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But the smile nearly knocked me over.
"Tell me," she ordered.
"Three-inch heels sound different than one-inch heels." I nodded toward her shoes as I found my voice. "You're the only one who wears three-inch heels. I have extremely well-developed hearing."
"That's not the only thing I hear is well-developed," she said with a wiggle of her beautifully shaped eyebrows. "I read my e-mails over the weekend. Alison's sister's quite the lucky little hottie, isn't she?"
I was conscious that my mouth was hanging open and equally conscious that I was not going to be able to close it. Had Shawn Michaels just made a sexual reference about me? To my face? A favorable sexual reference? Was this another dream?
"And I read your story," she said, still smiling. "Nice job, Hando. How'd you dig that one up?"
My suspicions returned instantly.
"Source," I said in an off-hand way.
"Well, it was great," she said, shaking her head. "Wish I had a source like that. So how's the follow-up going?"
"Um, not so good," I said. "That Simpson asshole produced a set of those computer-imaged cancelled checks from the Governor's personal account on Friday. Reimbursing Amalgamated Coal for the use of its plane over the last four years. I spent the whole weekend studying them. I got shit. Leaving me with a story that the Governor's got friends in the coal industry. Big whoop."
"Wow," Shawn said with a laugh and a well-practiced toss of her long hair. "That was fast. When I ask my bank for a copy of a check they're like, 'I'm afraid it will take some time to access that information, Miss Michaels.' And it's never their fault either. It's always the computer."
"Really," I said. My eyes were still staring at Shawn but my mind was elsewhere.
"Are you okay, Hando? Rick?"
"Really," I repeated as a thought coalesced in my mind.
I reached up and grabbed Shawn by the shoulders. Before she could react, I brought her down and kissed her squarely on the lips.
"You're beautiful!" I cried. "I love you!"
I wheeled around and picked up the phone.
"Hey, Melissa. It's Rick Handley. Don't you guys on the fourth floor ever go home? Yeah, I know. Always facts to check. Speaking of facts, do you happen to know the Governor's Social Security number? Great. And his date of birth? And his wife's? And the kids'? Wonderful. Thanks. I owe you one."
Shawn stared at the paper where I had written down the information.
"Why do you need all that?" she asked.
"Shot in the dark," I said. I had a wild, desperate smile on my face as I punched a button for a new line. "The governor's a bright guy, you know, but his wife isn't exactly the most seaworthy ship in the port, if you get my drift."
"So what do you think the chances are that she used her birthday, or her husband's or one of her kids' birthdays for the password on their bank account? 'Cause if you know the Social and the password, getting into the account's no problem at all."
She opened her eyes wide as I dialed the automated system at the governor's bank, which was coincidentally the same one that I used. It took me two tries; it turned out to be the oldest kid's birthday.
"Fuckin' A!" I banged my fist on the desk.
"Fuckin A!" I yelled again.
"What?" Shawn asked again as I finally hung up.
"They're forgeries," I said. "See this one here? Check number two-six-three-zero? According to the bank, the check with that number was for forty-three dollars and twenty-six cents. And this one? Two hundred dollars. None of these are the real things. Son of a bitch."
"What's going on?"
Rachel had arrived and was standing next to Shawn. I could smell her perfume.
"Shawn just saved my ass," I said. "Can I co-credit her for this story?"
I heard no answer and wheeled around to find both women staring at me.
"If you're serious," Rachel finally said. "And Shawn doesn't have a problem with it."
We both looked at Shawn, who had the grace to look quite embarrassed.