Page 42 of Rules of Engagement

"Wow!"

"I know. The thieves are top end too. I gotta tell you, Lexi, after my stint with the FBI, which wasn't what I thought it would be, I'm beginning to enjoy my life."

I frowned. "Aren't you still working for the FBI?"

"Yes, but I only have my desk at the local field office to maintain a cover. I'm rarely there, though if you ever need to find me, they'll make sure I get the message."

"Good to know." I rested my head on the headrest and dabbed my eyes with the tissue. "Who would have guessed that only a few years ago, this would be what we were doing now?"

"Not me," said Maddox. "I had very different ideas back then. I never saw myself leaving the police force. I thought I'd be a detective until the day I died."

"You're still a detective. Just a different kind of one," I pointed out.

"What about you? Did you envisage any of this when you got that job temping at Green Hand Insurance?"

I shook my head and laughed. "No! I had no idea what I wanted in life then. I was pretty aimless."

"Smart and bored. You could have been trouble."

"I was trouble," I recalled.

Maddox glanced to me. "You were never trouble."

"I don't think anyone else agrees with you," I said, joining him when he laughed.

"That's Hemingway, McCarthy and Gort's building," he said, pointing to a tall building only four blocks from the agency.

"Fancy."

"They're a fancy firm. All the city's high rollers use them. They're very rich, very discreet, and virtually, impenetrable."

"How do you mean?"

"Nothing criminal. They're just very protective of their clients."

"I'm here in regard to a client. They already knew about me."

"Doesn't mean they'll tell you anything. Want me to come in with you?"

"Yes, please. An FBI presence might motivate them to loosen their tongues more freely, even if they refuse to talk to me."

We parked a block away and walked over. Pondering what I wanted to say or ask, I hadn't gotten too much further than when, why, where, and how, by the time we walked through the revolving doors and stepped into an expansive, very expensive and luxurious, marble lobby. There was a security and help desk in a semi circle but people walked to and from the bank of elevators unimpeded. I nudged Maddox and we walked toward the elevator. "The sign over there says that Hemingway, McCarthy and Gort occupy floors eleven to fourteen," I said.

Maddox pressed the number eleven and we rose to the floor rather quickly before stepping into a smaller lobby. "Good morning," said the shiny-haired receptionist. "Do you have an appointment?"

"With Thomas Gort," I said.

"And you are?"

"Lexi Graves."

"I don't see your name in Mr. Gort's calendar. Is he expecting you?"

"We spoke earlier about a legal matter," I said. "He should be expecting me."

"Please take a seat," she said, indicating the leather couch against the wall. She tapped her headset and spoke while watching us. Maddox sat down and I joined him. The artwork on the wall opposite us was splashed with different colors, the hues moving from light to dark across the canvas. I felt sure someone could have had something very clever to say about the painting but it didn’t matter to me. I found it attractive and interesting. Fixing my gaze on the walls, a woman in a pencil skirt suit walked into the lobby and approached us.

"I'm Mr. Gort's assistant, Cordelia," she said. Maddox and I both stood up to greet her politely. "Mr. Gort is engaged at the moment but he sent me out to thank you for your visit and said he hopes all is well with the package he issued to you."

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