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soft-boiled,
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with “We have to use our limited manpower where it will do the most good.”
“Did Blake get a delivery? What about his camera?”
Frank snorted. “Apples and raisins in a heart-shaped box. He’s bringing the camera here later. This came in the box.” He took a lace-edged paper out of his jacket pocket. “ ‘Strengthen me with raisins, refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love.’ ”
Giulia sighed. “That woman is ruining a beautiful poem.”
He tossed the paper on her desk. “Tell me again why she’s using this Bible poem to mess with Blake and Pamela.”
“She’s using the Prophets on Pamela. I told you that. Scaring her with death, doom, and despair. But she’s flattering Blake. Comparing him with Solomon: rich, virile, powerful.”
“That’s the way to his heart. Stroke his ego. He always dated the sycophants in high school.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You went to high school together?”
“Yeah.” A wry smile. “He started center mid on Varsity soccer. I played defense. The goat if they scored on me, blinded by the glare of Blake’s triumphs otherwise. He went to the prom with the principal’s daughter.”
“Let me guess. Tall, blonde, and dressed like a magazine fashion spread.”
Frank didn’t laugh. “What else?”
“Did you and your prom date have a good time anyway?” And why did he care more than seventeen years later?
“Kind of. All the girls wanted Blake. Made the rest of us feel like leftover cabbage.”
Mothra screeched an e-mail alert. She ignored it. “This is more than a big case, then.” She stared out the window at the top of the !PIZZA! sign across the street. “It’s another competition. Only he’s on the bench, and you have to save the game for him.” Where did she find these sports metaphors? She never watched sports.
A grin split his face. “Giulia, I’m Jesus Christ come down from Heaven. I’m smarter and more clever than him, and he knows it. I’m also discreet. He’s desperate to make this marriage come off. Pamela has money, status, class—everything he’s drooled over since we were freshmen. Each woman he’s dated has been one step higher on the social monkey bars.”
Giulia clenched her hand under her desk. She knew Blake’s mother must have raised him not to take the Lord’s name in vain, but she kept her mouth shut about the blasphemy. “And?”
“And he needs me to grab the prize. The skinny sweeper who stopped dozens but didn’t score a single goal in two years on Varsity.”
“Shouldn’t you have some professional detachment, Frank?”
He chuckled and sat on the corner of her desk, bumping the box. “I am the soul of professionalism.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Honest. I know where the line is. Blake will get the very best from Driscoll Investigations. Think about it. When we return his life to the idyll of cutthroat business deals and social climbing it once was, all the business circles he moves in will hear my name. ‘Need information before you close a big deal? Call Frank Driscoll. I use him exclusively.’ ”
“You’ve got dollar signs in your eyes.”
“You bet. Blake can pretend he’s patronizing me all he wants—we’ll both know I saved his shallow butt.”
She clicked the e-mail. Spam. “Frank, that other box by your hip must be yours and not mine. Did you order supplies in my name so the e-mails would get sent to me?”
“I didn’t order anything. Where’s it from?”
“Can’t read the return address. Someplace local.” She batted her eyes. “You’re a detective, aren’t you?”
He glared. “I’ll get you for that. It’s probably a gift from the Second Violin.”
“I have no idea what—”
“I’ve seen you sizing him up. Why do women always fall for muscles? You’re all alike.”
“Frank—” She stopped, sure the heat in her cheeks wasn’t from the breezeless, muggy day. Was she that obvious? Hadn’t she learned anything from Cosmo ?
He leaned forward, an evil
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley