Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie
Eighteen
Sadie
I wake early like I always do. The shades are closed in the room, but bright sunlight leaks through the curtain edge. I roll onto my side and stretch. Chase’s queen bed sits three or four feet away, and he’s passed out, in almost the same position he was last night after I finished in the bathroom.
The barely perceptible lines around the corners of his eyes, lines I’ve only noticed this past week, have flattened out. If it wasn’t for the dark scruff lining his jaw, he’d have a youthful appearance. The quilt has fallen to his waist, exposing…well, nothing. He’s wearing a t-shirt, but below the thin cotton you can see the hills and valleys that define his pecs and lead down to a firm stomach. Even relaxed, in sleep mode, his biceps are thick. He acts like such a carefree playboy, but the evidence is there. He works hard.
Last night, I could feel his gaze. Maybe it’s my FBI training kicking in, a heightened awareness we’ve cultivated through rigorous training programs. But I felt it, and my body reacted with a tingling sensation and temperature increase.
I didn’t like it. The uncomfortable sensation in the pit of my stomach and a jittery nervousness I haven’t felt since high school. I’m on assignment. Chase Maitlin is a suspect. I tend to believe he’s innocent. When Jason shared his suspicions regarding McLoughlin Charity, Chase went pale. He didn’t say anything, but he looked alarmed as if he was just now putting all the puzzle pieces together.
Listening to Maggie and Jason, it became clear to me that they aren’t guilty. Everyone else on Operation Quagmire is doing far more to close out this case than I am by being at this wedding, but I’m still playing an important role on our team. At least, if you consider determining who is not guilty to be important.
Chase opens one eye, then the other one, and rubs his face hard. He rolls over on his side, facing me, and smiles. “Morning.”
I return his smile.
“You been up long?” he asks.
“No. I woke up a few minutes ago.” I sit up and kick my legs over the edge of the bed and stretch each arm up to the ceiling. “I normally wake earlier than this. I guess all that wine had me sleeping later.”
Chase lifts his watch off the bedside table and frowns. “Seven in the morning is hardly late. The rest of the crew won’t be up for quite a while.”
“That place Maggie told us about, Cup of Joe, it opens at seven. You want to go with me, or you want to sleep in?”
“I’ll go with you. I don’t sleep late. Maybe we can look into renting bikes after breakfast. You hit the bathroom first. Won’t take me long.”
“You can go first. I’m not one of those women who take a long time to get ready.” Men assume every single woman needs to primp.
“Nah. You go first.” There’s something about the way he says it, almost a discomfort, and I scan him, trying to decipher what’s going on. Then I notice a telltale shape beneath the quilt and understand.
I don’t say a word and stifle my prepubescent grin. What am I, twelve? He’s a man. It happens. He simply wanted time to make adjustments before getting out from underneath the covers. I hope that’s all he wanted, at least. I spend a few extra minutes brushing my teeth and applying moisturizer and sunblock. Then I pull my hair back into the short stub of a ponytail, knowing I’ll shower later in the afternoon when getting ready for the wedding. I consider grabbing my wire, but it’s outside the bathroom in my suitcase. We’re going for coffee. It’s not like it’s essential. I wore it yesterday, and I’d be willing to bet the audio won’t be useable, given the background noise.
Chase takes his turn in the bathroom and, true to his word, takes less time than I. He doesn’t try to rub that fact in my face, and I appreciate it. He didn’t shave and simply pulled a baseball cap over his bed head hair.
“Ready to go?” The dark circles below his eyes are gone, but he still has a look I’d describe as pre-coffee. Or maybe that’s projection on my part.
The hotel lobby is quiet, as is Main Street. The shrill chirp of birds canvasses the street. I glance around but don’t spot any birds and assume they must be perched in all the trees that line the sidewalk, contributing to the small-town flair.
Cup of Joe isn’t what I anticipated. Chase opens the door for me, and the place is an assault on the senses. There’s a 1950s design aesthetic, which is fine, but it’s the splash of bright, vibrant colors everywhere that has me blinking. I had kind of anticipated an old school, vintage aesthetic that blended with the 1800s theme from our hotel, but this place pops.
The menu also stands out, filled with flavored roasts I’ve never heard of but would probably appeal to many. A young twenty-something barista with a bright nose ring and tattoos lining her arms awaits my order. I crave my Starbucks menu. “Do you just have regular coffee? Black?”
She tells me about a roast that sounds like what I’m looking for, and when I agree, she lifts a bright blue turquoise mug from a line of multi-colored ceramics then asks Chase what he wants.
“I’ll have the same roast she’s having, but I want milk and sugar.” For some reason, his effeminate order makes me feel superior. Chase must pick up on my ego smirk, but he rolls his eyes and makes it clear he couldn’t care less what I think of his coffee choice. He could have ordered the cake batter flavor. Thinking about that level of sweetness in coffee turns my stomach.
We sit down with our coffees, and I inhale the rich aroma. It’s freshly ground and brewed, and the scent is strong, so much stronger than what I normally make at home. It’s decadent, and I close my eyes for a moment to fully absorb it.
Chase pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I wonder if we can find some trails online.”
“I’d imagine the place where we rent bikes will have suggestions.”
The barista overhears us. “If you guys are looking for bike trails, I’d recommend you ride down Main Street and pick up the Cedar Valley Paddler’s trail. If you’re up for some miles, you could ride into Waterloo for lunch. It’s a pretty scenic trail that passes some lakes, and it’s easy going.” Clear plastic containers with brochures of nearby attractions and local maps line the area beside the register.
Chase and I agree to the suggested plan with quick nods to each other, and he convenes with the barista so she can point on her folded trail map the recommended route.
As he confers with her, I check email. There’s a coded email from Hopkins to call home. Chase seems to be engrossed in conversation with the hospitable barista, choosing to stand near the register and wait as she serves the random stray customer entering this early on a Saturday morning, so I head to the restroom in the back. It’s a single bathroom. I lock the door and call Hopkins.
“All okay?” His deep timbre pierces the quiet of the tiny, clean bathroom.
“Yes. You have an update?”
“Wiretaps aren’t getting anything on Mitchell and Bennett. They’re acting like they know they’re under surveillance.”
“Which means Mitchell is in on it.”
“I think so. When Maitlin gave Mitchell that update, he took him to the roof. It’s unusual.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Chicago DA is preparing indictments. It should be at the end of next week. Anything on Maitlin or the others you're with?”
“I don’t think any of Maitlin’s friends out here are involved. But his friend who worked at McLoughlin Charity did suspect fraud. I’ll tell you more later. There are some angles we can investigate.”
“Be alert.”
“Will do.”
Chase and I rent bikes and depart in comfortable silence, riding along scenic paved pathways, mostly with me leading the way. We attempted to ride side by side to start, but there are so many people out and about, walking and running and biking, that it’s too difficult to pair up. Riding alone gives me a chance to unwind and meditate and breathe in the fresh midwest air.
We ride all the way to Waterloo, single file almost the entire ride. By the time we pedal into town, I’m relaxed and feeling like it’s a vacation Saturday.
Chase waves me over to a small red and white hut. A large sign proclaims it’s the Maid-Rite. It’s one of the places the barista recommended. It’s a little early for lunch, but I’m famished, and we both go for cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. As I down the cheeseburger in under three minutes, I realize we’ve got about a ninety-minute ride back to town on our bikes in front of us. I push the fries away and stir the straw in my vanilla shake.
Chase hasn’t eaten any fries yet, but he’s about to open the wrapper on his second cheeseburger. He pushes it away, the same way I pushed my fries away, then twists off the cap to his water bottle and chugs.
“So, did everything go okay with Mitchell yesterday?”
He sets the water bottle on the table, and his mouth opens. He pauses then says, “That’s a little out of the blue.”
I shrug. No one said I’m a pro-UC agent. “You seemed stressed. Rhonda told me you were in with him. You barely said two words until we were with everyone, and then it took a card game and alcohol to relax you.”
“Fair enough. I told him I found out Garrick has falsified data on an account that’s going through an acquisition. South Fork Research. It was purchased based on inflated revenues. It’s gonna get ugly. The stock price on the company purchasing them went through the roof. And as for whether or not he took it well, I don’t know.” He scratches his head, then along his jaw where he has the beginnings of a trimmed beard. One day of not shaving, and he’s turning into a lumberjack.
“You know it was Garrick?” I ask, cursing myself for not putting on a wire before heading out this morning, or before we climbed on bikes.
“He’s the only one who handles those books. Next week I’m going to dig through all his accounts. McLoughlin Charity, that Jason was going on about last night? That’s also his.” He balls up a napkin and tosses it on his uneaten cheeseburger.
“What did Mitchell say?”
“He’s taking it to Tom, HR, PR, legal. You know, the works. They haven’t had to deal with anything like this before. He’s gonna let me know what they decide to do on Monday. I’m guessing it’s a hellish weekend for him.”
“Did he just take your word for it, or did you show him proof?”
“I had a folder with everything in it, but we didn’t go through it in detail.” He half closes his eyelids and frowns, then jerks his head up. “You can’t tell anyone, Sydney. No one.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“I shouldn’t have told you, but…” He trails off, half closing his eyelids again.
“But what?” I prompt.
He exhales. “I don’t know how much I trust Mitchell.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he said the right things, but I didn’t get good vibes. I’ve been debating leaving that company for a while. I only stayed because it was fun. But mark my words, it’s about to become a shit show. I know you just got there, but as your friend, I recommend you think seriously about whether you want to stay. You might be better off leaving and never placing BB&E on your resume.”
“You think it’s gonna get that bad?”
“I do.” He looks me directly in the eye without any hint of deception.
“You worried about the company?”
“I’m worried about my team. They’re good people. Rhonda, she needs the money. I mean, I can hire Rhonda over at one of my companies. But I can’t hire the others. They don’t have the right skill sets. My other companies are real estate and Internet. I don’t need full-time CPAs.”
“What exactly do your other companies do?”
“Well, real estate. I buy properties for rental income. And then, you ever heard the term ‘domainer’?”
“You buy up domains?”
“Yep. Started in high school. Maitlin Incorporated. Everything I earned as a waiter, I put into domains. By college, it generated some big money. Used that to invest in real estate. Really, all domains are is virtual real estate. So, I turned to physical real estate. Bought some beat-up places near campus, fixed ’em up, flipped ’em. When I moved to New York, I invested in an apartment building with eight rentals. Just kept reinvesting.” He rolls his finger around for emphasis. “Then I added mailbox money.”
“Mailbox?”
“Anytime I hear of a restaurant needing money, especially bars, I invest. They send me checks each month. To the mailbox.”
“And you reinvest?”
“Yep. Take my earnings, re-invest. I probably reached the point a few years ago where I started seriously questioning why I was working at BB&E. Then they kept promoting me. A lot of my job is playing golf and going out to bars.”
“Like the gentleman’s club?”
He lifts his shoulders and loudly inhales. “No. That club started as networking for me. Networking with the domainers.”
“Networking? You’re sticking with that?” I smirk, keeping it light, although there’s a part of me that can’t stop thinking about that place, wondering if that’s the real Chase and what he wants in a woman.
“Well, one of my buddies, a fellow domainer, took me. I’ll grant you, that place is on the edge. But the domain industry, I mean, it’s a lot of youngish guys. The ones who do well have money to blow. And contacts. I can’t emphasize how much it helps to know people in that industry. It’s small. Incestuous. Then, like I said, I ran up with the bigwigs there. Mitchell and Bennett introduced me to their friends. Cooper Grayson. EJ They asked for me to be on their accounts. It snowballed. Fun times.” He raps the wooden picnic table. “Nothing gold can stay.”
“You know, I’m not sure Robert Frost had this scenario in mind when he wrote that.”
“Robert Frost? That’s The Outsiders.”
“It’s…” He’s laughing at me, so I drop it and point to the bikes. “I’m going to the restroom, and then you want to head back? We’ve got a long ride in front of us.”
The restroom is tiny and not the kind of place I want to spend much time, but I pull out my phone from my backpack and dial Hopkins. He doesn’t answer, but I send a text.
Me: Garrick Carlson is our guy. Not Maitlin. Mitchell TBD. Told Maitlin he’d be working this weekend on biz plan for handling South Fork fraud.
I drop my phone into my backpack and head back out to meet Chase. He’s already cleaned up our table. He heads to take his turn in the restroom, and when he returns, we’re off.
“You want to lead? I don’t mind following.”
He grins and shakes his head. “Nah. I like the view.”
More people are out now, and our return trek is slower. Passing pedestrians isn’t as safe with so many people, especially kids, out. But the sky is blue, all the leaves still hold on to a strong green hue, and there’s this feeling in the air that fall is coming, and we should enjoy one of these last perfect summer days.
“Sydney!” Chase shouts from behind me.
I look over my shoulder at him.
“I need to take a call. Let’s take a break.”
He breaks away onto the grass, and I follow him, lifting off the bike seat as the bike bounces up and down over the uneven meadow. Chase drops his bike on the ground, and the back wheel spins, suspended in air, while he heads away from me, to the shade of a large silver maple.
I pull to a stop beside his bike and gingerly lean my rental onto the grass. Chase holds his thumb up to me as he talks on the phone, and I give him a thumbs-up back. It’s curious he doesn’t want to have his conversation near me. He’s so far away I can’t hear him, and out here in the open there’s no way I can get close enough to him without looking like I’m trying to hear.
I pull out my phone and see a message from Hopkins to call him. There’s another large tree, far enough away from Chase that he won’t be able to come up to me without me having plenty of time to hang up the phone, so I head over to the shade.
“How do you know it’s Garrick?” Hopkins cuts to the chase.
“Chase told me. That’s what he discovered. Informed Mitchell of what he learned right before coming here. Mitchell said he’d discuss with PR, legal, and Tom Bennett.”
“Office is quiet this weekend, but that doesn’t mean they can’t all be working from home. All signs are pointing to Mitchell being dirty. And Garrick’s still MIA. Be careful.”
“It’s still white-collar. If anything, they’ll be contacting lawyers and coming up with a plan for proclaiming innocence.” He sounds so serious, but none of this is dangerous.
“Heat’s on. They know it. I don’t expect they’d come after an FBI agent. My guess is they are planning to frame Maitlin.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His accounts. He was our obvious suspect. But we’ll see. One thing I can guarantee you. They have some kind of plan, and lawyers are Plan B.”
“Okay. One more thing. Maitlin’s income is legitimate.”
“We know. Team verified everything last week.”
“He’ll testify if we need him to. I’m sure of it. He’s not loyal to the company, only to his team.”
“He won’t have a choice about testifying. When you get back Sunday, check in. There’s a good chance we’ll pull you off UC, and you won’t be going back into BB&E on Monday. I’m not sure what else we gain by having you there.”
“Will do.”
When we return to the hotel room, gritty from hours on a bike, Chase insists I shower first. When I exit the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my torso, his gaze travels over my entire body.
“It’s steamy in there. The fan isn’t working. I need to get dressed out here.”
He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, it’s a different Chase. He avoids looking at me as he gathers his toiletries.
“You doing work?” His laptop lies open on the bed.
“Preparation for the worst.”
He pulls the door closed, and I block it with my hand.
“The worst?” I ask.
“I’m lawyering up. If they plan on scapegoating me, I want to be prepared. Always gotta prepare for the worst.”
He pulls the door while averting his eyes.
I smile to myself. This guy, who goes to raunchy voyeur clubs and watches people have sex on stage, felt self-conscious looking at me wrapped in a towel.
I slip into my sundress, blow out my hair, and dab on some make-up. It doesn’t take me long to get ready. It’s one of the benefits of a shorter hairstyle. I don’t want to be taller than Chase at the wedding, so I pull on the sandals I packed.
He steps out of the bathroom, freshly shaven, with a towel wrapped around his waist. Shameless, I appreciate his form. His broad shoulders, well-defined pecs, his hard-earned six-pack, and the smattering of dark curls.
“Like what you see?”
“Yeah, I do.” I don’t look away. My body responds. Increased heartrate, elevated temperature, it’s more difficult to swallow. Without a doubt, I am physically attracted to him. I squeeze my thighs together and suck air in.
He breaks the moment by looking away and gathering his clothes. I blink, and guilt rears its ugly head. I’m still on a job.
As soon as the bathroom door closes, I fumble in my suitcase with the wire, toying with the device. It doesn’t seem to be functioning. I wiggle the wire connecting the transmitter and the battery pack. It’s tiny and should fit inside my bra, but the wire connecting the small battery pack is loose. I need tools to fix it. The shower turns off.
I text Hopkins to tell him the device is broken. He doesn’t respond, but he won’t care. He already told me he doesn’t think I need to be on the case.
The door handle jiggles. I toss it under my intimates and close the suitcase as the door opens.
“The mirrors are too foggy to see. I’ll tie it when it clears out.”
He’s wearing dress pants, another dress shirt, and a tie hangs loosely around his neck.
I step forward and straighten the tie beneath his collar. In my flats, the top of my head reaches his nose. I look up at him and loop the silky material into the perfect knot. I rest my fingers along his chest and let them venture along his muscles.
I raise my gaze from his tie. Dark, chestnut eyes take me in, stealing my breath. His head drops, and his lips press to mine. Timid at first, and then I open up. His tongue strokes mine, and he aligns my body to his.
Thoughts circle. I shouldn’t be doing this. The room blurs, and I lean into him, lightheaded. He’s not a suspect. But I shouldn’t be doing this.
He cups my ass, pulling me closer, eliminating any distance. My breasts press painfully against his hard curves. I wrap my arms around him and skim the tips of my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He tastes of mint, and he feels hard, strong.
Don’t Stop Believing, by Journey, Chase’s ringtone, sounds through the room, and Chase pulls back. We’re both breathing heavily, our skin flushed. In all my life, I’ve never been so turned on by a man’s kiss. It’s probably due to the adrenaline pumping from doing something I know I shouldn’t do. It’s the only reasonable explanation.
His chest rises and falls. He grasps my hips, holding me close with his hands and his heated gaze. He shakes his head once, then twice, and steps away to answer the call.