Oh, yeah, she listened, in a perfect case of point noted—and rejected.
“Joe, honestly, I have to go tonight.”
“And you think the Ravens are just going to discuss some favorite masterpiece by Poe?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll talk about the murder.”
“We’re not members. Are you sure they’ll let us in?”
“Members are always free to bring guests. It’s simply a matter of paying for their meals. And can you imagine anyone trying to tell my mother that she’s not welcome to bring her daughter and a friend?”
Gen had a point. Eileen had the power to open a lot of doors.
He stood up. The world didn’t rock. A shower would fix him, he decided.
“All right, I’m going home, but I’ll be back in time to go to the meeting with you. And you’ll stay here until I come back for you.”
“Joe…” She said his name in a soft whisper, accompanied by a weary sigh. “I am not a hothouse flower. I’ve been taking care of myself in the city for some time now. I do not intend to stay cooped up in my apartment all day.”
He arched a brow. “It’s a really nice apartment.”
She flushed. It was a nice apartment. She lived here because of Eileen; the building was supposed to have the best security system in the city.
“Joe—”
“Give it a rest, Gen. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Depending on traffic,” he added dryly, wondering how long it would take to reclaim his car at the impound lot.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. If we’re going to this meeting, let’s do a little Poe research first, huh?”
She stared back at him, a slow smile curving her lips, a light entering her eyes.
Damn, she was a beautiful woman.
“Oh, Joe, that’s great!”
She leapt up and threw her arms around him. Her scent was intoxicating, and the feel of her warm body as she crushed herself against him was like a taste of heaven.
He unwound her arms and stepped back. “You, uh, you stay here till I get back, promise?”
She looked at him with a frown.
“Just this morning, Gen, please? Until I get a handle on this.”
“I’m not a Raven. It’s my mom we’re worried about, remember?”
“Gen?”
“Yes, fine.”
He started out.
“Joe? You don’t have your car,” she reminded him. “You can take mine. It’s in the garage.”
He was certain that the garage fee in this building was probably more than most Americans paid for an apartment. But he couldn’t take her car. It was time to rescue his own.
“I’ll just grab a cab for now.”
“I can call you a car—”
“And I can run out to the street and snag a cab. I’ll be back soon,” he promised.
Genevieve didn’t mind spending a few hours in the apartment. In fact, she loved the apartment and liked killing time there. What she did mind was being told that she needed to stay somewhere, anywhere, even though she knew that she should be grateful she had friends who cared.
At least he intended to involve her in the investigation, although he definitely wasn’t happy about how things had played out last night. He was never happy if he wasn’t in control. Not so much of others, but he was the kind of man who wanted to be in control of himself at all times, and getting drunk was anything but.
Restlessly, she paced the room. The morning would go slowly. She was sure of it.
She put a call through to her mother, just to say hello and tell her that she and Joe would be taking her to the meeting that night.
“I’m afraid it won’t be much of a meeting,” Eileen warned. “All they’ll do is talk about poor Thorne.” She hesitated at the other end of the line. “I suppose a lot of them are frightened, after what that psychic said.”
“But you’re not,” Genevieve chided.
“Of course not.” There was another slight silence, then a gasp. “Oh, Genevieve! Perhaps you shouldn’t come.”
“Mother, stop.”
“But, darling, after all you’ve been through, do you really want to be around a bunch of people talking about murder?”
“After all I’ve been through, I take great delight in going wherever I choose to go.”
“But—”
“We’ll pick you up at six-thirty,” Genevieve said.
“Genevieve, I can get there by myself.”
“We’ll pick you up at six-thirty,” Gen repeated.
“At least you’ll be with Joe,” Eileen said.
“Right. At least I’ll be with Joe,” Genevieve agreed, though she was more than a little irritated by her mother’s words. Even her own mother felt she needed protection.
Genevieve rang off and wandered over to her desk, where she brought the front page of the paper up on her computer, curious to see if anything new had been written about Thorne’s murder.
The headline and the main story were on the accident that had taken place on the FDR. She read the story, then clicked a link and watched the video that had been taken by a chance onlooker. Unfortunately, nothing in the story or the video told her anything that Joe hadn’t.
Genevieve drummed her fingers on the desk. Sam Latham had been in that accident.