house’s second story down onto the first floor. A variety of shelves stood here and there, scattered across the open space and splitting it into rooms. Off to one side I spotted the largest large-screen television I had ever seen outside of stadiums and rock concerts.
“Want a drink?” He took off his leather coat and hung it on a series of wooden knobs set into the wall, not offering to take mine. Good thing, because I hate awkward goodbyes. Bran walked into the spacious kitchen, gesturing at a number of appliances laid out on the marble counters. “Cappuccino? Espresso? Whiskey? SoCo?”
“How about just coffee?” I moved toward the kitchen, my feet light on the hardwood floors. They had been polished to a bright sheen and just screamed for a sock dance. “I think we’ve both had enough to drink tonight.”
He shrugged and pulled out a machine that had more buttons than a space shuttle. “Whatever.” After punching in codes to probably set off nuclear missiles toward Cuba, he set two matching mugs into the small recesses. “Milk? Cream? Half and half?”
I turned back from where I had been unabashedly staring at the oversized computer monitor and the top-of-the-line machine artfully hidden in a dark redwood desk. “Half and half, if you have it.” My stomach began to hum in anticipation of the creamy delight.
“Make yourself at home.” I didn’t need to be told twice. While he mucked about in the kitchen I inspected the rest of the apartment including the double bed discreetly tucked at the far end behind a set of tall black oak shelves. He was neat and tidy, and obviously had a bigger pocketbook than I’d expected.
“Pretty good for a hack, eh?” Bran appeared, a mug in each hand. Gesturing to the black leather couch, he sat down opposite me, placing the cups on two of the small round stone coasters spread across the glass table.
“The Inquisitor ’s paying more than I thought.” The cups were black ceramic, immaculate and beautiful. He had good taste. “So, about that envelope.”
“I told you I trashed it.” He took a sip. “Special Columbian blend. Can’t get it at Starbucks. Delivered by private courier once a month.” One edge of his mouth curled up in a teasing smile. “I only go for the best.”
I tried not to smirk. The verbal jousting was perfectly timed like our foreplay in the bar. He was hitting all the right buttons and playing it out like he should. Reporter trying to protect his source and investigator trying to get information. It was a finely-timed dance we’d both done before.
“Then I need to see your garbage.” I put on my best smile. “’Cause I’m going to drag it all across this sweet hardwood floor and make sure you didn’t keep it by mistake.”
The right side of his mouth curved upward, just a fraction. Bingo.
The mug went back on the coaster. “I think you used that nice fancy scanner over there to scan in the shot and send it to your editor that way so the computer geeks could add more fur and blur her face. So that envelope is here, along with the original picture.” I glanced around the apartment again. “One man doesn’t make a lot of mess, so…” I stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening random bottom cabinets. “Why, lookie here. A garbage pail.”
Bran stood up, his hands in his pockets again and a sheepish grin on his face. “Damn, you’re good.”
I beamed back at him with an even wider grin. “You’ll never know.” I pulled the white garbage bag out of the plastic bucket and turned it over, dumping the contents onto the floor. Old coffee grounds were mixed with limp shredded carrots and a dash of sirloin steak tips just beginning to get ripe. My nose wrinkled at the different scents trying to overwhelm each other. There, at the bottom, lay a single manila envelope.
I plucked it free and brushed off a handful of coffee grounds, waving it in the air. “Why, look what I found.”
He chuckled, looking at the floor.
“Want a drink?” He took off his leather coat and hung it on a series of wooden knobs set into the wall, not offering to take mine. Good thing, because I hate awkward goodbyes. Bran walked into the spacious kitchen, gesturing at a number of appliances laid out on the marble counters. “Cappuccino? Espresso? Whiskey? SoCo?”
“How about just coffee?” I moved toward the kitchen, my feet light on the hardwood floors. They had been polished to a bright sheen and just screamed for a sock dance. “I think we’ve both had enough to drink tonight.”
He shrugged and pulled out a machine that had more buttons than a space shuttle. “Whatever.” After punching in codes to probably set off nuclear missiles toward Cuba, he set two matching mugs into the small recesses. “Milk? Cream? Half and half?”
I turned back from where I had been unabashedly staring at the oversized computer monitor and the top-of-the-line machine artfully hidden in a dark redwood desk. “Half and half, if you have it.” My stomach began to hum in anticipation of the creamy delight.
“Make yourself at home.” I didn’t need to be told twice. While he mucked about in the kitchen I inspected the rest of the apartment including the double bed discreetly tucked at the far end behind a set of tall black oak shelves. He was neat and tidy, and obviously had a bigger pocketbook than I’d expected.
“Pretty good for a hack, eh?” Bran appeared, a mug in each hand. Gesturing to the black leather couch, he sat down opposite me, placing the cups on two of the small round stone coasters spread across the glass table.
“The Inquisitor ’s paying more than I thought.” The cups were black ceramic, immaculate and beautiful. He had good taste. “So, about that envelope.”
“I told you I trashed it.” He took a sip. “Special Columbian blend. Can’t get it at Starbucks. Delivered by private courier once a month.” One edge of his mouth curled up in a teasing smile. “I only go for the best.”
I tried not to smirk. The verbal jousting was perfectly timed like our foreplay in the bar. He was hitting all the right buttons and playing it out like he should. Reporter trying to protect his source and investigator trying to get information. It was a finely-timed dance we’d both done before.
“Then I need to see your garbage.” I put on my best smile. “’Cause I’m going to drag it all across this sweet hardwood floor and make sure you didn’t keep it by mistake.”
The right side of his mouth curved upward, just a fraction. Bingo.
The mug went back on the coaster. “I think you used that nice fancy scanner over there to scan in the shot and send it to your editor that way so the computer geeks could add more fur and blur her face. So that envelope is here, along with the original picture.” I glanced around the apartment again. “One man doesn’t make a lot of mess, so…” I stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening random bottom cabinets. “Why, lookie here. A garbage pail.”
Bran stood up, his hands in his pockets again and a sheepish grin on his face. “Damn, you’re good.”
I beamed back at him with an even wider grin. “You’ll never know.” I pulled the white garbage bag out of the plastic bucket and turned it over, dumping the contents onto the floor. Old coffee grounds were mixed with limp shredded carrots and a dash of sirloin steak tips just beginning to get ripe. My nose wrinkled at the different scents trying to overwhelm each other. There, at the bottom, lay a single manila envelope.
I plucked it free and brushed off a handful of coffee grounds, waving it in the air. “Why, look what I found.”
He chuckled, looking at the floor.
Similar Books
