The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,16
good PR opportunity when he sees one.”
“So how does the redhead factor into this scenario?”
“What redhead?”
“The one who went to the Mardi Gras ball with Trey.”
Garrity put the binoculars up again. “Oh, that’s Gabriella. She runs some spa boutique place over in Buckhead. She was at Phoenix?”
“No. But she was in this picture Mark brought over which Charley promptly confiscated. The woman did not like that picture, not one bit, and I suspect it had something to do with what’s-her-name.”
“Gabriella,” Garrity supplied. “And I don’t see why. They’re friends, those two. They’re even working on the reception together.” He held out the sandwich. “Wanna bite?”
“No, thanks. What reception?”
“The one for Senator Adams. It’s being held next weekend out at the Beaumonts’ new resort property, up at Lake Oconee. Private affair.” He waggled the sandwich in my face. “You sure you don’t want some? Beef shawarma, best in the city.”
I had no idea what shawarma was, but I took a bite anyway and got a mouthful of beef chunks and hot sauce. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Adams is a state senator, right? Running for governor?”
“If he wins the primary, yes, which is why this reception is so important. It’s for the heavy-hitters donation-wise, the twenty thousand and over camp. You interested in going?”
I made a noise. “Yeah, sure, I’ll just put a donation on my Amex.”
Garrity laughed and returned to watching the demonstration. I knew very little about Senator Adams, except that he was a popular guy, especially in the rural parts of the state. Not so many friends in the urban areas, but that was changing, I suspected, especially with friends like the Beaumonts. And it sounded like everybody else was big fans too—Phoenix, the redhead, my brother, Trey. All in it together.
Suspects. The word bubbled up from my subconscious. I was looking at these people as suspects.
Garrity watched the dog strain at its leash. When the trainer released it, the creature flew across the grass, lunging at the villain’s upper arm as he lumbered away. The dog leapt, clearing the ground, a furred missile. The force of its blow took the man to the ground, and the dog proceed to shake the padded biceps between its teeth.
“Got a little fast off the mark there, but he’s new. He’ll learn.” Garrity took another bite of sandwich. “Look, I know you didn’t come out here to talk about the Beaumonts. What’s up?”
So I took a deep breath and told him what I’d learned that morning from Trey. I started with the conversation he’d had with Eric, detailed the whole personal protection gig, then finished up with the upcoming conference call. Garrity listened seriously, not smiling. Not a good sign.
“But here’s the topper,” I said. “Trey swears that Eric’s lying.”
“About what?”
“Some conversation they had.” I frowned. “Is that for real, that stuff he was spouting about blinking and eye contact?”
Garrity kept his eyes on the demo. “Trey can do that. He can tell if people are lying.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No joke. A heightened sensitivity to micro-emotive readings, the doctors say. Trey lasers in on things that most people ignore—subtle eye movements, tics at the corner of the mouth.”
“Does this have anything to do with the brain scans in his desk?”
Garrity switched his cop eyes my way. Across the grass, on some signal I didn’t see or hear, the dog suddenly released the bad guy and loped back to its trainer for a pat and a treat.
“Well?” I said.
“You were snooping.”
“I was looking for a pen.”
Garrity raised the binoculars once again.
“Okay, fine, I was snooping—so what? Trey’s a secret agent. If he didn’t want people snooping in his desk, he should lock the drawers.”
“He can’t. If anything goes wrong, the EMTs need access to those files.”
“Why?”
Garrity sighed. “This is where it gets complicated. You might want to sit down.”
I sank down cross-legged on the grass. Garrity did too, propping his back on the tree and stretching out his legs. Across the meadow, the dog’s tail swept back and forth like a metronome, while at the other end of the field, the padded bad guy staggered to his feet for a second attack. I envied that dog—it had somebody to tell it what to do.
Garrity kept his eyes on the demo. “What did you see in those folders?”
“Bunch of legal papers. Your name everywhere. Some head x-rays.” I signed and reached into my tote bag. “Like this one.”
“Where did you—”
“It was an accident. I’ll put it back, I promise.”