Page 17 of 2nd Strike
“Haley is there,” Charlie says.
“I’m aware, but I need a break.”
“Oh. Sorry. If you’re tired—”
“I’m fine. I just…need a break.”
A second later, Taylor glides through the door pulling a cart loaded with two banker’s boxes. She’s wearing a cream pantsuit and taupe heels. Her long blond hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail and she looks like the polished professional she is.
A smile lights Matt’s face as he rises from the chair at the end of the table. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
They share a quick kiss which screams of affection and reminds me just how lacking my personal life is.
I look down at my hands, picking at a smidge of clay stuck under my nails.
“Ladies,” Taylor says, “sorry to interrupt your day, but I come bearing gifts.”
From her seat across from me, Charlie closes her eyes and slaps her hands together in prayer. “Please tell me those are copies of the Havers’ FBI files.”
Charlie opens her eyes and Taylor jerks her head once. “These are copies of the Havers’ FBI files. You can thank me later.”
“Shit,” Matt said. “Babe, what are you doing?”
“I’m smuggling copies from headquarters.”
So much for putting Matt in an awkward position.
Across from me, Charlie is on the move, swinging around the table. “Oh, my God, Taylor. I love you.”
“You’d better. I just spent two days taking pictures of this stuff and using my home printer to make these. I also moved the files to a thumb drive for you. If I get caught, my career is over.”
“Charlie,” Matt says, “don’t touch those.” He locks his gaze on Taylor. “You can’t do this. Not for me.”
“Sure I can. I love you and this case is tearing you up. If I can help, I’m going to. I don’t care what it costs me.”
“Blah, blah,” Charlie, the master of sensitivity states. “Can I look? Pretty please?”
Taylor nods at Matt. “I’m good. Honestly. Besides, a certain investigator, namely you, from Schock Investigations helped me find my sister. Consider it repayment of a favor.”
Charlie smacks her hands together. “Good enough for me.”
Poor Matt. Between Charlie and Taylor, he’ll never win this. Finally, he relents, bending to grab the boxes and set them on the table, flipping the lids off.
Charlie, being Charlie, hooks a hand around the edge of one and yanks it toward her. “What did you bring us?”
“Anything I thought was relevant. Witnesses, possible suspects, hospital employees. Addresses, numbers. Everything I thought might help.”
Charlie’s jaw drops. Without a doubt, Taylor has just saved us a ton of digging. She’s also put her tail on the line.
“Taylor, I…” Charlie meets the other investigator’s eyes. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing. Thank you.”
She waves Charlie’s comment away. “Don’t sweat it. You and I? We’re the same animal. We want justice. Always. And if this happened to me, I’d go insane. Let’s just figure out what the hell happened.”
Another beep sounds—front door—and Charlie meets my eye. Who the hell was this now? Thirty seconds later, the Emperor of Cold Cases appears in the hallway. Like Taylor, he’s dressed for work, looking sharp in a black suit and gray shirt. His gaze swings from Charlie to Matt to Taylor then me.
“A party,” he says. “And I wasn’t invited?”
The smile he offers is electric, playful even, so I swivel from him back to my sister. With a lead-in like that, Charlie is bound to fire back with something witty.
