James Conway - In Cold Blonde

But a pile of yellow phone messages were piled on his desk.

“Jesus Christ,” he said picking up the stack. “There must be a hundred of them.” He thumbed through a few. “Calls from the Today Show , Good Morning America , CBS, CNN, Fox News.”

“Ah, the official start of your fifteen minutes of fame.”

“ Time, Newsweek, New York Times, L.A. Times, Chicago Tribune ; don’t these guys have real news to write about?”

Syd picked up the one message on her desk. “I got a call from my hairdresser.”

Ryan rifled through the messages. “There are calls from stock brokers, financial planners, girls I dated in high school, and guys I haven’t seen in years.”

“And they all want your money. Tell me, Ryan, just how are you going to decide who is entitled to share your bounty?”

“Hell if I know.” Then Ryan cocked his head. “Do you smell something?”

“What’s that?” Syd asked pointing to a paper bag sitting on the corner of Ryan’s desk.

Ryan opened the bag, took out a plastic covered dish. “Meatball soup.” Something else was in the bag. Ryan pulled it out. “And a business plan for Maribel’s Meatballs.”

Hanrahan stepped up. “I love albondigas.”

“Here,” Ryan said shoving the dish into the Lieutenant’s hands.

“Thanks,” Hanrahan said. “Anything new on the Lady in Red?”

“Apparently Colin Wood didn’t believe that no means no.”

“There are two cases of date rape we know of so far,” Syd said. “And we’re guessing that we’ll find more.”

“And you think the Lady in Red was one of his victims?”

Syd nodded. “Don’t suppose any bodies turned up last night with a relocated penis?”

“No.” Hanrahan eyed Ryan’s pile of messages. “I’m hoping those are from concerned citizens with tips on the Colin Wood murder, but I’m guessing they’re from people hoping to pick your newly enriched pockets.”

“Yep.”

“Just remember to save a little for your brothers in blue.”

“And the inspirational man you work for,” Syd said.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Hanrahan took his meatballs and headed back to his office passing Anne who walked in, spotted Ryan, smiled and joined him.

“Good morning,” she said giving him a peck on the cheek, but her eyes were on Syd. She didn’t like what she saw. Way too cute, and from the way Syd was looking back at her, way too possessive.

Syd wanted to strangle Anne right there and then. She hated the all too familiar way she kissed Ryan on the cheek. And she was so fucking beautiful.

“Anne,” Ryan said, “I want you to meet my partner, Syd Curtis.”

“How do you do,” Anne said extending her hand. Syd took it and they shook, both squeezing a bit too hard.

“A pleasure,” Syd said, smiling so insincerely it could only mean one thing.

She’s fucking him, Anne realized. The little bitch is fucking Ryan. This may complicate things. “Look, I know you guys are busy, so if I can just borrow Ryan for a few minutes…”

Ryan indicted the empty conference room. “This way.”

Syd watched them cross the room. Anne was everything Syd admired in a woman: smart, confidant, successful. And one thing she hated; predatory. Anne had her sights set on Ryan, Syd could tell.

Shit, Syd thought, this woman was going to be trouble.

“Syd seems nice,” Anne said as Ryan closed the conference room door. Anne opened her attaché case, pulled out some papers. “How long have you been partners?”

“Just a couple of months,” Ryan said, nonchalantly. He didn’t want to give any indication they were having an affair. But Anne had always been able to read him like a book, so he suspected she had already figured it out. “Syd transferred in after making a name for herself in Vice.”

Anne wanted to probe further, but resisted the temptation. First things first, she decided; getting the lottery money was priority one. “You’re going to get a check for thirty-four million dollars tomorrow,” she said laying the papers out on the table, “and the immediate problem becomes what you do with it. Individual bank accounts are only insured for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per account per bank, so we’re going to spread some of the money to a network of banks and buy thirty-day T-bills with the rest. These documents give me your power-of-attorney to open the accounts and buy the T-bills, but nothing can be sold or withdrawn without your signature.”

“So you can’t steal my money.”

Anne looked at him to see if he was kidding, realized he wasn’t. “That’s right. Only you can get at the money. Ryan, you do trust me, don’t you?”

If they were going to be working together, Ryan needed to clear the air. He knew how he felt, but he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to vocalize his insecurities or fears. Like many men, he bottled everything up. But this was an extraordinary circumstance and called for extraordinary candor. “I trusted you with my life and you broke my heart.”

If there was ever a doubt Anne still loved Ryan, it vanished with those words. Now it was time to start winning that heart back. “And I’ve regretted it ever since,” Anne said. “To be honest, I’ve never been happier than I was those three years we were married. I was a fool to leave you. And if it makes you feel any better, Rick and I are getting a divorce.”

Ryan’s heart leapt, catching him by surprise. Suddenly Anne was available again. And part of Ryan wanted to win her back. Prove to her that leaving him was a terrible idea. And part of him was still loyal to Syd. He had no idea what to say, so he settled on, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was a long time coming. A fresh start is just what I need, personally and professionally. Ryan, your winning the Lotto couldn’t have come at a better time.” She took out a pen, handed it to him and then with her best courtroom closing argument sincerity she said, “You can trust me, Ryan. I promise.”

Ryan looked into the face he loved for so long, missed for so long. He believed her. “Okay.” He took the pen.

“Just sign here and here and I’ll get to work on opening these accounts.”

He signed.

In the bullpen, a worried Syd tried to work at her desk but her attention kept drifting to the closed conference room door. Her cell phone rang, she answered. “Hello.”

“Detective Curtis, this is Chris Reade; my office told me you called.”

“Yes, Mr. Reade, Kathy Tuttle told us you represented her in a transaction with Colin Wood and his father.”

“I did.”

“She told us about the date rape, Mr. Reade, and she said you told her Colin Wood had trouble before, in high school.”

“My assistant told me this was a murder investigation; could you tell me who was murdered?”

“Colin Wood.”

There was long pause, then Reade said, “Now that’s interesting.”

“Why?”

And when Reade told Syd, she thanked him and rushed to the conference room, knocked on the door and entered. Anne was slipping some papers back into her attaché case. “Sorry to bother you,” Syd said. “But we just got a break.”

“Great. Anne and I were finishing up.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” Anne said to Ryan. “And I’ll probably have more papers to sign. I’m moving into the Beverly Hilton this afternoon, we can meet there tonight to sign the papers and go over everything for tomorrow morning.” She turned to Syd. “Nice to meet you, Detective.” Anne swept out the door.

A worried Syd asked, “Why is she moving into a hotel?”

Ryan knew the answer would upset her. “She’s getting a divorce.”

A silent moment registered between them as the implications settled in. “Should I be worried?” Syd asked.