Flirtation Page 2

  Ian looked at him speculatively. “What’s your gut telling you?”

  “That the sooner I can drag her out from behind the screen, the sooner I can get this settled. I’m hoping I can force her hand if I set myself up as a target she can’t resist. A chance for one big score.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  He grinned, winking at Sarah and watching her roll her eyes. “Just a little not-so-innocent flirtation. I figure heating things up a little and trying to draw her out, maybe for a date, would be the easiest way to go. It happens online all the time these days and is unlikely to cause any suspicion. At worst, she’ll think I’m an online pervert and say no. But if she’s checked me out via the registration information and card info I gave her, I think she’ll bite.”

  “Then do it. You’re certain the woman you’re interacting with is Charlotte Gerard?”

  EJ smiled, but there was a slight predatory gleam in his eye—he loved tracking down the bad guy, or bad girl, as the case had it.

  “Sure as I can be. Goes by ‘Charley’—not exactly a masterful disguise. But meeting her for real will cement things, if I can get her to go for it.”

  “Good. Remember, she could just be a little fish fronting a larger scam, which is why we can’t find anything tied directly to her—could be she just lures in the marks, and the real action goes down somewhere else.”

  EJ nodded, still looking at the photo, wondering what pushed a young woman like Charlotte into a career of crime. She looked like a sweet thing, paid her taxes even on the pittance she appeared to earn on the Web site and at odd jobs. She was, perhaps, a little too squeaky clean. Unfortunately, EJ knew he lived in a world where if someone was too clean, they were probably dirty.

  She’d been engaging, entertaining and yet apparently sincere while she’d read for him the night before. And sexy, without a doubt. She’d said things to him that scored a direct hit on his desires—he loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to talk about sex in frank terms. A female voice saying the right thing in his ear could turn him on faster than any touch.

  Charlotte was particularly talented at drawing him into the conversation, making him lose track of his objective and almost luring him into admitting some things that he didn’t easily discuss with anyone. What he wanted in bed and from life. From love.

  He dismissed it as the same phenomenon as airplane talk. Talking with people online was a lot like talking to strangers in airplanes—you could say anything, because you were never going to see them again.

  But deep down, he also knew there was a grain of truth to the things he’d shared with Charlotte, and he didn’t like how she’d pulled him in to whatever spell she wove. In general, he considered himself immune to that kind of thing, and it rankled that he’d felt a sense of connection when he should have been concentrating only on business. She was a suspect, for crying out loud.

  But her smooth ability to get people to feel comfortable, to get them to talk, was even more proof against her—in his gut, anyway. The best con artists were very hard to dislike and they knew how to read people, how to get the information they needed. But so did EJ.

  EJ looked back at Ian, changing the subject. “So how are you and Sage holding up?”

  “I’m fine, but I feel for Sage. She’s so big, and mostly immobile, which is torture for her. She’s so used to being on the go, and was at a really critical point with her consulting business when she found out about the babies. She’s conducting business online and over the phone, but she’s tired and more than a little cranky.”

  Sarah butted in, shuddering. “Who could blame her? I get cranky just thinking about it.”

  “You’re cranky anyway,” Ian teased. “Aren’t you and Logan thinking about a family?”

  “Sure. In about ten or fifteen years. Or longer.”

  EJ tipped his head curiously. “Have you ever heard of the concept of a biological clock?”

  Sarah grinned smugly. “They make them digital these days. Women are having babies in their forties and beyond. Although I don’t really get that, either.”

  EJ and Ian shook their heads, laughing. Sarah was incorrigible. Logan had often talked about a family, especially inspired by Sage and Ian, but Sarah was holding strong. Having babies was not in the cards for her anytime soon, EJ imagined. Logan would have his work cut out for him.

  Conversation ceased as Ian grabbed his cell phone, excusing himself for a moment. Looking past the clear glass windows that encased their offices, the hallways of the Norfolk Police Department buzzed with activity. Outside the office, he knew it would be hot and muggy—the air-conditioning was constantly on the blitz, but the HotWires offices were almost too cold, kept that way because of the sensitive technology in the room.

  They’d come a long way in three years, solving some major cases, and increasing their funding and resources with each success. It had just been the three of them to start, an experiment that had met with phenomenal success. Their unit, having gained state and local recognition for their work, had just gotten more funds to expand. The cases were piling up, and they needed more people on the job, especially with their personal lives becoming more complicated.

  In fact, Ian was lining up interviews with prospective agents soon. EJ looked over at Sarah, who returned to her case file with deep concentration. She’d been a freelance computer hacker just a few years ago, doing odd jobs so she could finance her hacking habit, buying all the computer equipment she needed to track down Internet pornographers so she could report them to the feds. It was how she’d met Ian and had ended up being a part of the team. And she was one damned good cop; Ian had great instincts, and hiring Sarah had paid off big-time.

  But EJ had thought further ahead. In fact, should Ian ever decide to change jobs, considering his family situation, EJ hoped to be able to step up to the plate to lead the HotWires unit, something his single life prepared him for perfectly.

  He’d never spoken to Ian about it, but he wondered if his friend would want to stay in a dangerous position after he had children to consider. Having stared down the barrel of a gun more than once in the line of duty, EJ wasn’t sure he could do it if he had little ones depending on him to come home every night.

  Ian’s voice brought EJ back to the moment. “I’ll be spending more time at home, but I’m still available if you need me in here. And Sarah can be pulled in, too, if you need backup. At least before she leaves. If you can’t get us, you’re authorized through Marty to pull whatever you need from the general department resources.”

  EJ nodded, looking again at the petite blonde with the heart-shaped face in the photograph, and he felt a stirring in his gut, remembering what this beautiful woman had talked about with him online. Private, intimate, sexy things.

  Too bad she was probably going to jail.

  2

  THE THREE OF SWORDS crossed by The Devil yet again—poor Ronny. Charlotte sighed, looking for something good in the cards—she always tried to put a positive spin on things, if she could—but this reading bothered her. In fact, it gave her a creepy feeling; something was definitely off in her brother’s life. As usual.

  Ronny never asked for readings—he thought her tarot was a bunch of hooey—but now and then she did a reading for him, just for herself, to get an idea how his life was going and how she could support or advise him. Normally she would never do a reading without someone’s permission—it was eavesdropping of a kind—but this was her privilege as a big sister, she figured.

  Padding into the small kitchen of her apartment on Ocean View, just east of downtown Norfolk, she poured herself a large glass of lemongrass iced tea and stared out the small window over her old-fashioned ceramic kitchen sink as she sipped.

  Her apartment wasn’t in the fanciest of buildings, in fact, it was probably going to be knocked down sooner than later to make way for the new development that was springing up left and right. But she stayed here because she was in love with the view.

  Four miles of qu
iet beach stretched out on either side of her backyard. The southern end of the Chesapeake Bay was only about eighty-two steps outside her back door—she’d counted—and she had a panoramic view of the famous Bay Bridge.

  If she went out her front door, the road was busy, and the streets were not ones she was comfortable walking too late at night, though it was safer now that they’d decided to redevelop the more dangerous areas on the southernmost end of the avenue. Things were picking up; there were new businesses, homes and a golf course.

  But it was the mix of people, the way new condos sprouted up between fleabag hotels and old apartment houses like hers, and how tidy, older ladies walked their prissy little poodles alongside kids with sagging pants and MP3 players that attracted her. The place had personality and diversity, and the entire neighborhood was eclectic and genuine. She felt like she fit right in.

  She stared at the cards again, her thoughts returning to her brother. He’d had a hard time of it, and it didn’t look like anything was going to get easier, which broke her heart. She’d only known him for three years. She’d found him through a family locator service that helped siblings separated by the courts to find each other again. It had taken her almost ten years, since she was eighteen, to find him. She’d continued the search in fits and starts as money and time allowed.

  She’d lived in New Hampshire then, the land of the White Mountains and presidential primaries, but she never regretted moving to Virginia to be near Ronny. He wasn’t able to move, and she didn’t mind. She was more flexible, able to work wherever she went. But, in truth, she would have lived just about anywhere to be near the only family she had.

  “Hey, Mary, Mary…how does your garden grow?”

  Ronny’s voice boomed as he walked through the front door, and she quickly slid the cards into the deck, gasping in delighted surprise when she saw he was carrying several flats of colorful flowers.

  Because she worked planting and maintaining flowerboxes—one of her more profitable ventures—he always called her Mary, from the nursery rhyme. She loved it—it seemed like one of those things that a brother would do. She intercepted him before he put the flats on her clean tablecloth, and set them gently on the floor by the door.

  She ran her hands over the delicate petals of colorful pansies, smiling. “These are gorgeous. Like little cheerful faces, aren’t they?” She smiled up at him. “You shouldn’t have, though. I know things are tight for you.”

  He leaned over, kissing her soundly on the cheek.

  “We help each other out—that’s what family does. Use these to make some boxes for out front, and make up a little sign about your flowerboxes. Maybe you’ll get some new business.”

  Her heart swelled—she loved him so much, even though they hadn’t known each other very long. True, Ronny had a rough side. He gambled, smoked pot and hung around with a rough crowd. He was on his third job in the past year, but this one seemed to be working out a little better. He had a good heart, she knew that. If only she could get him to see he was worth more than he thought he was.

  “Thank you—that’s a great idea. I’ll do that today.” She went to the counter, putting on a pot of coffee. She didn’t drink it but kept it around for Ronny. He snagged the pretty towel she put on the hook that morning on his way through the kitchen, and she straightened it reflexively before reaching up to pull his cup from the spot where she kept it among her neatly arranged cupboards.

  “Did you check out that brochure with the college courses I left for you?”

  She heard his heavy sigh behind her. Ronny had gotten his GED, but he didn’t seem interested in doing more. Charlotte hadn’t been to college, either, but she liked the jobs she took to make a living. Someday, if she was able, she dreamed of opening her own flower shop, or maybe a greenhouse. But if that never happened, she enjoyed her life just as it was.

  But Ronny, well, he needed focus. He needed to do something more productive with his life—just being successful at one thing might make all the difference. That’s what one of his substance-abuse counselors had told her. He needed to build his self-esteem and believe he was worth success. It was her sincere wish to help him be happy, to make his life better. It wasn’t always easy.

  “I wish you’d drop that. I’m not college material,” he grumbled.

  The same old line. But she wasn’t going to give up, and responded cheerfully.

  “What is that supposed to mean? You’re smart—look at the idea you just came up with. Ideas like that could lead to a good job.”

  “I have a good job. Working at the docks pays good, and in six months I get benefits.”

  She saw the familiar sullen look come into his eyes—they were the same soft brown as hers—as he turned away and backed off. She knew him well enough to know she couldn’t push; he would just withdraw deeper into himself and become surly and unreachable.

  “I’m sorry. You do, I know. And it sounds like it’s going well.” She looked at him from under her lashes, gently inquiring as she thought about the cards from his reading. “Things are going well, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced around the kitchen, avoiding her eyes. “Um, do you mind if I check e-mail on your laptop?”

  Charlotte nodded her head. “Let me boot it up for you.”

  “I can do it.” He stood, taking the coffee she handed him. “Got any donuts?”

  “You know I don’t eat refined sugars.”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t get that.”

  He kissed her again, lightly on the forehead, and made his way over to the computer. She cringed a little when he picked it up and plopped it on his lap. It was her prize possession; she’d had to plant a lot of flowers and walk a lot of dogs to pay for that secondhand computer, but it was helping her expand her horizons.

  Though she’d sold some things through online auctions for a small profit, her most successful venture so far was reading tarot for her online business, SexyTarot.com. While she was never going to get rich doing tarot readings, she was getting more clients as time went on, and she was helping people, as well. She truly believed that money, while necessary, wasn’t always the most important thing. At first SexyTarot.com had been free, but then repeat clients had wanted to make donations, the equivalent of tipping a waitress, she supposed. Several of them were relatively generous.

  She heard Ronny curse, followed by a thunk, and she jumped around to find him hitting the side of the computer’s delicate screen.

  “Ronny, please don’t do that!”

  “This connection’s so slow. How do you ever get anything done?”

  She looked at him and sighed. “Patience, I guess.”

  And she needed loads of it, reminding herself that the machine was just a machine, and not worth hurting her brother’s feelings over. Still, she’d worked hard for everything she owned, from the kitchen towel to the laptop, and she treasured her possessions. Still, she’d trade them all rather than lose her brother.

  “I think I’ll go out and get started on these flowers.”

  “Yeah, you have a ball, doll.”

  She smiled, loving when he called her sweet names. It was the first time anyone in her life had ever really used endearments toward her, and it felt like a hug every time. That got her through a lot of rough moments.

  She walked outside into the morning sun, thinking about what flowers she could plant first. It would definitely cheer up the dilapidated outside of the building, and be a little advertising for her, as Ronny said. She’d have to get some poster board and make up a sign later.

  She opened the bag of potting dirt and sank the trowel in, losing herself in thought as she planted. Connection with natural things eased her mind and improved her mood, as always. And she’d been a little more agitated the last few days. The feeling that things in life were about to shift followed her—the sense that change was on the way. Her cards supported the theory, and she even had an inkling what it might be.

  EJB.

&nb
sp; That’s the name by which she knew the man who had come to her for readings twice now, and reading for him had touched her deeply. He was a good man. He’d given her a nice donation the very first night, but that wasn’t why he was special. His charisma, intelligence and responsiveness in their conversations had reached out and pulled her in. She felt like they were connected though they had never met.

  Charlotte read for a lot of people, and they talked about many intimate things, but she’d never had the sense of involvement that she’d felt with EJB. She wanted to be open to it, even though it scared her a little.

  She’d see him again tonight, or rather, talk to him on the chat site where she did her readings. His questions so far had been more subtle than most—the first time he’d asked her “How can I find what I’m looking for?” and the second, “Where is the woman who can give me what I want?”

  Right here, handsome.

  He was The King of Cups and The Magician all rolled into one. Maybe a bit of The Devil thrown in, as well. No doubt about it, EJB was a sensualist, and a romantic. But she felt that his sensuality was being stifled, poured into other areas of his life, but not finding its fullest expression in love.

  Heat moved through her as she thought of him. She caught herself poking the tender stem and roots of a plant into the dirt a little more roughly than intended, and whispered an apology to the little blossom. She fussed, focusing on her task for a moment; counting out the number of plants she had available, she divided them evenly, to make sure she had enough of each color for the boxes.

  Sitting back, she tamped the back of her cotton gardening glove to her forehead—it was going to be very warm today—and sighed. Her romantic thoughts about EJB were foolish notions, but she wished she could meet someone who had some…depth. It would be great to experience something more romantic than the propositions she regularly got from Ronny’s less than desirable friends. Years in group and foster homes had taught her to be cautious when it came to men and sex. She’d never been abused, fortunately, but she’d had friends who were.