Freda thrust open Cullen’s office door and announced Mei Lu. Just as on the previous day, she then made herself scarce.
“You’re prompt,” Cullen said. “I like that in an associate.”
Mei unbuttoned the single button on her jacket and sat in the same chair she’d occupied yesterday. His casual use of the word associate didn’t escape her. She sincerely doubted it held the same meaning for him as it did for her, and decided to test the waters now. “I see you have a photocopy machine.” She avoided looking directly at him as she kept her gaze on the notebook she flipped open. “Since we’ll be splitting tasks, wouldn’t it be wise if we started with the same facts?”
Raising her eyes a little at a time, Mei added, “I’m sure you see the logic of giving me all the evidence you have up to this point.”
She’d quite clearly caught Cullen off guard. He said nothing, then coughed, then rapidly clicked his ballpoint pen—a habit Mei had noticed whenever he seemed deep in thought. As if on cue, Freda breezed into the office bearing a tray filled with steaming dishes. A pot of tea. A small carafe of coffee. On the tray, as well, was a variety of breakfast items. Fluffy scrambled eggs. Buttered homemade breads. Sausage patties and crispy bacon. And an assortment of cold fruit. Freda set the large tray in the center of Cullen’s desk. From an apron pocket she produced silverware wrapped in blue linen napkins.
“Scoot your chair right on up here, dear,” she told Mei Lu. “Eat while it’s hot. The plates are still warm. You’ll find two under the meat platter.” Beaming into Mei’s surprised face, the housekeeper, who seemed to do everything at a dead run, turned and vanished.
Cullen passed one plate and a silver service to Mei. “Correct me if I guessed wrong. But I’m reasonably sure that you haven’t had breakfast.”
Mei attempted to hide a telltale expression.
Cullen had sharp eyes. “That’s what I figured. Last night after I got home from the morgue and told Freda what time to expect you, she pointed out that you wouldn’t have time for breakfast.” He shrugged. “I mistakenly assumed you lived with your parents. I have no idea why I thought that. Thirty-something women rarely live at home. Dig in.” He motioned toward the eggs with his fork.
Mei complied, but hadn’t managed to halt one eyebrow from spiking toward her hairline.
“What? You think it’s rude of me to bring up a lady’s age?” Cullen filched a piece of bacon off the meat platter, grinning as he bit into it.
“I’m only questioning how you know my age. And why.”
“For the record, I’m thirty-six.” Cullen saved his scowl for the small amount Mei put on her plate. “Interpol assembles dossiers on everyone involved in one of their cases.”
“So, I can request your dossier? I mean, if we’re going to work together and you have mine. Isn’t turnabout fair play?”
He paused to sample his coffee. “I’ll request one for you. How’s the tea? I’ve heard tea-drinkers are fussier than coffee slobs. As a rule, we’re happy with anything that’s not total sludge.”
Mei peered into the pot, poured tea into her cup, then tasted it while Cullen watched. “Lapsang,” she announced, pleased. Lapsang didn’t usually come from a bag.
“I’m glad you like it. After you left yesterday, and before the call from Homicide, I discovered we were out of tea. I stopped at the market on my way home. I have to admit their selection boggled my mind.”
“Thank you for your consideration, but there’s no need to feed me at our meetings. I’m quite used to hitting the ground running. We’re not here to socialize, but to lay out a plan for finding the people trafficking in stolen treasures. Or worse. Although the dead couriers are Homicide’s problem.”
Cullen knew he’d been put in his place. “Normally I don’t work with a partner. Tracking lost or stolen art is usually a solitary pursuit. So forgive me if I’m unfamiliar with partnership protocol. I felt…hoped things would go more smoothly if we got along.”
Ah, they were finally getting somewhere. Mei set her plate back on the tray and poured herself more tea. She leaned back, studying him over the rim of the cup. “That’s where we differ, Mr. Archer. I always work with a team initially. But once all the team members understand the scope of the situation we’re investigating, we go our separate ways, touching base once a week to update the others on our progress.”
“I think we should start by using first names. Call me Cullen. Do you prefer Mei or Mei Lu?”
She waffled a bit, having had this same discussion with Captain Murdock yesterday. And the way her name sounded as it fell musically from this man’s lips took her mind off the matter at hand. “In any investigation undertaken by our department, staff would call me Lieutenant. Last night you didn’t tell me whether you have a rank at Interpol. If so, I think that would be the most professional approach. I admit I’m surprised to find an agent of theirs living in Houston.”
“I’m a civilian on a list of private insurance investigators that all insurance companies can access. They call someone on the list whenever an insured item is stolen or goes missing. If I’m tied up on another case or decline their offer, they go to the next name. As to living here—” he waved a hand airily “—that’s a result of my great-grandfather’s toil and a bit of luck. Matt Archer was a wildcatter who hit black gold. His wife, Sophia, sheltered their newly acquired fortune in land, cattle and fine art. His son, my grandfather, was something of an entrepreneur. My father, who was ambassador to Indonesia for many years, helped develop an art-exchange program. When Mom died, he married a woman from Djakarta. Never had a desire to come back here.” He paused.
Mei murmured for him to continue.
“I attended university in England. After graduation, you might say I fell into a job with a prominent gallery in Paris, as a broker of European art. I saw high-end paintings ship but fail to reach their destinations, and I wanted to know where such pieces went. It turns out I had a knack for getting them back. As a matter of course, I attracted the attention of our insurers, like Lloyd’s of London. I soon discovered they paid better for what I’d been doing for a pittance. At times my path crossed Interpol’s. Art recovery became an ongoing passion, one I was able to continue even after I moved home to manage my grandfather’s estate following his death. Now you have most of what’s in my dossier,” he said wryly.
Maybe most, but not all. Mei thought he’d neatly skirted the facts surrounding both his marriage and divorce. “You certainly have an interesting, eclectic background. You’re no doubt aware that the extent of my investigative experience is local, or in some cases tracking leads into bordering states. I look forward to learning how you hunt criminals and question potential witnesses in other countries.”
Cullen glanced over her head and made no comment, but waited for Freda to enter and collect the tray from his desk.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I wanted to give you a heads-up about the children beginning to stir. It seems that no matter how hard I try to keep them from invading your office when you’re working, they manage to finagle their way around me.”
“That’s fine, Freda. Belinda, especially, needs to start her day with hugs.”
The woman asked if either of them needed anything else; when both Cullen and Mei said they were fine, Freda cleared the desk and left in a rattle of dishes.
“Your children are lucky you’re so easygoing,” Mei Lu remarked in the ensuing silence.
“Yes. Well,