FIRE AND ICE (17 page)

“Do they put chocolates on the pillows every night in this five-star hotel?”

He had a nice laugh. “Okay I made up the hotel, but you still have to come up here. We have a no-frills hotel here with clean rooms and clean sheets, and you’ve really got to see the northern lights. The view here is spectacular.”

“I thought you said it was a wasteland.”

“A beautiful wasteland.” He laughed again. “I guess that’s a contradiction. You just have to see it to understand. Alaska will fascinate you.”

“Let me think about it,” she said.

“Think about me, too.”

She didn’t respond to his comment. “You’ll call me if you get any more information on Harrington?”

“I’m going to call you anyway. Bye now.”

S
OPHIE WAS DESPERATE.
“I need Kelly’s Root Beer, and I need it bad.”

“And you’re calling me because … ?” Cordie asked.

“Because you know how to get things from the street … the ’hood.”

“The what?”

“The ’hood, like in neighborhood. Can you get me some or not?”

“I’ve got a couple of bottles in my refrigerator. I could bring them over after my last chem lab.”

“That’s not enough. I need cases of the stuff.”

“Okay. I’ll ask the obvious. Why?”

“Because Mr. Bitterman is coming over tonight. There’s a story I want to investigate and it might be necessary for me to take a trip. My hope is that he’ll approve the story and cover my expenses. I’ll tell you everything when we get together. But now I need root beer and lots of it. I lured Mr. Bitterman to my apartment with a promise, and I exaggerated just a bit.”

“How much is a bit?”

“I suggested I had a closet full of the stuff.”

“There’s an easy solution. Call the grocery store and have them deliver a couple of cases of another brand of root beer.”

“Mr. Bitterman would have heart failure. It has to be Kelly’s Root Beer.”

“What about Regan? Maybe she can help.”

“I’ve already given her an assignment. She’s supposed to work on Alec to help me get my things back from the crime lab. There’s absolutely no reason for them to hold on to my personal possessions.”

“Gil told me there was blood all over your purse and that the bullet went through the clasp. Poor you. They had to take it because it was part of the crime scene. Don’t you ever watch any of those CSI shows on television? You’re lucky they didn’t cut your rug up and take that, too.”

“But what about the things inside my purse? Why do they need to keep my wallet and digital recorder and my cell phone? I guess I can kiss that battery good-bye.”

“Talk to Detective Steinbeck.”

“I have talked to him. He keeps telling me he’ll get my things back real soon, but I’ve stopped believing him. He’s just humoring me.”

“I don’t know what you think Alec can do. This isn’t a federal investigation.”

“He has friends in the police department, and I’m hoping he can get one of them to help. I really need my recorder. There’s an important interview I have to listen to,” she explained.

“Ah, the runner interview.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m desperate. I even left a message on Alec’s cell phone telling him that if I don’t get my recorder back by tomorrow, I’m going to break into the crime lab and get it myself. If I have to tear up the place, so be it.”

Cordie laughed. “Oh, I bet he just loved listening to that message.”

After she finished talking with her friend, Sophie tried several other possibilities, but none of them could hook her up with Kelly’s Root Beer. The beverage was as scarce as mascara at an Amish convention.

Nothing was going her way, and Sophie had reached the end of her rope. She wasn’t asking for much, just a little good news.

And then it came. But why is it that most good news is accompanied by bad news? Sophie wondered.

Good news: She got her digital recorder back.

Bad news: Jack MacAlister came with it.

A
GENT MACALISTER WAS AS CHARMING AS EVER. AND SO
was his greeting. He didn’t waste time on “Hello” or “Hi there.” She opened the door and heard, “It’s a felony to break into a crime lab and steal evidence.”

“But I didn’t break into the lab, did I? I merely threatened to,” she replied. “I suppose it would be impolite to ask you to give me my recorder and then go away, Agent MacAlister.”

“Jack. Call me Jack.” He smiled as he walked past her into the living room. “You’re not getting your recorder back until you say my name.”

He didn’t look like he was going to be leaving anytime soon. He was making himself comfortable on her sofa.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“Try me.” She folded her arms across her chest and suddenly remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt. The band rubbed against her incision. She grabbed her oversized cardigan. She had placed it on the back of a chair and planned to put it on before
she opened the door to Mr. Bitterman, but she’d forgotten all about it.

Jack dropped her recorder on the table next to him, pushed the ottoman farther from the sofa to accommodate his long legs, then sat back and put his feet up. Sophie wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d picked up her TV remote control and asked for a beer.

“I’m doing one last favor for Alec before I head to the ocean.”

“How long is your vacation?”

“It’s not a vacation. It’s a leave of absence.” His answer was abrupt, impatient.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Depends.”

“What beach do you have in mind?”

“Don’t know what beach yet. Someplace warm, though.”

“What was the favor Alec wanted? He could have sent a messenger with the recorder.”

“I have to listen to the interview.”

He put his hand up when he saw she was going to object and said, “Detective Steinbeck told Alec he’d already listened to it, but when pressed, admitted he had trouble paying attention. Said that the guy you were interviewing … what’s his name?”

“Harrington. William Harrington.”

“Okay, so Steinbeck said it was a real dry interview …”

Her back stiffened. “I beg to differ. I don’t do dry interviews.”

Jack continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “Steinbeck said Harrington droned on and on in a monotone voice.”

Sophie nodded. True. Harrington had droned on and on.

“The police are investigating anyone you may have come in contact with in the days before the shooting and Alec thought one of us should listen to it just in case there was some connection.”

“He just talks about 5K races he’s won.”

“How many 5K races?”

She smiled. “Twenty-four. Are you sure you want to listen?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I could tell you about it.”

He shook his head. She tapped her foot impatiently while deciding what to do. Then she gave in. “Fine. You may listen to the interview.”

“Sophie, I wasn’t asking for permission. I’m gonna listen to it. I can do it here, or I’ll take the recorder and listen to it at my place.”

“Okay, listen to it here.”

“You want to start now?”

“Not yet. We’ll wait until Mr. Bitterman gets here. He probably won’t want to listen to the interview, but I should give him the choice. And please, don’t interfere when I’m talking to him about an article I want to write. You’ll want to interfere, but try and restrain yourself.”

“Why would I want to interfere?”

She sighed. “The polar bear.”

“Polar bear? You want to write about a polar bear?”

“Not exactly about the bear. His name is Barry, by the way.”

He flashed a smile. “Sounds like you’re writing a kid’s book.”

“Only if my intention was to scar them for life,” she said.

“Say my name, Sophie, or I worry I might just have to interfere.”

“I don’t want to call you by your first name because I don’t want to get that friendly.”

He laughed. “Yes, you do. It’s okay. I want to get friendly, too.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You don’t like me.”

“I don’t have to like you to get friendly with you.”

She had no idea what to say now, and so, feeling a bit like a coward, she retreated to the kitchen.

“Grab me a root beer,” he called out.

“Absolutely not,” she called back. “The root beer’s for Mr. Bitterman.”

He decided to join her in the galley kitchen.

“Word on the street is that you’ve got a whole closet full of Kelly’s.”

The pipeline from Cordie to Jack needed to be plugged.

“You may have a Coke, a Pepsi, diet sodas, or water.”

He had to check out the refrigerator himself before making a decision. He finally settled on a can of Diet Coke, then went to the cabinets to find something to snack on.

She tried to push rice cakes on him. Regan had gotten them for her at the grocery store, but Sophie didn’t like them. What she did like was kettle chips, and so, of course, that was the snack Jack wanted.

“Just because Alec can go through my cabinets doesn’t mean you can.”

He’d already opened the bag and was chewing on a chip. “You aren’t being a very gracious hostess. What are we having for dinner?”

Her response wasn’t clever. She sputtered.

“Use your words, Sophie. Use your words,” he drawled as he strolled back to the sofa.

She wanted to use a meat cleaver. Good thing she didn’t own one. While she enjoyed a few other murderous thoughts, she got a cold soda out of the refrigerator, took a couple of deep breaths, and then went to join him.

“I’ve been injured. I’m not cooking dinner tonight.”

“From the looks of your kitchen, I’m guessing you don’t cook at all.”

“Of course I cook.”

“Yeah? The price tags and stickers are still on your pots and pans, or rather, your pot and pan. Didn’t see any lids.”

She sat down next to him, reached across his lap, and grabbed a handful of chips. “I microwave.”

He abruptly changed the subject. “When’s your boss getting here?”

She checked the time on his watch and said, “He should be here now.”

“How long is the recording?”

“A couple of hours, maybe a little more. Why?”

“I want to be in bed by ten.”

“Ten, huh? You don’t look ninety. Must be all that sleep you’re getting?”

Mr. Bitterman didn’t show up until almost an hour later. It was odd, but sitting with Jack while they waited wasn’t at all uncomfortable. He wasn’t hesitant to answer questions about his background, where he grew up, where he went to college, and how, after graduating from law school, he had decided to become an FBI agent instead of joining a law firm.

“Tell me why you’re taking a leave of absence. Burn out?” she asked.

“No.”

“Shoot someone you shouldn’t have?”

“No.”

“Mental problems? That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

He smiled. “No.”

“Then what?” She nudged him in his side. She was as tenacious as he was.

“It’s a forced leave of absence.”

“Now that’s interesting.”

She waited for him to explain, and when he kept silent, she pressed again. “You know I’m going to ask. What did you do?”

He reluctantly told her about the YouTube video. Once he’d finished explaining, he added, “You’re probably the only person in Chicago who hasn’t watched the damned thing.”

“The video. That’s right. Regan and Cordie told me to watch it, but I forgot.”

“Until something more interesting gets filmed, I’m being hounded by the press. At first the higher-ups wanted me to lay low in Chicago, but this isn’t going away. Now they want me out of
town, so I’m heading to an ocean until this blows over.” He shook his head as he added, “I guess I know what it must be like for you every time your father’s in the news.”

Sophie didn’t want the conversation to get anywhere near her father, and so she steered him away with a couple of other personal questions. The only topic he was reluctant to discuss was his love life. He admitted he’d never been married, but when she asked him if he’d ever come close, he changed the subject.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said. “Let’s talk about your father.”

“Let’s not.”

He didn’t push. “I’d ask about your background, but I don’t need to. I know all about you.” He then proceeded to prove it.

When she thought he had finished, she said, “You read my file.”

“I know a whole lot more that isn’t in your file.”

“Like what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Like you work hard to make people think you’re superficial.”