Sizzle (Buchanan-Renard #8)
Page 27“Yes.”
“My day just might be getting better. What do you do for the FBI?”
“I’m a language specialist.”
Muren started laughing. “This is now a good day.”
“I’ll make it even better. They know you have a key, but they don’t think you’ll figure out what it unlocks.”
“Did they say—”
“Pier twenty-three, locker seven. You might want to lead with that.”
Muren rubbed his hands together. “You’re right. Since I met you, this day just keeps getting better and better.” He opened the door and said, “When you’re finished here, do you think you could help me out with the interrogation?”
Sam nodded.
“Take as long as you need. They can wait.”
Nothing was happening with Flynn. No matter what the question, he consulted with his attorney before answering. Then he danced around the question and never really answered.
“If the detectives asked him if he likes the weather, I bet he’d talk to his attorney first,” Lyra said.
O’Malley had been civil and restrained up to now. He put two photos on the table in front of Flynn. “These men work for you, don’t they?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Have you ever seen either one of them before?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Those are the men who shot at us, aren’t they?” Lyra asked Sam.
“Yes.”
Ten minutes of evasions were enough for Lyra. She was about to suggest that Sam go help Detective Muren when the conversation in the interrogation room suddenly got interesting.
O’Malley was no longer polite; he had become hostile and antagonistic. He informed Flynn that he would probably need him to come in three of four times a week because he could never quite remember all the questions he wanted to ask. He told Flynn that he should be prepared to spend a lot of time at the station. O’Malley thought it would only take a month or two.
Flynn didn’t consult his attorney this time. The smirk gone, he started yelling at O’Malley, calling him a disgrace to the Irish community and threatening to sue him for harassment. Flynn’s attorney put a hand on his arm, but Flynn flicked it off.
“Do you know a woman named Lyra Prescott?” O’Malley asked, undaunted.
Flynn’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but Sam saw it and so did O’Malley. “So you know who she is?”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“Your two goons,” he said, tapping the photos, “tried to kill her the other day. Tried to kill the FBI agent who was with her, too. That’s gonna get them a lot of years.”
The attorney stood. “We’re done here.”
Flynn shoved the attorney to get him moving. “Michael, let’s leave.”
“See you boys tomorrow and probably the day after. I’ll let you know. Keep your schedule open.”
“I’m filing suit …”
“Go ahead,” O’Malley said.
Once Flynn and his attorney were gone, O’Malley opened the observation room door.
Smiling, he said, “Did you see that look on Flynn’s face when I mentioned Lyra’s name?”
“Why are you happy about that, Detective?” she asked.
“We think Flynn’s doing a payback or a favor for someone else. We can’t connect him directly to you any other way. From everything we’ve learned, you’ve had no interaction with any of Flynn’s crew.”
“A favor?”
“That’s what we’re hoping. If we can put enough pressure on him, he might get fed up. It looks like he’s got several men working on this. Two are in jail and at least a couple more are still out there. That’s a lot of payroll and not very cost effective for him, I’d say.”
“You think he’ll just quit?”
“No, we’re hoping he’ll now go have a chat with whoever wanted his help.”
THIRTY-THREE
LYRA WAS HAPPY TO BE BACK AT THE DUPLEX. FOR A HIDEOUT, it was quite comfortable; everything was brand new, and she hadn’t stubbed her toe once because, unlike her apartment, it was spacious. After her shower, she dressed in a silky gown and robe and went downstairs to the dining room table to work on her script. Now that she knew exactly what she wanted to do, the ideas came freely. According to the rules, the film couldn’t be more than ten minutes long, which didn’t sound like much, but to a budding filmmaker, it could just as well have been ten hours. Every second had to count.
She closed down her computer at eleven. Sam was in the kitchen, having just come in from the backyard.
“What were you doing out there?” she asked.
“Just checking.”
“Checking what?”
“The yard,” he said. He raised his eyebrows at her outfit. “I like that on you, but …”
“But what?”
“I like it off you better.”
“I’m going to bed.” She turned and slowly sauntered toward the stairs. Glancing seductively over her shoulder she said, “Are you coming?”
Sam made sure all the doors were locked before heading upstairs. He took a quick shower, wrapped in a towel, and knocked on Lyra’s door.
“Who is it?”
He opened the door and walked in. Lyra was lying on her side, propped up on her elbow with her head in her hand. She didn’t say another word. She simply lifted the sheet. Her robe and gown were already off. When he pulled her to him, he sighed with pleasure.
“Had any fantasies lately?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper. Her fingers circled his navel. “I have,” she said. “Do you want me to show you?”
He swallowed hard. She took that as a yes and began to kiss every inch of him. As her tongue playfully titillated, her fingertips drove him out of his mind, her touch arousing him to an ecstasy he had never before experienced. When they both found release, she collapsed on top of him. She fell asleep as he stroked her hair and tried to calm his heartbeat.
Sam was shaken. Lyra was so loving and giving. She wasn’t shy with him. Beth had been a loving wife, but she had never initiated sex. He hadn’t experienced anything like this with her. The two women were so different.
He knew that Lyra would not have made love with such passion if she didn’t care for him. Perhaps she was falling in love with him. And what did he have to offer her? Lyra deserved to have someone who would share his life with her, and he had vowed he would never marry again. He still felt the pain of losing Beth. If anything happened to Lyra, he couldn’t bear it.
But how could he leave her?
He fell asleep without an answer.
———
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lyra went right to work on her script, and Sam spent time on the phone and computer. He was frustrated with the investigation and was pacing while he thought about all the possibilities. O’Malley was monitoring Flynn’s conversations and was hoping the Irishman would be angry enough to make a few calls that would shed some light on why Lyra had been targeted.
Lyra closed her laptop and stretched. She was stiff all over. “It feels like months since I worked out. No one knows where we are. Do you think we could go for a run?”
A run sounded good to him. “It’s hot out, but I’m up for it if you are.”
He usually ran five miles every morning during the week and ten on Saturdays and Sundays. Lyra, on the other hand, was usually happy with three, but she was determined not to slow him down, so she ran alongside him matching his stride. By the time they returned to the duplex, she was soaked with sweat and gasping for air.
“Are you okay?” he asked when he saw her red face. He lifted his shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “It’s sizzling out there.”
Her wet clothes clung to her body. He gave her the once-over. “You sizzle. Let’s get you upstairs and cool you off.” He took her hand and leading her toward the steps.
He ran a cool shower and then stripped out of his clothes before undressing her. Together they let the spray of the water take the heat away.
Later, as Lyra was standing at the sink slicing an apple, she said, “Do you have plans for this afternoon, Sam?”
He came up behind her and kissed her neck. “You’re my plan.” He reached over her shoulder, took one of the slices, and popped it into his mouth.
“Would you mind if we went out? I want to buy the new camera and some extra equipment. The camera can take pictures for up to a month, but I’ll keep it there for only a couple of weeks.”
“As long as you promise not to go back before then, and when you do, you go with your bodyguard.”
Go with your bodyguard. The phrasing was a subtle reminder he would soon be leaving. “I promise,” she said.
Since they were going to be walking in trash, Lyra ran up to change from shorts to jeans. She put on her flip-flops, grabbed a fresh pair of socks, and went to the garage to get her boots.
They didn’t take long at the camera shop. Lyra knew the exact model she wanted and had called ahead to make sure they had it in stock. She purchased two extra battery packs and was back in the car before Sam could point out the time or tell her to hurry. With the help of the camera store owner’s instructions and the manual, Lyra got the camera ready while Sam drove to Paraiso Park. All she had to do once there was remove the old camera, set the new one in place, and flip a switch.
“One, two, three, easy as can be.” Gigi used to say that to her whenever Lyra complained of homework.
“What did you say?” Sam asked.
“Nothing important. Do you have only one gun?”
“In L.A. or San Diego?”
“L.A. first, then I’ll drive to San Diego early the next morning, give the lecture, and be on a plane back to D.C. that night.”
Lyra felt as though an elephant had just landed on her chest. Fortunately, she had been looking away from him when he dropped the news, and was able to recover before she turned to look at him.
“Am I getting a new bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure. I’m thinking tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
If he said, “If you’re ever in D.C.,” she knew she’d start crying.
When he left, it had to be completely over. She couldn’t handle seeing him every now and then, or eventually running into him with another woman. Lyra wasn’t angry with him. He hadn’t forced her to fall in love with him, and he would never have touched her if she hadn’t allowed it.
She’d get over him. Absolutely. She would pour herself into her work, and eventually she would forget all about him.
Like that would happen.
She felt a burst of anger. No one to blame but herself, she decided. She would not make him feel guilty, but by God, she wouldn’t say good-bye to him either. That was asking too much.
THIRTY-FOUR
MILO HAD A PROBLEM. WHERE WAS HE GOING TO FIND A bunch of old smelly books? Old DVDs and CDs weren’t a problem. He had shoplifted enough of those from various stores over the years, and he could toss those in a box. But old books?
Then it hit him. The library. He could grab all the books he needed, pack them in grocery sacks, and outrun the librarians to his car.
Milo hadn’t been inside a library since he was eight years old, so he didn’t know about all the changes. He was unaware that there were detectors that would set off an alarm if even one book was taken out without being stamped, but he found out about them when he passed through the metal bars and a loud pulsating beep brought people running.
He also vastly underestimated librarians. They weren’t at all like the ones in old movies on television. No, these women didn’t wear their hair in buns or walk around in ugly, black, tie shoes with thick soles. The two women he encountered were kind of hot, and if he hadn’t been trying to get away from them with two grocery bags loaded with books, he might have tried to ask one or both of them out.
Man, those women loved their books, and there was no way in hell they were gonna let one get out without a fight. Fearing that they would beat the crap out of him when they caught him, he ran down one aisle after another, A to D, E to G. They were closing in on him in the self-help aisle when he had to slow down to catch his breath. Panting, he finally dropped the sacks and sprinted for the door, high-jumping the metal bars to get out before more alarms could go off.
Now what? Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Milo to come up with another brilliant idea. He would buy new books and throw them around the house until they looked old and worthless. He knew there was a big bookstore across the street from the mall, so he drove there and asked the clerk behind the information desk if he had any new books that looked old.
The young man said “Excuse me?” three times before he understood. Then he said, “No.” He did, however, turn out to be helpful. He took Milo to an area he called the classics, and some of them had real dark covers, like the ones Lyra had taken from the yard sale. The clerk brought him a cart and told him he’d be happy to help him find titles.
“No, I just need old-looking books,” Milo said as he began pulling books off the shelves.
The clerk left him alone, and Milo cruised through the stacks tossing in anything that had a dark cover or an embossed print. He had learned his lesson from the library and knew he couldn’t steal these books because the store had the same kind of shoplifting detector panels just inside the front doors. What’s the world coming to, he thought, when books had to be protected from thieves?
He filled two boxes, and when he paid cash at checkout, he mentioned to the clerk that he needed more old books. She gave him two extra empty boxes from the back and suggested he try Mary Ann’s New and Used Book Store on Nall and 89th. Since Milo had never bought books before, this was all news to him. He wished the clerk had said something about the cheaper used books before he’d paid so much money.
Mary Ann’s had just what he wanted. Once again, he didn’t bother to read any titles. All he was interested in were the old covers. He dropped his books on the counter and tapped his foot impatiently waiting for his purchases to be rung up. The nerdy clerk in his rimless glasses and long unkempt hair took his sweet time and delighted in reading each title as he scanned it.