Risking It All. Beverly Bird

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СКАЧАТЬ “Sorry. It got a little hectic around here earlier.”

      There hadn’t been another soul at Intake when she’d arrived, Grace thought.

      The guard looked through the folder. Then he looked again.

      “Is there a problem?” she asked finally, sweetly.

      “I got nothing in here for him. Sorry, Miss…uh…”

      “Ms.,” she corrected. “Ms. Simkanian. Okay, thank you.”

      She went back to the interrogation room and pushed through the door. “Did they take anything from you when they brought you in here?” she asked McKenna. “Your wallet, for instance?”

      “Of course.”

      “Good. Then let’s go. We’re leaving.”

      “Lady, I hate to break this to you, but I really don’t think they’re going to let me walk out of here just because you tell me to.”

      Grace almost smiled. “Not only were they tagging you as Bran Downey, they have nothing here for you personally. No papers means no charge. Captain Plattsmier mentioned something about extortion charges—that’s what my senior partner told me—but they don’t have the proper forms so they can’t legally hold you.”

      “So that’s it. Extortion.”

      “What did you think they were charging you with?”

      “I had no idea.”

      What kind of game was he playing? She started to point out that charges generally stemmed from whatever a suspect had done, but he was claiming his innocence—sort of—and that would be inching a little too close to the ground that had ticked him off earlier. “I’m sure they’ll chase their tails all night and have you in custody again by morning on the proper ID,” she said instead. “But for now you’re a free man.”

      “Can I kiss you?”

      Grace backed off fast enough to ram her spine against the doorjamb.

      “Purely in gratitude,” he explained.

      “None necessary. I’m just doing my job. Keep your mouth to yourself.”

      She was rattled, he thought. Interesting.

      Since he wouldn’t be spending tonight in a cell, maybe he’d keep her for an attorney after all. Of course, that would involve deciding just how he was going to deal with that jet-black hair and those Violet Eyes. And the legs. Miles of them, he thought, watching her.

      They were nearly back at the desk before someone noticed him strolling down the corridor as free as a bird. Four more guards came running. They seemed to come out of the crevices between the bricks in the walls, appearing out of nowhere. They included the man who’d listened to him earlier, the guard who had been reasonable enough to bring him back to the first floor. Aidan was almost sorry for that. Almost, but not quite.

      “What are you doing?” the guard yelled. “What is this?”

      “Please bring this man his wallet,” Grace said pleasantly.

      “Are you crazy?” he demanded.

      “Not in the slightest. There’s an easy way to do this and a hard way. You can compare this man standing beside me with the face on his driver’s license or we can call in various members of the P.P.D. to identify him—as one Aidan McKenna. Correct?” She glanced at Aidan.

      He nodded agreeably. “That’s me.”

      The guard looked frantic. “Hold it, just hold it. I need to call Chief Baines. Or the arresting officers. Jeez.”

      “By all means,” Grace agreed. “Call someone. Maybe they can get the proper paperwork here in the next few seconds before my client and I walk out the door. Perhaps then—with the proper paperwork—you’d have cause to detain him, because as it is you have nothing on the basis of which to hold him. You are not going to incarcerate him as Bran Downey because that, you see, is against the law.”

      Guards went running. He loved her, Aidan thought.

      “Come on,” she said to him in an undertone. “We’re out of here.”

      He loved her less. “What about my wallet? I had damned near a hundred dollars in there.”

      “You’ll be back here in the morning, I’m sure. In the meantime, they’re not allowed to spend it.”

      “Where are we going?” he asked outside as she hailed a cab.

      “To track down a man who might or might not begin to regret hiring me.”

      It was difficult to tell if Dan Lutz was annoyed or impressed when they finally found him at Bistro Romano, a historic restaurant in Society Hill near South Street. The maître d’ was much easier to read. He was appalled by their gutsy intrusion.

      “This way,” he said, his voice as stiff as a pair of new jeans.

      “I’m not dressed for it,” McKenna replied.

      “I know,” the maître d’ agreed.

      The man pulled a little ahead of them as they crossed the dining room. McKenna leaned closer to her to speak in an undertone. “Must be your legs,” he murmured. “That’s why he let us in without a reservation.”

      “Leave my legs out of this.”

      “Let me make sure I have this straight. I’m not allowed to kiss you and your legs are not a fair topic of conversation. Is there any part of your body you don’t get defensive about?”

      Grace stopped dead in her tracks. “How is that any of your business?”

      “I’m curious.”

      “My body parts are the last thing you should be worried about right now.”

      “They’re an intriguing alternative to thinking about my problems. Besides, I have you to think about my problems—at least until I fire you.”

      That momentarily quelled her, but Grace rallied. “You won’t have to worry about firing me if you don’t cease and desist with this nonsense.”

      “Cease and desist? Is that lawyer-speak?”

      “It’s woman-speak. Trust me when I tell you that you’ll recognize the difference.”

      “I’m not sure my feeble brain can handle the nuances.”

      That startled her. “I never said your brain was feeble.”

      “You were looking down your nose at me back there in the prison.”

      “I was not.”

      “You definitely were.”

      He was relentless.

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