Fly With Fire (37 page)

Then there was the money.
He’d never thought of himself as the kind of man who would be threatened by a
woman who made more money and he wasn’t. Chelsea had made tons more as a
lawyer. She’d come from money. Mo might well make millions in the course of her
career. He’d overheard some gossip that she was the top paid aerialist in the
business.  Though he had no idea of her actual income. Her needs seemed to
be pretty basic. But she could buy six hundred dollar earrings on a whim.

A sense of hopelessness made
him feel hollowed out. The joy of the past few days ebbed away. She would be
back. But he didn’t want her to come back out of a sense of obligation. They
both knew what had to happen. They’d had their time.

“Dammit.” He felt helpless
laying there in the hospital room listening to the beeps of monitors. They said
he’d be okay. There was a lot of pain but he actually didn’t feel too badly. He
had been damn lucky the way the bullet passed through even though it had
shattered a small section of his clavicle. The other bullet had traveled a
lucky, if bloody path as well. Like many stories he’d heard the doctor had said
“Just another centimeter” and he would probably have bled to death on the
dumpster. He might have died in an alley like Ray. Wouldn’t that possibility be
a nice thing for any woman to have to live with?

He had talked to Dino who was
bringing pizza over later and he was looking forward to the visit and the food.
Al had come by which was really a surprise. “Just in the neighborhood. Had to
suck up a grilling from Tyler. How long you planning on lying around here?” If
Al had any feelings about the death of Rosalie Villareal, he wasn’t letting
Zack know. Somehow Zack thought there was more than met the eye to Al Simpson’s
emotions. He’d gotten an update from Al. Shaughnessy and Lyons accused each
other of being the shooter in Ray’s death. But no one had seen Shaughnessy in
the alley except for Lyons. And vice versa. Zack had given his statement
knowing Rosalie Villareal’s accusation against Bull probably wouldn’t be
admissable, or at least would be considered strongly biased.

Duke Washington had been by.
He had been instrumental in making sure the bust had been clean. Zack was a
little queasy about the way that had gone down. A woman had died. It had been a
shock that Bull had murdered her like that. If they couldn’t get him on Ray,
one witness actually saw him shoot Rosalie. The kid on the ground said he
didn’t see anything. Who could blame him? Of course, a whole movement in
support of Bull Shaughnessy had already sprung up.

The papers were having a
field day and more than one reporter had tried to barge into his room. As he
saw on the news, they’d been trailing Mo as well. Luckily she would be well
guarded at the coliseum. Roddy would make sure, with the help of the security
team that no one got to her. That brought his reveries back to Mo. They
couldn’t be together. But how could he live without her?

The lights seemed hotter than
usual and Mo’s nerves were frazzled by poor sleep and anxiety. Claude had asked
his share of rude questions and had made snide comments about Zack and fascist
Americans in general. The other performers had been discreet enough to not say
much. Misha was his shy, quiet self. Trollie had avoided her altogether. She
didn’t have the energy to deal with the clown yet.

She had been read the riot
act by the security team. She had promised her full cooperation with Roddy
nearby to twist her arm just in case. She told him of the man on the terrace at
Zack’s. With renewed interest, the security team and the Greendale police
theorized that Ling’s killer was not only still around, but might be a current
or past performer. If all the current performers had been accounted for, what
had been missed? No one knew who might have that kind of grudge against Ling or
Mo.

Al Simpson was the last
person Mo wanted to see. Yet there he was looking up from the coliseum floor.
She did a triple then swung to the platform, Claude catching her arm. “You
always got the police on your trail!” He evidently thought it was funny. Mo was
starting to wonder if she could continue working with him much longer. He still
had his hand on her arm giving her a mocking look. She jerked it away and slid
down the pole.

“Back to business, Ms.
Whitman?” Al loomed but somehow his countenance seemed different. It was no
longer the fixed visage of resentment and malice she’d come to expect.

“The show must go on.” Mo stretched
eyeing him, waiting for some off the wall accusation. “What can I do for you,
Detective Simpson?”

“I just got wind of the
incident that occurred last night at Burnham’s condo. I would have appreciated
hearing about it sooner.” He looked down businesslike but not angrily as she
would have expected.

“I had other things on my
mind, Detective. I did report it and since you’re here it seems you did ‘get
wind of it’. Is there something I should know? Do you have some questions? Or
are you just here to try to rattle a confession out of me?” Mo’s eyes met his
with a defiant spark. “Maybe I climbed twelve stories up the side of Zack’s
building to throw off the police.”

Unbelievably Al Simpson
laughed. “Stranger things have happened, Ms. Whitman. A mold was made of a
standard acrobat type shoe; a man’s size sixteen. A rope was found tied to the
terrace below. Your intruder climbed a rope to the eleventh floor then managed
to climb up to Burnham’s terrace from there. He jumped back down to the
eleventh when he was seen by the neighbor. He repelled to the ground. That’s
why he got away so quickly.”

Why didn’t the police find
the rope?” Mo tightened her braid then twisted it nervously.

“The neighbor found it and
pulled it up. She’d heard the commotion and didn’t want to be involved. Only
when the police were canvassing the building did she show what she had found.”

“She must have been
frightened.” Mo couldn’t blame the woman.

“Ms. Whitman is there anyone,
anyone, you have any idea would want to hurt you or Ling Wong?”

“Again, I have no idea who
would want to hurt either of us.” Mo sighed. “I hope you aren’t still
considering Linc Harris a suspect.”

“He hasn’t been
eliminated.  Officially, no one has. Look, aside from fearing outright
danger from someone has anyone seemed odd? Strange? Made you feel uncomfortable
in any way? A word, a look even?”

She thought about Trollie.
His not so subtle come ons. What he’d said at the airport. Claude seemed to be
in a permanent snit. But he had been a victim himself. A flush of guilt about
that ran over her. They both had been eliminated. Yet they both had the skill
to climb a building. She shook her head doubtfully.

“What?” Al Simpson put his
hands on his hips. His giant frame leaned toward her. She looked around and
blew out the air that felt like it had been expanding in her chest for hours.
Then she told him about what Trollie had said at the airport.

“I don’t know if it means
anything but I wish you’d told us sooner.” Al frowned, his face lined where
jowls were just beginning.

“Please don’t tell Zack about
this. I’d rather he not know until he’s feeling better. Please don’t drag him
back into this as well.” Mo eyes widened at his snort. “Don’t you think he’s
done enough cop hero stuff for one week? He’s not even on duty. I’d rather you
stuck to your own heroics and left him out of it.” She sucked in a hard breath,
suppressing a sob. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Ms. Whitman, are you sure
you should be going up there?” Al jerked his head at the trapeze.

“Detective Simpson, unless
you’re going to arrest me for performing while worried about a…a”

“No law against it.” This he
said gently. “Be careful.”

“Now what?” Mo sat at the
table in her private dressing room. She had finally given in to the insistence
of the security team and taken the privilege she had been offered long ago. She
was ready for the first show after the break and just wanted to collect her
thoughts for a few moments. She had been doing deep breathing exercises to
center herself when there was a knock on the door. “Yes?”

Hagman, who was stationed
outside her door, poked his head in. “Mr. Mojonnier has asked to see you.”

She heaved a deep sigh. One
more thing… “Momo, I need to speak with you.” Claude, sheathed in his costume
sauntered in. Despite his Gallic good looks and perfect body Mo felt no
attraction at all.

“What is it, Claude? We only
have a couple minutes.” Mo checked her headdress and veil. It had been a
miracle that she’d had any time at all to get her head together.

“I, I want to apologize to
you.” Claude said softly.

“Claude if this is another
ploy…” she rose from her seat and glared through the veil.

Claude put his hands up
defensively. “No, Momo, I am serious. I think about what you said. We must work
together. We must trust each other implicitly. I know I am an ass sometimes.
But it is an honor to work with you. I will try to be friends. I don’t hold a
grudge.”

“Did Roddy put you up to
this?” Mo stepped closer to see his face.

“Well, he only suggest what I
had been meaning to say all along.” He put a pleading look on his face. “It’s
true. I am sorry. You know how it is. A man don’t want to say, ‘Look at me, I’m
an ass.’” He pitched his voice high and did a stupid little jig waggling his
fingers on either side of his head. Mo couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry that you got in
the way of this whole thing. It’s my fault what happened with the champagne.
Thank you for this Claude, it really helps.”

“You’re welcome. But it’s not
your fault. Hopefully we’ll know soon whose fault it is. How is Zack? I guess
you two…”

“He’ll be fine…” Both heads
twisted rapidly at the sound of the music.

The show went well and
everyone was pleased and congratulating one another. As soon as she was out of
costume Mo rushed to the hotel and packed a bag. She visited Zack that morning
and had hoped to see him again that night. The two bodyguards assigned to her
for the night shook their heads at each other. “What I’ll do for a seventy five
thou a year,” said Meese. She was driven down the drive to the hospital where
she was refused entry into Zack’s room. She thought of trying to sneak in but
she felt the weight of not one but two albatrosses around her neck.

Resigned to not seeing Zack
that night, she settled into Zack’s condo. After showing the boys, as she
called them, the TV remote and where they could hook up their laptops. Mo slept
a hard dreamless sleep and woke up feeling like a run. Once again they went
through the routine of following her while she ran. Fortunately it was Saturday
morning and the early morning traffic was sparse compared to weekdays. “You
guys ought to get some running shoes. Might as well get some exercise.” The
boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

The ride to the hospital had
Mo’s mind going in circles. The run hadn’t cleared her mind of the anxieties
she had been feeling. Though it had braced her for what she had to say to Zack.
She knew he would never leave his world for hers. She was realizing what she
worked for her entire life for. What was possible for them? Could they still be
lovers? How would that fit into their lives? She traveled ten months out of the
year. While she had an apartment in Montreal, the time spent there was spent
planning, practicing, rehearsing. Her job consumed her. If she wasn’t
performing she was preparing to perform. And she had ideas for shows. The
Egyptian theme had been festering in the back of her mind when she could take
it off of Zack. She wanted to design and produce shows. That would be her
fallback when she could no longer perform. Sure, she could coach, but the
creative outlet designing shows offered was much more appealing.

In the meantime she knew that
while still in Chicago, she couldn’t stay away. Could they have a little
longer? Would it just make it that much harder when the time came? She had
never ached for a man before. Part of her hoped she’d suddenly realize it was a
momentary flame that she’d gotten caught up in. After all, they really didn’t
know each other. The spark of passion between them might be easily extinguished
by a cooling draft of mundanity. The difficulties of maintaining a relationship
between their two worlds might quickly wear down the sharp edge of sexual
thrill. Could a new and tenuous relationship survive that even under the best of
circumstances?

Mo wished she wasn’t finding
it so difficult to separate her sexual longing for Zack from this other new and
even more intense need. The need to talk to him, laugh with him, sleep with
him. Where’d that come from? It wasn’t the stuff of mere arousal. She was
beside herself to see him and that was something that was totally outside of
her experience.

In a whirling vortex of heat
she had wanted him. This was more than that. This wasn’t just an extreme of
emotion let loose like steam from a safety valve. It was a volcanic release of
every desire she had ever stuffed deep inside in order to focus on goals that
she had never questioned. She loved her work. Lived for it. She wasn’t quite
sure when her grandmother’s goals had become hers. But those goals had become
innate. Yet her feelings for Zack had her rethinking her entire life. Was this
love? Did it make you reevaluate everything? Challenge every assumption you had
about your future and how to get there? Her experience in that area was non-existent.
Was love really such a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety? Mo found it
thrilling and frightening. But she was unsure she knew enough to separate love
from infatuation. She would have told anyone else they were crazy to think they
were in love on such a short acquaintance. She couldn’t help but question her
own judgment. If it wasn’t love, what was it then? Really, how the heck did she
know what love was?