Page 78 of My Beautiful Sin

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Did my notes come through okay?” I ask Roger. It’s not quite noon, and I’ve spent the morning organizing my research on the Peter article and icing my sore rear end. I sent a summary over an hour ago, and since I hadn’t heard back, I’d taken the initiative and decided to harass my boss.

Normally I wouldn’t bother calling, but since I plan to focus on the Myers investigation for a bit, I want to make sure that he’s set with the Peter project.

“I’ve skimmed them, but I’m going to read more closely later today,” he assures me. “Meanwhile, you got a PC?”

“Lamar snagged a laptop for me. I’m going to set up an email account and forward that URL in a little bit. Cross your fingers there’s something there and not a link to porn.”

I make a face, because considering the creativity of spammers these days, that’s probably a legit possibility.

“Crossed,” he assures me. “And thanks for talking to Corbin yesterday. I got his article this morning, and he did your research proud.”

I grunt, and he laughs. “I should lock you two in a room until you make nice.”

“But we both get so much satisfaction out of our mutual dislike.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Roger says. “And for the record, we miss you here. Or, at least, I miss you. Well,” he continues, humor lacing his voice, “I miss Shelby.”

“You realize that it’s totally unfair that I can’t call you an asshole since you’re my boss.”

“Pity that,” he says. “We should talk about working out some sort of shared custody agreement. When I agreed to let you work from the West Coast, I forgot about Shelby.”

“You wish.” For the last three years, I’d been keeping Shelby garaged at his house since parking in Manhattan was well beyond my means.

“You can always do what my father did,” I suggest. “Find yourself a ’65 Shelby Cobra in need of some TLC and get to work.”

At the other end of the line, I hear him chuckle. “Too bad I don’t have your father’s particular skillset.”

“Ha. Even my dad didn’t have that skillset. Or Peter. Read the notes. The mechanic didn’t know much, but he mentioned a girlfriend. I haven’t tracked her down—and I had no idea Peter dated anyone—but I’m hoping if I poke hard enough, someone in town will have a lead. And if it turns out that she was more than a sidepiece—like if she was dealing or working for The Wolf or anything like that—the story will get that much more interesting.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“The part about my mom knocked me for a loop,” I admit. “But I’m trying to step back and look at it as a story. I’ll add in the personal bits when I write it up, but if I’m going to keep a clear head while researching then I need to compartmentalize. You taught me that.”

“And you learned well. I’m proud of you, kid.” He pauses. “How are things with you and Saint?”

It’s an interesting transition considering my relationship with Devlin had almost gotten me fired and had definitely lost me a byline. “We’re great,” I assure him.

“No regrets about staying in Cali?”

“It’s been about five minutes,” I remind him. “But nope. No regrets at all. And I don’t foresee any coming.”

“I’m happy for you, kid. You want me to stay online while you set up that computer?”

“And let you hear me cursing at all the crap that’ll go wrong when I try to set up an email account? No, thank you. I’ll call or email an update later.”

We agree that’s a plan, and as soon as we end the call, I refill my coffee and settle in to work. I have the place to myself—and I’m locked down tight. Brandy’s in LA doing stuff in the garment district, but she’s checked in twice. Lamar came by on his way to his shift, and has texted three times. Devlin, who still doesn’t know about the Range Rover, has pinged me twice to say he’s thinking of me. And as much as I love my friends, it’s Devlin’s messages that make me smile the most.

Since I don’t want to do anything related to the Terrance Myers email at Brandy’s house or on her network, I head down to Brewski so that I can use their free Wi-Fi. I know Brandy and Lamar are going to be annoyed if they realize I went out, but I’m not inclined to be a shut-in. Besides, I’m in Shelby instead of walking, the seating at Brewski is outdoors and very public, and this time I have my gun in my purse.

All rationalizations, but the truth is that I like the idea of going out and then coming home safe. Because seriously, when have I not taken the opportunity to give danger the middle finger?

Within the hour, I have the new laptop set up and connected to Brewski’s network. Next, I create a new email address for Nosey Parker, a name I picked because Gmail requires you to put in a name and other identifying information. Which, in this case, is absolutely fake.

The account has no ties to my name or any of my usual passwords. Then, because I’m seriously paranoid, I create a second fake email account. This one I call Flat Earth, for no reason other than an utter lack of imagination on my part. I write a few emails from Flat Earth to Nosey Parker, and they show up just fine.

When I open my real laptop, I glance around, expecting people to be looking curiously at the woman with two computers at a coffee shop. But nobody pays attention. That’s the benefit of living in a tech-centric world. I could have two computers, a tablet, a cell phone, and a portable printer on this tiny table and no one would even bat an eye.