been anything. Weather, permits. It was shot on a shoestring, so who knows. Anyway, the movie did well for the company, and Weinberg was off and running. He used the same team in three other pictures. Eccles, Bobbi and Danny.”
“How cozy.”
“I’ll say. And for what it’s worth, the Mexico shoot was the last one Geiger did as an employee. He went freelance after that.”
“Okay. Great. I appreciate it so much.”
“You can repay me by taking me to lunch with Danny Austen.”
Mia winced. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as she hung up, she printed out her daily log. It was the last thing she had to do before Ellen, the second-shift concierge, took over.
The afternoon had been brutal, one call after another, and while most everything had been taken care of, there were still two items for follow-up. One was a pair of tickets to a sold-out show, the other the limo service for Ms. Tamony, who was going out again tonight, but she hadn’t known what time.
Mia waited the few seconds for the printout, then put the page in the book. That was it, she was done. She could go now, get changed, make it to the subway in plenty of time to catch the train. But she didn’t leave, not even when Ellen took her place behind the desk.
Mia thought about what Carlane had told her, wondering how Mexico fit into the picture, if it did at all. Then she thought about Weinberg’s digital picture collection, and she felt sick to her stomach all over again.
Of course, that made her think about Bax. She knew she had to tell him that she’d been snooping, and she also knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled about that, but she hoped the data she’d gathered would make up for it.
Mia lingered for a few more minutes, looking from the front entrance to the elevator, and then it hit her. She was behaving like a child. A lovesick child. How often had she been scornful of other women for their foolishness around men. She’d been completely intolerant of their constant preoccupation. No man, she’d been certain, would ever turn her into one of those desperate, pathetic creatures.
And here she was.
Breaking and entering. Snooping. Prying. All because she wanted to impress him.
She couldn’t kid herself about it any longer. She wanted to solve this murder so that they could be together, yes, but also because she thought he’d like her more if she cracked the case.
Brilliant.
The awful thing was, she barely knew this man. It didn’t feel that way. In fact, she could hardly believe they hadn’t been close for years, but the truth was they were practically strangers. Even if there was a possibility of something happening between them, her behavior was completely ridiculous.
She’d read enough to know that the human body will go to great lengths to compel the species to replicate. It was biological and therefore unavoidable. And she’d heard of love at first sight, which she’d always enjoyed as a fictional premise, but never thought would happen to her. Even so, the degree of idiocy one exhibits in this particular situation was entirely dependent on character. On willpower, damn it.
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