Nothing to Lose

THREE

THREE

The easiest way to find her ex was to visit his workplace. Sometimes his being a workaholic paid dividends. Not when she wanted to go places while they were together, no; but tracking him down was always easy.

His high-profile case kept him busy. While she’d love to distract him from the trial-that-could-get-him-killed, talking on the phone hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Face-to-face was next on the list, so she texted him to arrange dinner, giving him no option to refuse.

The throng of reporters outside her building had increased overnight. Not all of them were official reporters. Some were citizens with blogs. Others, influencers.

The real surprise was the number of fans congregating. People who’d watched her streams. The determined autograph hunters mentioned Zairn as often as possible. Coming up with non-answer answers grew difficult. In the end, it was easier to depart with apologies. Thank God she had a date. Not a date, date, but somewhere to be.

Despite the delays, Roxie was on time and waiting on the sidewalk when Porter finally emerged from the side exit he always used. Arms folded, her brow crooked, Roxie wasn’t in the mood to give him a break.

“Hey! You look good, RoRo,” Porter said, putting a hand on her arm as he bowed to kiss the corner of her mouth.

“You really have the balls to smile at me?”

“I can tell you haven’t had a drink yet.” Porter pulled her into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m surprised you noticed I wasn’t around,” Roxie said, just looking at his hand when he offered it. “Do you think I want to socialize with a hitman’s target?”

He opened his arms. “I’m fine. Do I look worried?”

Unfortunately, he was smiling, which increased her concern. “You’re a complacent idiot.”

Porter glanced at the car a few feet away and the goons loitering nearby. “These yours?”

“We can walk,” she said. “They’ll keep up. Don’t change the subject.”

“What was the subject?”

“You being a complacent idiot.”

“We know it was Joey,” Porter said, putting an arm around her to guide her along the street. “We’ve got him. We know it.”

“Won’t make much difference if you’re dead.”

“You tried that line already,” Porter said. “This is a make or break case for my career.”

“Yeah, and why the hell are you thinking about running for office? You’re planning to steal Tim’s job? He’s always been good to us.”

“I have great respect for SA Tim Unst.”

“You’re thirty-five. That’s practically a teenager in SA terms.”

“Yeah, I’m a kid,” he scoffed.

“You are. Why would you—”

“The idea of congress has been floated.”

“Jesus, Porter.” She stopped to look at him, amazed he was the same man who’d shared her bed. “Since when do you care about politics?”

“It’s something I always thought about, you know, in the back of my mind,” he said, taking her hand when they started walking again. “I didn’t think it would be a possibility, not for another few years. This case has accelerated plans, that’s all.”

“Then you didn’t think through dating me,” she said. “Do you think I could be a congressman’s wife? I don’t like kissing babies… Okay, well, kissing them is fine, but it’s a downer listening to everyone’s problems all day long, cutting ribbons, giving speeches, yawn.”

“Wasn’t the reason we broke up that you didn’t want to be anyone’s wife?”

She inhaled, ready to object, but his point was valid. “I could be a mistress. I’d be an excellent mistress.”

“I’ll call you if I get voted in… Though your recent notoriety would be helpful, you know, in a campaign… if we were together.”

“If we were together,” she said, emphasizing the first word, “there’s no way my flying around the world touring nightclubs would be a plus for any political campaign.”

“I’ve heard a lot about Lomond. That he has connections in Washington.”

The way Porter let that hang implied he expected a response. Roxie waited a few extra beats before speaking. “He never mentioned anyone to me.”

“Did you part on good terms? The video suggested you were friendly.”

As people loved to speculate about out loud. “I’m moving forward with my life, Porter. Onward and upward.”

“He’s influential. He could sponsor an event, invite his contacts to—”

“The closest Crimson is in Manhattan. Why would a New Yorker care about Chicago politics?”

“He must know people in Chicago.”

“Why are we talking about him?” she asked. “You’re deflecting. I came down to find out when you’re giving up the Gambatto thing. Because until you do, I’m stuck with my shadows.”

She nodded backward to Trevor and his colleague tailing them.

Porter glanced back. “I won’t give it up,” he said. “I’m going to talk you through it. When you hear about the relationship Gambatto had with the victim, how he treated her, you’ll be behind me. I guarantee it.”

“I thought you were taking me out for dinner.”

“We’re going back to the hotel.”

She groaned. “If we were going to eat in somewhere, you could’ve come over to mine. I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

“We’ll order room service. Toria and Jane don’t know how to butt out when you’re entertaining.”

“It’s their apartment too,” she said. “They’re social. Sue them.”

“They don’t give you privacy. Anyway, your luggage will drive me crazy.”

“My luggage?” she asked.

He glanced her way. “You got in yesterday and haven’t unpacked yet.”

“How do you know?”

He smiled at her. “Have you?” Roxie didn’t respond. “I know you, RoRo.”

“Okay, you’re so clever. Maybe law wasn’t your calling, you should be a detective.”

He laughed. “You’re my specialist subject. I take comfort in your predictability… Have you got your phone?”

“The battery’s dead…” Roxie’s words trailed off. “Fine, okay, I’m predictable. Let’s get inside and be predictable there. I want food.”

Porter could try to convince her, but Roxie wasn’t ready to change her mind. Gambatto was dangerous. Details of his violence wouldn’t better her opinion of him. Porter could talk all night. It wouldn’t erase the trouble looming on the horizon.