Page 27 of 3rd Tango
He tilts his head, frowning, as if wondering where this is coming from. Then he takes a deep breath, expanding his broad chest, and sighs loudly. He looks away, runs a hand over his face and nods as if I’ve caught him in a lie.
Maybe I have.
The FBI trained me to be a profiler. It came naturally. His body language suggests he’s either relieved or trying to hide a secret. Most would rush to continue the conversation, but I learned a long time ago that patience is one of the best tools in my toolbox.
As if he’s made a decision, his gaze returns to mine. “She knows, doesn’t she?”
He seems to be talking about Mom. Does he realize I discovered the internal investigation? Does he think I’ve told her? Again, I stare back and say nothing.
Silence tends to make people talk. Even former agents. But I don’t expect what he says next. “I thought I hid it well enough, but I’m sure she picked up on it.” He shakes his head with a sad expression. “She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman. You can’t blame me for falling for her.”
I try not to let my mouth drop open.
He continues. “It’s just…she loves the hunt, like I do. I’ve not run into many women who are as caught up in the mystery and suspense of hunting down serial killers as she is.”
He pauses as if he wants me to confirm this is an exceptional thing in a woman. I’m so stunned I can’t react.
“You know how it is,” he continues.
I’m sure I don’t.
He gives a half-hearted smile. “She’s got that spark. That need to find the truth. It’s what drives all of us, but I’ve never met anyone quite like her before.”
I try not to flinch or draw back, even though inside I’m doing both. Strike one—the AG’s office was doing an internal investigation on Al before he retired. Strike two—he thinks he’s in love with my mother.
Definitely rescinding the job offer.
For one of the few times in my life, words continue to escape me. Meg would say I’m flashing my resting bitch face, but honestly, I’m just working to keep all expression off it.
He leans forward in the seat, eyes pleading. “I swear, I would never act on my feelings. She’s made it quite clear she’s happily married, and I respect that. Our relationship has always been completely professional.”
I force a nod and find my voice. “Good to know.”
He stands, flustered, and focuses on the fan again. “I understand about the job. No problem. But please, let me know if there’s anything I can help with when it comes to the case. I know you probably won’t reach out, but I want you to know, I’m here if you need anything.”
I simply stare, holding in a curse, a threat, and my complete irritation over this conversation. He seems to take the hint, raises his hand in goodbye, and vacates the room.
Before I can regroup, Meg arrives in a flurry. Flying down the hallway, she hollers a good morning at Matt, and bursts into my office. She’s grinning from ear to ear and I wonder how her little buying spree went.
“You’re not gonna believe what just happened,” I say.
“I think I have something on Marie,” she states, at the same time.
I shake myself to rid the idea of Alfonzo being sweet on our mother. Shifting gears, I motion her forward. “What?”
She tosses her tote bag into the chair and paces. From her mouth spills the details of her morning visit. The painting of the woman. The name she is sure is on the back of the canvas.
“And how does that tie in with the serial killer angle?”
“No idea,” she says, undaunted, “but there’s something there. A secret she’s hiding. We need to get inside and check the back of that painting.”
Everybody has secrets. Not all of them are connected to crimes. “How do you propose we do that? Please tell me you’re not gonna make me buy one of those ugly lighthouses.”
She’s still pacing, not looking at me now, her mind a thousand miles away. Or maybe just twenty, back in Marie and Gayle’s garage. She taps a finger on her chin. “I’m thinking about it. I have a plan.”
Matt strolls in, and I swear it’s because he has a nose for excitement. “Whatever it is, I’m in if it’s gets us out of the building.”
Meg chuckles and goes to stand by the fan, holding her arms up where sweat has pooled under them. “Did you know Gayle refinishes furniture?”
