Irreparable Harm (14 page)

He just shook his head.

“Sorry, Connelly. I’ve been working on an appellate brief. Haven’t had time to shop.”

It was true. It was also true that Sasha never had much food in her house. She didn’t really spend any time there. Keeping groceries on hand just meant she’d have to throw them away after they went bad. For the same reason, she had no pets or plants. Her brothers always said her place looked like a builder’s model or a hotel room, as if no one actually lived there.

As the coffee machine came to life, she looked at Connelly. He was wrinkled and rumpled. His change of clothes was a bloodied dress shirt and a suit that had been shoved into a duffle bag.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“Thanks, but there’s no point. I don’t have anything else to wear. I’m thinking I’ll drop you at your office and then go to my place and clean up. Get something to eat. You know, food? “  He pantomimed eating. “I’ll check in at my office and then come to yours. I assume you’ll be safe there.”

She smiled an apology for the lack of food.

“Could you turn the rental car in at the airport and pick up my car for me?” If she was going to be stuck with a bodyguard, at least he could make her life easier.

“Anything else? Do you want to give me a shopping list?” His tone was light.

“I guess that depends on how long you plan to stick around.”

She left him with a steaming mug of coffee and headed into the bathroom to shower and change for work.

She emerged from a very hot, very long shower feeling almost rested. She dressed in a charcoal gray suit dress and a warm black sweater. Then she dried her hair and headed out to the kitchen, a pair of black pumps dangling from one hand.

Connelly sat at the breakfast bar, looking out the window at the parking lot. She slipped her feet into the shoes and took a coffee mug from the cabinet.

He turned. “A silver Camry has cruised through your parking lot twice.”

“Okay?”

“It has Maryland plates.”

Sasha’s heart skipped. She put the mug down and went over to the window. The lot was almost full. Most of the cars had been sitting all night, and a light frost covered their windows. Not the rental car, though. Its engine was still warm. It sat there, with its Nebraska license plate, like a big arrow pointing at Sasha.
Here she is
, it yelled to the world. She pulled her sweater tight across her chest and turned away from the window.

* * * * * * * * * *

Irwin’s men were tired and hungry. They’d made good time on the trip from Maryland but the bitch attorney wasn’t even home. Gregor, the older of the two, had driven the first leg of the trip, so now Anton was driving around Shadyside.

Apparently, he was hoping they’d find her just walking through her neighborhood at five in the morning. Anton was just muscle. It fell to Gregor to supply both muscle and brains.

Anton palmed the steering wheel and turned left on Walnut Street, which was some fancy-looking commercial strip. It was like someone had dumped an upscale mall out onto the sidewalk. Pricey brands like Banana Republic, Williams-Sonoma, Anne Taylor, and an Apple Store were scattered among ethnic restaurants and little boutiques. Nestled in among the hulking chains were a stationery store, a Thai restaurant, a jewelry store, a sushi joint, an art gallery, a coffee shop, a Chinese restaurant, and a martini bar—nuggets of local flavor to break up the mall vibe. Gregor also noticed some clear holdover establishments that must have predated the yuppification of the street. He counted a card store, a dive bar, and a bakery that looked like they hadn’t been updated since they’d opened.

“You sure you got her make and model right?” Gregor asked.

Anton rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I was sure last time you asked. I’m still sure. I’ll be sure next time you ask. It’s a 2009 Passat. The coupe, not the wagon. It’s dark gray. Usually dirty, the security guy said.”

Security guys. In their line of work, Gregor and Anton had found security guards to be the most reliable source of information. Easy, too. Half the time, they didn’t even have to bribe a security guard. He’d start talking right away, just to show how observant he was or some shit.

“The reason I’m asking,” Gregor continued, ignoring the eye roll, “is that on our last two passes of the lot, there was a new car there. Mid-size, blue, Nebraska plates.”

“Not her ride, Gregor. She must be spending the night at a boyfriend’s or something.”

Gregor nodded. Finding her was going to be the hard part. The helpful security guard had described her for them. Under five feet tall, under a hundred pounds. If he’d have known that, Gregor would have sent Anton out here alone. Two of them was overkill.

The car crept passed a joint called Pamela’s. Gregor peered through the windshield, spotted with bug guts from the long drive. A banner hanging over the door bragged that the place had Pittsburgh’s best breakfast. He squinted at the menu posted in the front window. Pancakes.

“Pull over. I gotta piss. We’ll get breakfast. Irwin’s treat.”

Gregor hated that uptight, nerdy asshole. He was going to get the biggest breakfast Pamela’s had to offer. Maybe two of them.

Chapter 18

The rental car was idling in front of her office building. The sun was doing its level best to light the slate gray sky. The early risers were streaming into the lobby, collars turned against the morning chill. Some people had already broken out their scarves and hats. Connelly was looking at her. Waiting for her to get out.

Sasha had been quiet on the short drive downtown. She’d been thinking about Peterson’s wife, wondering if he had talked to her last night. If Laura knew he was planning to take her to France for a year would that make it better or worse?

She couldn’t even hazard a guess. Her longest relationship hadn’t outlasted a container of milk. She knew this for a fact because, for maybe a week after she’d broken up with the guy, she was still drinking the milk she’d bought on her way home from her first date with him. Neil. Emergency room resident.

He’d taken the news stoically, until she got to the part where she was just too busy at work. “I save
lives
,” he’d protested. “I work twenty-four hours at a time and am
on call
. If I’m not too busy for this relationship, how can you be?” Remembering poor indignant Neil, she thought maybe she should add another rule:  No doctors.

Connelly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Sasha?”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about Peterson’s wife. Yesterday she was married, today she’s a widow. Just like that.”

“That’s how it happens sometimes.”

“Mmm. I suppose it happened to a lot of people yesterday, all those crash victims …”  She trailed off and turned to look at him. “Oh my god, Rosa Calvaruso. What if Mickey Collins or Irwin went after her? She probably knows something. I’m sure she knows something about her husband’s job. You have to check on her, Connelly. Make sure she’s okay.”

Sasha’s pulse throbbed in her ear. Noah had thought she was going to visit Mrs. Calvaruso. What if he told his killer that? The old lady’s death would be on her hands. Just like Warner’s.

Connelly’s eyes told her he was worried, too, but he tried to calm her down. “I’m sure she’s fine; but you’re right, we should check it out. I’ll go this morning, after I return the car.”

She breathed out. “Okay. Call me after you see her.”

“Sure. I’m going to call your office number, not your cell phone. Do you know why?”

This again. He’d insisted on laying out his ground rules before they left her apartment. She wasn’t to leave the office. Not for lunch, to go to the coffee shop in the lobby, not to go for a run.

“Ass in chair” was how he’d put it. All day long. Or at least until the package from Warner arrived. Then, she was to call him and they’d figure it out from there. It wasn’t much of a plan, in her opinion, but he only seemed to care that she stay put.

Now, she said, “Yes, Connelly. I’m not going to leave my office.”

She was going to spend any down time in her day figuring out how to rid herself of Connelly. He was getting on her nerves and in her way.

She rolled her neck and reached for the door.

“Be careful,” he said as she shut the door and headed for the plaza.

Across the street, Gregor elbowed Anton in the gut. “There she is. Getting out of a car with, well look at that, Nebraska plates.” He strained, but he couldn’t see the driver.

Anton rubbed his side. “Must be the boyfriend. Whatever. We got a bead on her now.”

Gregor leaned forward and watched her enter the building. She looked like a child compared to all the other office drones around her. He was glad he’d thought to stake out the office building after the pancake place had turned out to be closed. Now, they just had to wait for her to leave and grab her up.

“How long do you think we can park here?” Anton was worried about a sign posted high on a wall warning parkers that the lot was for visitors to the Frick Building only. He’d been hesitant to pull in, but Gregor had instructed him to follow the Aston Martin that they’d been behind on Grant Street into the lot, so he had.

Gregor just shrugged and chewed on the stale bagel he’d picked up at a gas station. He watched the lawyer’s boyfriend pull out into traffic and disappear into the sea of cars.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sasha hadn’t expected to see many people in the office at this hour. Someone must have called some trusted secretaries to come in early because a tight cluster of veterans gathered in front of the reception desk. The room was heavy with their shock and sadness. Lettie caught her eye as she walked by and freed herself from the hushed conversation.

“Sasha, wait.” Lettie’s eyes were red and puffy. Sasha felt like crying herself just looking at her.

“Lettie.”

Lettie rubbed Sasha’s arm, “Are you okay? I know you and Noah were … close.”

Sasha ignored the unasked question about her relationship with Peterson. “It’s unbelievable. His poor wife.”

Lettie nodded. “Listen, Mr. Prescott asked me to help out with contacting Mr. Peterson’s clients and getting his files in order. He gave Jenny the day off.”

That sounded like something Charles Anderson Prescott, V,—Cinco, behind his back, and to his friends, too, for all Sasha knew—would do. Cinco had inherited his place in the world, despite a complete lack of legal talent. He was the chair of the firm, responsible for managing more than eight hundred lawyers and staff. That was his excuse for not practicing law. The truth was Cinco couldn’t find a persuasive legal argument with both hands and a flashlight. This bad fact was compounded by his regal bearing, which had an unfortunate tendency to enrage judges, who were the only kings in their courtrooms —even the female ones.

It worked out, because Cinco busied himself with running the operations and dealing with the staff. He left dealing with the lawyers and their demands to the various firm committees on practice development, professional development, business development, and whatever other kind of development could be identified and governed by committee. The staff seemed to like him fine, probably because he did things like give a secretary the day off when her boss of twenty-some years died.

Sasha figured he was at least partially responsible for the free coffee, so he was okay by her, too. Even though he had introduced himself to her at no fewer than four firm events, to the point where she was thinking she might give him a fake name the next time she “met” him.

Losing Lettie for the day was not going to work, though. Peterson’s death would throw the Hemisphere Air team into disarray, not to mention the other cases Sasha was handling with or for him.

“I can’t …”

Lettie cut her off, “I got Flora to sit for you. I left very detailed instructions for her. It’ll be fine.”