R is for Ricochet (Kinsey Millhone 18)

At 10:00, when the phone rang, I knew it was him. I turned my head, listening until the machine began recording the sound of his voice. I reached over and picked up, saying, "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. You called."

"Hours ago. I thought you were ignoring me. Are you still mad?"

"About what?"

"Good."

"How about you? Are you pissed off?"

"Not my nature," I said. "Not with you at any rate. Listen, we need to talk about Marty. Where are you?"

"Rosie's. Come join me."

"You trust me to walk half a block by myself? It's pitchy dark outside."

"I was going to meet you halfway."

"Why don't you go the whole distance and meet me here."

"We can do that later. For now, I think we should sit and stare into each other's eyes while I put a hand up your skirt."

"Give me five minutes. I'll step out of my underwear."

"Make it three. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

By the time I locked the door behind me and reached the front gate, he was waiting on the other side of Henry's wrought-iron fence. The sidewalk on his side was one step lower than the walk on mine, which made me feel tall. The night air was chill and the dark settled over us like a veil. I slid my arms around his neck. He tilted his head and ran his mouth down along my throat and across my collarbone. The fence pales were cold, blunt-tipped spears that pressed against my ribs. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms. "You're cold. You should have a jacket on."

"Don't need one. I have you."

"That you do," he said, smiling. He eased a hand between the fence pales, ran his fingers under my skirt and up between my legs. I heard him catch his breath and then he made a sound low in his throat.

"Told you."

"I thought it was a metaphor."

"What do either of us know about metaphors?" I said, laying my face against his hair.

"I know this."

My turn to hum. "We should go to Rosie's," I whispered.

"We should go in and lie down before impaling ourselves on this fence."

At midnight we made grilled cheese sandwiches – the only instance in life when Velveeta isn't such a terrible idea. I found myself sidetracked by the crust, which was crisp, fully saturated with butter. Still munching, I said, "Hate to ask, but what'd Vince say when you told him about Reba and me?"

"He stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed. Actually, he loved the information about the counting room. Said he'd put a note in the file and attribute the tip to an anonymous call. He's scheduling the meeting with Reba for Thursday."

"Can't he make it any sooner than that? He's the one telling us Beck's about to take off. Reba's worried she'll run into him."

"I can mention it to Vince, but I wouldn't hold out much hope. That's the downside of an operation like this, it's unwieldy as hell. All she has to do is lay low."

"You give her the news. I'm not allowed to talk to her."

"That's right. Because I'm looking after you."

"What about Marty? He's the one you ought to be worried about. He's really feeling the squeeze, convinced his phone's tapped or he's got a bug planted in his house."

"Could well be. Tell him to give us a call and we can talk about a deal."

"He's not ready for that. He's still looking for a way out of the bind he's in."

"What do these guys think? They're so smart they're never going to get caught?"

"They haven't been caught so far."

Chapter 23

Tuesday morning passed in a great big boring blur. Given the egocentric nature of the world, I imagined that since nothing in particular was happening to me, there was nothing in particular happening to anyone else. In truth, events were transpiring that I would hear about only when it was too late to alter either cause or effect. My phone rang at 11:00 – Cheney asking me to sit tight for the next half-hour as there was something he wanted me to hear. "You have a tape recorder?" he asked.

"An old one, but it takes a regular-size cassette."

"That'll do."

Fifteen minutes later he walked in the door. While I was waiting for him, I searched through my closet until I found the tape recorder. I opened a fresh package of AA batteries and by the time Cheney arrived, the tape recorder was set up and ready to go. "What is it?"