Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

Carlos scanned the report, trying to take in as much as he could before Reggie picked it up. His brain spun into action. He’d read about this in one of the forensic science journals at the office. The cocaine was mixed into alcohol until it dissolved. The material was then soaked in the tainted liquid, and by the time the alcohol evaporated, the cocaine remained behind in the fabric. It was stiff, like Mika’s vestments, and a good 30 to 40 percent heavier than it was before, but unless customs inspectors knew what they were looking for, they never noticed.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Mika’s voice wavered. “Why would I do that to my friends? They were hurt.”

“An accident? A way to cover your tracks? Hell, maybe you have a real sick sense of humor.” Reggie pulled out a single sheet from the folder and pushed it toward them. “Money troubles do crazy things to people.”

Carlos glanced down at the paper. It was Mika’s financials. Maxed credit cards. A bank balance that was circling zero. Her car had been repossessed. Totally circumstantial, but with the right judge, her financials combined with the fact that she’d made the vestments could be enough for a search warrant.

Reggie planted his hands on the table and loomed over Mika. “Where’s the rest of the tainted fabric, Miss Ito?”

Carlos jumped in before she could answer. “If you had any proof that she was a drug mule, she’d be sitting in that chair.” He nodded toward the suspect chair where Reggie had sat.

Reggie lifted his palms off the table and stood straight, letting his bulk do part of the talking for him. “You have motive and opportunity, Miss Ito. The LARP events are the perfect opportunity for a little dealing, but my guess is that your buyer got anxious and couldn’t wait. Demand is up and supply is low, except for what your court is wearing. My lieutenant likes you for this, and I have a line of six more open cases waiting for my attention. There’s not time for you to waffle on this. Help me and I’ll talk to the DA about a deal.”

Instead of shrinking under the onslaught, she lifted her chin and glared at the detective, but the jiggle in her knee gave her away. “I don’t know anything.”

“No one believes that, Miss Ito.”

Even when he was faking it, the detective was damn good at his job. He’d rattled Mika’s cage hard. It was an old interrogation technique—push and prod until you found a weak spot, and then go in for the kill. It wasn’t a finesse move, but it worked. Mika’s knee was bouncing like a jackhammer, and she was going to chew a hole into her lip if she kept worrying it like she was. He needed to get her the hell out of here.

“Enough, Reggie.” Carlos pushed up from his chair. “We’re out of here, Mika.”

He helped her up and led her to the door.

“This is a one-time offer, Miss Ito,” Reggie said. “Think about it before you walk out that door.”

“I don’t know anything.” Mika strode out.

Carlos lingered halfway out the door, patting his pockets as if he was looking for his keys. The green light on the camera clicked off. “How bad?”

“It’s coming from up on high from someone above Kilburn, and it’s rolling down like a massive mudslide,” Reggie whispered.

Carlos needed to get Mika out in front of it, before they got caught up in the downhill slide. Until this case was over, she was his responsibility. “Thanks.”

“’Los.” Reggie rubbed the back of his neck. “Be careful. This thing stinks, but that doesn’t mean she’s not in on it.”

He’d like to think he didn’t need the reminder, but after last night, maybe he did. If he didn’t want to get duped for a second time by a hot woman with a penchant for Magic Battledome, he needed to stop thinking with his dick and instead use his head to solve this case so he could get back to his new life.

Chapter Nine

“Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.”

—Coco Chanel

Mika couldn’t breath. She’d made it out of the police station, into Carlos’s car, and put the seat belt on before her lungs gave out and her vision turned blurry. A drug mule. A drug mule! It was crazy. The most illegal thing she’d ever done was drink underage, and even that hadn’t been until college. The pinch in her chest made her wince. She sucked in a thin breath, then another and another until her vision cleared.

Carlos steered his car through Harbor City’s streets, his hands on ten and two. He didn’t even slide a sideways glance her way as the vein in his temple bulged against his skin. It was as good as a blinking neon sign over his head to denote his mistrust.

It shouldn’t hurt…but it did.

She twisted in her seat and looked at him, willing him to believe her. “I’m not a drug mule.”

“Okay.” But his hard tone signaled his suspicion.

She laid her palm on his thigh. “Really.”

He pulled the car over and parked in the back corner of a bank on the edge of Harbor City’s fashion district. The lunch hour had just started, and the sidewalk was crowded with designers, seamstresses, interns, and others in the business who were hurrying to the many bistros lining the street. Carlos picked up her arm by the wrist and moved it back to her own lap.

Embarrassment burned her cheeks. She’d rather screaming fury than this cold detachment. Especially after last night. Not that she expected a proposal, but there had been something extra to how he’d touched her—something almost reverent that she’d never experienced before. Mi cielo. My heaven. Right now, it felt like hell.