Once Upon a Friendship

He wasn’t a kid anymore. Didn’t need to spill his guts.

He was glad Marie was there. That both of his friends were there. Was very glad for their company. The three of them. Together. Just like always.

Glad that he didn’t have to spend time alone with Gabrielle while he was so tired.

What he needed was a few hours supine in his new master suite. Which, while not as roomy as any he’d had before, had turned out quite nicely after he’d had three rooms—two beds and a bath—joined as one.

“What do you make of that one offshore account?” he asked Gabrielle, as they sat at his solid cherry dining room table and listened to pipes groaning as they ate. “Why wasn’t it deleted with the rest of them?” Between the two of them, they’d brought Marie up-to-date regarding the case.

“According to Gwen Menard, the FBI’s theory is that they got there with their warrant before whoever was doing the erasing had a chance to finish, so that one account was still there for the FBI to find.”

Made sense. But the girls hadn’t brought food up for a business meeti

ng. “You and Gwen are getting pretty tight, huh?” he asked in his attempt to not talk business.

“She’s willing to share information with me as long as I do the same with her.”

“But you can’t, really, can you? If you were to find something that would incriminate me, you can’t pass it on to her.”

“Correct, but I can share anything else we find. With your permission, of course. I took for granted I had your permission, as it was the only way to get what we needed.”

“I gave you carte blanche. You know that.”

Marie tapped her knife on the table. “Hello! Did you two forget we’re all friends here? What’s with all this ‘correct’ and ‘your permission, of course’? Since when do we talk like that?”

“Sorry,” they both said at once. Liam looked at Gabi. Her head was bent. Which was just as well. For a second there he’d forgotten that Marie was at the table. An unforgivably selfish act on his part. She was as much his friend as Gabrielle was. The only good meal he’d had that weekend, the one they were sharing, had been Marie’s idea.

A particularly loud thump, squeal, hiss and bump came from a pipe beneath them, distracting him from his guilt. They spent the next couple of minutes talking about the building. Men had been working on the elevator all week. It was still slow. Still jerked to a halt on some floors. But it was safe and reliable. The heating system was next on the list.

Liam agreed to start calling around for quotes. And his phone rang.

He recognized the number, a new one on his caller ID, and glanced at Gabrielle again as he answered. “Tanner, what’s up?”

He’d wanted to ignore the call. Not a prudent or responsible thing to do under the circumstances.

“You haven’t left your building all weekend.”

“I know.”

“I just want to be clear that you don’t have to fear going out.”

What kind of a wimp did this guy think he was? He’d grown up rich. Not soft.

“I’ve been working all weekend,” he said now, very aware of the two women at his table who’d stopped eating and were unabashedly listening to every word he said. “I work from home.”

“Understood. I’d like to go over your schedule for the coming week so I can be as prepared as possible and thus be more likely to guarantee no bumps in your road.” The man’s voice was deep, but not the least bit thug-like.

“I’m due in court at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” He named the courtroom in the downtown courthouse where a seventeen-year-old boy would be fighting for his right to go off his medication. “My schedule from there depends upon what happens in court. I’m following the story wherever it takes me.”

“I’ll be by to get you at seven thirty.”

“Wait. What? I don’t need you take me to court.”

Gabrielle’s gaze sharpened.

“So what do you suggest I do to earn my fee?”

“I’m not paying you much of a fee.”