Chapter 14

The buzzer on his desk sounded again and Oswald waddled with Cassandra still wrapped around his chest to answer it. He relished every second of her holding on to him.

"She is on her way back now. She has taken care of the other matter," Gabe said, referring to Fara. Oswald hung up the phone and leaned back into Cassandra.

"We have some rooms," he told her. "None of them are being used. Just choose the one you like best. Gabe placed your bags in the one next to my office, but you can move, if you prefer."

"So this is like a hotel too?" Cassandra asked. Oswald wrinkled his face and turned a shade darker. He begrudgingly disengaged from Cassandra's grasp, turning to address her.

"Not exactly," he said. Ugh. He did not want to tell her this. "Some of the women who worked here were also engaged in the world's oldest profession, but not anymore. Probably one of the reasons I'm losing money, but I don't trade in skin."

The look on her face was dubious—he could see the gears in her head shifting, questioning the cleanliness of the rooms. "The beds are clean. Have been cleaned. They're clean," he offered, suppressing the urge to laugh. "I have some business to conduct, but I still wish to speak with you. That is, if you are not too tired. Of course, I understand if you are, should you select to retire. It has been quite the eventful evening."

I'm rambling, he thought.

He stopped suddenly at the door and just stood there looking at her, beaming. "I am the happiest I have been in a long time—if ever—if this is what happiness feels like. I'm not even sure." He turned to walk out, but stopped again. "Are you hungry? I can have the chef fix you something. The kitchen stays open quite late. I will let him know to expect your call."

Rambling again. I sound like an idiot.

He hesitated once more and drummed his fingers on the edge of the door. "And, um, Cassandra?" She raised an eyebrow. "Try not to set anything on fire while I'm gone."

"What? You don't have any papers that need burning, ledgers that might be better off becoming ash?" She grinned. His eyes lit up.

Oswald did not remember how he got from there to the lower floor where Gabe and Fara waited for him. He thought he may have floated. However, a part of him was a tad concerned that a portion of the second floor might actually be toast by the time he got back.

For some reason, this simultaneously scared him and turned him on.

"Here is the phone." Fara handed Oswald the flip phone. Wow, a dinosaur, but it could still take and store pictures. They flipped through the photos as if they were at a family gathering showing off their grandchildren. There were pictures of Ed and Ann. Ann and another gentleman Oswald recognized. A few just of Ed. Ann at the hospital. Ann with a newborn baby. A few proud relatives. More pictures of the baby, now a few months old, at least. They came across the last picture—the one of the murdered couple, and Oswald swore under his breath.

"This is not Ed," he said. "This is Ann's brother." Oswald was willing to take bets he knew were Ed had been that night—holed up in some bar, drowning in booze instead of his wife, where any attentive husband would have been. Oswald recollected all that time he had been away from Cassandra and it enraged him that Ed would not know a good thing when he had it, plus Ed had not been there to see his good thing die before his eyes.

Oswald had been right—Ed loved his drink more than his wife.

I will just take care of him myself. Invite him over for complimentary cocktails. How could Ed refuse? He dialed the speed dial on Ann's phone. There was no answer on Ed's end. He snapped the phone shut and placed it in his pocket.

"Well, let's see if we can locate our buddy, Ed, shall we? Invite him for drinks," Oswald said with his usual smirk. Fara and Gabe nodded, and Oswald caught a glimpse of Butch, Fish Mooney's former devoted lapdog—and man to be reckoned with—watching them from the bar. He had been "reconditioned" by Vicor Zsaz, a complete psychopath who had actually saved Oswald life on a direct order from Falcone. Regardless, Oswald still did not trust Butch completely. He would have to be watched.

Oswald went back to his office and was pleased to see Cassandra was still there, sitting on the rug in front of the fire. She had something in her hand.

What is she burning now?

He was also pleased to see that he still had an office and this floor of the building was still intact.

"What have you got there?" he asked, as he painfully settled onto the floor beside her. She had insisted they move to the couch before he lowered himself, but he waved her concern away and said it would be like old times, when they would sit on the floor of the trailer admiring his top-secret project. They pushed the chairs and couch back until they had enough room to lie back, shoulder to shoulder.

She held the paper above them both.

"Not that I don't trust your security, but I wanted this with me." She offered it to Oswald and he took it, recognizing his own handwriting and reading the words written. It was the letter he had left for her on his last day on the farm.

"You kept it?" he asked, astounded that anyone would care enough to keep something so intimate that had come from him.

"Of course," she said. "I'll never let it go." He could feel her studying his profile and that familiar blush started over his cheeks. He also could not help but start smiling.

"Stop staring at me."

"Not a chance." She paused. "You know—your letter deserves to be framed in gold—no, platinum," she teased. "Better yet—let's paint it on the wall."

"Don't you dare," he grinned. "I think I'll burn it," he teased back, sitting up suddenly. "Take a page out of your book."

She sat up to get it back, but he held it up out of her reach, resulting in them being face to face, one of her hands grasping his lapel. Oswald knew she was only half-heartedly attempting to retrieve it as he was only half-heartedly attempting to keep it away from her. His main reason for doing so was to have her close to him. He enjoyed the way she twisted against him to avoid his maimed leg and got an electric charge when her smooth cheek brushed against his rough one.

When their noses collided, they both stopped struggling, her giggles dying down and his deep belly chuckles fading away. Her free hand was upon his wrist and he lowered his arm slowly until he held both the letter and her hand. He was certain it was not the fire in the hearth that was causing an intense heat to spread throughout his body.

He leaned to kiss her, this time treading softer and slower, not like before when he charged at her like a bull. He wanted to savor her, enjoy her like a fine meal instead of wolfing her down like a starving man eating fast food, even if he was famished.

Maybe this time I will try using my tongue. I mean, that is how people kiss, right? He was positive Cassandra could feel his heart beating through his jacket, coming out of his chest.

There was a knock at the door before their lips could touch and Oswald made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Cassandra wilted and sighed.

"I ordered us something to eat," she said, folding the letter and stuffing it into her bra, to Oswald's delight. "Stay there, I'll get it." After closing the door, she rolled the tray over to Oswald and lifted the lid.

"Ta da!" she exclaimed. "Tuna sandwiches!" There were side dishes and something to drink and some sweet-looking pastry thing as well.

"But you hate tuna," he said with raised eyebrows, but grinning nonetheless.

"That's why I'll be eating all the side dishes," she remarked, grabbing up a cold pasta salad, the one where as a kid she used to pretend she was eating tri-colored grubs. The first time she had revealed that to him, Oswald had turned several shades of zombie.

As he sat there watching Cassandra eat, something dawned on him. Ed had gotten away and until he was found, Cassandra could become a target. It was not like Ed was unconnected. He may even do something dumb, or smart, himself depending upon how you looked at it, while in one of his drunken stupors—which, let's face it—was all the time. But Ed will know that Oswald had Ann and her brother killed, although her brother's death was an unfortunate accident—an unforeseen variable.

If only Ed wasn't such a self-centered man, thought Oswald. The death of Ann's brother was Ed's fault. If Ed had been there to begin with, Ann's brother would have never been privy to this at all. Oswald would be sure to remind Ed of that the next time he saw him.

But what am I going to do with my firebug in the meantime? Watching herlick her fingers or drag them across her mouth gave him a few ideas completely unrelated to the task he now found himself having to consider. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it of the erotic images that sauntered around his brain, turning reason into mush.

Damn, man. Can't you think for a moment?

He was jolted out of his trance by the startling sensation of something vibrating against his chest.

Great. Perfect timing, he thought. Ann's phone was ringing.