This little bit of white powder would not only destroy Angie’s flicker of hope, but also if the judge ordered a random drug test tomorrow, she’d be fucked for good. She’d never get David back, and Angie would drop her.
Tears burned in Lulu’s eyes as she stared at her shaking palm. She wanted the hit so bad that her muscles quivered.
But did she want the drugs more than David?
“Fuck!”
Before she had time to second-guess she brushed her hands together and sent the white powder flying into the night.
Her hands trembled. “Am I stupid or what?” She’d just tossed away a sure escape from trouble. But as she breathed in and out, a real sense of triumph seeped into her limbs. Today, she’d fought and resisted the junk.
But what about tomorrow?
“I only got now.” For several seconds she just stood there breathing in air. She didn’t want to go back in the bar, but she needed this job. She needed to work. Good mothers had jobs.
Lulu turned, ready to go back inside, when she heard the shuffle of feet behind her. “I don’t want any more, Tony.” There was some strength behind the words now, and she sensed she could make it to tomorrow. Beyond that she would worry when the time came.
A strong hand landed on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off. “I said no, Tony.”
“No is not an option.”
The unfamiliar voice sent a tremor down her spine, and as she turned, a needle pricked the side of her neck. Before fear could take root, her knees buckled, and the alley’s gravel asphalt dug into her bare knees.
Her world spun. Rough hands hooked under her armpits, and the stranger dragged her down the alley. One of her high heels caught on a pothole and flipped off. Her last conscious thought was of the bar door fading away.
Chapter 11
Thursday, October 6, 5 A.M.
Angie spent a restless night. She dreamed of holding her own son. In the dream, Angie held the baby close, savoring the scent of milk and baby powder that clung to butter soft skin. She stroked his blond hair and stared at his tiny fist as he chewed and drooled over it. She was amazed that he was so perfect and fit so well in her arms.
At four a.m., she woke and sat up in bed. She stared at her empty arms and endured a knife of sadness and loneliness.
It was at these times that she’d have risen and gone into the kitchen for a glass of wine. Even now, she imagined the sweet, cool liquid sliding down her throat and warming her body.
Angie swung her legs over the side of the bed. She’d tossed out the bottles of wine well over a year ago and most days she didn’t miss it. It was just moments like this….
She glanced at the clock. The gym would open in a half hour. She’d not planned to work out until six, but what the hell. She could get there early, beat the guy who had taken over her lane, and squeeze in a few extra laps.
Angie slipped into her bathing suit, sweat suit, and flip-flops and grabbed the clothes she’d laid out last night.
In her car, she turned on the engine and flipped on the radio, waiting as the heater defrosted the icy mist on her windshield. The morning news rumbled in the background, and she was half paying attention until she heard a very familiar voice: Connor Donovan.
Her fingers gripped the wheel as she thought about the guy who had befriended her, wormed his way into her bed, and made her feel alive—all to gain access to Eva. He’d been working on a story and had expected she would lead him to Eva. As much as she tried she couldn’t forget the moment after they’d made love, and he’d been in the shower. She was curious about the man who had invaded her life and felt too good to be true. So she’d dug into his briefcase. It wasn’t cool, but she’d been driven to know more. Her instincts had been right. She’d found a file on Eva. When she’d confronted him, he’d not shown the least bit of remorse. In fact, he’d asked her for a quote.
“Ass.”
She shoved aside the anger and listened. She’d heard he’d gotten a radio gig that tied into some television deal.
Police discovered the bones of a woman at Angel Park two days ago. Sources close to the investigation report that the victim was local actress Sierra Day….
The jerk was good at digging up the details. No doubt he’d charmed or bribed his way into some back office. She dropped her head against the leather headrest. Kier was going to be one pissed hombre.
A smile played on her lips. Every cloud had a silver lining. But as much as she’d like to have enjoyed Kier’s frustration, he was trying to solve the murder of her client.
Connor’s voice drew her back. It wouldn’t take much digging for him to figure out that she’d represented Sierra. That would bring Connor to her doorstep sooner or later.
“So how did the son of a bitch find out our victim’s name?” Malcolm glanced at the cash register receipt in his hand before shoving it in his pocket. They’d heard the morning radio report minutes before arriving at the diner for breakfast. “He spits out a few facts and then proceeds to spin a bunch of crap. Her husband, Brian Humphrey, believes she is the victim of a violent serial killer.”
Garrison accepted the egg bagel and coffee from the cashier and handed her a ten. He pocketed the change and followed Malcolm to a corner table. The two took a seat in a corner booth. Both had their backs to the wall and had a clear view of whoever entered or left the shop. “I’d like to know who the hell he paid off to get Sierra Day’s name.”
“I’d like to know why Humphrey has changed his tune with Donovan. Yesterday he was certain one of her exes killed her,” Malcolm said.
“Serial killer is dramatic. And Humphrey is getting face time in front of the television cameras. What better ad for an actor?”
“I’ve got to be in court this morning for that Latimer case. Could you get to the theater restaurant today and talk to whoever was working there the night Sierra vanished? Maybe you can find somebody who was sober enough who can remember who she left with.”
Garrison pulled out his notebook. “I’m a step ahead. The place is called Duke Street Café. From what I’ve heard it’s a real theater-people hangout. They host a lot of cast parties.”
Malcolm bit into his bagel, barely tasting it. “We’ve hit a lot of damn brick walls in this case. No forensics. No witnesses. It’s like we’re dealing with a damn ghost.”
“Or someone that was caught before and doesn’t want to be arrested again.”
“Dixon.”
Garrison shrugged. “It can’t be him. We have hotel security camera footage showing him in New York the night Sierra vanished.”
“It is a bit odd that he’s got so many damn alibis. It’s as if he really needed to prove he was out of town the night Sierra vanished.”
“Saying that was true, that would mean he’s working with someone else.”
“The appetites that got him into trouble before have not vanished.”
Garrison shrugged.
“Dixon has a few favorite places. I might check a few out this evening.”
“I’ll go too.”
“No. Together we don’t blend in so well.”
Garrison grinned and nodded.
The front door to the bagel shop opened, and Malcolm, out of habit, glanced toward it. He did a double take when he saw Angie Carlson stroll into the shop. She reminded him of a queen, all ice and frost, so buttoned up that he wondered if she ever took a full breath. Her blond hair was back in a tight bun and still damp, no doubt from a morning swim. A memory of her standing dripping wet in her red bathing suit flashed in his mind, and he grew hard as a pike.
Shit. Times were hard if the prim Ms. Carlson was doing it for him. It had been a couple of weeks since he and Olivia had gotten together, and he really needed some alone time with her.
“Wicked Witch at five o’clock,” he said.
Garrison had already noticed her. “What brings her here?”
Carlson spotted them and crossed the room in quick efficient strides. The click of her heels had Malcolm’s gaze lowering down the
long length of well-formed legs to three-inch heels. He’d have figured old Angie would wear the practical grandma shoes rather than the do-me kind of pumps.
Garrison rose. “Angie. What brings you here? Eva all right?”
She smiled at him. “She’s fine. This is business.”
Garrison slid to the side, giving her room in the booth.
Malcolm took another bite of his bagel, not really tasting it. He was determined to prove The Barracuda hadn’t tipped his senses off balance. “I thought you people didn’t come out in the daylight.”
“I got a special blessing from a priest. But I avoid direct sunlight.”
No matter what he hurled at her, it rolled off her back. She had a tough skin, and he admired that. “What kind of business do you want with us?”
“I have Sierra Day’s client file.”
“Why?”
“She’s dead, which frees me to discuss her case with you. We only met a handful of times, but I wanted to share with you my impressions. It might help.”
Malcolm glanced to the file, and her neat, manicured fingers resting casually on top. “I was expecting a fight.”
“No fight, Detective. She is dead so I am no longer bound to keep her secrets.”
He sat back in his booth. A soft scent wafted from her. Spicy. Slightly erotic. He’d have expected a different kind of scent. Soap maybe. Or deodorant. Olivia smelled of soap. Sometimes crayons or paint. But not perfume.
“What do you have?” he asked.
She opened the file and pulled a pair of reading glasses from her purse. The glasses gave her a naughty librarian look that stoked his libido all the more. Shit. He had to exorcise this chick from his senses and concentrate.
“Sierra came to me about six months ago. She’d not left her husband but was considering her options. She’d only been married a couple of weeks. At that point she was seeking an annulment. She soon changed her mind when her husband inherited money. She expected a healthy settlement.”
“She saw Marty Gold about that time?”