Five Ways Miss Parker & Jarod Didn't Meet (Pretender fic, 2/6)
Go here for disclaimers, acknowledgments, summary.
2. Tommy Girl
Jarod lost her on the corner of Broadway and 16th and had to stop to regain his bearings, wondering which of the shops she’d entered. He surveyed the street, then crossed to a newspaper stand and picked out a New York Times to give him cover while he waited for her to come back into view. He was paying for the paper when a voice behind him made him freeze.
"You can buy me a Glamour while you’re at it. I just love their articles on how to get the most out of your summer wardrobe."
Jarod turned around and assumed his most puzzled expression for the woman standing there, one hand on a jutting hip, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you following me?” An icy gaze sized him up, lingering on his jacket, checking all the places where weapons could be hidden, then snapped back to focus on his eyes. “Don’t even try to lie, Wonderboy. I spotted you at the 27th Street station. You’ve been exactly a block and a half behind me for ten blocks. Not a cop, not one of Corelli’s men-“ Her expression locked down, hard. “Do you work for my father?”
“No, I don’t work for him.” Jarod folded up his paper and shook his head, feeling startled and off-guard. He’d planned how to approach her, but that was supposed to be later, when he had the evidence and photographs at hand. This was just supposed to be reconnaissance, to get a feel for what she was like. And definitely not for getting caught like some stalker or Sweeper. Time to improvise, then. “My name is Jarod Spenser. I’m a private investigator working on the Valerie Mancini case. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Ms. Gates-“
”You didn’t.”
“-but I wanted to talk to you about evidence that has been misplaced in Miss Mancini’s defense. And I wasn’t sure how to talk to you without your colleagues finding out.” Jarod finally got all that out, and took a breath. Her eyes had narrowed a minute amount when he’d said his name and occupation, but otherwise, Miranda Gates’ face had remained studiously blank. He could see how she’d acquired her reputation as a trial lawyer. That stare demanded explanations, doubted everything, and was dissatisfied with the way he was breathing, much less his reasons for following her.
A tiny frown line appeared between her brows as she processed what he’d said. “What kind of evidence? And are you implying what I think you’re implying?” He drew breath to further explain, and she raised a hand to stop him. “I need coffee for this. You’re buying.”
“I am?”
She’d already gotten a grip on his elbow and was steering him into the Starbucks across the street. “My time, your dime. In caffeine. And if this is some ploy to screw up the case or get me disbarred, I’ll have your P.I. license, your driver’s license, and your gun license suspended in a heartbeat. Got it?”
“I don’t usually carry a gun-“ That glare only wanted one response. “Got it.”
“Venti espresso extra whipped cream, chocolate shavings,” she said, pushing open the door and pointing at the counter. “And a muffin.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juries must have found her terrifying. Jarod was finding himself unwillingly intrigued.
When he returned with their drinks, he handed one over to her, along with a chocolate-chip muffin, then took a sip of his own coffee. “Someone within your department has hidden exculpatory evidence that would result in the dropping of the charges against Valerie Mancini. By process of elimination, I know it wasn’t you. I’d like your help in finding the evidence and catching the person responsible.”
“This isn’t an espresso.” She frowned at her cup, ignoring his explanation. “This is cocoa. They switched the orders.”
“No, they didn’t.” Jarod took another sip of his drink. “Espresso is bad for your ulcer.”
You’d think he’d killed her cat. “Excuse me?”
“Ms. Gates, I’ve done a little research on you. Your visit to the hospital last spring isn’t exactly a secret; you collapsed in the middle of jury selection.” Jarod fielded the extra venom in her glare with, “I wanted to know who I was dealing with. And if you’d be willing to take this problem all the way to its proper conclusion.”
“Mr. Spenser, if you’d done enough research on me, you’d know I hate being told what to do, or people making decisions for me, and definitely people spying on me.” She slammed the cup back down in front of him, then stormed over to the counter, ordering a venti espresso with whipped cream and sprinkles in a voice that could cut glass. Jarod sighed, and popped the lid on the cocoa, licking the whipped cream off the top while he waited for her to return.
This was not going like he’d simmed it. She wasn’t supposed to be angry with him, she wasn’t supposed to be this pushy, and she wasn’t supposed to want to ignore his concerns. Jarod watched her head for the Ladies’ Room, probably to calm down, and tried to think of a better approach.
Ten minutes later she returned; he wondered how high she’d had to count to get her temper under control, but it seemed to have worked. She picked up her new order at the counter before joining him, still glaring, but less irate. “And I have never, ever backed down on a case. Everyone knows that about me, too. Any evidence you have of misconduct or concealment should be taken to Mancini’s defense attorney, as well as the DA’s office. Why involve me?”
Might as well go for broke. “I have a plan to catch D.A. Hendricks in the act. But it requires your cooperation….”
Miraculously, Gates actually listened as he outlined the Pretend, her anger abating as she became interested in the sting. She smiled as he pointed out the advantages to his plan, wedding band tapping against her cup as she thought. The smile took years off her expression, and Jarod found himself foolishly smiling back, hopeful again. “Well?”
Another sip of espresso, then, judiciously, “I like it. The judge may throw out the case and declare a mistrial, but at the least we’ll get another investigation, and Mancini will get a fairer hearing. This whole set-up has been fishy from day one.” She nodded sharply. “I’ll do it if you tell me your real connection to the Mancinis. They haven’t hired you, and the public defender’s office has no idea who you are, even if you are in good standing with New York State.”
“How-you made a phone call when you left.” He should have expected that. Good thing his license was in order. “I never said I was working for the public defender’s office.”
“Don’t try to quibble over legalities with a prosecutor, Spenser. You implied it, and hoped I’d assume you were working for the defense.” Gates frowned again, and said, “Spenser. Like the Robert Parker detective?”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“Mmmm. So? Your connection?”
“Just call me a friend of the family. Someone who wants to see justice done.” He should have expected the uspicion -- any good lawyer would be wary -- but maybe he’d gotten over-confident, with too many successful Pretends under his belt over the recent months. Maybe he should have realized that in order to survive and thrive away from her father, she’d had to look for more than the average person, notice more. That she'd gotten the drop on him was enough indication of her abilities.
Gates tilted her head, fingers drumming on her cup again, a remnant of the smoking she’d given up over a year ago. Not that she would be happy he knew about that, either. “I can’t figure you, Spenser. That Boy Scout motivation you just gave me-that’s the most truthful thing you’ve said since we met.”
Jarod nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”
“I know liars, Jarod.” She leaned in, and Jarod swallowed, fingers tightening on his cup, fighting the urge to flee. Or lean in closer than before, as her voice lowered to a purr. “You’re a liar.” She flashed him that wicked smile again. “But, you’re a liar who’s on the right side. Truth and justice for all. So I’m going to let that slide.” A long dark fingernail snapped up in line with his eye. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“No, ma’am.”
Another suspicious look. “You get more polite when you lie, you know.” She finished her drink and headed for the door. “See you in court, Marlowe.”
“Spenser.”
“Whatever.”
After she left, Jarod let out a long, slow breath. Informing her that he’d been investigating her husband’s death as well as Corelli’s interest in her seemed a lot more dangerous than it had an hour ago, for some reason. He caught himself tracing the lipstick print she’d left on the coffee cup she’d left behind, and blinked.
1. Meet Cute
2. Tommy Girl
3. Stockholm is for Suckers
4. Prisoner's Dilemma, Extended Dance Remix
5. White Leopard Habitat
6. Unique Snowflakes
2. Tommy Girl
Jarod lost her on the corner of Broadway and 16th and had to stop to regain his bearings, wondering which of the shops she’d entered. He surveyed the street, then crossed to a newspaper stand and picked out a New York Times to give him cover while he waited for her to come back into view. He was paying for the paper when a voice behind him made him freeze.
"You can buy me a Glamour while you’re at it. I just love their articles on how to get the most out of your summer wardrobe."
Jarod turned around and assumed his most puzzled expression for the woman standing there, one hand on a jutting hip, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you following me?” An icy gaze sized him up, lingering on his jacket, checking all the places where weapons could be hidden, then snapped back to focus on his eyes. “Don’t even try to lie, Wonderboy. I spotted you at the 27th Street station. You’ve been exactly a block and a half behind me for ten blocks. Not a cop, not one of Corelli’s men-“ Her expression locked down, hard. “Do you work for my father?”
“No, I don’t work for him.” Jarod folded up his paper and shook his head, feeling startled and off-guard. He’d planned how to approach her, but that was supposed to be later, when he had the evidence and photographs at hand. This was just supposed to be reconnaissance, to get a feel for what she was like. And definitely not for getting caught like some stalker or Sweeper. Time to improvise, then. “My name is Jarod Spenser. I’m a private investigator working on the Valerie Mancini case. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Ms. Gates-“
”You didn’t.”
“-but I wanted to talk to you about evidence that has been misplaced in Miss Mancini’s defense. And I wasn’t sure how to talk to you without your colleagues finding out.” Jarod finally got all that out, and took a breath. Her eyes had narrowed a minute amount when he’d said his name and occupation, but otherwise, Miranda Gates’ face had remained studiously blank. He could see how she’d acquired her reputation as a trial lawyer. That stare demanded explanations, doubted everything, and was dissatisfied with the way he was breathing, much less his reasons for following her.
A tiny frown line appeared between her brows as she processed what he’d said. “What kind of evidence? And are you implying what I think you’re implying?” He drew breath to further explain, and she raised a hand to stop him. “I need coffee for this. You’re buying.”
“I am?”
She’d already gotten a grip on his elbow and was steering him into the Starbucks across the street. “My time, your dime. In caffeine. And if this is some ploy to screw up the case or get me disbarred, I’ll have your P.I. license, your driver’s license, and your gun license suspended in a heartbeat. Got it?”
“I don’t usually carry a gun-“ That glare only wanted one response. “Got it.”
“Venti espresso extra whipped cream, chocolate shavings,” she said, pushing open the door and pointing at the counter. “And a muffin.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juries must have found her terrifying. Jarod was finding himself unwillingly intrigued.
When he returned with their drinks, he handed one over to her, along with a chocolate-chip muffin, then took a sip of his own coffee. “Someone within your department has hidden exculpatory evidence that would result in the dropping of the charges against Valerie Mancini. By process of elimination, I know it wasn’t you. I’d like your help in finding the evidence and catching the person responsible.”
“This isn’t an espresso.” She frowned at her cup, ignoring his explanation. “This is cocoa. They switched the orders.”
“No, they didn’t.” Jarod took another sip of his drink. “Espresso is bad for your ulcer.”
You’d think he’d killed her cat. “Excuse me?”
“Ms. Gates, I’ve done a little research on you. Your visit to the hospital last spring isn’t exactly a secret; you collapsed in the middle of jury selection.” Jarod fielded the extra venom in her glare with, “I wanted to know who I was dealing with. And if you’d be willing to take this problem all the way to its proper conclusion.”
“Mr. Spenser, if you’d done enough research on me, you’d know I hate being told what to do, or people making decisions for me, and definitely people spying on me.” She slammed the cup back down in front of him, then stormed over to the counter, ordering a venti espresso with whipped cream and sprinkles in a voice that could cut glass. Jarod sighed, and popped the lid on the cocoa, licking the whipped cream off the top while he waited for her to return.
This was not going like he’d simmed it. She wasn’t supposed to be angry with him, she wasn’t supposed to be this pushy, and she wasn’t supposed to want to ignore his concerns. Jarod watched her head for the Ladies’ Room, probably to calm down, and tried to think of a better approach.
Ten minutes later she returned; he wondered how high she’d had to count to get her temper under control, but it seemed to have worked. She picked up her new order at the counter before joining him, still glaring, but less irate. “And I have never, ever backed down on a case. Everyone knows that about me, too. Any evidence you have of misconduct or concealment should be taken to Mancini’s defense attorney, as well as the DA’s office. Why involve me?”
Might as well go for broke. “I have a plan to catch D.A. Hendricks in the act. But it requires your cooperation….”
Miraculously, Gates actually listened as he outlined the Pretend, her anger abating as she became interested in the sting. She smiled as he pointed out the advantages to his plan, wedding band tapping against her cup as she thought. The smile took years off her expression, and Jarod found himself foolishly smiling back, hopeful again. “Well?”
Another sip of espresso, then, judiciously, “I like it. The judge may throw out the case and declare a mistrial, but at the least we’ll get another investigation, and Mancini will get a fairer hearing. This whole set-up has been fishy from day one.” She nodded sharply. “I’ll do it if you tell me your real connection to the Mancinis. They haven’t hired you, and the public defender’s office has no idea who you are, even if you are in good standing with New York State.”
“How-you made a phone call when you left.” He should have expected that. Good thing his license was in order. “I never said I was working for the public defender’s office.”
“Don’t try to quibble over legalities with a prosecutor, Spenser. You implied it, and hoped I’d assume you were working for the defense.” Gates frowned again, and said, “Spenser. Like the Robert Parker detective?”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“Mmmm. So? Your connection?”
“Just call me a friend of the family. Someone who wants to see justice done.” He should have expected the uspicion -- any good lawyer would be wary -- but maybe he’d gotten over-confident, with too many successful Pretends under his belt over the recent months. Maybe he should have realized that in order to survive and thrive away from her father, she’d had to look for more than the average person, notice more. That she'd gotten the drop on him was enough indication of her abilities.
Gates tilted her head, fingers drumming on her cup again, a remnant of the smoking she’d given up over a year ago. Not that she would be happy he knew about that, either. “I can’t figure you, Spenser. That Boy Scout motivation you just gave me-that’s the most truthful thing you’ve said since we met.”
Jarod nearly choked on his coffee. “What?”
“I know liars, Jarod.” She leaned in, and Jarod swallowed, fingers tightening on his cup, fighting the urge to flee. Or lean in closer than before, as her voice lowered to a purr. “You’re a liar.” She flashed him that wicked smile again. “But, you’re a liar who’s on the right side. Truth and justice for all. So I’m going to let that slide.” A long dark fingernail snapped up in line with his eye. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“No, ma’am.”
Another suspicious look. “You get more polite when you lie, you know.” She finished her drink and headed for the door. “See you in court, Marlowe.”
“Spenser.”
“Whatever.”
After she left, Jarod let out a long, slow breath. Informing her that he’d been investigating her husband’s death as well as Corelli’s interest in her seemed a lot more dangerous than it had an hour ago, for some reason. He caught himself tracing the lipstick print she’d left on the coffee cup she’d left behind, and blinked.
1. Meet Cute
2. Tommy Girl
3. Stockholm is for Suckers
4. Prisoner's Dilemma, Extended Dance Remix
5. White Leopard Habitat
6. Unique Snowflakes