was a motorcycle in back that qualified as his pride and joy, and she had ten minutes to get ready to go.

  She’d scrambled. She loved the idea. She grabbed her leather jacket, knowing regardless of the temperature she would need the protection. She trusted Dave; she didn’t trust the other drivers. She joined him downstairs.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Wisconsin, a quiet out-of-the-way lake. And if you’re really good, I’ll even bring you home.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Where’s this second helmet you said you had?”

  He handed it over. “It’s Sara’s, so it should fit you.”

  She tried it on, slipped down the visor, and glanced in the hallway mirror. “I look dangerous.”

  “Anonymous at least. Come on. Let’s hit the road before traffic flowing downtown to the Cubs game picks up.”

  He had brought the bike around to the front of the house, and it was obvious it was something he took considerable pride in—the motorcycle gleamed. He tucked water bottles in the carrying case.

  “You’ve ridden before?”

  “Jack has a bike.” She saw his expression and grinned. “My brother,” she pointed out. “I ride with him frequently.”

  “Just remember to sit straight, and let me be the one to shift my weight in a turn.”

  She slid on the bike and adjusted the footrests to a comfortable distance. “Drive. I want some wind in my face.”

  Dave slid onto the seat and kicked the ignition.

  Two hours later, tired, content, and smiling, she slid off the bike at a gas and grocery corner store miles into Wisconsin.

  “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Immensely.” She took off her jacket and draped it over the seat, grateful for the chance to enjoy the breeze. “How far is the lake?”

  “Five minutes. I figured if we get ice cream here, there’s a chance it won’t melt until we get there.”

  “I’ll get it. What do you want?”

  He handed her a twenty. “Whatever you’re having.”

  Kate nodded and headed for the store. She felt the attention that came her way from others at the store, the kind of open curiosity natural between travelers in a new environment. She looked like a casual biker. It created a reaction she didn’t normally get. When people looked twice, it was typically because she was a cop, not because they were quietly wondering why she and Dave traveled by motorcycle rather than car.

  She wandered through the aisles to the back of the store and the glass door freezers and took her time considering options. She bought strawberry ice cream and added a box of plastic spoons. It was fun doing this for a day instead of working. She didn’t goof off nearly enough.

  “Give me the twenty.”

  This wasn’t happening. She felt the knife tip prick her ribs from behind at the same instant her peripheral vision caught the stockroom door swinging back the other way and saw in the small pane of glass the kid who had made the threat. It was a teen, barely fifteen, sweating—she could smell the desperation. Clearly the crack problem was as bad in Wisconsin as it was in her Chicago neighborhood; she’d seen that look of desperation too many times. He’d stepped out of the stockroom and was probably planning to retreat the same way.

  She shifted the twenty dollars from the palm of her hand to between her middle fingers, extending it to him without saying a word. What a mess. It wasn’t even her twenty bucks. And he was going to use it to get high.

  He grabbed the bill, stepped back, and she turned and rammed the open flat of her hand under his nose. If she broke his nose it was incidental, she just wanted to guarantee he dropped the knife. If he used the knife once, he would use it again, next time on someone he might hurt. The teen howled, the knife dropped, and the boy made the mistake of reaching down for it. She hooked a foot behind his and put him on his back.

  Dave laid a cautious hand on her shoulder, and she about hit him, too. He had seen enough to get the drift. “I’ve got him, Kate.”

  She stepped back while he hauled the teen to his feet.

  “Buy a box of plastic sandwich bags and get that knife in evidence. You ever testify in the Wisconsin courts?”

  “Once.”

  “Fastest courts for juvenile cases I’ve ever seen.” He looked her over. “You just couldn’t take a day off, could you?”

  It was said with humor, and she let herself smile in return even though what she wanted to do was hit something to get rid of the fright. “If I were working today, I would have wasted time trying to convince him he really didn’t want the twenty bucks before I just took the knife away.”

  Dave laughed. He got a good hold of the back of the boy’s collar and steered him toward the front of the store. “Okay, son. Lesson one. Next time, you really don’t want to try and rob a cop.”

  By the time the local cops had taken statements, reports had been filed, and they were officially free to go, it was almost 5 P.M. Dave slid the paperwork into the bike satchel, glanced over at her, and straightened. “What?”

  “I’m sorry about all this.”

  “Why? You didn’t cause it.”

  “I was looking forward to a day off.”

  “The sun hasn’t set yet, has it?”

  “No.”

  “Then give me a chance to get creative here. I’d like to think I could make some of this up to you.”

  “Make it up to me?”

  He nodded and handed her the jacket. “I chose the place to stop, remember?”

  “Now that you mention it…”

  “What do you think about ostentatious displays of wealth?”

  “What?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Tacky.”

  “I figured that would be your answer.” A long stretch limousine tried to maneuver into the parking lot never designed for a car of its length. “So I asked for your basic black instead of your more flashy white.”

  “You did what—”

  She had to laugh as he walked over and held open the limousine door. “Two hours on a bike when you’re tired is not fun. Kevin volunteered to drive the bike home. We’ll make the trip in a little more comfort.”

  Kate vaguely remembered Kevin when he got out of the passenger front seat as one of the men who did landscape work for Dave. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Two phone calls. The second was for the order of Chinese take-out. I believe someone mentioned you like wontons?”

  “I’m sold.” She slid into the back seat of the limousine and felt her body sink into the plush leather. The car was huge. With the facing seat it would allow four people to travel in comfort with their legs stretched out. Dave joined her.

  “This is really ridiculous. Do you know what my family will say when they hear how I got home?”

  “Don’t tell them.” Dave made himself comfortable as the car pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s got a T V, too. We’ve got food, entertainment, tinted windows. I’d call it a date, but you’re still in jeans.”

/>   She was too amused by how pleased he looked with himself to do anything but laugh. They were stuck in traffic for an extra hour during the drive home. It was the first time she had never cared.

  “Canceled checks confirmed what we suspected. Nathan was apparently blackmailing Tony. One hundred and eighty thousand was paid to the fictional subcontractor, and it all ended up in Nathan’s private account. Whatever Nathan knew, Tony was willing to pay handsomely to keep it quiet. Do we have any idea what it was?” Dave asked, looking around the table. The group had reassembled early Monday morning, picking up where they had left off in the work; already the first pot of coffee was gone, and they were well into the second.

  “I still think it’s drug related,” Jack offered, looking at the Post-it notes. “We know Tony was fired from O’Hare under the suspicion that he was moving drugs. Eight of his coworkers went to jail, but the cops didn’t have enough evidence to charge Tony. What if Nathan had that evidence?”

  “Assuming it exists—how would Nathan have acquired it? Do we have any indication Nathan was involved in drug activities?”

  “Nathan—no, but his brother Ashcroft? According to this—” Kate tapped the Ashcroft trial transcript binder on her lap before reaching over for another doughnut—“we know Ashcroft once moved drugs through O’Hare. What if Tony worked for Ashcroft and there was proof of that, could Nathan have gotten hold of it?”

  “Ashcroft went to jail for a decade. Someone had to store his stuff, settle his affairs. It would have fallen to Nathan,” Graham offered. “A notebook, a tape, it’s possible.”

  “Tony Jr. didn’t start to work at O’Hare until after Ashcroft went to jail,” Marcus cautioned, looking at the easel sheet with the master timeline.

  “Ashcroft could have continued to run his business from inside prison,” Graham offered.