It was hard to describe how good I felt, how natural this seemed, how right. The little tremors rippling down my spine were unexpected, but definitely pleasant. It had been two years since I had felt anything like this, and that was, well... different. I didn't know everything about Molinari. Who was he away from the office? What did he have going on back home? Truth was, I didn't care right now. I just felt good. It was enough.
“This may seem like a strange time to ask this question,” I said, “but just what is your personal situation back East?”
Molinari took a breath. “Not complicated...Usually I just mess around with interns and subordinates I meet on the case.” He smiled.
“C'mon.” I sat up. “It's a legitimate after-sex question.”
“I'm divorced, Lindsay. I date now and then. Time per-mitting.” He stroked my hair. “If you're thinking, does this happen very often...?”
“What do you mean, this?”
“You know. This. Where we are. On assignment.”
Molinari turned and faced me. “Just so there's no doubts, I'm here because the moment you walked into that meeting, I, well... bells started going off. And since then, the only thing I've been impressed with more than how good you are on the job is how good you looked once I pulled that towel off you.”
I took a breath and stared into those very blue eyes. “You just make sure you're not an asshole, Joe Molinari.”
All of a sudden, I shot up in bed. “Oh my God, dinner.”
“Forget the chicken.” Molinari smiled and pulled me closer. “We don't gotta eat.”
The phone rang. What next?
My first urge was to let it go. I waited for the answering machine to pick up.
When the voice came on, it was Claire's, sounding urgent. “Lindsay, I'm worried. Pick up if you're there. Linds?”
I blinked, then rolled over to the night table and fumbled for my phone. “Claire. What's wrong?”
“Thank God you're home.” Her voice was tense, unus-ual for Claire. “It's Jill. I'm at her house, Lindsay. She's not here.”
“She had a trial. Did you try the office? She's probably working late.”
“Of course I tried the office,” Claire shot back. “Jill never showed up today.”
Womans Murder Club 3 - 3rd Degree
Chapter 62
I BOLTED UP, confused but also afraid. It didn't make sense. “She said she had a trial, Claire. I'm sure of it.”
“She did have a trial, Lindsay. She just didn't show. They've been looking for her all day.”
I pressed my back against the headboard. When I thought about the possibility of Jill bagging work, not calling in, it didn't fly.
“That's not Jill,” I said.
“No,” Claire answered, “that's not Jill at all.”
Suddenly I was worried. “Claire, do you know what's going on? What happened with Steve?”
Claire answered, “No. What are you saying?”
“Stay where you are,” I said.
I hung up the phone and sat there for a second. “I'm sorry, Joe, I gotta go.”
A few minutes later I was driving at full speed down Twenty-third over to Castro. I ran through the possibilities: Jill was depressed. She needed some space. She'd gone to her parents'. Any of them could be true. But Jill would never - never - not show up for court.
I finally pulled up in front of her town house on Buena Vista Park. The first thing I noticed was Jill's sapphire blue 535 still in the driveway.
Claire was waiting on the landing and we hugged. “She doesn't answer,” she said. “I rang the bell, banged on the door.”
I looked around, didn't see anyone. “I hate to do this.” Then I broke a pane in the front door and reached inside. I was thinking that Steve could have gotten inside, too - easily.
Immediately, the alarm sounded. I knew the code, 63442, Jill's state employee number. I punched it in, trying to make up my mind if the alarm being armed was a good sign.
I flicked on a light. I called, “Jill?”
Then I heard Otis barking. The brown lab ran from inside the kitchen.
“Hey, boy.” I patted his back. He seemed happy to see a familiar face. “Where's Mommy?” I asked. I knew one thing. Jill would never leave him. Steve maybe, but not Otis.
“Jill... Steve?” I called around the house. “It's Lindsay. And Claire.”
Jill had just re-done the place in the past year. Patterned couches, melon-colored walls, a tufted leather ottoman for a coffee table. The house was dark and silent. We checked around the familiar rooms. No reply. No Jill.
Claire exhaled and said, “This is really starting to give me the creeps.”
I nodded and squeezed her shoulder. "Me too.
“C'mon,” I said to Claire, “I'm going up to check upstairs. We're going to check.”
Climbing the stairs, I couldn't put aside the thought of a crazed Steve charging out of some room like in some teenage horror movie. “Jill...Steve?” I called out again. I tugged at my gun just in case.
Still no answer. The master bedroom lights were off. The big four-poster bed was made. Jill's toiletries and makeup in the bathroom.
When I last spoke with her she was going to bed. I was about to go back into the hallway when I saw it.
Jill's briefcase.
Jill didn't go anywhere without her “traveling office.” It was a running joke. She didn't go to the beach without her goddamn work.
I took a cloth and held it by the strap, loosely. I met Claire back in the hallway. She'd checked the other rooms. “Noth-ing...”
“I don't like this, Claire. Her car's in the driveway.” My eyes drifted to her case. “This...She slept here, Claire. But she never left for work.”
Womans Murder Club 3 - 3rd Degree
Chapter 63
I HAD NO IDEA how to get in touch with Steve.
It was late - who the hell knew where he was staying. And Jill had only been missing for the day. She could show up and be pissed over all the attention. There was nothing to do but wait and worry ourselves sick and, in my case, feel guilty.
I called Cindy and she was there in fifteen minutes. Claire called Edmund and said she was going to stay for a while, maybe the night.
We sat in Jill's den, curled up on couches. There was always the chance she'd had a change of mind and gone to visit Steve, somewhere.
Around eleven my cell phone rang. But it was only Jacobi, checking in, telling me no one in the Berkeley bars they'd checked admitted to recognizing Hardaway. Then we all sat around without speaking. I don't even remember what time we dozed off.
I woke a few times in the night, thought I heard some-thing. “Jill?” But it wasn't her.
First thing in the morning, I went home. Joe had made the bed and left the apartment looking tidy. I showered and called in to the office to say I'd be late.
An hour later I was down at Steve's office in the Financial Center. I left the Explorer right there on the street. By the time I pushed through the office doors, I could barely control the panic I was feeling.
Steve was right there, in reception. He was practically draped over the receptionist, sipping a coffee, his leg perched casually on a chair.
“Where is she?” I said. I must've startled him because coffee splattered all over his pink Lacoste shirt.
“What the hell, Lindsay...” Steve held up his hands.
“Your office,” I said, glaring at him hard.
“Mr. Bernhardt?” the receptionist said.
“It's okay, Stacy,” Steve said. “She's a friend.” Yeah, right.
As soon as we were down in his corner office I slammed the door. “Are you nuts, Lindsay?” Steve said.
I pushed him into a chair. “I want to know now where she is, Steve.”
“Jill?” He turned up his palms and actually seemed con-fused.