Question of Trust

9

“Hello?”

“I heard you had a break-in.” The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Who is this?” I asked.

A laugh. “I guess I should be glad you’re over it. You’re clearly not traumatized by me any longer.”

Recognition grew in my head as the man spoke—the slightly snarly way of talking, the sense that a cruel laugh was right behind his words ready to be shot in your direction.

“Vaughn,” I said.

Across the bedroom, I saw Theo’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead. “Whoa,” he said.

He’d been pulling on a pair of jeans—we were heading out to meet his mother for Sunday brunch. After the break-in and then Saturday—one gray November day sliding into the next, barely a change in light—I’d jumped at the opportunity to get us out of the house, to maybe get back to that “us” that we’d apparently left sitting at the bar at Topo Gigio, along with our good humor and ease.

“You remember me,” Vaughn said in a jokey tone.

I said nothing. Detective Damon Vaughn had made my life a living hell twice in the past year—first when Sam disappeared, and second, when Vaughn suspected me of killing my friend Jane. The fact that I’d beaten up Vaughn on cross-examination in a trial a few months ago had helped. But I wasn’t close to getting over it.

“So I heard you had a break-in,” he said again.

“You heard?“

“Yeah, I heard from someone around here.” His words sounded false.

“‘Around here,’” I said. “What does that mean? You’re acting like you work at a small-town police station, where the guys all sit with their feet on the desks and talk about their ‘beat,’” I scoffed. “I think I know better than that.”

“Oh, that’s right, ‘cuz you’re a criminal lawyer now,” he said with scorn.

“That’s right,” I said, sharp on the heels of his words. “I am a criminal lawyer now. And next time I get you on the stand, I’m going to take you down. Again.” I stopped myself short of saying, How ya like me NOW?

For a moment I let myself bask in the glory of that moment when I had Vaughn on the witness stand. I had executed what felt like one of the best crosses of my career.

Vaughn interrupted my little reverie. “Jesus Christ, you’re a ballbuster! I take back that apology I gave you after court that day.”

“Too bad,” I said quickly. Then in a nicer, calmer tone, “I already accepted it.”

A pause. Then two or three.

“So,” I said, pleasant tone still intact, “you were calling because …?”

“Look, cops know what cases other cops worked. And so when you hear something about something—or someone—in one of those cases that someone else has—”

“Then you tell your buddy, the other cop,” I said, answering for him. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Good. I just wanted to remind you what I told you after court that day.” His voice was nearing pleasant now, too, but I didn’t fill in the blanks this time.

“If you needed a favor or anything, I’m your guy,” Vaughn said simply.

Something about his statement—the matter-of-factness, the authoritative assurance—made me feel okay suddenly. Safe. For a moment, the whirl of anxieties in my head stopped.

All morning those anxieties had been like shrieking bats flying around under a bridge, yelling one thing after another in my head. Your house has been broken into. Again! But what’s worse is that you have a pretty strong feeling this break-in has to do with Theo. Because he’s the one who just moved in.

But maybe it’s as simple as that? Maybe someone got in the condo building during the move and somehow hid.

But that doesn’t make sense because there is nowhere to hide on the two flights of stairs.

And hey, so what if it has to do with Theo?

It was always at this point in the shrieking conversation (in voices that all sounded like mine) that a really angry version of Izzy McNeil entered the scene. “So what?” you ask? You’re in love with him. Do you get that?

And quietly, I would answer internally. I get that.

And then the voices would round around. Your house has been broken into. Again!

But although his words had momentarily halted the cacophony in my mind, I didn’t entirely trust Vaughn. Not yet. Not after what he’d put me through, and not after what I’d learned about Chicago cops over the past few months—most of them are good, most have pure motives, but they don’t see evil the same way as everyone else. And when they believe something, they make things happen—practically appear out of nowhere—just to bolster their beliefs.

The truth was, I wasn’t too sure what Vaughn really believed. To say he was hard to read was an understatement.

“I’m not looking for a favor,” I said.

“Hey, I feel bad about how everything went down. I told you that. And I want to do what I can to make that up to you.”

I could almost hear Maggie yelling, Yes! Great! We can always use a cop on our side. Even if a police officer wasn’t involved with the particular case you were working, they could be excellent sources of information. And maybe it was time to truly forgive Vaughn. Clearly, my anger wasn’t hurting him very much, only me, making me cranky when I thought of it, making me see red.

“Yeah, well …” I said. “You’re right. I had a break-in.” I told him that no belongings had been disturbed. Or the front-door panel. Just the keypad on my own door.

He asked me about the front-door system, then added, “Who has the code for your own door?”

“Just a few family members. My friends Maggie and Q. And two cleaning ladies. And …” I trailed off, realizing more people than I’d thought had that code. “But it wasn’t used. The panel was ripped off.”

“You have an alarm?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t turned on that night. We were just running out for something to eat.”

“Sounds like a warning,” Vaughn said.

That made me feel cold again. “What do you mean?”

“Someone was either looking for something and didn’t find it, or they wanted to fuck up your head, let you know they could get to you. Or both.”

Theo had put on his clothes and left the bedroom. I felt very alone, Vaughn’s casually spoken words reverberating in my head.

“Who?” I said, taking a seat on the bed. “Who would do that?”

“You piss anyone off lately?”

“No! I never piss people off.”

He laughed.

“Shut it,” I said, using Mayburn’s favorite expression. “I seemed to have pissed you off last year. But that’s a rare thing. People usually like me.” I suppose that wasn’t entirely true. There were people at my old law firm who weren’t big fans of mine, but that was because I pulled in more work than any other associate. And there was that Italian mobster whose plans I might have thwarted. Not to mention the underwear drug dealers I sent away. Okay. Maybe there were a few people I’d pissed off.

“What about your boyfriend, Theodore?” Vaughn asked.

Vaughn had met Theo after Jane died, but he had no reason to know we were still together.

“How did you know he was my boyfriend?” I asked.

“The responding officers told me.”

“Oh. Well, he doesn’t piss anyone off,” I said. I thought of his silences lately, his refusal to talk about the mortgage and what was going on. “I don’t think so.”

“Could be random. That’s the case a lot of times. Someone who noticed the front door unlocked and was looking to see if you had anything good in there.”

I had the feeling Vaughn was trying to make me feel better, but now I was feeling worse, unsafe. I sighed. “Thanks for calling.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll watch the case.”

I didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t ask, either. I just said thanks again and hung up.

10

Toward the end of brunch with Theo’s mom, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his jeans’ pocket, looked at the display. “It’s Eric,” he said. “Sorry, guys, I have to take this.”

“Do what you have to do,” Anna Jameson said, giving her son a good-natured wave of her hand. “We’ll be more than fine.”

It was the first time I’d met Theo’s mom. She was beautiful—tall and lean, with a willowy, lightly muscled, yoga-type body. Her hair was brown but sun-kissed, natural-looking. Her skin was luminous, her big eyes alive.

When we’d first sat down with Anna at the Walnut Room, Theo had introduced me, then reached out a tattooed arm and squeezed my shoulder. Now, as he stood to take the call, he put his hand lightly on the back of my head, holding it there for a moment. That hand had the tenderness of a kiss.

His mom saw it. Anna smiled at me as he walked away. “Thank you for letting him stay with you until he gets in his own place.”

“Sure.” I searched her face for a sign of whether Theo had told her about the break-in or getting turned down for a mortgage. She looked unperturbed, which I took to mean he hadn’t.

“I’ve never seen Theo like this,” Anna continued.

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Like he is with you.”

This was said without irritation or territorialism. I knew that my friend Grady’s mom always seemed to take it personally when Grady dated someone, as if it were a slight to her. But Anna didn’t appear to be that type of person.

She glanced around the Walnut Room. “I can’t believe it’s the holidays.”

“But it’s not yet. It’s not even Thanksgiving. I’ve always thought they get the decorations up too early.” The place was bedecked in holiday regalia—ruby ribbons and forest-green bows, glittering red lights and a massive Christmas tree in the center of the room that, this year at least, had a woodsy theme with a plethora of faux birds and forest animals covering its branches.

“I like when Christmas lights are up way before Christmas,” Anna said. “It’s one of the things that make me happiest.” A smile spread across her face. “Theo is one of those things, too.”

“He said you two are close.”

She gave a short laugh. “Yes. Well, his father and I got pregnant when we were college sophomores. Brad never wanted a baby. I guess I didn’t, either, not in theory. But once Theo was here, it was clear he was always supposed to be here. He was just the light that always shone. Brad and I stayed together until Theo was out of school. Then Brad wanted to move on, to be somebody different. I couldn’t totally blame him.”

“That’s big of you.”

She gave a shrug. “You can only do what you can do. My parents considered themselves hippies, and they always used to say that. You know, ‘live and let live.’ And I have to say, that kind of attitude applies to nearly every situation. I had breast cancer a few years ago, and that really helped me through that.” She sighed. “So many challenges.”

“Wow. That must have been tough. Were you and Brad still together then?”

“No. No. We’d just broken up, and we only saw each other like we do now—at events for Theo. We were together so long that we’re more like brother and sister.” She gave a rueful chuckle, shaking her head. “I ran into him the other day when I was with a girlfriend at Tavern on Rush. We sat down outside, and I looked over, and there was Brad with a woman who was Theo’s age, maybe younger.”

Was that a stab at the age difference Theo and I had?

But Anna just shrugged again. “Brad is like that. He’s a big boy in the business world, but he doesn’t want to grow up personally. It no longer affects me.”

“I haven’t met Brad yet,” I said. “We’ve been trying to meet up with him but it keeps getting rescheduled.”

A rueful smile. “By Brad, I’m sure, not Theo.”

“Sounds like it.”

She sighed. “Theo wants so badly to have a relationship with him. When he was eighteen or nineteen, he really turned to Brad and it was hard for me to watch him struggle when his father still wasn’t the fathering type.” She looked toward the restrooms. Theo was heading back our way. “I used to worry that Theo would emulate him, but I think it’s caused him to go the other way. He’s more grown-up.”

Theo reached our table. Another squeeze on my shoulder as he took his seat. He looked back and forth between us, as if trying to read the dynamics. I realized then that despite the call from Eric, he might have left to give Anna and me some time alone. “How are we doing?” he asked.

“Great,” I said.

“Great,” she echoed.

Theo looked down at his phone as if waiting for another call. Or maybe thinking of the one he just took. His forehead creased with what appeared to be deep concern. His mom was right. Theo was grown-up. And that grown-up person was worried about something. Was it his talk with Eric? Or was he not as happy with me as his mom thought? His silences and moodiness over the past few days seemed directly related to the mortgage situation and the break-in, but I couldn’t help worrying it was something else. Something having to do with us.

His phone dinged, the tone telling him he had a text. He read it, frowned. “I have to get to work.”

“On a Sunday? Anything wrong?” his mom asked. But she asked in the way people do when they’re sure the answer is no.

Theo cleared his throat. “Just some things I want to deal with.”

My phone chimed, too, and I looked down. Christopher McNeil, the display said. My dad. I noticed he’d called a few times. Since he didn’t text much, I was waiting for an open time to call him back and have a real chat with him. For now, I hit the ignore button.

We stood from the table. “Izzy,” his mom said, giving me a hug, “I’d love to meet up for coffee or tea sometime.”

“I’d love that, too.”

We smiled at each other. Although she was much more carefree and casual than my mom, they had a similar elegance.

We said goodbye to Anna outside the restaurant in the midst of a colorless, snowy day.

When she was gone, I turned to Theo. He wore a navy blue wool coat with a mandarin collar, a masculine design with a subtle flair.

“What’s going on with Eric?” I asked.

“He told me something that has me worried.”

“What’s that?”

“He said the company’s books are messed up.”

“Messed up how?”

“Look, Iz, I don’t know, okay?” His voice held more of a bite than I’d ever heard. He moved back as a bus lumbered down State Street. “I don’t know anything, all right?” he said, his voice loud, which I suppose was to compensate for the bus, but it jarred me a little.

I tried not to feel hurt. “All right.”

I started to turn away, but his voice, kinder now, stopped me.

“Wait,” he said. I turned back to him. He sighed, looked down as if gathering his thoughts. “What he knows is that we defaulted on a loan. A big commercial loan.”

“Whoa,” I said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“How did that happen?”

He shook his head. “Eric’s trying to analyze the situation. He keeps the books, right? So he should know. But I’m sure that’s why I didn’t get the mortgage. It was a loan we applied for when we first started the company, and we personally guaranteed it.”

“Oh, no, that’s not good.” Immediately, I regretted my words. “What can I do to help?” I asked quickly.

“Nothing.” He was shutting down. I could see it, even though I’d never witnessed such a thing before. I could see him distance himself from me. “I’ll figure it out by myself,” he said as if confirming my suspicion.

He kissed me and hailed a cab, its yellow sides spattered gray with slush. I watched it drive away, then I turned away and began to walk west down Washington. Mentally, I ran through the events of the past few days—from the mortgage denial, the break-in, now the troubles at HeadFirst. I thought the world of Theo. But I had serious doubts that he could figure it out alone. Maybe he would turn to his dad? Or his mom, with whom he clearly had a strong bond.

Later, I would think how it was the last time Theo’s mom saw him before everything started to truly crumble.

11

His cell phone vibrated again. Then again.

“Hold on a sec.” José Ramon shifted the woman who sat astride him and grabbed his cell phone. The woman, Lucia, was dressed. But just barely. And not for much longer. He would turn off the damn phone.

But then his eyes grazed the text messages appearing on his screen. Saw those messages were about Theodore Jameson. He scanned them. The last one read, He just left lunch.

“Give me a minute, baby.”

A woman like Lucia didn’t pout. It was beneath her. She simply stood, her lavender panties, sown through with tiny black ribbons, stretching across her hipbones as she did so. With a few elegant movements, she’d adjusted her breasts back inside the matching bra, and she strode quietly, confidently, from the room.

He almost moaned, watching the way the muscles in her ass moved, the purple thong tucked between her tanned cheeks.

He made himself look back at his cell phone, and he typed, What restaurant?

Walnut Room. He’s heading to work.

Why do you think he’s going to work on a Sunday? Don’t assume anything. Even though he was only typing, not speaking, he knew his underling would hear the snarl in his tone. How many times had he told his people not to assume? Never assume.

I assume nothing, the next text read. I got close enough to hear them.

Them?

T and his GF and his mom.

He let out a grudging exhale, impressed at the level of skill. The kid was good. Had proven that time and again.

He kept his people—the ones outside the legit businesses, like the restaurant—working in solitude. That way no one could collude with another. A coup would be hard, if not impossible, to stage. But often, forcing people into a lone-wolf situation made them paranoid, especially the type of people he had on the hook.

Yet every so often, someone like this went above and beyond. Sometimes the ones he’d strong-armed recognized the uselessness of resistance, had the sense and intelligence to not only join him, but also to stand up and be a soldier in his army. Incrementally, they assumed more responsibility. Slowly, without pissing him off, they thought outside the box. And this kid was one of them.

The girlfriend is the lawyer? he wrote.

Yeah.

We need to find out more about her. His face began to curl in a snarl again, but then he got the next text.

Way ahead of you, it read.

He gave a short laugh. The only kind of laugh he knew. Good work, he typed into his phone. He didn’t say such things often.

He was a little surprised at the slight gap in time it took to get a reply. But then, Thank you. I appreciate it.

He put his phone back on the nightstand and thought for a moment. Yes, suddenly he could imagine allowing this one into the next level of his business, might be told why they were keeping an eye on Theo Jameson.

Lucia was back. In the doorway. Her dark hair, turned copper on top from the sun—she had just been on a friend’s yacht in the Caribbean, she’d said—fell over her shoulders in rivulets, covering her breasts, which were bare now.

She locked his eyes in with hers. Then she hooked one finger through one of the black ribbons that ran through her panties. Then the other hand on the ribbons on the other side. Slowly, rhythmically, she undulated her hips, letting ribbons untie, then smoothly unfurl themselves until the flap of purple silk covering her in the front fell away. Nothing remained except two scraps of silk around the tops of each thigh. Nothing in between. Except heaven for José.

She strolled toward him. Slow, slow, almost predatory. Although she was a scientist, had a PhD and gave speeches at conferences around the world, she said nothing now.

When she reached him, she straddled him, not letting his eyes go anywhere but hers, and then, without warning, like he liked it, she moved herself over him.

Oh! Some primal exclamation had escaped him as he felt the tightness, the wetness and the scraps of silk on either side.

As she slipped him farther inside herself, Theodore and his girlfriend slipped away from his mind, knowing he could let them go. But not for long.

12

I heard my name being called. “Izzy?” There was definitely a question mark in the way it was said, but not as if the person were unsure whether they’d seen me, but rather they sounded surprised I was there.

I turned around. “Sam?” There was decidedly a question mark at the end of that, as well. And a touch of panic.

What in the hell was Sam doing at the River North nightclub Underground? Granted, Underground, with its military hideout vibe and revolving door of visiting celebrities, was a hot club, one that had survived when others opened and closed in six months. But it was still a nightclub. And Sam, my former fiancé, was not a nightclub guy. At least as far as I knew.

Then again, I also hadn’t realized that Brad, Theo’s father, was a regular at the city’s late-night, bass-thumping, the-stalls-in-the-bathroom-go-all-the-way-to-the-floor kind of places.

Theo had called his dad earlier that evening from home and, about ten minutes later, he’d come out of the office. “Want to meet my dad? Turns out he can swing it tonight.”

The air in the condo had been tense since Theo returned from HeadFirst not wanting to talk. So even though it was a Sunday night, and I felt the pull of my bed, I immediately said yes. We took a cab to the club. The wooden door was marked only with a triangular sign out front. But when the door was opened, even a crack, we heard the hard pumps of bass.

“Swanky,” I said after we’d walked through the place and stopped in a relatively quiet spot to look around.

“My dad has a thing for these kinds of clubs,” Theo said. “Ever since he and my mom got divorced. For a while, he said he had to be out at places like this for business, but …” Theo raised his shoulders in a distracted shrug, and his words died out as if he couldn’t be bothered to continue the sentence.

“What does he do?”

“He’s a venture capitalist. Sort of. He takes small companies and grows them.”

We got jostled by people packing the dance floor as the DJ began pounding on bongos. Theo looked around the club again. “Yep, this is my dad’s kind of place.” He peered. “There he is.” He pointed to a man in a taupe leather booth, tucked in a corner beneath a stone wall. Another guy—the friend of his father’s?—sat at the other end, while a few young women packed the rest of the booth, all boasting impressive cleavage. Theo’s dad was clearly telling some story, and the women leaned in, listening, then threw back their heads, laughing at the same time. In the center of the table was an ice bucket, highball glasses, bottles of whiskey and vodka, some mixers.

Theo didn’t move right away.

“You know what this place reminds me of?” I said to Theo. Or rather I shouted due to the rising volume of the music.