“Nah.” Oliver spread his arms. “What you see here is the true American dream.” He beat his chest. “I came with nothing but the clothes I was wearing, stowing in a K-line cargo. But now look at me. I own several respectable businesses and I’m surrounded by beautiful girls. Ain’t that a hoot?”
In a warped mind like Oliver’s, owning skin bars might be a hoot. “Just to make it clear, you don’t know Judith and Cameron Rossi?”
“Who the fuck are they?”
“I’m asking you, Mr Duval.”
Oliver threw her a cross look. Cat sighed inwardly. This interview was going nowhere. She wished Jon were here. Her brother would know how to make a character like Oliver squeak out the truth.
Oliver sensed frustration seeping from her. He motioned to the pit bull. “How about some Coke for the detective? I see she ain’t the beer type of gal.”
“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”
“Come on. I let you ride in my car and I answer all of your questions. The least you can do is enjoy my hospitality.”
Pit Bull opened a can of Coke and placed it right in front of her. Well, good thing it wasn’t served in a glass. She’d bet Pit Bull didn’t know what a dishwasher was. Cat took several small sips. The Coke was ice cold and felt good going down her throat. “Back to Gabriel Larousse. How did you know him back in Cape Town?”
“I know of him. Didn’t know him personally.”
“Right. Is he your friend’s friend or something?”
“I know him in a circle.”
“What kind of circle?”
Oliver let out a bark of a harsh laugh. “Bet you wanna know, don’t ya? It’s a special circle. It ain’t for people like you.”
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer her. His gaze went back to her boobs. “You sure you don’t want to work as my girl? You can pull a grand in tips each night, easily. And, with tits like yours, the sky is the limit.”
Cat was convinced Oliver wouldn’t give her straight answers. He definitely knew something, but he was too slick, no matter how hard she tried to squeeze the scum out of this man. “That’s a generous offer, but I think I’ll pass. I like my job.”
Oliver only replied with an even more derisive laugh. “You’re wasting your talents, honey. I’ll let you know a little secret. I have a knack of finding out what people do best. Like our fella over here—Roman. He used to work in a restaurant, cooking some damn burgers. One day I had lunch and wasn’t happy with his burger, so I paid him a visit in the back of the kitchen. I saw the fella and I just knew what he’d be good at. Roman’s a people person. He should be serving customers out front. Like now he’s serving my customers, but also keeping everybody on their toes. And you”—Oliver’s mouth curved into a leer—“you ain’t cut out to work as a private investigator. Those tits of yours are a gift from heaven. I reckon those are real too, yes? What you need to do is to lose those shitty pantsuits and wiggle your money-maker on the pole. Let me tell you, Kovac, men would drop their green in your panties faster than you could spend it.”
Cat gritted her teeth. “You know what? Fuck you.” She had had enough of Oliver Duval. Or Albert Hastings. Whatever. She itched to get the hell out of this depressing place. How had Jon kept his cool at moments like this? She knew her brother would have been able to manage his temper in front of pigs like Oliver.
She strode towards the door.
Oliver called to her, “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
Yeah. Like that will ever happen. Cat was halfway to the door when her knees suddenly felt wobbly. The walls and ceiling around her spun. A freak wave of vertigo slammed her skull.
What the…? The Coke.
Cat lurched forward but her body wasn’t cooperating. It felt as if she were wading through a sea of thick molasses. She stumbled over a chair and crashed to the floor.
Darkness engulfed her.
Chapter Three
“Where is she?”
Gabe slammed his car door in a hurry. Danielson and Wyatt, two of his security execs, were waiting for his arrival in the driveway of a run-down strip joint. Danielson had also dispatched several of his men to the entrance of the building. Maybe a few more inside. The place was crawling with Gabe’s private security. Gave hadn’t wanted to take any risks as soon as he’d heard Catherine had been in the process of being kidnapped. Danielson, a trained ex-Special Forces operative, had taken the initiative of neutralising the threat—the man who’d drugged Catherine and his crony—and called for backup.
“In my car, sir.” Danielson waved at his black, nondescript SUV.
“Is she still unconscious?