Michael Connelly - Chasing the Dime

"Henry. What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

"Well, I'm expecting some calls. Can you -"

"From who, Billy Wentz?"

This gave her pause. A puzzled look entered her eyes.

"Who?"

"You know who. How about Elliot Bronson or Gil Franks?"

She shook her head like she felt sorry for him.

"Look, Henry, if this is some kind of jealous ex-boyfriend scene, you can save it. I don't know any Billy Wentz and I am not trying to get a job with Elliot Bronson or with Gil Franks. I signed a no-compete clause, remember?"

That put a chink in his armor. She had deftly deflected his first attack so smoothly and naturally that Pierce felt a tremor in his resolve. All his turning and grinding and looking of an hour before was suddenly becoming suspect.

"Look, can I come in or not? I don't want to do this out here."

She hesitated again but then moved back and motioned him in. They walked into the living room, which was to the right off the hallway. It was a large dark room with cherrywood floors and sixteen-foot ceilings. There was an empty spot where his leather couch had been -the only piece of furniture he had taken. Otherwise, the room was still the same. One wall was a vast floor-to-ceiling bookcase with double-depth shelves. Most of the shelves were filled with her books, two layers on each. She put only books she had read on these shelves, and she had read a lot. One of the things Pierce had loved most about her was that she would rather spend an evening on the couch reading a book and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches than go to a movie and Chinois for dinner. It was also one of the things he knew he had taken advantage of. She didn't need him to read a book, which made it easier to stay in the lab that extra hour. Or those extra hours, as it more often was.

"Are you feeling all right?" she said, trying for a level of cordiality. "You look a lot better."

"I'm fine."

"How did it go with Maurice Goddard today?"

"It went fine. How did you know about it?"

Her face adopted a put-out expression.

"Because I was working there until Friday and the presentation was already scheduled.

Remember?"

He nodded. She was right. Nothing suspicious there.

"I forgot."

"Is he coming on board?"

"It looks like it."

She didn't sit down. She stood in the middle of the living room and faced him. The shelves of books rose fortress-like behind her, dwarfing her, all of them silent condemnations of him, each one a night he didn't come home to her. They intimidated him and yet he knew he had to keep his anger sharp for this confrontation.

"Okay, Henry, you're here. I'm here. What is it?"

He nodded. Now was the time. It dawned on him that he really had no plan at this point.

He was improvising.

"Well, what it is, is that it probably doesn't matter anymore in the scheme of things but I want to know for myself so maybe I can live with it a little easier. Just tell me, Nicki, did somebody get to you, did they pressure you, threaten you? Or did you just flat-out sell me out?"

Her mouth formed a perfect circle. Pierce had lived with her for three years and believed he knew all her facial expressions. He doubted she could put a look on her face that he hadn't seen before. And that perfect circle of a mouth he had seen before. But it was not the shock of being found out. It was confusion.

"Henry, what are you talking about?"

It was too late. He had to go with it.

"You know what I'm talking about. You set me up. And I want to know why and I want to know for who. Bronson? Midas? Who? And did you know they were going to kill her, Nicole? Don't tell me you knew that."

Her eyes started to get the violet sparks that he knew signaled her anger. Or her tears. Or both.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Set you up for what? Kill who?"

"Come on, Nicole. Are they here? Hey, is Elliot hiding in the house? When do I get the presentation from them? When do we make the trade? My life back for Proteus."

"Henry, I think something's happened to you. When they held you over the balcony and you hit the wall. I think -"

"Bullshit! You were the only one who knew the story about Isabelle. You were the only one I ever told. And then you used it to do this. How could you do that? For money? Or was it just to get back at me for messing things up so bad?"

He could see her starting to tremble, to weaken. Maybe he was cracking through. She raised her hands, fingers splayed, and backed away. She was moving back toward the hallway.

"Get out of here, Henry. You're crazy. If it wasn't hitting that wall, then it was too many hours in the lab. It finally made you snap. You better go check into a -"

"You're not getting it," he said calmly. "You're not getting Proteus. Before you even wake up tomorrow it will be registered. You understand that?"

"No, Henry, I don't."

"What I'd like to know is, who killed her? Was it you, or did you have Wentz do it for you? He took care of all the dirty work, didn't he?"

That stopped her. She turned and almost shrieked at him.

"What? What are you saying? Killed who? Can you even listen to yourself?"

He paused, hoping she would calm down. This wasn't going the way he had thought or hoped it would. He needed an admission from her. Instead, she was starting to cry.

"Nicole, I loved you. I don't know what is wrong with me, because, fuck it, I still do."

She composed herself, wiped her cheeks and folded her arms across her chest.

"Okay, will you do me one favor, Henry?" she asked quietly.

"Haven't you gotten enough from me? What more do you want?"

"Would you please sit down on that chair there and I'll sit over here."

She directed him to the chair and then she moved behind the one where she would sit.

"Just sit down and do me this favor. Tell me what has happened. Tell me as though I didn't know anything about it. I know you don't believe that but I want you to tell me like you do. Tell me it like a story. You can say whatever you want to say about me in the story, any bad thing, but just tell it. From the start. Okay, Henry?"

Pierce slowly sat down on the chair she had pointed him to. He stared at her the whole time, watched her eyes. When she stepped over and sat down across from him he began to tell the story.

"I guess you could say this started twenty years ago. On the night I found my sister in Hollywood. And I didn't tell my stepfather about it."

An hour later Pierce stood in the bedroom and saw that nothing had changed. Right down to the stack of books on the floor next to her side of the bed, nothing seemed different. He stepped over to look at the book that was opened and left on the pillow where he used to sleep. It was called Iguana Love and he wondered what it was about.

She came up behind him and lightly touched his shoulders with her fingers. He turned into her and she brought up her hands to hold his face while she studied the scars running across his nose to his eye.

"I'm sorry, baby," she said.

"I'm sorry for that downstairs. That I doubted you. I'm sorry for everything about this past year. I thought I could keep you and still work like -"

Her hands went behind his neck and she pulled him down into a kiss. He turned her and gently pushed her down onto the edge of the bed in a sitting position. He then slid down to his knees on the floor in front of her. With his hands he gently spread her knees and moved forward between them. He then leaned further into her and they kissed again. This time longer and harder. It seemed so long since he had felt the contours of her lips with his own.

He reached down to her hips and pulled her toward him. He didn't do it gently. Soon he felt one of her hands on the back of his neck and the other working the buttons of his shirt. They struggled with each other's clothing until finally they broke apart to work on their own clothes. Both knew without saying anything that it would be faster.