Open Cover Before Striking, page 3
"Don't worry about it. Here, you'll need this." He bent to rummage out a canister of scouring powder from beneath the sink. Figured that Reilly hadn't seen fit to put one of the stickers where it belonged.
His brother, ladies and gentlemen. To know him was to love him---or to wonder what he'd been smoking since he popped out of the womb.
Cristián wrinkled his nose at the sharp chemical smell of the cleanser. He used the carefully restored kitchen as his office. Hominess put clients at their ease like nothing else. No one could do much with a man or a woman too uncomfortable to lower their guard.
"Open the window, and the smell will fade," Scott said, scrubbing. He'd taken Cristián's offer in stride, not so much anticipated as part of the routine. "I can give you a lift to Hartford if you want to shop for something new."
"Mmm... I think I might give that a pass, actually. When do I use a car?"
Scott shot him a dubious look.
"What?" Cristián settled, arms loosely crossed, resting his weight against a set of maple cabinets facing the sink. "It's a small town. Everything I need is within walking distance."
"You say that now. Wait until the next time you get worn down enough from putting your life on hold and want to head to the city to get laid." Scott grimaced. "Fuck. That wasn't fair. Sorry."
Cristián gestured his acceptance of the apology, though he didn't usually think apologizing for the truth made sense. It was the spirit of the thing, and Scott had more reason than most to snap at him about roadblocks on the highway to happily ever after. "I'll think about the car."
"You do that. Sometimes a guy's gotta get away." Scott used his elbow to nudge the spigot closed and shook water off his wet hands. He took the towel Cristián handed him a moment later, offering a still-rueful glance in return.
Cristián didn't like uncertainty on Scott and never had. Built as tough as a bull, with broad shoulders and a determined chin, Scott should have spent all his life walking tall with his head held high. Mostly he did. Not always. Not often, here.
Wondering if he'd mismatched his brother's former best friend, almost ten years ago now, still kept Cristián awake some nights.
"There isn't anything you can do," Scott said, not talking about the car. "Is there?"
Cristián would give a king's fortune to be able to offer a way out. "I'm sorry. No." Scott rested his weight briefly on the lip of the sink. "I figured not." He took a deep breath and stood, putting on a good show of pushing back the shadows. Of moving on. No big deal, see? "You hear back from that guy, the one that left such an impression?"
"Are you trying to matchmake the matchmaker?" Cristián flicked the back of Scott's head. A love tap. "Don't quit your day job."
Too bad, really. He'd liked Davis. The man had a temper and a sharp tongue, no doubt about either, but he'd planted himself just on the right side of intriguing without crossing the line to utter dickishness. He spoke with knives, but Cristián hadn't made a go of his vocation without being able to pinpoint loneliness, no matter how well hidden. He had some sweetness to him yet. You just had to dig really hard, but once you found your way in...
Scott snorted amiably. He tugged Cristián's hair. "God help you, kid. You've got a face like an open book."
"Not to everyone. You just know me."
"Uh-huh." Scott cast about for his jacket before snapping his fingers and pointing to where it hung on the back of a kitchen chair. Cristián stood back and let him do his thing.
Everyone had their coping mechanisms. "Don't let it eat at you, huh? God will strike you down with lightning for being a hypocrite."
"It's not eating at me," Cristián said. He hooked a chair with his ankle and sat down. "He did fascinate me. I won't deny that."
"Sex must have been unreal."
"And then some. But a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."
"Since when are you a gentleman?"
"Since always." The clock ticked. "And you're late for work."
"I'm the boss. I'd like to see someone try and make a deal out of me taking a long lunch once in a blue moon." Scott hesitated. He ruffled Cristián's hair awkwardly but affectionately, as if Cristián were his brother and not Reilly's. "Look, you're probably better off that Davis guy ditched. High-maintenance and cranky, with issues? C'mon. You should do better than that even with a one-night stand."
Cristián cracked a grin at Scott. "Do you want me to go into detail about the sex?" Scott held up both hands in surrender. "Absolutely not and I'm sorry I asked. I---"A hammering at the door interrupted them. More than. Scott flinched---a man like him didn't "jump"---and Cristián sat up straight, heart briefly thumping in his throat. Whoever wanted in wanted in now, and if he didn't step to, he wouldn't have a leg left to step with.
Scott waved in the general direction of Cristián's calendar. "Is that your six o'clock?"
"If it is, he's two hours early."
"Probably the postman, then," Scott said. "With the violence and all."
"Funny." Cristián patted his shoulder on the way by. Whoever this visitor was, they hadn't given up battering at his door. "Seriously, you should get back to work."
"And leave you here to face the wrath of Khan?"
"I can take care of myself, Scott. It'll be fine." Cristián drew an X over his heart with one hand and reached for the doorknob with the other. He kept the hinges oiled, though if whoever this was hadn't jarred them enough to do away with proper alignment in frame, he'd be surprised.
Still, the door opened with only a little stickiness.
Cristián didn't really notice.
"Davis?" Behind him, Cristián heard Scott come to an abrupt halt and visualized him going on point like a hound that'd been walked into by a deer rather than the other way around.
At first Cristián thought he might have been mistaken. The man on his doorstep looked far the worse for wear than the Davis he'd met, finicky as a cat with his immaculately maintained but clearly---if one knew the signs---secondhand dry-clean-onlys, and his crisply trimmed hair. This man's hair was soaked from the rain, his glasses sat askew on his nose, his simple dark clothes were rumpled, and he clutched a bulky laptop case to his chest.
Ah. The laptop: dead giveaway.
"The fucking hell?" Davis demanded, and oh yes, it was him. "What is this, a joke?"
"Sorry?" Cristián stepped back to get a better look at his erstwhile, unforgotten one-night stand. A darkening bruise at the left side of Davis's hairline had a small cut at the center, not enough to need stitching but more than enough to drip scarlet freckles on the wreckage of his collar. "Are you aware you're bleeding?"
"Are you aware you have a sinkhole at the end of your driveway?" Davis snapped. Ah. The screech of tires Cristián had heard. "No? Good. That makes us even." Davis tried and failed to swipe his wet hair out of his face. "You mind letting me come in, or should I just hemorrhage on your doorstep?"
"You're not bleeding out," Cristián said absently. "It'll keep." Two and two weren't making four. He'd been certain he'd never see Davis again. Doubly certain Davis wasn't sentimental enough to track him down even if Cristián had given him a last name, social security number, and blood type - anything concrete enough to search with. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for the matchmaker."
Interesting. "You found him." Cristián offered his hand to Davis. "You've already met him. I'm Cristián. Professional matchmaker. Are you here to find someone?"
"Actually, no." Davis thrust out his jaw. He might as well have held a IT DIDN'T HAPPEN, YOU ARE A STRANGER TO ME sign over his head. "I'm Davis. From Tatterdemalion's Voice. I'm here to prove you're a fraud."
"Je-sus," Scott said into the following silence. "And I thought I had problems."
* * * *
Two days ago, life had been infinitely simpler, or so Davis had thought. His biggest worry? Being fired. Lindsey, CEO of Tatterdemalion's Voice, inhabited the sort of office Davis dreamed of. A dream that he could use, one that kept him going through bare kitchen shelves and too-long, too-cold nights alone in Tatterdemalion's headquarters, typing with only the light of his laptop to keep him company until dawn. Spare, elegant glass and black enamel. The epitome of streamlined efficiency and class. Nothing effete, nothing glitzy or tawdry, nothing fabulous or dazzling. Tatterdemalion was the chocolate in the discreet black satin wrapper. Gay and lesbian with taste.
The definition of success.
Like her office, Lindsey restrained herself to sleek lines and chose her words with as much care in person as in print. She generally typed while speaking to any member of the staff.
Not this time.
Lindsey folded her hands beneath her chin and gazed at Davis. "You are not," she said, quietly and with very little feeling, "as good as you think you are." That sliced deep. Davis didn't let it show.
"Nor are you irreplaceable. No one is."
Davis stayed calm. He cycled air in counted loops, circular. He kept his stance erect and his hands still.
Lindsey watched him. If she was waiting for him to break, she'd wait awhile. "Hmm." She shook her head, a barely perceptible movement, and looked away to tap her computer awake. Not bested in the staring contest. Dismissing him. "One last chance, Davis."
Wait. What? Oh, she was good. She almost cracked his cool with that one. She would have noticed, no matter if he could see the movement of her eyes sweeping left to right across the text on her computer screen. "I understand you have student loans."
Davis wanted to clear his throat. He didn't. "Yes."
"More than you can afford to pay back without another loan."
"Yes."
She didn't ask why he'd done what he'd done. She didn't ask for an apology. "I trust you understand the importance of complying to the letter."
Davis ground his teeth before catching himself. "Yes."
"Good." Discussion over. "You'll find the assignment with my assistant. Please close the door on your way out."
Not another word. She began to type, her keyboard the sort that barely whispered as she pressed the keys. What assignment? Where? On whom? Davis counted to three, nodded, and turned.
He made it to the door before she spoke up again. "You dug your own grave, Davis. This is the ladder I'm offering you to climb out on."
Davis tugged at the cuff of his sleeve before he could stop himself. He pushed his glasses higher and raised his shoulders. "Understood."
She didn't say good-bye. He could choose to see that as a positive. He could also stand in front of the urinals in the men's room and pretend it was raining. Pressing his lips tightly together, Davis closed the door behind him. It shut with only a hiss of pressurized air. Quiet. Elegant. Everything he wanted.
Whatever Lindsey had in mind for him, he wouldn't let that stop him.
Though truth be told, Davis almost changed his mind when he opened the slim folder Lindsey's assistant gave him.
He made it five paces past the receptionist's desk before Nina, the closest thing Davis had ever managed to a friend---meaning she would give him fair warning before she stabbed him in the back---materialized to walk by his side. Nina had been here longer. Her wardrobe showed it. Immaculate black cashmere and wool, with a hint of garnet at her earlobes and gold on her wrist.
"Well?" she asked without looking at him.
"See for yourself." Davis passed her the folder and kept walking.
Nina kept pace. Years of practice in moving and reading at the same time. Her eyebrows quirked up once or twice, but she never missed a step and timed her scanning to finish at the far wall of Davis's cube. "I'd call that unexpected."
"You think?" Davis rubbed his face.
"Better invest in some fine-tuning of your computer. I understand they're still on dial-up in the more rural areas of the state. Have fun accessing our cloud storage from the hinterlands." She flipped through the pages. "Do you know what I find most interesting about this?"
"No, but I can tell you what's caught me." Davis slid a handful of documents together and tapped them into a neater bunch. "You're here. Allying yourself with the low caste. Which makes me wonder what you want."
Nina shrugged. Too casually. "Just savoring your fall from grace. An exposé on unfaithful spouses in competing industries was...not a bad idea, but not one of your best. I do have to wonder what made you think it was a good idea to continue interviewing the partner of our largest advertiser and to put it in print. Names changed to protect the innocent and the guilty, and not a single soul confused about who was who."
Davis pressed his lips together. Silence and discretion, discretion and self-control, even if the truth threatened to make his head implode. Hadn't he just learned that lesson? Again? "If you're done---"
"Nowhere near it. It wasn't a bad idea. It showed balls. They should have lopped those balls off." She tapped the folder. "As revenges and punishments go, this is mild. Sidebar filler on a matchmaker in Connecticut? Rubbing your face in romance. It's almost benevolent by normal standards."
"So they say."
"I take it you have some ideas about how to spin this?"
"Who do you think you're talking to?"
"You tell me."
"Someone who's not slinking off with his tail between his legs." It didn't take much packing to prepare his mobile office. Laptop, cords, wallet, done. Davis slid the folder in last. "I noticed strong suggestions regarding the questionability of ethics. We don't live in the Dark Ages. There's marrow in there if my teeth are sharp enough to crack the bones."
"That's my boy," Nina murmured.
Davis slid the laptop's strap on his shoulder. He couldn't afford a plane ticket. A rental car? Just about. Probably wise. The matchmaker's address was as rural as Nina's mocking insinuated, and the roads would be hell on wheels. He didn't mind as much anymore. He could feel the pulse of his blood heating, warming up for the fight. "This guy's reputation is ridiculous. Almost legendary. Uncanny, they say. He has a gift, they say."
"And you say?"
He'd definitely need a rental car. The sturdiest and fastest he could find on short notice. A memo inside the folder mentioned an appointment in two days. If he drove overnight and stopped at a no-tell long enough to risk a shower, he could make it.
"I say he's taking advantage of the market, shamming the naive, and I'm really looking forward to getting my hands on the separation stats of his 'successful' matches down the line."
"Not bad," Nina said. "Sounds like the kind of thing I'd like a taste of."
He shot her a warning look.
"If I were desperate." She mimed shooting a pistol with forefinger and thumb." Don't let the door hit you on your way out."
"Of course not. You'll want a nice, clear line of sight when you decide to shove a knife in. I'll find this guy's weak spot, and I'll do whatever it takes to get in. You know I will. And better than you could."
"Mmm." Nina bridled. "Talk intrigue to me. Gets me hot."
Enough of this. He needed to hit the road. "You are an appalling bitch, Nina.
Anyone ever tell you that?"
"Yes," she said, unperturbed. "Often. And I'm good at it. It gets me where I want to go. Don't tell me you don't want the same thing. Or that that's not why you sold your soul for college loans to help you get there. How's that working out for you, anyway?" Davis wiped away the sharp smile that threatened. "Better every time you speak to me."
A flicker of approval glinted through. "You might just have a chance in this world. If you keep your edge."
"Watch me." He bared his teeth. "If we're done?"
She stayed put long enough to show she wasn't impressed. "For now, we're done." He watched her saunter away. She reminded him of an alley cat, a runaway purebred who ruled with iron claw.
Calm on the surface, he simmered underneath. Probably just as she'd wanted, but she'd see. He'd kick the ass off this assignment and come back with his head held high.
* * * *
Two days ago, that'd been. Which brought him to now. He'd come armed for battle, sure, but he hadn't gotten the one he'd wanted. Not by any means. He'd gotten a second crack at Cristián and vice-versa.
Well. Davis knew what he had to do. He'd have to make sure Cristián knew as well.
CRISTIÁN STARED. Davis glared. Scott whistled. "You know what? I'll just see myself out. 'Scuse." He nudged past Davis and out into the fading light of early evening. Once safely behind Davis's back, he shook his head and pointed at Cristián in clear warning to be careful.
Cristián opted against taking Scott's advice. When it came to Davis, playing it safe might be smart, but it wouldn't be half as much fun. "Tatterdemalion's Voice, right. D. Carmichael, I'm guessing?"
"And you're C. Baranov." Davis wiped rainwater off his face. "Why don't you have a picture on your business site?"
"I don't photograph well. What? It's true. I look like a Picasso without the redeeming features."
Was that Davis trying to hide a smile? Quite possibly. Cristián restrained the grin that wanted to pop out. When dry and comfortable, Davis's response to teasing could be volatile.
He might not want to find out what wet-cat Davis's reactions were like. No, that was a lie. He absolutely, positively did. Offhanded reassurance to Scott aside, Cristián wasn't fool enough not to do his homework on someone with a sharp pen and a mission. Cristián had attempted researching D. Carmichael after "D" made his appointment. Not being able to find much about the man dripping on his doorstep only tickled his curiosity all the more. From what he'd been able to tell, Davis ranked too low on the Tatterdemalion totem pole to rate a picture with his brief bio on the journal's Web site, and preferred privacy to a flashy web presence.
Everything matched with the man Cristián had met before. Work was all Davis allowed himself to care about, and fuck the rest of the world if it got in his way.
