Page 90 of Maddy's Justice

Carvelli ended the call and the bachelor in him thought,Uh, oh. What am I getting myself into?

Carvelli walked out of O’Hare and found Paxton parked at the curb in front of the exit. He tossed his bag in the back seat and got in front.

“Hi,” he said.

Paxton stared at him and said, “That’s it? Hi. Wow. Greatest night of your life and that’s what I get? Hi?”

Carvelli leaned forward, his forehead hitting the dashboard as he said, “Oh God, they’re all nuts. No matter what we do, they’re just nuts.”

By this time Paxton was laughing hysterically and putting the car, a three-year-old Porsche Cayenne, in gear.

“Stop! Come here,” Carvelli said.

He leaned into her, gave her a warm kiss, looked in her eyes and softly said, “I am very happy to see you.”

“If I have to tell you to do it, how genuine can it be?”

Carvelli slumped over to his right, his head hitting the window this time and muttered, “They’re all nuts. They do it just to make us crazy.”

“Yes, we do and it’s a lot of fun,” Paxton replied laughing again as she pulled into traffic.

Five minutes later she was on I-90 westbound. Carvelli was gripping the sides of his seat, staring through the windshield as Paxton hit the accelerator.

Traffic was relatively light, meaning barely doing fifty. Paxton ignored most of it as she bobbed and weaved pushing seventy-five.

“I’d forgotten what it was like to have you drive,” Carvelli said with lips pressed tight.

“What do you mean? I’m a great driver,” Paxton said jerking the wheel to her left, avoiding the car in front of her by inches.

“What were you? A NASCAR driver in a previous life?”

“Moonshine runner,” Paxton said.

“That explains it.”

What is normally a half-hour drive west to Schaumberg, Paxton did it in under twenty minutes. She stopped in front of an upper middle class, three-bedroom, brick mini-colonial. When she did, Carvelli exhaled as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

“Stop it,” Paxton said. “You survived just fine. We’re in time for lunch. Come on.”

“Hey, Uncle Sean,” Paxton said to the sixty-something, mostly bald, very fit man awaiting them on the porch.

Sean O’Rourke was the brother of Paxton’s father. A one-time Chicago PD Detective and retired FBI Deputy Executive Assistant Director for Intelligence. Even in his sixties, Sean O’Rourke gave off the aura of a man not to be trifled with.

His housemate, Helen Gregg was also retired FBI. The two of them lived blissfully in nonmarital sin and were quite happy with the arrangement.

Paxton threw her arms around Sean’s neck and kissed his cheek while he hugged her. Helen came out as Tony reached the porch.

“And how are you, Mr. Carvelli?” Sean asked as the two men shook hands.

“I’ll let you know if my heart and breathing normalize,” Carvelli said.

“Oh, yeah, a ride with Paxton driving. I’ve done that. I know what you mean.”

They were all well acquainted with each other having worked a serious case a couple years before. A corruption, murder, insider trading scam that almost got Marc Kadella killed. It was also the case in which Marc finally admitted how he felt about Maddy. She too, was almost killed. Having come close to losing each other had finally brought them together.

The four of them sat down to a lunch with enough food for eight. Helen did not get to cook very often, and she made the most of it. Afterwards they adjourned to the living room.

“So, what’s up?” Sean asked.

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