Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

Justin punched the security code into the enormous gates, watched as they swung out, then waved her through. He hopped back in-she watched as the gates closed automatically behind them-and she drove up the quarter-mile road that twisted its way to the main house. Once there, Justin walked about ten feet to the left of the front door, picked up one flowerpot in the midst of several, and lifted a key from beneath it. He used the key to open the door. As soon as he was inside, he raced to a green glass vase that sat on a landing by the stairway, took a key from beneath that vase, then ran back toward the front door. He inserted the key into a small silver-metal box on the wall. When the door to the box swung open, he punched in another series of numbers. Then he turned to her and said, "Come on in. All security systems are off."

He led her upstairs, put their one small bag in a bedroom, and dropped Mallone's briefcases in the middle of an enormous king-size bed.

"Ready to start work?" he asked.

She nodded and he pulled her onto the bed. They both kicked off their shoes, turned on the table lamps to the side of their respective pillows, nestled back against the headboard, made themselves as comfortable as possible, and began reading. After four hours with hardly a word being spoken, Deena finally dropped one of her files on the floor and said, "How about some coffee?"

He mumbled a reply, never looking up from his report, and she hopped off the bed and meandered her way downstairs. She poked around the kitchen, opening up cabinets and the fridge, checking out the well-stocked pantry. She called upstairs, "Any idea where your mother keeps the coffee?"

He called back down to her. "Yup. In the house next door."

She decided this was worth climbing back up the stairs for. When she stood in front of him, hands on her hips, she said, "Your parents own two houses here?"

Justin shook his head. "Uh-uh. Just one."

"Then why would she keep her coffee next door?"

"Because that's the one they own."

Deena's brow furrowed and she cocked her head to the side. "Then whose house is this?"

"It belongs to the Rutherfords," he said. "Jane and Brandon. Old family friends."

"And where are they?"

"In Europe. I asked my father if they were around. He told me they were in the south of France for the month. Hotel du Cap, to be exact. I practically lived here in the summers when I was a kid. Their daughter and I used to date."

"And they just let you stay here?" she asked incredulously.

"Well… no," he said. "Technically, we're breaking and entering."

She moved to the bed and snatched the report out of his hands. "Okay. Tell me what's going on."

"It's pretty simple, really. My parents live next door. I figure that if all the various people who are now looking for us can deduce that I might have gone to Providence, eventually they'll also realize that I might come here."

"So we came here, what, so they could just find us?"

"We didn't come here," he said. "We came next door to here. Or rather, we're here, next door to where they're going to come. This way we can see who they are and maybe find out what they want."

"And you don't think they'll come all the way next door to see if we're here?"

"No, I don't. Would you?"

Her mouth opened, then clapped shut. "No," she said. "I wouldn't. I'd think that we're just a couple of normal neighbors who don't have a clue what's going on." She frowned now, something else on her mind. "How is anyone supposed to reach us? With the information you want. Does everyone know we're here? Or do they all have Roger's cell number?"

"No. Too risky."

"So if Rollins is using this Rifle Trout or whatever it is…"

"Trigger Fish."

"Whatever…to track your cell phone, how can anybody call you without the FBI knowing?"

"Nobody in law enforcement is going to think I'm stupid enough to go back to East End Harbor. I'd have to be insane."

"So?"

"So I guarantee you that nobody's paying any attention to what's happening at my house there."

"What is happening at your house?"

"I told Wanda and my parents and Roger to call my East End number if they want to reach me. I told them someone there would tell them the next step to take."

"Who?"

"There is nobody. I call-forwarded that number to here. It won't fool them forever, but it will for a while. Even if somebody gives us up and they send someone to the house, it'll take them a little bit to figure out the phone."

He smiled at her and she said, "Is this what you were like as a homicide cop? This devious?"

He nodded.

Still frowning, she asked, "How'd you know their security codes here?"

"I didn't. Billy's the only one who knows where we are and I got them from him. He called in a favor. The police force has access, in case they've got to get into the house when the owners aren't here."

"Some favor. Since I met you, I don't think I like the idea of the police force knowing anything about me."

"You might have a point."

She stood with her hands on her hips, trying to express some other form of disapproval. Finally, she just shook her head and said, "Well, do you have any idea where Mrs. Rutherford keeps her coffee?"

"Try the freezer," he told her. Then he went back to reading his report.

A minute later, he heard her call up: "How'd you know that? Who the hell keeps coffee in the freezer?" They kept reading until two o'clock in the morning. Justin had pages and pages of his handwritten notes: scribbles, facts, diagrams, links between companies and employees. Deena was concentrating on any personal material about Douglas Kransten and Louise Marshall. She'd pored over magazine profiles and newspaper stories and sifted through various corporate reports, focusing on personal information that might be gleaned from them. Justin had asked her to keep a chronology of the couple's lives together, starting from their births, keeping track of all major events. "It's not always business or money," he told her. "Sometimes the answer you're looking for comes from something totally unexpected."

At two, he tossed the business report he was reading onto the floor. He reached over, began rubbing her shoulders. She instantly melted.

"Excuse me," he said as he kept rubbing, "are you purring?"

"Mmmmm," she said. "Mmmmmm. That feels good."

"So does anything strike you?" he asked.

"Uh-huh. You should use your thumb a little bit more. Not your knuckles. Did I tell you that I used to be a masseuse? Before I started teaching yoga?"

"No, you didn't. But I was referring to what you've read, not my technique."

"Mmmmmm. One thing. It's nothing, really. But it's strange. Mmmm… ohhhhhh. Up a little bit on my neck would be good."

"What is it?"

She reached for her notepad, flipped over to the second page. "They're a fascinating couple, really. Scary because there's so little about them that doesn't revolve around their businesses. When you read about their marriage, even their courtship, it's always discussed in business terms. They merged more than they got married."

"That's what's strange? I think that's fairly common in their world."

"No. What's strange is that there was one personal thing that seems unresolved. They had a child. Well, I don't know if they had a child. But she was pregnant. Louise, I mean."

"You're on a first-name basis now?"

She swung her eyes over at him, looked a little sheepish. "Well, yeah, I guess I feel like I know them both"-she pointed to the stack of reading material-"after all this."

"That's good," he said. "I was just teasing. It's what happens to cops, too. When we're studying a potential perp, it becomes very personal. You really do feel like you know them. You have to. It's the only way you can get into their heads."