“I don’t know, Judge, you tell me. She seems to think she has some information you don’t want leaked. Her exact words were ‘I can play dirty too’.”
There was a pregnant silence.
“Go on,” he said a little too quietly.
Intentionally vague, Julie sa
id, “She mentioned artwork.”
Silence, thick, and full of implications filtered through the phone line.
He cleared his throat. “Exactly what did she say about the subject?”
Not good, Julie thought. “She seems to think you have some pieces you don’t want anyone to know about,” Julie offered in a neutral tone as she tapped her pencil on her oak desktop.
“Such as?” he asked a pinch of urgency slipping into his tone.
“She wouldn’t say,” Julie told him in a voice that was deceptively light. ”Seemed to think I was better off not knowing.”
Silence again. He was having a quiet panic attack, Julie realized with concern.
He cleared his throat again. Julie waited; still nothing. “Judge?”
“It’s not a problem,” he assured her in a very tight voice. “There are thieves who will go to great lengths to get their hands on highly sought after art. I am always quite nervous about some of my holdings becoming targets. I will have the pieces in question put somewhere safe. Give me forty-eight hours, and then call her bluff.”
“It’s not a bluff if you think she’ll act on it,” Julie argued. “And if you need forty-eight hours, that tells me you think she might. Judge, I don’t want to offend you, but,” she paused to consider phrasing and decided to be direct. “I need to be sure there is nothing going on I wouldn’t want to be involved with.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. “I’m a judge for God’s sake. Give me some credit. I have masterpieces that certain collectors would literally kill for. I don’t want those pieces of my collection made public. Now do as I say, and call her bluff.”
Bluff. There was that word again that sat all kinds of wrong in her mind. “All right, Judge. Consider it done.”
Julie’s stomach churned with a sense of dread. Nothing about this situation was done. Her gut said that this was going someplace very bad, very quickly.
Chicago O’ Hare Airport
Wednesday night, two days later
Ten minutes. That was all Julie had to get to her gate and board. Considering the snowstorm blasting across the state, she couldn’t afford to miss it, as it might well be the last plane out for days. And considering she was in charge of Lauren’s rehearsal dinner Friday night, that would be bad. Really, really bad. That thought held enough of a fear factor to send Julie into a half-run. She shouldn’t have agreed to travel this close to the wedding.
She eyed the gate numbers, spotting seven, when she needed eleven. She fought through the pinch of her toes in the black three-inch heels that matched her safe black travel dress, cringing at the sight of huge snowflakes outside the wall of windows to her left. They seemed to fall at an accelerated speed while she watched. Her gaze lifted to the monitors and she cringed yet again at the flashing red with the word ‘cancelled’ next to a great number of flights.
“Please don’t let mine be one of them,” she murmured, afraid to stop to check for fear seconds could cost her the seat with her name attached.
Arriving at her gate, the empty waiting room seats emphasised just how late she was for boarding. The doors to the entry ramp were still open, and that meant she’d made it on time.
Eager to confirm she was right, Julie hurried to the counter and presented the attendant behind the counter her ticket. “Please tell me I’m not too late for this flight.”
The forty-something woman smiled and pushed the rims of her black glasses back onto her face. “You’re in luck. We’ve boarded the last group, but the flight’s been delayed fifteen minutes.”
A sigh of relief slid past Julie’s lips. “Thank you. And you’re right. That’s luck because I really need to be on this flight. Do you think I dare sneak away for some food to take on the plane with me before I board?” It was nearly eight at night and divorce negotiations had been so heated, she’d never gotten her sandwich down.
“If you hurry and I do mean hurry,” she said. “Rush back.”
“I will,” Julie promised. “Thank you, again. Please don’t let them shut the doors without me.”
“I won’t,” the woman promised. “I’m going to check in with the crew and I’ll flag your name as present.” The women rushed away and Julie stuffed her ticket inside her purse, ready to seek out the nearest restaurant.
She made it all of four or five steps before she stumbled over Lord-only-knew-what -- a cord of some sort she thought -- and nearly fell flat on her face. She righted her ankle, thankfully avoiding a sprain, but her briefcase took the tumble for her, sliding down her shoulder and hitting the ground. The contents spilled out.