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  They spent the rest of the evening sitting on the sofa in the living room, dipping shrimp into a great homemade horseradish sauce, and watching music videos from Rafe’s extensive racks of DVDs and CDs.

  They liked the same kinds of music. She found that they thought the same kinds of things were funny and they laughed aloud, sharing stories of their beleaguered childhoods.

  He had not made one false step. She started the evening thinking, it’s a shame he’s a drug dealer and I have to bring him down, but as the night wore on, she began thinking more in terms of maybe I’m wrong and he’s not a drug dealer at all.

  Just before eleven o’clock, she heard a faint buzzing and a click and the sound of someone at the front door.

  “Hector,” Rafe explained, and a moment later Rafe’s younger brother came into the living room, holding a small gym bag. He was wearing an expensive leather jacket and sharply creased trousers, but where Rafe’s features were sharp and his grooming impeccable, Hector had a coarser face and the start of a grungy tired-of-shaving beard. He also had the artificially bright-eyed look of someone who had been drinking more than just a little.

  “Hey, bro,” Hector said cheerily. “Hi, Ruby. Didn’t expect to see you outside of work. This mug been mistreating you?”

  “No,” she said in the same light manner, “just swapping stories about the nasty boss I’ve got out at the airport and how I keep getting abused.”

  Hector smiled. “That’ll be the day,” he said, “when you get abused. How do you like the house?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “There’s shrimp in the kitchen, Hec,” Rafe said.

  His brother shook his head. “No, I was working out at the gym; I’m a little whupped and I think I’ll just go ahead and crash. Thanks, though.”

  He walked into the kitchen and opened a door on the far side of the room.

  “I thought his apartment was down the hall,” she said to Rafe as he walked down the steps.

  “That’s the basement down there,” Rafe said. “Where he keeps his gym stuff.”

  “Looks like he’s got a little buzz on. That wine-drinking look.”

  “As long as it’s just wine, I’ve got no problems with that,” said Rafe.

  Ruby nodded and went back to watching the music videos. It took a full five minutes before Hector came back into the living room, this time without his gym bag.

  He said “Well, I’ll see you both in the morning,” and left the room. Ruby heard the door to his room close a few seconds later.

  She and Rafe finished watching a wonderful video of a jazz performance by Charlie Parker and Ruby said, “I think it’s time for me to turn in too.”

  Rafe stood and helped her to her feet.

  “You find everything in the guest room all right?” he asked.

  “Your guest room’s better equipped than my apartment,” she said.

  “Good. I wouldn’t want you to lack for anything. Breakfast at 8:30?”

  “How about I cook breakfast?” said Ruby.

  “Next time, you cook. This time, my turn.”

  In an almost elaborately formal manner, he kissed her on the cheek and said, “Get a good night’s rest,” then walked with her to the stairway that led up to her room and stood there watching her walk upstairs.

  She locked the door of her room and turned her cell phone back on. She had received no calls during the evening. She made sure her pistol was still where she had hidden it, then set the alarm feature on her cell phone for 3 a.m. and put the phone under her pillow. She left a small light on in the bathroom and pulled the door mostly closed so it would serve as a nightlight, then turned out the bedside lamp to go to sleep.

  The cell phone would wake her at 3 a.m.

  She wanted to see what was down in the basement where Hector kept “his gym stuff.”

  Archie was about to interrupt Nero Wolfe during his designated orchid tending period. Gorman smiled in anticipation of the coming conversation. After so many film and television incarnations, he wondered why it had taken the Arts and Entertainment channel to finally get Nero Wolfe right. The show was one of the high points of his week, and surely of this particular day. He sat in his robe, feet up, Scotch in hand. The show was more than half over, and he had just now assembled the clues.

  “You’ve got it, haven’t you?” Patsy asked from the floor beside his recliner. She was sexy as hell in pink sweat pants and one of Gorman’s tee shirts, sitting in a lotus position just to irritate him by proving she still could.

  “Got what?”

  “I mean you know who done it,” she said, slowly stretching out her legs. “I can tell by your smile. You always beat them to it.”

  “Not that hard,” Gorman said, sipping his Scotch.

  “Only for you, dear,” Patsy said, rising gracefully to her feet. “Anyway, I always leave you alone during the mystery, but now that the mystery’s over, we can talk, right?”

  “The sexy Mrs. Gorman with the legs of a gazelle can always get my attention,” he replied, subtly pushing the button on the remote to start the Tivo recording the program. “What would you like to talk about?”

  Patsy stared into space as if she were only just then deciding what she wanted to discuss. “I think that the topic of tonight’s chat will be, well, let’s see, ah yes, tomorrow.” She spun a gentle pirouette, stopped with her back to him, and fell backward, landing her ample hips in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a solid kiss on his mouth.

  “I think this would be a fine way to spend tomorrow, my little vixen,” Gorman said, glancing around her face to catch the action on the television. “Did you have something else in mind?”

  “That depends. Will you be home tomorrow?”

  “Uh-hum. Most of the day.”

  “Most?” Patsy asked. He could see a pout beginning to form. He didn’t want that. Pouts this early in the evening often translated into less receptive responses when they reached the bedroom.

  “Did I say most? I meant all. All day. I can do everything I need to do tomorrow from my office right here in the house.”

  “But you’ll still be working for a while,” Patsy said, tracing his strong jaw line with an index finger. “Will that include a report to the mysterious Mr. Hassan?”

  “Yeah. I think he sometimes gets confused about who’s running day to day operations. Sometimes he needs reassurance that I’ve got my hands on the reins.”

  “Only when things get busy, it seems. You working on a big case?”

  “Actually, I need to coordinate a few,” Gorman said, shifting just enough to feel her behind through his robe. He wasn’t sure how her perfume could remain potent so late in the day, but there was no doubt that it was affecting him. “It’s a busy time. Steele and Stone are protecting a witness who might be able to bring down that cop-hating lawyer I told you about. And Chastity Chiba needs to talk to a schoolgirl tomorrow, in order to verify claims that her patrolman father is abusing her.”

  “A lot going on,” Patsy said, nibbling on her husband’s ear. “And what about your problem child, Ruby?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s gotten inside a drug smuggling operation. In close to one of the kingpins. Maybe too close. But yeah, a lot going on. I think everybody will log some work hours tomorrow except…”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Patsy stared at the door for a couple of seconds, stifling a sigh. Then she affixed her cop’s-wife smile and turned back to her husband.

  “Your call, darling? Am I putting on a nightgown, or putting on some coffee?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Gorman lifted Patsy to her feet and shuffled his slippers toward the door, not sure what he expected but already not liking it much. It was Saturday night, and on Saturday night he just wanted to be left alone. So his face was locked in a scowl when he yanked the door open and stared at his visitor.

  “Hi, boss. Sorry to bother you at home, but this is kind of important. We need to talk.”

 
Gorman’s fuzzy eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Gunny? What the hell?”

  Behind him, Patsy walked past them toward the kitchen. “I’m putting on the coffee.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Rafael Sandoval didn’t snore exactly, but he made the most adorable sound as he slept. Ruby knew that the sun wouldn’t show its face for a good two or three hours, which made this prime time for her to go exploring. But staring into Rafe’s open bedroom door, she took a minute to stare at his handsome Colombian face, compact shoulders and smooth, hairless chest in the waning moonlight.

  Ruby had slid out from between the satin sheets just moments before and stood with moonlight glinting off her mahogany skin. Standing at Rafe’s door she had actually been able to forget who he was, what he did, and why she was there. But that lasted only a second. Now she stood in the cold reality of morning and she was on the clock.

  Wrapped in a terrycloth robe, Ruby moved like a wraith across the floor in the hall, then down the spiral staircase to the first floor. Her first stop was her purse, which she had abandoned on the sofa during a particularly intense kiss. From her bag she retrieved a small zip lock bag. She wanted a sample of Rafe’s product for analysis. She wanted rock-solid proof that he was smuggling drugs into the country before she went to Gorman to ask what the next step should be. Rafe had a sharp but simple mind, and Ruby wanted to know exactly what he was into before she ruined his world.

  By the time Ruby reached the door to the basement she was regretting her decision not to wear a nightgown. The terry robe was rubbing her nipples raw. At the bottom of the padded stairs, Ruby stood still for a moment in the silence, allowing her senses to acclimate. Rafe’s full, finished basement was one big room the size of the entire house, sorted into areas by furniture groupings. The darkness moved in on her, but didn’t bother her. She was at home there. During her brief stint with the Central Intelligence Agency they had taught her to become one with the darkness. They also taught her how to search a room. She panned from left to right, taking in the sofa, pool table, bar, large aquarium, and television set. No sign of Hector’s gym bag, but she didn’t think it would be out in the open anyway.

  She was about to begin her search with the bar when she heard a low hum followed by a thumping rattle. The gas furnace had just kicked in. It must have gotten a little brisk outside. The furnace was a good deal louder there in the basement than it seemed on the floor above. In fact, as she listened, she thought she detected a vibration that seemed out of place. Maybe she wouldn’t have to really search the place after all.

  She felt her way to the utility area, at the far right, just past the half bathroom. When she opened the door, the sound of the roaring furnace doubled. The narrow space was stifling hot, in direct contrast to the cold wood floor beneath her feet. The furnace room was also a storage area, where Rafe had stacked folding deck chairs and what looked like a backyard canopy. He must have a lot of company, she thought, and this was the stuff he set up in his big backyard for cookouts and such.

  Opening her robe to reduce the heat, Ruby crouched beside the furnace and waited for it to stop. Then she reached up to tap the duct leading out of the furnace. The duct ran horizontally for about four feet before turning upward to pierce the ceiling. Her tapping yielded a hollow sound until she reached the elbow of the duct, where the sound suddenly changed. Bingo.

  She found the joint and pulled hard, separating the vertical aluminum tube from the horizontal piece, fighting against coughing as her actions shook dust from the top of the duct. Despite the musty odor of the little space she smiled when she thrust her hand into the duct. There she felt six plastic-wrapped packages, about the size of ten-pound flour bags, but flatter. Her instincts were still good. She had found the dope in the first place she looked. Or at least, she thought she had. At this point, it was still all supposition.

  With a little effort, Ruby managed to pierce one of the bags with her pinky nail. She used the nail as a shovel, pulling back a scoop of the bag’s contents. With practiced ease she emptied her little scoop into her own plastic bag. It was powder, but it didn’t have the granularity she had felt when handling cocaine. Heroine then, much softer and more powdery, like talc or chalk dust. Well, she had him now.

  From the top of the stairs a Spanish accented voice called, “Ruby? Are you down there?”

  Linda hesitated as she approached the building and stopped just an arm’s length from the door.

  “Are we sure we want to do this?”

  “We’re sure,” Rico Steele said behind her. “The question is, are you sure?”

  Linda looked up at the building she had walked into five days a week for the better part of a year. She had never been here on a Sunday before. Now it felt as if she were entering a haunted house. Her feet seemed frozen to the cold cement of the sidewalk and a razor wind cut through her light overcoat. She was grateful for the sweat suit Sherry had loaned her, even though it was a bit big for her. Her gaze wandered over her shoulder to Stone who stood behind her on her right.

  “It’s still your call,” he said in his tombstone voice. “We can still go home, and Rico and I will still keep you safe until we can find a way to get your boss behind bars without the code book. You can stay with us as long as necessary. You know Sherry loves your son.”

  Linda turned to face the door and straightened her shoulders. “Nope. That would be hiding. Can’t do the hiding thing. Got to do this. Got to do this for Danny.” With that she pulled her pass card from her purse and swiped it through the afterhours security device. The door clicked and she pushed it open. As she stepped into the lobby, she tossed the card to Stone.

  Linda concentrated on moving at her usual pace. Stone had equipped her with a stack of file folders as her assumed reason for being in the office on Sunday morning. She had worked up a nice little story about why her boss had ordered her in on Sunday, but the security guard hardly looked at her as she passed. His eyes were drooping, and she guessed he had been there all night. And really, why should he stir? Lawyers put in a lot of night and weekend hours, and he had no way of knowing she wasn’t somebody’s junior associate.

  She could see, though, that neither lawyers nor anyone else put in a lot of Sunday morning hours. The whole building seemed deserted. The ride up in the elevator seemed downright spooky. The sound of her shoes echoed behind her as she walked down the hall toward the office. Unlocking the door felt somehow very different than when she did it on a Monday or Tuesday morning. As she turned on the lights she half expected to see her boss, Irv Jerome sitting at his desk, chewing a bagel as he so often was when she arrived during the week. He worked mad hours, but getting there before dawn seemed to pay off for him.

  Linda looked around the office for what she knew would be the last time. She had never quit a job without giving plenty of notice before, and this too felt funny. Sure, Mr. Jerome might have people looking for her now, but he wasn’t really a bad boss to her. He paid well, complimented her on her work, and had given her a nice Christmas bonus. Mr. Steele and Mr. Mason had told her to hurry, but they also said they’d be right outside and there was nothing to worry about. Maybe she could take care of that unfinished correspondence before she left.

  No. What was she thinking? She should find the book, get it and get out of there before something went wrong. And she would, after she took care of one thing. As quickly as she could, she ran to the powder room, filled the water can, and watered all the plants. That should hold them for a while.

  Now Linda felt as if she could get down to business. She sat behind her reception desk and began emptying the lower left drawer. Beneath all her office supplies lay a false bottom, which she could just tip up with her fingernails. Beneath that false bottom lay a plain green ledger book, very similar to the record book Steele and Stone already had. Of course, this was the one that would make the information there make sense. Feeling both relief and guilt, Linda laid the book on her desk and opened it, just to verify that her memory was true. Ye
s, there they lay, those odd little squiggles that would soon translate into jail time or worse for one crooked lawyer.

  The sound of a key in the lock froze her in place. Her heart rate tripled and her hands locked down on the book as if to keep her world from spinning out of control. While she stared at the door it opened inward, and Irv Jerome stepped into the office. He wore khakis and a golf shirt, as if he had stopped off on his way to the links. She might have believed that if not for the three muscle men who followed him in.

  “Putting in a little extra time, Ms. Perry?” Jerome asked through his movie star smile. “I imagine you might be hanging around a little longer than you expected.”

  Amy Brooks looked for all the world like a typical fourteen-year-old girl. She wore run down sneakers and the popular baggy jeans under a jacket that seemed to be made of parachute silk. She had her mother’s blond hair, only worn in a straight and unflattering style. They were her mother’s facial features too, except that Amy’s face was makeup free. She walked with that slightly awkward gait that young girls have when they’ve recently sprouted longer legs and arms. She seemed a little taller than her age would imply, but that was probably because of her thin frame. She had her mother’s trim figure, except that no breasts had begun to sprout yet.

  Chastity could relate to that. She had lived through that torturous period. Even in that way, Amy seemed typical. Of course, that was the view from the windows of Chastity’s Mazda MX-5. She wondered what it was like up close. She also wondered where Amy was going on an early autumn Sunday morning. In some neighborhoods she would be an attractive target for the predators. Here, she wore her innocence like a shield, oblivious to just how safe she really was because she had no idea that she was being followed.

  The powder blue Mazda rolled gently in first gear. Chastity pulled to the curb fifty yards ahead of Amy and powered down her window. As Amy came even with the car, Chastity whistled to her.

  “Hey, Amy, what you up to, girl?”