Blood Loss

around … she’s kind of … she just seems interested in other men.’

‘Really?’ said Colin. ‘So, she drinks and gets flirty? Imagine that.’

Why, Ren, why? ‘This is not about me,’ said Ren. ‘And it’s more than flirting, OK? Why would I bring up drunken flirting, for Christ’s sake?’

‘You tell me,’ said Colin. He stared at her. ‘What’s really going on here, Ren?’

Oh, sweet Jesus. ‘Nothing is going on. I am trying to tell you, I just thought her behavior was … a little off for someone in a relationship.’

The elevator struggled back to life. Ren banged her head off the wall.

‘Ow,’ she said. ‘I’m not dating her but if I was … maybe I’d be a little wary if I were you.’

‘Look, whatever,’ said Colin. ‘You’ve said what you’ve said. You can relax now. Your hours of agonizing can come to an end. Your message has been delivered.’

He stepped off the elevator, and walked quickly down the hallway.

I thought that went well.

Ren’s office phone was ringing when she walked in.

‘It’s Robbie — are you at your desk?’ He paused. ‘Obviously you are …’

‘Yeees,’ said Ren.

‘I’m getting lunch,’ said Robbie, ‘but I got a call from one of the parents at Laurie’s school who heard we had called.We’ve got a license plate if you want to run it.’

Ren took down the details. She put down the phone, and ran the plate through CCIC, the Colorado Criminal Information Center, and NCIC, the national one.

The car was registered to a man named Taber Grace. Ren read more.

Holy. Shit.

Taber Grace:

Private Investigator.

Ex-FBI.

Ex-Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force.

What. The. Effin. Crap?

47

Ren’s heart was pounding. An ex-member of Safe Streets — whom she had never even heard of — had the crap kicked out of him for loitering outside the house of an eleven-year-old girl who was the victim in a Safe Streets abduction investigation.

Ren took a deep breath.

Who the hell do I ask about this?

She looked around the office at everyone. None of them had ever mentioned a man called Taber Grace. There must be a reason for that. And asking about him, without being armed with a little more information, was not a wise move.

Ren walked down the hallway into one of the conference rooms. She called Paul Louderback.

‘I believe you are back in Denver,’ said Ren.

‘I am,’ he said.

‘A couple of things have come up in the Mark Whaley case,’ said Ren. ‘Are you free to meet up?’

‘I’m intrigued.’

‘How about Gaffney’s? Just to be original.’

‘Isn’t there anywhere else you go?’

She could hear him smiling.

‘The champagne bar on Larimer Street,’ said Ren, ‘but I’m trying to watch your wallet. Gaffney’s is all about the wings, and the jalapeno poppers. I’ve been obsessing about them all morning.’

‘What time is it now?’ said Paul.

‘Two o’clock,’ said Ren.

‘Can we say seven?’ said Paul.

‘Perfect,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘This is between us, OK?’

‘Of course,’ said Paul.

Why break a seventeen-year tradition?

Colin let out a whistle from his desk.

‘That Sylvie Ross is hot,’ he said. He turned his screen toward Cliff, and a little toward Ren. It was on a charity website. Sylvie Ross was in shorts and a tank, smiling at the finish line of a race, holding up a medal.

‘The forensic child lady?’ said Cliff.

‘Paul Louderback’s little protegee,’ said Colin.

The what now?

‘She was not hot,’ said Robbie.

‘Her shoes were terrible,’ said Ren.

‘I noticed the shoes too,’ said Cliff. ‘That’s what you’ve done to me, Ren. That was not a well-designed shoe.’

Could I love you any more?

Don’t ask. Be cool. ‘What do you mean Paul Louderback’s protegee?’ said Ren.

‘One of his ladies. He gets off on it. They follow him around like little puppies,’ said Colin. ‘I don’t get it. Do you, Ren?’ He gave her a shit-eating grin. ‘Do you like Paul Louderback’s shoes?’

Does that even the score, you piece of shit? And while I’m at it — Paul Louderback, you’re a piece of shit too.

Gaffney’s was uncharacteristically quiet. Paul Louderback was at a table facing her, wearing a blue flannel shirt.

Very old-school … for a multi-protegee-timer.

Beside him were two gorgeous young girls.

Uh-oh. Not ready for this.

‘Hey, there,’ said Paul, standing up. ‘Girls, this is Special Agent Ren Bryce, we’re working together in Denver. And Ren, these are my girls, Emma, and Lucy.’

‘Hello, there,’ said Ren. ‘How are you doing?’

They smiled politely. ‘Nice to meet you.’ They both shook her hand. Adorable.

Emma was twelve years old, tall and thin, dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater, with long auburn hair in a ponytail. She had a perfect white smile, and the same sharp cheekbones as her father. Lucy was eight years old, and had blonde curly hair, a cute little face, and bright blue eyes.

‘Would you care to join us?’ said Paul.

Ren smiled. ‘If it’s OK …’ A warning might have been nice.

‘The girls’ nanny was held up,’ said Paul. ‘We’re just finishing up. And the girls like the idea of getting rid of their father and having a table to themselves …’

‘No, we don’t,’ said Lucy, but she was smiling at Emma.

‘They have things to discuss, apparently,’ said Paul.

‘And we don’t have a nanny,’ said Lucy. ‘We’re not babies.’

‘What is she, then?’ said Paul, smiling.

‘Our entourage,’ said Lucy, laughing.

‘She got you there,’ said Ren.

Lucy turned to Ren. ‘You can stay if you like.’

‘Sure,’ said Ren. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’

Emma moved closer to her father to make room for Ren. Her eyes were slightly narrower than Lucy’s …

‘Would you like some fries?’ said Lucy.