Mia Zachary - Another Side Of Midnight

She accepted the terms without blinking. “Whatever it takes, Stella.”

Damn. I should have added enough for dinner and drinks before the show. “Tell me about Gray.”

Maria’s lips curved and I could hear the wistfulness in her little girl voice. “The first time I saw him, I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Not handsome. Beautiful. Gray has incredibly expressive amber eyes and a face that should be on magazine covers.”

That was nice, but it wouldn’t help me pick him out of a crowd. “Maybe you could bring me a picture?”

“I should have a recent one.” She reached for her wallet and removed several pictures from one of the pockets.

As she sorted them, a rectangle fell onto the sofa between us. It was one of those four-pose strips you get from a photo booth. I had a quick glimpse of a much younger Maria kissing a guy with long blond hair. I noticed his Spirits Dancing concert T-shirt before she slipped the pictures back into her wallet.

“Here.” She handed me a snapshot taken on the gangway of a cruise ship. “This is from our vacation last year.”

I studied her husband’s image, trying to commit it to memory. He was tall with sandy hair and a goatee, a lean build and an angular face that I wouldn’t have called either handsome or beautiful. Gray Cavanaugh looked…slick. He was too attractive, too stylish, too everything.

I handed the picture back and went over to my desk. I rifled the bottom drawer for one of Gloria’s checklists. She’d called the one for domestic cases the Cheat Sheet. After grabbing a clipboard, I returned to the couch.

“Okay, so tell me. What kind of car does Gray drive?” Maria tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I bought him a white Mercedes, but I don’t know the license number.”

“No problem. I can get that myself. Is there any property other than your main residence?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

Because if he kept an apartment, he didn’t have to pay for hotels. Out loud I said, “So I know where I’m most likely to find him.”

“Oh. Well, we’d talked about buying a vacation place but I didn’t get around to it.”

I made a note to do an asset search anyway and look for rental properties. “What about his work schedule?”

“He usually takes the noon-to-eight. But one of the other managers has been sick recently, so Gray’s working some graveyard shifts. I’m not sure of his schedule this week, but I’ll find out for you.”

“That would be great.” I scribbled more notes as she told me about his routine and habits. “Okay, tell me about any hobbies.”

She shifted, recrossing her legs. “Gray’s been spending a lot more time on his golf game lately. He plays eighteen holes on his days off. We’ve got several memberships. Aliante Golf Club, of course, but also Spanish Trail and Red Rock.”

Uh-huh. The Canyon Gate Country Club property, where the Cavanaughs lived, was home to a championship private course. I was back to thinking how much I hate domestic cases.

Then Maria pulled a thick envelope out of her purse. “This should cover the first week of your time.”

I ran a thumb over the bundle of fifty-dollar bills before shaking hands with my newest client.

It’s like Gloria always used to say—as long as there are sins and cynics, I’ll have a job.

No Easy Answers

ONCE MARIA LEFT, I stripped off my blazer and turned my shirt back around. Then I walked out to the reception area and handed Jon the contract and a copy of Maria’s cash receipt. “Start a new file, please.”

He sets up manila folders with hard copies as well as entering data into the case management program. If I can look something up for myself, it leaves him more time to write his romance novel. Jon glanced at the receipt.

“She paid in advance?”

“That’s just the retainer.” I grinned as I handed him the envelope. “Drop this at the bank before you go to lunch.”

He rifled the thousand dollars the same way I had. Then he cocked his head to one side and wiggled his brows. “I’m taking ninety minutes for lunch. And I’m ordering the lobster salad from El Pescador.”

As many times as we’ve played it, neither of us seems to tire of this routine. “You’re taking an hour for lunch, pal. And you’re paying for your own lobster.”

“It’s only thirty minutes, Steele. You can unshackle me from my desk for that long.”

“Nope. We’ve got bills to send out.”

He gave me a sly look from under his dark lashes. “I’ll bring you back some Tandoori chicken from Shalimar.”

Ooh. He was playing hardball. Growing up in a restaurant made me pickier than most when it comes to quality, well-prepared food, and Shalimar was named best ethnic food in the Las Vegas Review-Journal. I relented on the ninety-minute lunch, just like he knew I would. Say what you will, but the man knows how to stay on my good side.

Alone again, I called up a blank document on my laptop and started typing up my impressions for the Gray Cavanaugh file.

Kept husband? Got his house, his car and his cash from the wife, got his job from the father-in-law. Maybe he married for love, maybe not. Probably cheating just to prove he’s a real man.

Follow-up for work and golf schedules. Check background (basics should be enough), credit statements (past three months) and cell phone bill (frequent numbers and times of calls).

A few minutes later, I got up and wandered into the kitchen. Yawning, I waited impatiently for the water to gurgle and blurp out of the ten-gallon jug and into my oversized plastic cup. I’m not trying to be trendy. Las Vegas is the fastest growing city in North America, which puts a lot of demand on the desert environment.

All the golf courses around here don’t help.

I do my part by only drinking the bottled stuff. It’s imported from some natural spring in Pennsylvania. I guess you’d say I’m a closet environmentalist, saving the world one cup at a time. Then again, I never remember to separate the trash on recycling day.

As I walked back toward my office, the hairs rose on the nape of my neck. The air seemed oddly still. I was no longer alone. Remembering this morning’s dream and the subsequent phone call, my heart hiccupped in my chest. There was a phone in my office. My nine-millimeter was stashed in my desk drawer. The emergency exit was through the storeroom. Which would be quicker?

My fight-or-flight instinct froze with indecision. Shit. All three choices were too slow and it was too late to hide my reaction. Nothing to do now but fight. Whipping around, I saw a hulking silhouette. His features were hidden by the glare through the front windows. I tensed as he came closer, bracing for whatever happened.

His presence was somehow primal, unnerving. And familiar. It ought to be, as often as I’d studied his digital photo.

I released the breath I’d been holding. Flinging out my left arm, I aimed the full cup of water at his face.

“Hey! It’s—”

I put everything I had into the punch that followed. When my right fist connected with his chin, I felt equal parts satisfaction and pain.

“It’s me, damn it!”

I bent over to grab my cup with a shaking hand as the adrenaline slowly filtered out of my system. “I knew who it was.”

It’s not like I could have forgotten him. A guy doesn’t walk into your life, turn it upside down and then disappear without leaving an impression. I thought I’d gotten past it. If not forgotten, at least moved on. I was wrong.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been the first time I’d gone to bed with a guy and woken up by myself. But it had been the first time I’d cared.

After the nuclear meltdown that had been Bobby Mattingly, I hadn’t dated much. Two years passed before I accepted a dinner invitation. Another year before I had sex again. I’d slept with a couple of guys since but hadn’t let it get serious. Then I’d met Cameron and lightning struck.