4. Tallus

Imight have had more patience if it weren’t the middle of the night, but as it stood, I was depleted. A whole day of work before a night of dancing and drinking at Gasoline had done me in. It was bad enough I hadn’t found anyone worth taking home, but this, whatever it was, had not been part of my evening plan. I could have waited until morning—Diem had suggested as much—but my eagerness and curiosity had won, and now I was suffering the consequences of a social clutz who was more beast than man and a woman who had taken too long to get to the point.

And now Diem didn’t seem capable of explaining anything comprehensibly.

“All right, Guns. Three… two… one…” I waited for another beat, then pushed away from the desk. “Adios.”

“Wait.” Diem’s panicked gaze darted my way, and he shifted upright in his seat. “I’m… Sit. I’ll sum it up.”

I sat, but I didn’t get comfortable. It was too late for games.

We stared at one another.

He didn’t speak.

I cocked a brow. “Next time my ass leaves this chair, it leaves for good.”

Diem stammered, then blurted, “You look better with your glasses on. Not that you look bad right now… That’s not… I mean… Never mind.” A growl emanated from his chest, and he scrambled in a drawer, pulling out a neon-green fidget toy. He spun it around his fingers as he scowled at the iPad.

I chuckled, which intensified the storm brewing behind his gray eyes. The poor floundering beast. How did he function in society?

I’d forgotten Diem had a thing for my glasses. “I’ll assume that’s your attempt at a compliment. Thank you. A little random, but I appreciate it. I don’t wear them clubbing. People aren’t careful on the dance floor, and I can’t afford to keep fixing them when they get broken, which happens far more often than I like.”

Diem peeked up, studied my face in the intense way he had about everything, then returned his attention to the iPad. “You look good without them too… I just… They’re… nice.”

“Thank you.” And since he was drowning, I added, “Are we going to tackle the issue or not?”

Diem cleared his throat. His voice was low when he spoke, and his words were mumbled. “Faye wants confirmation her husband was having an affair. She’s convinced Olivia might not have been the only one. If there were more women, she wants to know who they were. Noah had secrets, and she’s determined to uncover them.”

“Discovering an affair won’t be an easy task when her husband is dead. Not like you can catch him in the act.”

“Exactly. She’s given me access to his phone and computer, but I haven’t found much. The man was a computer tech with some company, so he diligently erased his virtual footprints. I suspect Faye was a snoop even before he died, and he knew it.”

Diem indicated the tablet. “This is what I found on Olivia Lansky. She’s a working woman. Her family life is picture-perfect. At least on the surface. If she was having an affair, she kept it far away from her house and husband. The thing is, I can’t get near her to find out if she has her own secrets. I’ve done plenty of surveillance. I’ve followed her several times to and from the office. I’ve sat outside her house endlessly. I’ve witnessed her perfect fucking marriage and her perfect fucking kids and her perfect fucking life. But nothing is amiss.”

I chuckled. “You sound bitter. No. Wait. Never mind. You sound exactly like the Diem I’ve always known. My bad. Carry on.”

Diem glared, and I smirked, holding up my hands to placate the sensitive bear. “Down, boy. It was a joke. A poor one, I admit. If it helps, I didn’t have a perfect fucking life either. Believe me. We all have shit in our past we wish we could forget. So, if Olivia is as spick-and-span as you say, then tell Faye she’s wrong. Case closed. I’m not sure why a potential affair matters after the fact. The guy’s dead. What’s she going to do? Divorce his corpse?”

Diem worked his jaw and spun the fidget toy in circles on the desk. The scraping of plastic on wood joined chorus with the rattling space heater behind me. “I can’t. There’s more.”

Diem had been chewing a piece of gum since we arrived at the office. He leaned over and spat it into a wastebasket before finding another. Only then did I realize the hints of smoke that had surrounded Diem six months ago were gone.

“Wait,” I said before he kept talking. “Did you quit smoking?”

Diem’s attention moved to me, then away. “Yeah. Sort of. Four months ago.” He rapped a knuckle on the desk like he didn’t want to jinx his success.

I nodded, unsure if it was the type of thing that warranted congratulations or not. “Cool. Good for you. I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“Faye found those guns. Faye claimed the police came by looking for Noah. She—”

“Ohhh, I get it. Ugh. Blame the late hour and booze.” The pieces clicked. Diem was interested in knowing what the police wanted with Noah. I was his inside scoop at the department. I was tickled that he’d come to me instead of Kitty, although I wasn’t sure if it was information I could get. Our records department focused on specialized fields: homicide, missing persons, intelligence, narcotics, and terrorism. We didn’t house the information for the districts around Toronto. Each station would have its own filing system.

“What?” Diem asked.

“Go on.”

Diem spun the spinner. “Olivia… I can’t get near her because she’s got fucking bodyguards around her morning, noon, and night. Following her and doing surveillance has been tricky because of it.”

I frowned at the unexpected direction of the conversation. “Bodyguards?”

“She has a driver to take her to and from work, and she has a shadow whenever she’s at the office or goes out for lunch. They’re professional guys too. Hired from Bordeaux Security. I have an inside man there and found out it was a personal hire, not done through the fashion company, and Olivia was vague about her reasoning. She claimed she might have a dangerous stalker and was taking precautions. My guy couldn’t get more. It means my ability to… properly investigate this woman is seriously hampered.”

“Can’t your inside guy help you slip through the cracks? Tell her detail to look the other way.”

“No. He’s a janitor and has no connection with the muscles.” Diem shoved the spinner away and turned the iPad, swiping at the screen. “So far, Olivia’s been all work and no play. If I’m going to get answers, I need to get close to her or gain access to her computer or cell phone. My best bet is to get into her office since her husband is always home with the kids, and I doubt she’d keep anything incriminating there anyhow.”

I tsked playfully. “Isn’t that crossing some no-no lines in your business?”

Diem glared, and again, I held my hands palm up. “Not that I care. I don’t. Honestly. I’m fondly attracted to breaking the rules.” Then I winked to drive the point home, ensuring I made Diem squirm out of his skin.

He didn’t disappoint and referenced the tablet, clearing his throat. “There’s a… function on Sunday afternoon. A fashion… what-do-you-call-it? Where they display stuff and… I don’t know. Like a show, but… that’s not the word. The company is entertaining people in the industry and… doing a marketing… It’s a…” He threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking know what to call it.”

“A gala?”

He slapped the desk. “Yes. That. There will be two hundred or more guests. It’s a perfect time to slip into her office and check things out. The problem is, getting through the fucking doors. It’s by invitation only, and the building is secure. But…” Diem flashed me a hopeful look across the desk. “Certain people from the press will have open passes.”

It was late, and the gears weren’t quite catching, so when he paused as though expecting me to fill in the blanks, I asked, “Which means?”

“I need your help.”

I checked the time. Twenty after three. My brain was cloudy. “What is it you need me to do exactly? And I’m running out of steam, D, so less grunting and more explaining.”

“Get me inside.”

“How?”

“Act.”

“Diem, you make my head hurt. I know it’s not intentional, but you really, really do.”

“Um… play a part. Act. Like before with Aurelian. Remember?”

“Yes, but you’re still not being clear. Act what part? How does this help you get in the building?”

“Act like press or somebody who works for a magazine or a journal or… Christ, I don’t fucking know. Put on a suit and tie. Do that smart walk you do where you sway your hips. Wave a notebook and pen around. Flash your sultry, devilish smile at the people working at the front door. No one will care who you are. Gay or straight, they’ll get down on their fucking knees for you.”

I smirked as Diem’s neck went blotchy red. “You’re such a flatterer.”

Diem growled. “Just get inside the building, then let me in a back door. Do whatever you want while I find her office and determine if there’s anything to Faye’s suspicions. That’s it. That’s all.”

I rolled the suggestion around my sleep-deprived brain, stifled a yawn, and squinted at the burly man across the desk. My eyes burned. “You want me to act. Couldn’t you play the part of press and get yourself inside without me?”

Diem deadpanned, and I laughed. “Fair enough. Stupid suggestion. But won’t press need passes or invitations too?”

“Yes, but that’s where your skills and smile come into play.” He poked at the tablet and spun it around. “I have a list of press and magazines who’ve been invited. Pick a name. Play a part. So long as we get there early, I’m sure you can weasel your way in.”

“And do my walk and smile my smile?” I offered a disarmingly sultry one as Diem had suggested.

His throat bobbed, and he looked away. “Yes. I’m sure that face gets you whatever you want in life.”

I huffed. “Not even close, Guns. Sunday?”

“Three o’clock.” He shifted in his seat, reached for the spinner, but folded his hands together instead. “I can pay you thirty percent of my fees.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Forty?”

“It’s not the money. I’m not making a decision of lawbreaking proportions with alcohol in my system and at the ass crack of almost dawn when I’m starting to get a headache. Let me sleep on it.”

Diem gave a sharp nod, only then seeming to realize the time. Under the wash of the yellow lamp light, his facial scars stood out. They told a violent story.

“Can you please take me back to my car?”

A deep frown drew his brows together, and I chuckled.

“Or to my apartment if you don’t think I’m suitable enough to drive yet.” Because that was what the look was about. Diem might have been a man of few words, but he was easily understood.

“When will you—”

“I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon when I wake up and reevaluate my life choices.” I sighed. “You know I could have gotten laid tonight, but I came here instead.”

It was a lie, but I was curious how Diem would react. His discomfort all evening was in part to do with our history. Anyone with half a brain could tell Diem didn’t know how to act in my presence.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Bad timing.” Then he busied himself, putting the iPad away and finding another piece of gum. Snagging his keys, he pushed back from the desk and headed to the door. Not once did he look at me, but the tightness in his shoulders spoke volumes.

It was a quiet ride to my apartment. Diem could barely muster a proper goodbye when he dropped me off, but he didn’t drive away until I was inside the building. I wasn’t sure whether he was looking out for my safety or admiring the walk he claimed I’d perfected. I might have added extra swagger to be an ass. So what if I liked the attention? Sue me.