Authors: Shelly Laurenston
“Problem?” Dee-Ann asked him.
“Why did I come all this way if it was a waste of time?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get paid for your information.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Vic saw Shen wince. And with good reason. He wasn’t some rat like Bohdan, running around, passing out info for coins or to get out of trouble. And it annoyed him when people acted like he was.
Vic stood and stepped around Shen’s legs.
“Hold up, hoss.”
“We’re done, Dee-Ann.”
“Wait.”
Vic stopped.
“Close the door, hoss.”
Vic glanced back at Dee-Ann. After a moment, he stepped back and closed the door.
Dee-Ann moved from the chair to her desk, resting her ass against the metal. She motioned to Cella and the She-tiger leaned in. They whispered back and forth to each other for nearly a minute before they focused on him again.
Finally, Vic couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s going on?”
“Management,” Cella said, “has been backing off finding Whitlan.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Few months.”
“Why?”
“We’re not sure. But they’re definitely not putting the resources to it that they had been.”
“But we ain’t giving up,” Dee-Ann said flatly.
“We’ve been given different assignments, but we just can’t let this go,” Cella explained.
“You can’t work on it openly, though,” Vic guessed.
“We have other assignments. But if
you
have some free time . . .”
“You want me to do what
three
major organizations haven’t been able to do in more than two years.”
Dee-Ann grinned. “Yup.”
“Hi, Livy!”
Livy, working hard not to sigh, swiveled her desk chair around and gazed at the wolfdog standing in her doorway.
How painful is
this
particular conversation going to be?
Most days she could easily tolerate Blayne Thorpe. It was fun to torment the long-legged wolfdog. Cruel, but fun.
But today . . . today was not a good day.
“What’s up, Blayne?”
“You busy?”
No, but she lied. “A little.”
“I’ll keep it really short then,” she promised as she moved into the office.
“Okay.”
Once Blayne was in, she immediately held up her hands and said, “First off, I’m
so
sorry to hear about your father.” She put her hands on her chest. “My heart just broke for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
Livy knew that saying she was “fine” would just lead to Blayne making it her mission in life to prove how far from fine Livy was, so she said instead, “As well as can be expected.”
“I understand. And I promise not to keep you. I just desperately need your help.”
“With what?”
“Well, you know my and Gwen’s wedding is coming up.”
“I’m sure you two will be really happy together.”
Blayne frowned, head tilting to the side like a confused Labrador. Then her eyes grew wide and she laughed. “No, no! We’re having a double wedding. I’m marrying Bo and Gwen’s marrying Lock.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I let Gwen handle a few things, which initially was working really well. But she had a little fight with one of our vendors and did that thing she does with her neck.”
Livy frowned. “What thing she does with her neck?”
“Trust me . . . if you ever see it . . . you’ll know what I mean. Anyway, we’re kind of in a bad way and I’m hoping you can help us out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, I was wondering if you’d be our photographer!” She grinned that big Blayne grin, but Livy couldn’t even really see it.
“I’m sorry . . . what?”
“You do such nice work and Gwen doesn’t scare you at all. So it would be
perfect.
”
“Are you asking me to be your . . .” Livy swallowed down the bile in her throat. “Your
wedding
photographer?”
“I know it’s a lot of work. I do. But it would
really
help me out. And we don’t want video or anything. Just those lovely pictures you do.”
Livy would later realize that although she heard and knew the words coming out of Blayne Thorpe’s mouth, she didn’t really understand anything at the moment except one thing . . . she was being offered a wedding photography job.
Wedding photography.
Wedding. Photography.
Livy Kowalski. A
wedding
photographer.
“You don’t have to answer now,” Blayne went on, oblivious. “But we have every intention of paying you very well. I won’t ask for a friend discount or anything.” She laughed. “So just let me know!”
Blayne started to walk out, stopped, faced Livy. “And again, I’m really sorry about your dad.”
Then she walked away.
Leaving Livy unable to do anything else but stare at that doorway and wonder when exactly her life had completely fallen into the very pits of hell.
Vic didn’t know what was wrong with him. Why did he agree to things he didn’t want to do? But he had agreed.
You’re an idiot.
“I don’t do wet work,” Vic reminded the two females.
“Don’t worry,” Cella said with a smile. “You find him, Smith and I will take care of the rest.”
“Any idea who these packages your contact told you about were going to?” Dee-Ann asked.
“No. They were routed through several countries. It won’t be easy to track, but at least one of them was headed to Miami, Florida. I think we’ll start there. We’ll head out tonight.”
Dee thought a moment. “What about Whitlan’s kid?”
“Allison?” Cella asked. “We checked her apartment. Remember? Livy went in for us last year. She didn’t find anything that pointed to Allison Whitlan knowing where her father is. Or that she has contact with him at all.”
“He abandoned her and her mother before she was even five,” Vic told them. “She may not want to be in touch with him.”
“It’s been a year. Things might have changed.” Dee-Ann scratched her arm. “Think Livy would help us again?”
Vic shrugged. “I can ask.”
“Ask.” Dee-Ann slid off her desk and Vic knew she was done with them. “Barinov, you don’t discuss what you find with anyone but either me or Cella.”
“All right.” Vic opened the office door.
“And let us know if you have to leave the country again.”
“I will.”
He walked out, Shen right behind him.
While they waited for the elevator, Shen asked, “Are we doing this for free?”
“I don’t know.”
“Isn’t that something we should find out ahead of time?”
“They asked me to do them a favor.”
“You could have said no.” Vic looked at Shen. Still eating bamboo, the giant panda shrugged and added, “Just sayin’.”
The elevator doors opened and both men stepped in.
“So where to now?” Shen asked.
“Get something for Livy. You know . . . to cheer her up.”
“Flowers?”
Vic stared at the panda. “I thought we agreed last night she wouldn’t want flowers?”
“Yeah, but when I thought about it again . . .”
Sighing, Vic admitted, “Some days you make me want to tear your arms off.”
Shen nodded. “Surprisingly, I understand that.”
Unable to resolve how her life had come to this, Livy ended up where she felt most comfortable in her office—under her desk. It was a small space under there because of the desk drawers, so it gave her the illusion of being in a nice burrow.
And that’s where Livy stayed until the smell of roses, lilies, and some other annoying flowers filled her sensitive nostrils.
She tried to ignore the smell but it kept getting more potent as someone moved in and out of her office. Repeatedly.
She sniffed the air, trying to ignore the flowers and center on the person.
Vic. It was Vic in her office. With flowers.
Confused and curious, Livy quietly crawled out from under the desk and peeked around the corner of it to see Vic Barinov bringing in another giant flower display as well as a large fruit basket.
Getting to her knees, Livy asked, “What are you doing?”
Vic stopped and looked at her. “Were you under the desk?”
“Yes.”
“Are you always under the desk?”
“Not always.”
He shrugged, walked out, came back with another basket. This time filled with an array of cookies.
“Vic?”
“We couldn’t agree.”
“Who couldn’t agree . . . what?”
“It’s Shen’s fault,” he complained, which really didn’t answer her question.
“Okay.”
“First he said you wouldn’t want flowers. Then today, he thought you might, although he had no empirical proof regarding the veracity of that belief.”
“Empirical proof?”
“Right. So I brought you flowers. And cookies.” He walked out of her office. “I also,” he said from the hallway, “got you a plant.” And he came in with a five-foot-tall standing plant that he put in a corner. Christ, Livy was only five-one.
“And,” he said, gesturing at two other baskets, “food.” He pointed at one basket. “Nuts and fruits, nuts being the emphasis of the overall basket.” He pointed at the other. “Fruits and nuts, with fruits being the emphasis.” Went back into the hallway and came in with another basket. “And meats and fish.”
He placed the baskets in front of her desk.
“And”—he walked out again and quickly returned with one more basket—“honey. European and American. They didn’t have any African or Israeli bee honey.”
Glancing around the room, he finally settled on placing that basket beside the standing plant.
Resting back on her heels, Livy asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you bringing me anything?”
“It’s what people do when a friend suffers a loss.”
“We’re friends?”
“I just bought you all these baskets, so we better be.”
Vic had always found Livy . . . unusual. Cute. Really hot, when she wasn’t ripping a lion’s scalp off. But definitely unusual. Still, why was she hiding under her desk? That seemed weird. Even for her.
Even worse, when he suggested they were friends, she just stared blankly at him. It kind of hurt his feelings.
“I brought you honey. You could at least pretend we’re friends.”
“Yeah. We’re friends. Just don’t know why you felt the need to buy me baskets of . . . stuff.”
“Because that’s what people do, Livy. It’s called empathy.”
“I’ve heard the word.”
Vic rolled his eyes. “Look, Livy, I know you’re this great photographer but—”
“Oh yeah,” she suddenly cut in. “Great
wedding
photographer, maybe.”
“What?”
Livy shook her head. “Forget it.”
“Livy, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” She suddenly dropped down and crawled back under her desk.
Vic, not sure how to deal with this side of Livy, walked around her desk and crouched down so he could see her.
“Do you want to go somewhere and talk?” he asked.
“Because I’m so chatty?”
“No. But I understand that after the loss of a parent—”
“We weren’t close.”
“As you’ve already said. We could still go get some coffee.” He glanced at his watch. “Maybe get lunch.”
“You asking me out on a date?”
Without thinking, Vic leaned back a bit. “No.”
“You don’t have to look so horrified.”
“It’s not horror. It’s confusion. You’re confusing me. Which,” when he thought about it, “may lead to horror. But I simply don’t like being confused. So the horror wasn’t directed at you, so much as the confusion.”
“Well, when you put it like that . . .”
Glad she understood what he’d been trying to say, Vic asked again, “Sure you don’t want some lunch?”
“I’m not really hungry. But thanks anyway.”
“Okay.” He started to stand up, but stopped, remembering his conversation with Dee-Ann. “One other thing . . .”
“Yeah?”
“You up for a job?”
Livy closed her eyes. “Let me guess . . . you need a photographer for your nephew’s birthday party?”
“His birthday’s in June.” Vic scratched his head, again confused. “You do that kind of photography, too?”
“What job?” Livy asked and something told Vic not to push her.
“Remember that woman’s apartment you . . . uh . . . went into last year?” He hated saying “breaking and entering.” That was a felony.
“Whitlan’s daughter? Yes. I remember.”
“Would you do it again if I need you to?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said dismissively, her shoulders slumping.
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s the best job I’ve had offered to me in a long while. So I’ll do it.”
“You’ll be working with me and Shen this time.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain that later. But after I get back.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“Yeah. But staying in the States.” Vic studied Livy a little longer. He didn’t like the way she was acting. But, again, people mourned differently. “So if you need me, Livy . . . you call me. Understand?”
She looked up at him, gave a very small smile. “I do. Thanks.”
He headed out. “I’ll call you about the job when I get back.”
“Okay.”
Vic walked down the hall and met up with Shen.
“I booked our flights,” Shen said, closing up his laptop and slipping it into its case.
“Good.”
“So what did she like?” Shen asked as they headed toward the elevators.
Vic stopped, thought a moment, and admitted, “You know . . . I still have no idea.”
C
HAPTER
4
E
ventually Livy decided she wasn’t going to get anything worthwhile done, so she crawled out from under her desk, picked up her backpack, grabbed ajar of European honey from the basket Vic had given her, and left her office.
Livy walked home. She didn’t look around like she usually did. Didn’t seek out those images that gave her ideas or had her scrambling for her digital SLR camera. Instead she just walked with her head down and feeling pretty damn sorry for herself.
Livy never had before. She knew a lot of artists who did. Who, no matter how successful or not they were, always felt sorry for themselves. Complained about anything and everything. Made everyone around them miserable. Livy had always prided herself on not being like that. She was too focused on her work. Too lost in her photographs to bother with any of that unnecessary bullshit.