James Conway - In Cold Blonde

The phone was off. Ryan never turned his cell phone off. He even kept it on as he recharged it. What’s with that? Must be a technical thing, he decided. He pressed the button turning it on.

The phone beeped as it started up. His screen lit up — just the shrink-wrap Verizon logo — Ryan never downloaded a personal picture. Didn’t know how and didn’t care.

DING. The elevator door opened as he reached the lobby. He stepped out of the elevator. Sure enough, there was a missed call from Syd. And she had left a voicemail. Ryan was about to play the voicemail when he was interrupted. “Detective Magee?”

Ryan looked up to find a handsome blond man in a Brooks Brother’s suit. “Yes?”

“Could I have a minute of your time?”

There was something about the man that was vaguely familiar. And he was intense, a man on a mission.

“Sure.” Ryan put his phone in his pocket.

The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Rick Rogers, Anne’s husband. Or should I say soon to be ex -husband.”

Ryan shook the man’s hand warily. Every cop knows jilted husbands can do crazy things. “I don’t want any trouble,” Ryan said.

“Don’t worry,” Rick said. “You carry a gun, I carry a Blackberry. But there are some things about Anne I think you ought to know.” He indicated a couple of chairs in the lobby. “Shall we?”

Ryan wasn’t comfortable having any conversation with the man who stole Anne from him seven years ago, but he was curious about what Rick Rogers would have to say. They sat down.

“You were in Anne’s room a long time,” Rick said with a knowing look.

“Are you following her?”

“Let’s just call it idle curiosity.”

“I think the legal term is stalking.”

Rick sat back in his chair, smiled. “She’s good, I’ll give her that.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Did Anne tell you she was leaving the firm?”

“Yes. She said she was sick of the rat race and she’s decided it’s time for her to give something back. She’s going to run my charitable foundation.”

“Did she mention that she was given an ultimatum by my father, resign or go to jail?”

“What?”

“Look, Ryan, I feel bad about what happened to you seven years ago. I’d never met you so there was nothing personal. But now that I’m the one who’s been dumped and I’ve got a taste of what you must have gone through. And it sucks, big time.”

Rogers was rambling a bit and Ryan began to think he’d been drinking. “What does this have to do with your father’s ultimatum?”

“It’s the reason I’m telling you all this in the first place. To warn you. About Anne.”

Ryan had heard enough. “Thanks, consider me warned. Nice to meet you.” Ryan got up, started to walk away.

“Doesn’t it strike you as a little coincidental that Anne suddenly appears back in your life the day after you hit the Lotto?”

That stopped Ryan.

“Did she tell you we were broke? That we’re filing for bankruptcy?”

That turned Ryan around.

“Did she tell you that we forged my father’s signature to get a loan?”

That got Ryan back into the chair.

“Our marriage was shit, I’ll be the first to admit it,” Rick said. “But as long as Annie lived in a great house, drove a German car, wore French designer clothes and had a black AMEX card, she didn’t seem to care. But the minute we lost all our money, she started looking around.”

“Tell me about the forgery.”

“I bet wrong on the market. I lost all our money and our beach house. I went to my father on bended knee and he bought us a condo. Suddenly we were living on a budget and Anne hated it. Then I got a tip from a friend that a new stock was going to double. It was supposed to be a sure thing. A chance to get back on our feet. So Anne and I forged dad’s signature and took out a million dollar loan on the condo. The plan was to get in and out quickly, pay off the loan, and have a nice little profit left over. But the stock went down instead of up and we lost everything.”

“And your father found out?”

Rick nodded. “We couldn’t pay the mortgage and the bank called him. Now he’s threatened to go the police and the California Bar Association unless we resign from the firm immediately.” Rick waited a moment to let his words soak in. Then he continued, “So, let’s be very clear, Anne wants to run your foundation because she doesn’t have a job. And Anne wants you back in her life because she doesn’t have any money. That’s all Anne cares about, it’s all she’s ever cared about, money.”

Ryan didn’t want to believe it. He’d held Anne in his arms, looked into her eyes. He saw love there, the same adoration he remembered from college, he was sure of it.

Rick saw the denial in Ryan’s face. “Let me ask you a question,” Rick said. “How did Anne first reconnect with you?”

Great question, Ryan thought. And the answer should convince Rick that Anne’s motives aren’t as diabolical as the lawyer imagines. “At my office, at the Hollywood Station. She was there on business for another client and dropped by to say hello.”

Rick shook his head with an expression that said you dumb son of a bitch. “Anne is a corporate litigator, Ryan. She does her business in boardrooms and courtrooms. She has never represented a criminal case. I doubt she’d ever been in a police station until she accidently bumped into you. Accidently bumped into you the same day as the lead story on every newscast is about lucky cop, Ryan Magee, winning forty-seven million dollars.”

“Thirty-four after taxes,” Ryan mumbled, shell-shocked.

“Look, I’m sorry to be telling you all this. I could have kept my mouth shut, I know. But she played you for a sucker once, played us both for suckers. Just don’t let her do it again.” Rick Rogers stood up, and started to walk away.

“Wait,” Ryan said, still desperately trying to hold onto Anne’s version of the truth. “I met Anne for drinks last night and she told me your law firm has represented a number of Lotto winners. Is that true?”

Rick looked sympathetically at Ryan. “Sorry, Detective. Rogers, Middleton and Roberts has never represented a Lotto winner.” And with that, Rick left.

Ryan sat there, the implications of Anne’s manipulations and lies flooding his brain. She’d pursued him, no doubt about it. From her appearance in the bullpen to her phone call later that day suggesting drinks at Musso and Frank. And tonight, picking Trader Vic’s instead of any of the hotel’s other restaurants or bars. Trader Vic’s where they had their alcohol-fueled love fest. Then she discovered she accidently left the papers in her room.

Premeditated. All of it.

And Ryan fell for it

A roar filled Ryan’s ears. Ryan was embarrassed, humiliated. He suddenly stood up, walked toward the elevators. He was going to go back up to the room and confront her. He wanted to say something to her, to hurt her as much as her betrayal had hurt him. He pressed the Up button and the elevator door opened.

But instead of walking in, Ryan just stood there, imagining himself standing in her open doorway, saying what exactly? You lying bitch? You hurt my feelings? Fuck the foundation and fuck you?

Just what the hell was he supposed to say at a time like this?

And didn’t he risk making a bigger fool of himself than he had already?

The elevator door closed.

Ryan knew that sometimes the best thing to do was nothing, and this was clearly one of those times. Let it go, for now. Go home and think about it.

Ryan turned around and headed for the parking lot.

Meanwhile, happy as she ever remembered being, Anne ran a bath. The suite had a Jacuzzi tub and Anne loved luxuriating as jets of hot water pummeled her body. The hotel provided a bathing salt, which she liberally sprinkled into foaming water. And then Anne remembered the phone call she’d ignored when Ryan first arrived at Trader Vic’s.