At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(40)

“Well, your company is a lot more agreeable than most of the time sucks I get sucked into.”

“Thanks, but just the same, this one’s on me.”

“Okay, but only if I get the next one,” said Verraday.

“Deal,” said Maclean as she threw down a couple of twenty-dollar bills to cover it and then stood up to leave.

Verraday glanced down and saw that she had left a 20 percent tip. Generous, but not so generous as to indicate an emergency exit from the conversation.

“Thanks folks,” the waiter called after them. “Enjoy your evening.”

When they reached the front door, Verraday held it open for Maclean, then followed behind her to the sidewalk.

“So at the risk of sounding creepy and Fowler-esque, can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

Maclean turned to face him. She smiled. “Trust me, you couldn’t possibly sound creepy and Fowler-esque. And I appreciate the offer. But I’m trained in Muay Thai and I’ve got a box cutter and a Glock nine millimeter in my purse. So barring a zombie apocalypse, I’ll be okay. But I’ll be happy to escort you to your ride.”

“I always admire self-confidence,” said Verraday. “I can’t say I’m packing anything more than attitude, but I did make it as far as blue belt in karate, so I think I can handle myself.” He pointed to his car. “Plus I’m parked two doors down. I only have about eight or nine seconds to get into trouble, so I should be all right.”

Maclean arched an eyebrow at him. “In my experience, Professor, eight or nine seconds is more than enough time to get into all kinds of trouble. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for you until you make it to your car. Good night.”

She lifted her right hand and made a slight waving gesture at Verraday. It struck him as almost childlike. He was charmed by it. He had no doubt that if anyone could fend off a zombie apocalypse, it was her. But at the same time, he felt compassion and admiration for this woman who had lost her natural male protector at such a formative stage, had fought every inch of the way to get where she was, and had even survived a sexual assault from a senior colleague. Despite all that, she remained open hearted enough to insist on playing the shepherd with him now and was still able to give him such an unselfconscious wave.

“Good night to you, Detective,” said Verraday, smiling, with a slight bow that was only partially ironic.

She watched as he walked the few paces to his car door then clicked his remote. She smiled then turned away, giving him one last glance over her shoulder as she crossed the street. He climbed into his car and went to start the engine but felt a protective impulse of his own. He hesitated, lingering while Maclean got into her vehicle, a Jeep of some sort, which was parked under a streetlight. Only after she pulled away from the curb and turned down a side street did Verraday start his own vehicle and leave.

On the drive home, Verraday’s head was swimming with the news about Robson. He knew he’d have to tell Penny, but wasn’t sure what the best way would be. It was late now, and he was too tired to call her. It would be a long conversation and not the kind he wanted to have on the phone anyway. He was seeing her for dinner next week. But the news was too important to wait until then. He clumsily texted, “Hey sis. Something’s come up. Wondering if we could get together for dinner tomorrow instead of next week?”

To his surprise, she texted back almost immediately to confirm. She was better at this than he was. Verraday slipped his cell into his jacket, stepped onto the sidewalk, and was relieved to see that the gate was closed and latched this time. He walked up his path to the front steps, fumbled for his keys only slightly, and then entered the foyer. Inside, he kicked off his boots and hung his jacket up on the hall tree. He went straight to the kitchen, took his Seattle World’s Fair tumbler from the dish rack and reached for the bottle of brandy at the back of the counter.

Then he changed his mind. It was late. Almost midnight now. The dark ale and the shared conversation with Maclean had been satisfying. He really didn’t need anything else. It was just habit, he told himself. So instead, he poured some water into his glass, took a sip, and headed upstairs with it to bed.





CHAPTER 19


The next morning, Maclean and Verraday pulled up in front of a two-story building in Belltown. They walked up a narrow set of stairs and on the second floor, found a door with a small sign beside it reading “Erotes Hosting.”

“This is the place,” she said. “They administer four different sites for male, female, and transsexual escorts in the Seattle area, plus an alternative dating site.”

They entered. There was no receptionist. In the back, through a glass door, was a tomb-like machine room where the servers stood on a raised floor in the perpetual chill of air-conditioning. At the back of the office, a bespectacled young woman dressed in emo style sat at a desktop computer. She wore heavy eyeliner, a purple streak in her hair, and striped arm warmers pulled down to her knuckles to ward off the cold. She didn’t hear Verraday and Maclean over the roar of the fans at first. From their side of the counter, Verraday and Maclean could see that the young woman seemed to be putting together a webpage.

“Excuse me,” called Maclean.

In her peripheral vision, the emo girl spotted them. Without taking her gaze off the screen as she dropped some text into a blank box, she said in a welcoming tone of voice that surprised them both, “Hey, what can I do for you?”