Motion to Kill

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Kelly pulled into the clearing around five o’clock. Mason was inside trying to scrape more clues from the printouts on O’Malley. She came in carrying sacks of groceries for the night and no signs of baggage from their conversation in her office. Mason wasn’t going anywhere, and so far, she wasn’t throwing him out.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Where’s Sandra?”

“She’s staying with Riley until they find something.”

The sacks contained K.C. strip steaks, corn on the cob, charcoal, watermelon, and more cold beer. Mason was back in the barbecue business. He built a fire and put the steaks on when the coals turned white on the outside while still glowing red on the inside. Kelly joined him and they watched the flames lick the steaks until Mason decided to test the waters.

“Any news on Vic Jr.?” he began.

“McNamara called again. He’s really pushing me to bring you in.”

“Bring me into what? He makes it sound like I’m a criminal.”

“He isn’t satisfied with the information I gave him. Says he has to talk to you personally. I told him I’d let you know.”

“Great. What else?”

She hesitated to answer. When she did, Mason understood why. Amateurs aren’t supposed to be right.

“Vic Jr. attended the University of Chicago. His senior year, he was charged with drug trafficking and interstate transportation of a minor. Since he crossed state lines it became a federal case. And then it all went away.”

“Daddy buy him out of it?”

“I don’t know. But it puts him in the right place at the right time. Carlo D’lessandro runs the skin trade and the dope in and out of Chicago. He might have hooked up with someone in D’lessandro’s organization and the contact followed him home to Kansas City.”

“So now what?”

“I’m going to Chicago in the morning.”

“Why? The money laundering isn’t part of your case. Leave that to the feds. I thought you wanted to find Sullivan’s killer.”

“We both know they’re tied together. I want to get a look at Junior’s file.”

“That’s it?”

“No. I’ve still got sources in Chicago. I may be able to find out if D’lessandro is running this operation. If he is, I might come up with some way to pressure him to back off.”

“How are you going to do that? Go see him and ask him nicely not to let Camaya kill the poor schmuck who wandered into this mess?”

“Lou, sometimes you make it hard to care about you.”

“Well, that’s just part of my charm.”

“Really? If that’s as good as it gets, I may bring him back here to meet you in person.”

The grill was going up in flames and the steaks were sizzling on the edge of incineration. Mason rescued their dinner just in time. Later, she joined him in the love seat and surprised him by leaning her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, and she didn’t resist when he pulled her closer. Blues came outside and wisely announced he was going for another walk.

“My dad and I built this cabin,” she said, nestling against him. They were a natural fit. “It was just before he died. He could build anything-do anything. I helped him trim the trees and notch the logs so they’d fit together. Making it together made it really special.”

“It is special.”

“It’s always been my hideout. I come here to heal my wounds.”

The air was clear, the sky a starlit panorama. The love seat rocked them gently as he pulled her face to his. Finally, she breathed his name.

“Do you want to see my trapdoor?”

“I always knew you were a hopeless romantic.”

He fumbled with her belt. She held his hands in check.

“No, you dope. I really do have a trapdoor. I made my dad build it in the cabin. I thought it would be fun to have a secret way out.”

“Oh. Sure, I’d love to see it.” Mason said, slumping against the love seat. “Where is it?”

“In the bedroom.”

She giggled and spun out of his grasp, clinging to his fingertips. They made it to the bedroom, but Mason never saw the trapdoor. They began to undress each other as the moonlight cast their shadows against the wall. The bed was soft and they rolled to the center, entangled, consumed by the exquisite sense of discovery when two people make love for the first time. Part shyness, part adventure.

Mason traced the freckles on her chest with his fingertips, an abstract pattern caressing her breasts. She stroked the side of his face in a soft gesture that slid past his chest and ended with a grasp both firm and delicate. They paused for a moment, eavesdropping on the night sounds rolling through the woods, catching the sounds that didn’t belong.

Soft but certain footsteps, a discreet tap at the bedroom door, Blues’s cautious whisper as it opened a crack. “We’ve got company.”