Paying The Piper - 7. Chapter 7

Quent dialed Directory Assistance. Obtaining Marci's home phone number, he dialed it one handed as he drove. Cale was starting out the window, ignoring him.

"Hello, you've reached the Patterson residence. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Or, you can try me on my cell…."

Quent memorized the cell phone number rattled off at the end of the message. He tried it next, and Marci picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Marci Patterson?" Quent inquired.

"Yes?" a pleasant voice asked.

"This is Quent, Chie-"

"Oh, yes. Of course. I thought I might be hearing from you sometime today. How are you?"

Quent risked closing his eyes, even though he was driving at least fifteen miles over the speed limit down a winding road. "Fine. Thank you. I need to talk to you about Cynthia Mullen."

"Of course you do," Marci said. "How about now? I'm at Jim Stahl's house, going over some things. But he said it would take him at least an hour to get my records into his system. Would that be enough time?"

Too much by half, Quent thought with a grimace. "That would be fine. We'll be right over."

"We?"

Quent disconnected the call with a satisfying push to the end button. Obviously, her friend's murder hadn't deterred Marci from worrying about her investments.

"Is she there?" Cale asked without turning his head.

"She's available," Quent hedged. For some reason, he felt he should withhold the fact that they were on their way back to Stahl's. Something had spooked Cale there earlier in the day.

It proved to be the right decision, because the second Quent turned onto his drive, Cale emerged from his trance and shot up in his seat. "What are we doing here?"

"Seeing Ms. Patterson."

"Here?"

"This is where she is at the moment." Quent pulled up behind a new four-door sedan and shut off the engine. He turned to Cale. "Do you need to wait in the car?"

"What?"

"It's where you ended up this morning. I just thought I'd save us some trouble and leave you here. If you think that's going to be necessary."

Cale scowled and jerked the door open. "I'm fine," he growled. He slammed it shut behind him and stalked around the car.

Quent led the way to Stahl's front door. "If you insist," he said as he knocked.

Stahl opened the door a moment later. His eyed narrowed, but he waved them in. Seated around the large dining room table, surrounded by papers and two laptop computers, were Marci and Drew. Cale dropped his eyes the second Drew raised his. As a result, he didn't see Drew's eyes light up when he saw him. Quent, on the other hand, noticed it right away. Some of Cale's behavior from earlier began to make sense.

"This will take about another hour, Quent," Stahl said. "Drew is doing his best to show me how this works as we go along, but I guess I'm just old and set in my ways."

Quent shrugged. He couldn't care less. He wasn't here to see Stahl. "Ms. Patterson? Are you ready?"

Marci smiled and got up to shake Quent's hand. "Of course," she said with a brilliant smile. When she saw Cale, however, her grin faded. "May I ask what Cale's doing here?" At her question, Drew glanced up curiously.

"You may not. Stahl, do you have somewhere private where we can talk?" Quent asked.

Stahl smiled and gestured toward a set of curtained French doors. "Of course. Use the patio. The weather's gorgeous."

"It's unseasonably hot and the humidity is oppressive, but it'll have to do." Quent gestured for Marci to precede him and the three of them, Cale bringing up the rear, retired to the patio.

"I know why you're here," Marci began. "I saw Cynthia last night. I may have even been one of the last people to speak to her." Cale frowned at the excitement in Marci's voice. Quent echoed it. No one should be happy about being involved in a murder investigation.

"What did you talk about?" Quent asked. He took out his familiar notebook.

"Oh…um…investing. If you can believe that. As if she would have anything to invest. But she said she wanted to start digging her way out of her…'hole'…I believe is the word she used. She wanted to make something more of herself."

Next to Quent, Cale shifted on his feet. "Doesn't Jim only take on clients who have at least a decent size principal?" he asked Marci.

Marci shrugged and fidgeted. "I believe so."

"Then why did you recommend him?"

"Actually, Elizabeth did that."

Quent sensed Cale's renewed shock at hearing of his wife's involvement. His own disbelief was giving way to surprise as her presence at The Tin Man was mentioned by yet another witness. He simply couldn't picture her in a bar with Marci and Cynthia. It felt wrong.

Apparently, it did to Cale as well. "Yes. About that," he said. "How exactly did you end up at the bar with Elizabeth? I didn't realize the two of you were friends."

Marci gave a wry smile. "We're not. But I guess you could say we're burying the hatchet. It's about time, wouldn't you say?"

Quent grimaced. Don't you think it's about time you bury the hatchet? It seems Cale's words were destined to follow him today. He pressed ahead. "Did you see her with anyone else?" he asked.

Marci scrunched up her face as she thought. "Just Drew," she answered after a moment.

Quent didn't even feel surprised this time. "You know Marcus."

Marci smiled. "Sure. He stopped by the agency to pick up some papers for Jim the other day. He's so sweet. We were really swamped, so he went across the street and picked up our lunch order from the deli." She smiled. "You know how it gets in real estate at the beginning of the summer."

Quent moistened a finger and turned to a new blank page in his notebook. "No."

Marci's smile faltered. "Well…it gets busy." She turned to look at Cale. "It's been a while, Cale. How are you?"

He answered with a cold, polite smile. "Fine."

Marci stared at him another moment before shifting her eyes away. Quent watched the strange interplay from behind his blank notebook. "Very well," he said. "I appreciate your time. I might have a few more questions for you later."

Marci shrugged and smiled brightly. "Anytime."

**********

They walked back inside and Quent immediately cornered Drew. "I'd like a copy of your driver's license, if you have one," he said without preamble.

Stahl looked ready to protest on his behalf, but Drew shushed him. "Sure. I have one and you're welcome to a copy. I left it in my apartment, though."

"I have one or two more questions for you. Maybe Cale could get it while I take care of those," Quent suggested.

Drew's eyes slid to Cale. He smiled. "Sure."

Cale swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Where is it?" he asked, thankful his voice sounded nearly normal.

"Right by the door. There's a big ceramic bowl on the table there. My wallet's inside." Cale nodded and slipped away. Quent gestured toward the patio, and with a frown, Drew followed. When the glass door closed behind them, Quent rounded on Drew.

"DNA and fingerprint evidence should come back later today after the autopsy. I'd like to rule you out as a suspect."

Drew tipped his head back and laughed. "You mean, you want my fingerprints and a DNA sample."

Quent arched an eyebrow and waited while Drew muttered under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Why is it," he mused as he paced the patio, "that every small town sheriff thinks the rules don't apply to him?"

"What?" Quent said.

"That means no. You can't have it. The fingerprints or the DNA."

Quent blinked. "No?"

"I believe I was quite clear."

"I can just get a warrant, you know."

Drew shrugged. "You can try, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Drew braced himself against a decrepit chaise lounge, and they faced off over the bit of wood and tattered fabric. "Surely even you've heard of the Fourth Amendment, Quent? I mean, I know it's a bit rural out here…."

"Don't get smart with me, Marcus. Push me, and I haul you in right now – no need for a warrant then."

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that verbal sparring constituted exigent circumstances," Drew said dryly. He cocked his head to the side for a moment before sliding a few feet to the left. An amused smile played at his lips when Quent tracked him. "Think that qualifies as hot pursuit?"

Quent was furious. The impudent whelp was toying with him. "That's the problem with snot nosed brats like you," he said, hoping to draw Marcus out.

"What?" Drew asked with an impish smile.

"You watch a few episodes of Law and Order and think you know something. Well let me tell you, Marcus, you don't know shit. Now, you can either give me what I want or I'll get a court order requiring you to do so." Quent waited while the threat sank in. Let Marcus chew on that.

Drew sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Here's the deal, Quent. There's no way you could make an arrest stick. You know it and I know it. If you could, you would have done it by now. So that leaves you the warrant, which you won't get – not anytime soon, anyway. And your instant dislike of me, which you're alleging as probable cause, isn't enough. You need an independent witness to corroborate your suspicions. Good luck finding one of those," Drew said smugly. "You'll find I'm quite popular around here. A dilemma I'm sure you've never faced."

Quent was aghast. And furious. If there was anything he detested more than know-it-all punks, it was know-it-all punks who actually knew it all. Marcus had left him without a leg to stand on and the little bastard knew it. How the hell he knew the ins and outs of the system was a mystery.

Quent despised mysteries.

"I'm beginning to doubt your laid-off Internet geek story, Marcus."

"I never said that was my story," Marcus retorted.

"You implied it."

"No, you inferred it."

Tension crackled between them, and strangely, Quent found himself enjoying it. A little challenge every now and again kept him sharp. He took a deep breath, braced for another round, but abruptly, Drew ran out of steam. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I didn't kill Cynthia," he said. "You're wasting your time."

Quent narrowed his eyes. "I'll be the judge of that."

Drew groaned and dropped his head between his shoulders. When he looked back up at Quent, his eyes were hard. "I don't appreciate being harassed. So the answer's no. Sorry. You're welcome to a copy of my license, that's all. It's all you'll need anyway," he said.

Without another word, he spun and walked away toward the garage.

**********

Cale found the battered wallet easily enough. It was sitting right where Drew said it would be. At first, he just ran his fingers over the stained leather. Shortly, though, curiosity got the best of him and he opened it. Drew's driver's license picture jumped out at him from behind a plastic protector.

The name on the license read, "Drew Marcus." It was for the District of Columbia, issued two years ago. Cale's eyes wandered over the small card. Drew Marcus. Height - B. Weight - C. Cale carefully slid it up and out of its plastic sleeve. He flipped it over. 'Height B' indicated a range of five feet six inches to six feet tall. Cale licked his lips. Five foot eleven would have been his guess. An inch or so taller than himself. Standing face to face, his mouth would be at Drew's neck. A flash of heat blossomed in his stomach, and he immediately repressed the thought,.

'Weight C' showed a range of 150 to 200 pounds. One-sixty-five, Cale thought, no more. A bit heavier than himself, but probably all muscle. A memory of Drew slipping a white t-shirt over his head flashed through his mind and the fire in his abdomen flared again. Cale closed his eyes and sighed shakily.

When he opened them again, his gaze fell on 'Eyes - Green.' Yes, there was little disputing that.

"What are you doing?"

Cale gasped and lost his grip on the wallet, and it fell to the floor with a soft splat. He turned guilty eyes to Drew. "I'm sorry. I have no excuse for invading your privacy like that," he said in a strangled voice.

Drew stepped over the threshold. His eyes never leaving Cale, he closed the door behind him. He walked over and crouched down to pick up his wallet. As he scooped it up, he looked up and smiled. The teasing, hopeful expression was nearly too much. Part of Cale wished fervently he had simply collected the wallet and left. The other part, the traitorous part, ordered him to reach out and touch. Touch and taste and open himself to what his mind and body were demanding. His hands, clenched into fists at his sides, started shaking.

When Drew noticed, he stood immediately, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

Cale nodded, but realized as soon as Drew reached out and touched his arm that he wasn't. He couldn't move. He didn't want to move. He wanted to lean into the touch, but that would be wrong. He clenched his fists harder until he could feel his wedding ring dig into the tender skin of his finger.

Puzzlement joined the concern etched on Drew's face. He tossed his wallet onto the nearby table with a careless flick of his wrist. "Cale?"

"Hmmm?" Cale managed. He felt he was on the edge of something - teetering. He concentrated on the sharp diamonds of his ring pushing into his palm and took a careful step backward. Drew cocked his head to the side, and Cale wondered if the other man could hear his thundering heartbeat. Drew hadn't let go when Cale stepped back, but neither had he prevented the obvious move to put distance between them.

"What's wrong?" Drew's voice was soft. Questioning.

Cale shook his head. He didn't trust his voice. Drew's hand burned through the thin cotton of his shirt. Cale ripped his gaze away from those hypnotic eyes and tried to take another step back. This time, Drew held fast to his arm, preventing the retreat.

"Cale." Drew's voice had turned rough. "Come here," he coaxed.

Cale closed his eyes against the sudden surge of lust that shot through him. Why was this happening, he wondered? What was this? This lightning quick attraction that threatened to surpass any other he'd ever experienced. It was blinding and enlightening, quiet but overpowering. Drew's hand released his arm, and Cale almost whimpered. But a minute later, the fingers of both his hands were encased in Drew's and being teased with soft fleeting touches. Cale gasped and his eyes shot open, locking on Drew's.

Slowly, their fingers touched and stroked. Drew's lips parted slightly. His breathing became heavy. "Jesus, Cale." He tried to step closer. His fingers tightened on Cale's hands and he pulled.

"No!" Cale wrenched his hands away and lurched backward. He placed a shaking fist over his heart, urging it to calm, and for several seconds, the only sound was their soft panting breaths.

Drew closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. He opened them again a moment later. "Cale," he said in a shaky voice. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't do this," Cale whispered. He took another step backwards.

Drew's exasperated laugh rang through the room. "Why the hell not?" He moved forward, intent on following, and Cale backed up another step. As he did, a beam of afternoon sunlight caught on the hand he had splayed over his heart and his wedding ring sparkled. Drew stopped his pursuit abruptly. He stared at the ring for a long time. Finally, he met Cale's eyes. Whatever he saw there, it was enough to harden his expression and wipe the passion from his eyes. He stepped back.

"I'm sorry," Cale whispered.

"So am I," Drew said. He grabbed his wallet from the table and left.