I look out the window to my right, spy the other spire he’s referring to, and raise my eyebrows, unsure what to make of this man. Surely he’s not flirting with me. Dear circus god, please, please, please do not let this man make a move on me today. I just don’t have the energy for it.
He places a hand on the small of my back, forcing me to move forward into the room to avoid his touch. But before I can get over that little maneuver, he’s wrapping my hand around his arm again, leading me towards a table. We stop in front of the older gentleman eating eggs Benedict and reading the stock report on a tablet.
“Detective Masters, my father, Alastair Montgomery.”
Alastair Montgomery does not look up or greet me with anything more than an uninterested grunt. Atticus pulls out a chair and I force myself to take a seat. Be sweet, Molly. You’ll get out of here much faster by playing along. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says, taking his own seat next to me. “But my father is Mr. Montgomery and I am just Atticus.”
Before I can reply, Montgomery senior barks, “Did you find out what that mess down on twenty-one was all about?” Still, he does not look up. Like I am not even worthy of his gaze.
“No, sir,” I say as politely as I can. “I’m afraid this case will require a little more effort than one afternoon of questioning.”
“Then why are you here?” He looks up. And his anger is as ugly as his indifference. It lingers on me and then focuses on his son.
Atticus might be a powerful snob just like his father, but his demeanor is one of patience. To my horror, I find myself leaning in his direction, seeking some sign that he’s not going to throw me to his wolf of a father.
“Don’t mind the old man, Detective,” Atticus says, breaking the silence left by my speechlessness. “He has no use for manners these days.”
“I don’t need manners,” Montgomery senior barks at his son. “Two dead bodies were found in my building, Atticus. So it’s only natural that I expect answers. What I don’t expect is to be breakfasting with the CCPD’s rookie detective in my private dining room.”
“OK,” I say, pushing back from the table and looking at Atticus. “I’m going back to work. Your father is right. Thank you for the offer, but I—”
“I’ll join you. I’ve already eaten.”
“But—”
He cuts me off with a look. Something in his eyes that says, Quiet. He mutters a half-hearted goodbye and leads me back to the elevator.
When the doors close, sealing us off, I shake my head. “Well, that was awkward.”
“Awkward doesn’t even come close, Detective Masters. But now you know.” He stares down at me with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Now I know what?”
“What you’re up against.” A small smile forms as the elevator car descends. Floors fly by. “How high the stakes are,” he continues. “And maybe a minute of rude conversation isn’t enough for most people to make a decision about a person, but I think it was enough for you. Detective Molly Masters is not most people, is she?” He cocks his head at me and drops the pretense of a smile just as the elevator stops and the doors open to the lobby. “I’ll get in touch with you about the date.”
“Date?” I ask, stepping out of the elevator and turning back to look at him.
“The stars, Masters.” He points upward. “You can’t say no to that. Every woman deserves to see the stars from the top of a castle.”
And then the doors close and he disappears from view.
Chapter Eleven - Lincoln
“Goddammit.”
“How can I assist, Mr. Wade?” Sheila is hovering over me, a worried expression on her semi-transparent face. “What do you need? I hate seeing you so upset.”
“I’m not upset, and I don’t appreciate that whole Mr. Wade routine,” I say. “You’re pissed off about my decisions, but it’s not up to you, Sheila. And I know what I’m doing. So no more passive-aggressive bullshit, OK? I’m busy.”
She’s silent after that and I’m left feeling like a class-A prick. I’m frustrated. Sexually frustrated. That detective has been on my mind non-stop since last night. But taking it out on Sheila is the wrong way to handle it. “Sorry,” I say. “You can’t help, Sheils, you know that.”
I wish she could. At least with the engineering stuff and the lab work. I have a few robots in the labs, but they have no intelligence. They just do what you tell them to do. Sheila has intelligence but she has no physical body.
For a genius, I sure didn’t think that one through. But I never figured on being in this position, did I? It’s been a dream for fifteen years. Something Case and I talked about, but never thought we’d see. And then Thomas appears—not physically at first, just in email—and he offers us everything we need to do what we always said we would.
I don’t care what Sheila thinks about it, I’m on board. And maybe Thomas is a dick and I don’t like him, but I don’t have to like him to take what he’s offering.
“It’s to the left,” Sheila says as I blindly search for the wrench I’m looking for on the ground. I find it with my gloved fingers. My hands are sweating like crazy.