Trust Me on This - Jennifer Crusie [1]
Exactly like her nephew.
Alec wasn’t an infant, of course. She counted back. She was twenty-four years older than he was so … good Lord, he was thirty-eight. How had that happened? While she was slowly turning to rock, he’d been aging too. Well, it didn’t matter. He was still younger than she was, still able to make her feel alive when she was with him.
I’m not ready to solidify yet, she thought. Alec would go to the conference with her. He always did whatever she asked since she never asked much, and once there, she could bicker with him over dinner and harass him about settling down before he hit forty, and generally use him to get an attitude adjustment while she watched him dazzle every woman in the place with his aw-shucks charm and farm-boy face. If her life was dull and stuffy and essentially over, at least she still had the energy to interfere in his. She fed the card into the fax machine and punched in his office fax number, and when it went through, she picked up her phone and dialed him.
“I just faxed you an invitation for a month from now,” she told him when he picked up the phone. “Accept it or you’ll rot in hell for disappointing your favorite relative who gave you the best summers of your life.”
“I accept,” Alec said. “And hello to you too.”
Alec Prentice tossed the fax on his boss’s desk. “Three glorious nights, Harry. That’s what we both need.”
Harry Chase grunted and tossed it back, refusing to move his eyes from his computer.
“No, Harry.” Alec put the paper in front of the older man again. “Look at it.”
Harry glanced at it. “Great.” He stared back into the computer screen.
“That’s where I’m going next month. My aunt’s speaking at this conference, and I’m going.” Alec waited and then said, “Harry, I’m going out of town three weeks from Thursday. Hello?”
“I know.” Harry ducked his grizzled head as he clicked a couple of keys. The computer screen flexed and rearranged itself, and Harry growled at it.
“Harry—” Alec tried again.
“I know.” Harry looked up from the screen. “You’re going to hear your aunt give a speech. You told me. I know.” His eyes shifted back to the screen.
“It’s a literature conference, Harry,” Alec said distinctly. “College professors.”
Harry’s eyes stayed on the screen. “So?”
“I was thinking of that guy who came up on the scan the other day, Brian Bond. He’s never pulled his con in Ohio, and he’s running out of states.”
Harry took his gaze from the screen and narrowed his eyes at Alec.
“Right.” Alec relaxed now that he had Harry’s attention. “This is a nice convention. According to my aunt, nobody’s reputation ever got made or unmade at a pop lit conference. They’ll all be rested, optimistic, and probably juiced. It’s prime stuff for Bond.”
Harry considered it, shrugged, and turned back to the computer. “It’s a long shot.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Alec surveyed the older man with disgust. “You used to be the first one on the trail. I know you’ve got twenty years on me, but you can’t be giving up yet. Two years in front of a computer and all of a sudden you’re not interested in actually nailing the bad guys?”
“It’s a long shot,” Harry repeated. “The database isn’t.”
“There is more to life than a national database,” Alec said.
“Not to my life,” Harry said.
“Well, I wouldn’t brag about it.” Alec retrieved the announcement. “Bond usually works with a woman, right?”
Harry punched a couple of keys, and the screen rescrambled itself. “Right,” he said as he read the profile. “A brunette. We don’t have much on her. His last hit was in Nashville, three months ago.”
“Maybe she’ll seduce me,” Alec said hopefully. “I’ll wear my glasses. It’s amazing how many people try to sell me things when I wear my glasses.”
Harry snorted again and Alec knew why: It wasn’t amazing at all, it was a calculated effect. He thought wistfully of how in the past he’d traded on his open face to perfect