Stephanie Feagan - Run For The Money

“What have you heard about Ambassador Wu and the mysterious Olga?”

Mom didn’t answer.

“Mom?”

Hearing the shower curtain open slowly, I opened my eyes. Ed. His bottom lip was a little swollen and his left cheek was turning an intriguing shade of blue. “If you came for sympathy, you came to the wrong place. Getting in an elevator brawl with a U.S. senator isn’t in the lawyer’s code of ethics, I’m thinking.” I looked behind him. “What did you do with Mom?”

“She went downstairs to see the state-department guy who came by to ask questions about Mr. Wu.”

I turned off the water and reached for a towel. “Will he want to talk to me, since I’m supposedly the one who killed the poor man?”

“He may want to talk to you, but not because he thinks you’re the murderer. For that matter, I’m not convinced Schumski thinks you did it. I believe he was just trying to scare you into confessing to Taylor’s murder.”

“Have they found Olga?”

“Not yet. She left town last night, on a flight to Albuquerque, but they lost her trail after that. She’s suspected of being connected to the Russian mob, which means she’s got lots of connections to help her move around undetected.” He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest while he watched me dry off. “I overheard what you said to Jane.”

“And you’re going to give me your standard lawyer lecture about letting the authorities do their job.” I bent and twisted my hair in the towel, then straightened. “Save your breath, Counselor.”

“Actually, I was going to tell you to let me do some investigating and see what I turn up.”

After sliding into the terry robe I found hanging on the back of the door, I walked into the bedroom and curled up in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He followed and leaned against the bedpost, his hands in his pockets.

“You have permission to go to Midland. Anywhere else is not gonna happen, Pink.”

“Okay,” I lied.

He peered at me through narrowed eyes. “If you don’t stick to the deal, they really will lock you up until your case goes to trial, and that may be months from now.”

“Suppose we have enough by the prelim to prove I didn’t do it?”

“Then you’re off the hook, but there’s no guarantee we can find what we need by then.” He walked closer and stared down at my face. “You have to trust me.”

Considering most of our problems were rooted in major trust issues—mostly on my part—I could see that this was going to be more than just a lawyer asking his client to hang loose and let him do his job. This was gonna be about me trusting Ed to get me out of hot water.

Well, hell.

Why did everything always have to be so complicated? Why did Ed have to be so complicated? The problem was, even though I did trust him, I didn’t trust him enough. This was my life. Screw this up and I’d be spending the rest of it behind bars.

Looking up at him, I chose my words carefully. “I have a plan, and some of it involves doing things that aren’t exactly legal. I don’t think we can find this person any other way. I can’t ask you to do something illegal for me, Ed.”

Backing up, he sat down on the opposite chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, until his shoes were touching the legs of my chair. “What did you have in mind?”

“First of all, I’ll call Owl Nunez to do some hacking for me, to find out who owns the Valikov Interiors checking account.”

“I already did that.”

In spite of what I know about Ed and his tendency to bend the rules a bit, I was surprised. “Hacking is a crime. A big one.”

“I didn’t do any hacking. Owl did.”

“But you paid him to do it. Same difference.”

“No money was exchanged, so no one could prove it.”

He was blowing my mind. “What did he find?”

“Nothing yet. I should hear something in the next few hours.”

“What do you plan to do with the information?”

“Pay a visit to whoever Owl tells me owns the account and find out what they did with the money, and whether they’re the one who set up the Whitney Pearl account in Kansas.”

“See, that’s where I’d do it differently. I don’t think that person will tell you, and why would they? Somebody went to a lot of trouble to set this up, to make it look like I bought expensive things from Valikov. I think it was done so that if anything went wrong, if anybody caught on at CERF, I’d be the one who did the embezzling, and whoever’s behind Valikov would look like nothing more than the person I chose to buy stuff from. If a bank robber uses his stolen money to buy a new car, the dealership can’t be held accountable.”

“That’s why I asked Owl to get Valikov’s bank records. If the only deposits are from Whitney Pearl, it’ll be obvious the company is a sham.”

“And if there are other deposits? What then?”

He shrugged. “I’ll go to the company’s offices and find somebody who’ll answer my questions.”

“Suppose it’s a legitimate company, and there’s someone in the ranks who’s working in collusion with the real culprit?”

Ed dropped his gaze to my chest. “I’ll find out who placed the orders.”

Looking down, I realized my robe was wide open. “You coulda said something.” I pulled it together and tied the belt.

“That’s why I didn’t.”

“You’re a perv.”

“Hmm, probably. Or maybe you just have extremely great breasts.” He got to his feet and went to the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Are you going to cook?”

“I’m going to eat. Lou’s working on some kinda chicken thing. With mushrooms.”

Turning in the chair, I said, “You hate mushrooms.”

Ed stared at me. “I also hate Mister Billboard, but I’m gonna go down there and make nice with him, just like I’m gonna make like I want to eat the stinkin’ ’shrooms.”

“Why?”

“For you, babydoll. All for you.”

I must have drifted off to sleep, and when I woke up, I was in the bed. Steve sat just next to me, reading some official-looking report. His little Chihuahua, Natasha, was curled up at the end of the bed, on my feet. Steve isn’t really a Chihuahua kinda guy. He’s more the sort who’d have a greyhound, or maybe a King Charles spaniel. But his mother loved Chihuahuas, and Natasha was the daughter of Mrs. Santorelli’s favorite. Lou had Natasha’s brother, Boris. I thought it was sweet how two extremely macho men cared for wee, tiny dogs because they’d meant so much to Mrs. Santorelli.

Gauging the light in the window, I judged it to be late afternoon, almost evening. I’d been asleep since before lunch, at least seven or eight hours.

I noticed Steve had on a pair of running shorts and a faded Stanford T-shirt. He could be any guy, anywhere. But he wasn’t. He was a senator. A very rich one, who probably really could make it to the White House because he was all about integrity and hard work and he had charisma in spades.

“Where is Ed?”

“During lunch, he got a phone call from a friend in Midland and said he had to leave.”

I was gonna kill him. Ed hadn’t woken me up to tell me what Owl had found out. No doubt on purpose, so I wouldn’t insist on going with him.

Laying the report on his thighs, Steve looked down at me. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. And thirsty, and still sleepy, and wondering what I’ve missed this afternoon.”

He reached for the phone by the bed and punched in some numbers. “Carla, would you bring Pink something to eat? Thanks.” After he hung up, he laid the report on the table, then turned and slid farther down on the bed, propping his head in one hand while he stroked my hair with the other.