“But not ours.” I bite back bitterness, put my ID back in my wallet, and follow the map lady’s directions toward the highway.
“It was the right call.” My pal’s tone admonishes but I ain’t quite done bitching.
“Your office overlooking Fifth Avenue is mighty impressive.”It’s a hell of a lot nicer than my office-slash-loft.
“Stuff it. Grayson’s the money guy, not me.”
At the mention of our billionaire benefactor, I grimace. Getting hooked up with Patten Securities was the best thing that ever happened to the both of us. God knows where we’d be without him and his company.
“Yup. I’m an asshole. Sorry, old wounds festering. Sam’s dad still believes it was my fault she lost her FBI gig.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Yes and no. She really sucked at interrogations back then.” Done with dredging up the past, I focus on my newest mission and my spouse’s unnatural ability to attract trouble.
Why the hell did my shits-about-to-hit-the-fan meter go off?“Do we know where Whitbread made his fortune?”
Slate’s snorts his disdain. “Old money. He was born sucking a silver spoon, if you get my drift. He claims he’s related to an old brewing family in England but can’t back it up. I have a suggestion. Why not let Sam take the lead on this one? Her Fed background should impress them and being female might be an advantage. Maybe she can convince the couple their friend simply changed her mind.”
“With the husband as the sperm donor and the egg belonging to the wife, wouldn’t the surrogate have some serious legal issues?”
“It would if they did a paternity test. Until they have proof, Gillian Liddy is in control of her body and if she wants them to get lost, she can insist.”
“But this is not in any way, dangerous, right?” My big toe twitches as map lady directs me onto another highway.
“Not that I can tell, but this is Samantha we’re talking about.”
“Copy that.” Rolling my eyes, I recall her first investigation, the case of the missing cat. It should’ve been a slam dunk. Instead, we ended up palsy-walsy with a hitman. “Thanks for understanding.”
“No problem. While you’re out there, an actress asked for you. If you’re up for a few more bucks…”
“Yeah, sure.” Picturing our growing checking account, I finish up our conversation, and once back at my hotel room, call my wife.
“Hi.” Her voice sounds off.
“Sugar, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just miss you. When are you coming home?”
“Slate handed me another possible sales commission so it may be another day or two. Tell me, how’re things with your cousin Joey?”
“Oh my fucking God. I tried to ask him the simplest of questions and he didn’t even remember the pickup and drop-off points. Can you believe him?”
“Maybe you should talk to Vincent? If Joey’s friend fucked up, it’s better the boss deal with it.”
“I thought of that but there may have been some moonlighting involved.” The tiny hitch in her voice only happens when she’s holding out on me.
“Moonlighting for who?”
“It’s for whom and I’m not quite sure.”She’s lying.
“Saaaam? I swear, if I have to, I will fly home tonight and beat you with a wet noodle until you say uncle.” I click my blinker, turn into my hotel’s parking lot, count to twenty, and twenty more.
In the silence, she continues as if everything is hunky dory. “As fun as that sounds, I promise, the riskiest thing I did today was buy day-old danishes. Check my GPS.”
“Do tell.” My dry tone is a clear indication I am not allowing her to change the topic.
“I threatened to tell everyone how on Sundays, Mrs. Murphy buys her cannoli in the city.” When she laughs, try as I might, I can’t help but chuckle.
