A Fine Balance Page 14

  “Everyone who comes in here needs something.” Gavin’s voice was soft, a small half-smile stirred the corners of his mouth; he was back in control. “That’s what I do. Expedite, assist, accommodate, occasionally influence where I can.”

  “More than occasionally from what I hear.”

  “That might be the case. I’ve been a registered lobbyist for twenty years.”

  Jack crossed his legs at the ankle, slid down his spine a fraction. “You like your job?”

  “I do. What about you, Deputy?” He’d run a search, was aware of the reason for Jack’s resignation from the LAPD.

  “Can’t complain.” That insolent tone. He knew about Monty. Remington was connected. And fast. “Do you happen to know a Howie Richards?” Might as well hit back as fast.

  “Can’t say that I do?”

  No blink. No follow-up question. No shifting his posture. “How about a Matt Hayes?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Franklin Falcone?”

  “No.”

  The guy was good. Not even a twitch when he’d mentioned Matt Hayes. “Where were you on September fourteenth?”

  “I’d have to check my calendar. Do you mind telling me what this is about?”

  He had to give the guy credit. Remington even knew when to ask the important question. Not too soon, not too late. And in just the right tone of voice–concerned but not overly concerned. “Why don’t you check your calendar first,” Jack said.

  “Certainly.” Dropping his hands, Remington leaned forward and punched a button on his phone. “Megan, would you bring in my calendar for September?” He sat back. “We’ll have your answer in a minute. Megan remembers everything, keeps impeccable records.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Jack knew better than to expect a citation for a meeting with Hayes about a murder. But it never hurt to jerk someone’s chain. It generally moved things along.

  Megan came in a few moments later with print-outs of Remington’s September appointments, handed them over and slid a glance Jack’s way to see if he was checking her out. Nothing. He had to be gay; a shame with a face and body like his.

  “Thank you, Megan,” Remington said a tad sharply.

  As she spun on her heel with a little sniff, Jack read the tea leaves. Remington was actually jealous. He had a reputation for employing secretaries with benefits. This one must be good.

  “Here you are, Deputy. September fourteenth.” Remington slid the page across the desk toward Jack. “I was up at the capitol all day.”

  Jack scanned the blocked in time frame, a line running down the page from ten until five. “How about the fifteenth?”

  The lobbyist flipped the next sheet from the stack toward Jack. “The same,” he said. “A transportation bill was on the floor most of the week.”

  “Do you ever come into the office early? Say, to prep for a busy day, maybe see a client or two before you go up to the capitol?”

  “Not normally, no.”

  “Sometimes, perhaps?”

  “I suppose there might be an exception now and then. You’re welcome to look over any of these.” He shoved the sheets toward Jack.

  “Mind if I take them?”

  An almost infinitesimal pause. “No, of course not.”

  Finally. That brief hesitation was a red neon sign to a seasoned interrogator. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Stretching out his arm, Jack scooped up the remaining sheets. “We’re looking for the people who killed a farmhand up our way.”

  Gavin Remington swallowed before he spoke. “What in the world does that have to do with me?”

  Another mistake–that swallow. Now to jerk the chain. “I was told you hire Matt Hayes from time to time. If you don’t remember the name, maybe Miss Logan does. You said she has a great memory.”

  “I’ve never heard of the man. Whoever told you that was mistaken.” Remington’s mask was back in place, but then a man who could lobby against food stamps for children wasn’t easily discomfited.

  “Mind if I ask Miss Logan?” Jack inquired.

  “No, of course not.” Another punch of the button and Megan was standing in the doorway. “Deputy Morgan was wondering if you remember anyone by the name of Matt Hayes.”

  Jack almost smiled. He had no intention of stepping on Remington’s lies. The flinty look directed at Megan told him all he needed to know.

  “Matt Hayes?” A hand in the cookie jar look of innocence. “No, sir, I don’t remember the name.”

  Megan needed acting lessons. But then Remington hadn’t hired her for her dramatic ability, other than acting as though she enjoyed blowing him.

  “Big guy, military haircut, late thirties,” Jack prompted, reeling out his description again. Just having fun now.

  “No, no...I don’t remember anyone like that.” Megan had gotten herself together, but she was a lousy liar. The flush on her cheeks was a dead giveaway.

  “I’m sorry, Deputy,” Remington smoothly interjected. “I wish we could be of more help.”

  “No problem.” Jack came to his feet. “It was a long shot anyway. You know how snitches are. They’ll tell you anything to get you off their case.” He dipped his head to Remington. “Appreciate your time.” He smiled at Megan. “Thank you Miss Logan. You’ve been a great help.”

  No way he was gay; his gorgeous smile was doing what her vibrator did, only quicker and better. “You’re very welcome, Deputy,” she replied in what could only be characterized as a purr.

  Remington frowned.

  Jack held her gaze for a small heated moment. “Well, thanks again.” He half raised the papers in his hand and turned toward the door. He didn’t expect Megan to move aside and she didn’t other than to lean back enough for him to pass. Or almost pass. Her soft breasts quivered against his arm as he moved through the doorway and as their eyes met, he softly murmured, “Lunch?”

  Quickly pulling the door shut behind them, she ran her finger down his arm. “I’d adore lunch.”

  He turned back, gave her a slow up and down look, then smiled. “Guido’s at noon?”

  She knew that look and flattered, replied, “I’d love to.” Her gaze slipped down Jack’s body, lingered at crotch level for a moment, then returned to his face. “You’re very...large,” she murmured. “Did you play football?”

  “For a while.”

  “I thought so.” She slid the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and held his gaze for a slow three count. “Would you have time for a long lunch?”

  He grinned. “I could make time.”

  “Megan!” A loud, angry shout.

  She grimaced.

  “He’s a dick, isn’t he?”

  She shrugged. “He pays well.”

  “Megan, get your ass in here!!”

  “Guido’s at noon,” she murmured and waved him out.

  A few minutes later, he stood on the sidewalk, smiling so crazily, people gave him a quick glance, then a wide berth.

  Fucking A, he gloated.

  This must be what it felt like when you hit the jackpot.

  Chapter 22

  Jack had picked Guido’s for lunch because he had the dog to worry about and Guido wouldn’t mind if he stowed him in his back hallway. It was too hot to leave the dog in the car. Sacramento was thirty degrees warmer than the Coast.

  Since he had time to kill, he drove through an In-N-Out Burger, picked up a couple burgers and a water for the pup and drove to a dog park he’d seen coming into town. He found a shady bench under a tree that looked as if it might survive despite hard core use, fed and watered the pup, let it run while he called his mother to check on Luis and called Marco for an update on any possible interlopers. All was quiet on the home front. Last call was to Guido, asking a favor.

  “What you doin’ in town?” Guido bellowed above the noise of the kitchen. “Give me a sec. Okay, now I can hear you.”

  “I’m looking for some murder suspects. Same old shit over weed. Nothing new. I’m meeting a possible witness at your place
for lunch. She doesn’t know she’s a witness yet so I’d like some out-of-the-way table. If you can do it.”

  “Whatever you need, Jack.” Guido had taken some rounds in his leg that had left him with a limp. He’d retired from the LAPD on a disability. Now he was doing what he loved more than law enforcement. Cooking Italian. “Any of the locals involved?”

  “You’ve heard of Gavin Remington?”

  “Christ, yes. He’s the Mr. Big of our lobbyists and more crooked than any of his competition. And that’s sayin’ a lot.”

  “I figured. It’s his personal assistant I’m meeting. She’s looking for more than lunch. So–“

  ”You’re welcome to the apartment upstairs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tough duty,” Guido said sardonically.

  “I’d rather avoid it. I will if I can.”

  “Since when.” Jack couldn’t walk by a women without her turning to look.

  “I met someone a few days ago. Don’t know where it’ll go, but”--

  “Jesus, Jack, you talking Hallmark cards? That’ll be the day.”

  “Fuck you. It could happen.”

  “Yeah, you were the world’s greatest husband.”

  “Except for work, I was pretty good.”

  “I’ll let that go. My advice is–you find someone, Jack, get out. You’re too involved in your work.”

  “You should talk. How long has Danielle been your girlfriend. Marry the girl.”

  “At least it’s the same girl for ten years. Better than your record.”

  “I don’t have a record. And I like what I do.”

  “I know. Too much. But hey, I’m done now.” Say what he will, Jack wasn’t known for turning down women. “What do you want for lunch?”

  “I don’t care. Anything you make is super. One more favor. I rescued a pit bull mix pup this morning at some crappy gas station and I’d like to leave him in your back hall. It’s too hot in the car.”

  “You got it. Food for the dog in the back hall, fresh sheets on the bed upstairs.”

  “I love you Guido.”

  “Just so long as you don’t love me too much. You have no fucking boundaries.”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  “Liar. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  The set up was in place. He had the green light from Guido. He felt his body relax, as if a switch had been turned off.

  He scanned the dog park and suddenly grinned at the sight of the over-sized pup trying to make friends with a Pekinese who was viewing the hulking chocolate brown pit bull mix hopping back and forth inches from its face with an understandable skepticism.

  When Jack whistled, the pup galloped over, tail wagging, tongue hanging out and promptly slobbered all over his feet. “Stop pestering that little fur ball. And stop dripping on my boots. I’ve got a hot date coming up and I have to look pretty.”

  The dog tipped his head and looked Jack in the eye as if to say, Tell me about it.

  The unspoken query was so overtly real, Jack almost told him. Instead, he said, “You’re one smart puppy. Tell me your name.”

  Damned if the dog didn’t bark twice. Wag his tail. And bark twice more.

  He probably knew how to count too, like those horses one saw on TV, Jack thought, pleased he’d rescued the pup. ‘Okay, we need a name and I’m not going to call you Two Barks. What about Sam. You look like a Sam. Sam Spade, my helper. It kinda has a ring.”

  As if in confirmation, the newly designated, Sam, rested his powerful jowls on Jack’s knee with great delicacy, as if to point out that he was capable of enormous restraint despite his size. Then he looked up with his calm, dark eyes and blinked once.

  Jack smiled and gently stroked his neck. “Done deal then. Now, listen closely. There’s rules at Guido’s. You have to be nice to Guido’s Chihuahua. I know they’re snippy dogs, but he’s doing us a favor. So mind your manners.”

  Another blink. Sam got it.

  After seeing Sam comfortably settled in Guido’s back hall, Jack ran upstairs, shed the jacket he wore to cover his shoulder holster, shoved it and his handgun in a closet, washed up so he didn’t smell like dog and ran a comb through his unruly hair. He was waiting at a secluded table far from the din of the crowd when Megan was ushered over by a young, blonde waiter who looked like a model for Abercrombie and Fitch.

  “He’s gay,” Megan whispered as the waiter walked away.

  Jack smiled. “Does every hetero male look you over?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I can certainly see why. You’re beautiful.”

  She preened, then smiled. “I thought you were gay this morning.”

  “Nah. I was just teasing you. Would you like something to drink?” he asked as their waiter approached.

  “Double martini, extra dry, Plymouth gin, no olive.”

  Jack smiled at the young man. “Make it two, but olives for me.” He had a feeling he might be working hard this afternoon; he could use the extra nourishment. He would have preferred a simple question and answer over lunch, but he suspected Megan was looking for more than a meal. Or a different kind of meal. And bottom line, he needed Webb’s address.

  By the time dessert arrived, he’d heard Megan’s life story, including the highlight of being crowned Miss San Fernando Valley right out of college. Which was where Remington, as one of the judges, had entered her life. Jack let her talk because women liked to talk and this was definitely a butter-up-the-witness occasion.

  “What about you?” she finally asked, setting down her second martini glass–now empty.

  “There’s not much to tell. Born and raised in Mendo, then USC, three years with the Seahawks, after that LAPD for five years and now I’m back home again.”

  “I like your body.” Low and heated, explicit.

  He smiled. “Back at you in spades.” The one-sided conversation was over and they were moving on. He’d have to ask his questions upstairs. “When do you have to be back?”

  “Whenever I feel like it.” Flippant and full of sass, the two double martinis talking.

  For the first time in his life, he actually hesitated when sex was there for the taking. Crap. On the other hand, it was only sex, she had an address he wanted and business was business. “We could have our coffee upstairs. Guido’s a friend.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I was trying to be polite.”

  “That’s not what I want from you,” she said, coming to her feet with a slight lurch.

  Quickly rising, he reached out to steady her. “Tell me what you want upstairs.” Picking up her purse, Jack guided her past the young waiter who’d been given a head’s up from Guido and pushed open the door to the back hallway.

  From thirty feet away, Sam barked, a short don’t-forget-me bark.

  Jack waved his hand in acknowledgment and eased Megan up the stairway, thinking he’d better ask his questions quickly in case she passed out. Although two martinis, doubles or not, shouldn’t put her to sleep.

  Nor did they. The moment he locked the door behind them, she turned predator, unzipped his jeans and had his dick in her hand before he had time to say, “Should we find the bed?”

  She was hitching her skirt up with her other hand and dragging him closer by his cock, so he decided she wasn’t interested in a bed. No panties either. Handy. Dropping her purse on a chair, he pushed her up against the door, and swept his hand down her inner thigh. “Spread your legs.” A harsh command, that elicited a wide-eyed look, quickly followed by a sensual smile.

  “I knew you’d take charge,” she whispered, rubbing her boobs against his chest. “What if I say no?”

  She didn’t mean it; she was already panting. He knew what to say. “Then I’d have to spank you. Hard.”

  “Fuck me hard.”

  “Let go of my dick or I won’t.” He didn’t do submissive. He didn’t even like those games, but at the moment, a degree of compromise was required and his erection seemed to have a mind of
its own. “Let go,” he growled. “I mean it.”

  “Don’t beat me,” she panted.

  What the fuck? “Then do as you’re told,” he muttered, playing her game. But he marginally relaxed as her fingers released him; strange women were always an unknown. “I need your legs wider, babe,” he said, curtly. “Let’s see what you’re offering, whether you’re worth fucking.”

  Her gaze on his enormous erection, she quickly complied. “Don’t make me wait. Oh God,” she whimpered as his dick stretched higher. “Please…”

  “Then be good.” He pulled a condom from his pocket. “You move and I’m gone. You hear me?”

  “Yes, yes...I won’t move.”

  He deftly slipped the condom down his erection as she watched with rapt attention, emitting little gasps as the latex slowly encased his massive cock. “Sure you can take it all?”

  “I hope so,” she said, a tiny quiver in her voice.

  “You have to. Look at me,” he said, sharply, waiting until she lifted her gaze from his dick. “Tell me we don’t have a problem here--that you’re not going to disappoint me.”

  Flushed, frenzied, struggling with the new male/female dynamic, in a moment of rashness, she said, as sharply, “Make sure you don’t disappoint me. Fucking hurry!” Seriously fixated on his soaring cock framed in the opening of his jeans like a prize trophy, it took a fraction of a second before she realized he was standing utterly still. Her gaze snapped up and met his cool gaze.

  “I don’t take orders,” he said, softly. “In case you were wondering.”

  She swallowed hard; men apologized to her, not the other way around. But for a dick that size, rules could be broken. “I’m so sorry. What I meant to say,” she murmured, offering him her beauty pageant smile, “is if you’d hurry, I’d really appreciate it. You, that”—she half lifted her hand, took a small steadying breath—“is making me frantic.”

  “How frantic exactly?” he said, like maybe it mattered.

  “What do you want me to say?” A note of caution in her voice now. Jack Morgan was calling the shots.

  With the power structure unambiguous once again, Jack smiled. “Never mind.” Then slipping his middle finger over her juicy cleft, he slid it in palm deep.