“I’m sorry. Did you…were you close?”
“No. He wasn’t a ‘get close’ kind of man. He didn’t even know my name. And I know he was sketchy, but he was...nice. Well, he seemed nice. Always smiling. He always had some crazy story.”
Calliope sighed. She was sure a lot of people would say Phipps had it coming. Nevertheless, he was always in a good mood. He never made her uncomfortable. He always gave cash to the homeless woman outside their building. Okay, so he probably stole a gajillion dollars, but still. Now, Calliope felt like that neighbor who lived next door to a serial killer and told the police he was always so quiet and friendly.
She must have gone pale because Tox disappeared down the hall and returned a moment later with a glass of water. As he held it out to her she had an ill-timed flash of him handing her a glass of wine. She had hoped that if Tox Buchanan had ever appeared at her door, she would invite him into her home for some flirting, some wine, and a little groping. That wouldn’t be happening today.
“Let’s sit,” she sighed and accepted the drink.
Tox looked around as he followed her down the long hall, admiring the original woodwork and the quirky design touches. God, this was perfect Calliope—classic and elegant with just a hint of weird. She turned to face him in the middle of the hall, and Tox had to suck in a breath. Her irises were so pale blue they were nearly white, with tiny shards of dark blue shooting through and a dark blue perimeter—the eyes of a sorceress. She gestured to the dining room. Coco returned to her plaid flannel bed in the corner, spun once, changed direction, spun again, and flopped down.
“Let’s talk in here.”
Tox skirted the red balance ball on the floor and pulled out a chair.
“Don’t tell me you sit on that.”
“Sometimes I stand on it,” she smiled.
“No way.”
“Watch.”
Calliope deftly placed a bare foot in the middle of the balance ball and in one swift motion lifted herself to standing. She shifted to center herself then swooped her hands out in a voila gesture.
Tox nearly swallowed his tongue. If that weren’t enough, Calliope gracefully moved into mountain pose, lifting one leg and bringing her hands together at her chest. Tox surged to his feet. These pants fit fine this morning. His sudden movement caused Calliope to falter. Arms wheeling, she tumbled off the ball…and Tox caught her like a Wallenda.
“Did you do that on purpose?” Calliope asked from her surprisingly comfortable arm-hammock.
“Nah, but I probably will next time.” Tox gave her a little squeeze and returned her to her feet. “That was impressive.”
“I’ve been doing yoga since I was ten.”
Calliope got them back on track. “So, I mentioned I was doing some investigating for The Sentry.”
“Yeah.”
“I heard a gunshot. After I was in the elevator. I think I heard a gunshot.”
They both sat. “Start from the beginning. I want to know everything.”
Calliope recounted the events of last night from her tech snafu to her encounter with Phipps. Tox hung on every word. When she got to the mystery man from the elevator, Tox spoke for the first time.
“Tell me about this man.”
“I don’t know. He was handsome. Well-dressed. Older than you, maybe mid-forties. He looked, I don’t know…I assumed he was a client. He certainly looked the part.”
Tox had to consciously stop himself from grinding his teeth.
“How old are you anyway?” she asked.
“Thirty-two.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“May fifth.”
“A Taurus. I should have guessed. I’m a Scorpio. November seventh. We’re astrological opposites.”