Blind Faith (6 page)
"I've requested dental records to be sent from
"If you don't mind, I'd rather deal directly with you."
"Now, I wonder why that is?" She guessed from his sarcastic tone that he had already spoken with someone at the PPD and had been thoroughly briefed on her unpopularity with the city force.
"Could it be," he continued in that same mocking tone, "that you're persona non grata with your own police department? I believe one person I talked to referred to you as Typhoid Kelly."
Great.
Terrific.
How could she expect his cooperation with such negative publicity? "This isn't about me. Detective," she replied as sweetly as she could manage. "It's about a missing man."
"It's also about an open investigation, which means I can't discuss it."
"Am I speaking Esperanto here? I can't talk about the case. I've told you too much already, considering you're not even a member of the
Bowmans
' family."
It took a tremendous effort on her part not to snap back at him. "I'm
just
trying to help out a friend, Detective. You could make my job so
much
easier if--"
"No." Just as rudely as he had earlier today, he hung up.
She stared at her phone.
So much for groveling.
She merged back onto the highway, wondering what other resources she had at her disposal. The list was meager.
Practically nonexistent.
Except for one possibility.
She gave a mental shake of her head. No, no way.
Too crazy.
But the thought kept coming back, taking shape, gaining momentum. So what if it was crazy? When had that ever stopped her?
By the time she reached the toll plaza, she knew what she had to do.
The last time Kelly had talked to Nick
Mcbride
was in her hospital room.
Unlike her other visitors, however, he hadn't come bearing flowers or to wish her a speedy recovery, but to give her hell on what had gone down in
She had deserved every bit of his anger.
Weeks earlier, when she had told him about the extortion rumors.
Nick had warned her, gently, to back off, explaining the police were investigating.
Because she and Nick were friends, Kelly had left the story alone.
Until that fateful night when Randy Chen had run into Dr. Ho's dojo.
Four days later. Nick stood in her hospital room, no longer the Nick
Mcbride
she knew. Each time she tried to defend herself, he cut her off.
"You're as bad as those rag reporters that call themselves journalists," he had told her in one last parting shot.
"Just because you write for a big newspaper and have a Pulitzer doesn't make you any better than the rest of them."
And then the words that had hurt the most.
"Why I ever trusted you, I'll never know."
And now here she was, outside the
Last year at this time.
Nick's father, the chief of security at the
Chenonceau
, had been killed in the casino parking lot, the victim of a robbery gone wrong. It was widely known that Nick hadn't been satisfied with the police's theory. Nor was it a secret that he and
Syd
Webber had hated each other at first sight. On the surface, the chance that Patrick's death and Jonathan's disappearance were related was slim. The two men had nothing in common except for their connection to the
Chenonceau
. Yet the possibility of a connection had crossed Kelly's mind. If Nick came to the same conclusion, he might be curious enough to want to help her.
Taking a chance he'd be inside, working out, she pushed the door open and walked into the building.
The building was an old boxing arena an enterprising businessman had saved from destruction by buying the landmark and turning it into a training center for aspiring young boxers. At any other time, it would have been jam-packed with teenagers and instructors, even a scout or two, but at noon on a school day the place was practically empty.
Kelly's gaze swept over the large room where a boxing ring held center stage. Off to the side, a man in gray sweats jumped rope while another ran on a treadmill. Nick
Mcbride
was on the other side of the ring, beating a punching bag.
Kelly stood under the archway and observed him for a moment, hoping he wouldn't notice her until she felt confident enough to approach him. He was an attractive man, with reddish-blond hair, deep blue eyes and a physique any man would envy. His neck was thick, his bare chest broad and solid, and at the moment, covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.
Shamelessly, she let her gaze linger on the powerful thighs as he bounced around the punching bag with the grace of a dancer. Each punch sank into the heavy bag with a solid thud and was quickly followed by another. He was strong and fast, but Kelly wasn't surprised. He had been an amateur boxer once and on the verge of turning professional when he had changed his plans and entered the police academy instead.
Though it didn't show now, there was an edgy quality about him that instantly made him stand out from the rest of his colleagues. Even the criminals and witnesses he questioned sensed it and knew better than to play games with him. Maybe that's why his arrest conviction ratio was one of the best in the department. No one dared bullshit Nick
Mcbride
.
She would be lying if she said she had never thought of him in a sexual way. It was difficult to be in the presence of a man like Nick and not feel a little weak in the knees. But she had never acted on those feelings. After two disastrous relationships, Kelly had sworn off men, at least for the moment.
Besides, he didn't have a stellar track record himself in the romance department. Rumor had it he was too passionate about his work, almost to the point of being fanatical about it. Coming in second to a job wasn't something many women could put up with. His ex-wife certainly hadn't, and to Kelly's knowledge, neither had anyone after her.
She waited until he had sunk the last punch and was reaching for a towel from a nearby bench before pulling away from the door.
Seven.
At the sound of quick, sharp footsteps hitting the concrete floor, Nick looked up and slowly wrapped his towel around his neck as Kelly
Robolo
made her way across the room.
Considering that only five weeks ago she had been close to dying, she looked remarkably well. Her black hair, longer than he remembered, was cut in practical layers and framed a face his sister thought belonged on a cover model. Her eyes were by far her best feature. They were large and dark and in constant motion, as though afraid they'd miss something.
As she walked toward him in that quick, purposeful stride, he took in the rest of her, the lean tweed skirt that reached
midcalf
, and the bulky Irish fisherman sweater that kept her figure from becoming a distraction. Having seen her with a lot less on, he knew that could be a problem.
He had met her three years ago when she had needed information on a swindling scheme she was investigating. Though Nick didn't work with reporters as a rule, he had made an exception for Kelly--partly because her reputation preceded her and partly because he had liked her right away. She didn't act cute or flirtatious like some reporters he knew.
And she wasn't afraid to follow a lead no matter how risky it might be.
In
"Kelly
Robolo
is here."
Maybe the respect he had felt toward her was the reason he had broken his golden rule about working with reporters. And he had lived to regret it. He had trusted her and now his best friend was dead.
She stopped in front of him. "Hello, Nick."
Nick wiped his face with the towel. He had no idea what she could possibly want with him, but it had to be serious for her to come here.
The last time they had spoken to each other was in the hospital, four days or so after the shooting. And he had been the one doing all the talking then.
He gave a short nod. "Kelly."
The chilly greeting didn't seem to faze her, or if it did, she didn't show it. "Do you have a minute?" she asked.
"No." He started unrolling the hand wrap around his knuckles.
"Look, Nick. I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but when you lashed out at me that day at the hospital, you didn't give me much of a chance to defend myself."
"Defend yourself how?" He had been trying to put that damn night behind him for weeks and now here it was, shoved down his throat once again.
"You were interested in only one thing--breaking that story."
A light flush rushed to her cheeks. "That's not true! I didn't give a damn about the story. All I wanted was to help a friend in trouble. I never thought for one moment that an undercover cop would be there. If I had ..." She looked away, as if the memories of that night were too painful to think about.
Nick tossed the hand wrap on the bench and started removing the other.
"You should have called me when Dr. Ho gave the paper bag to Randy Chen."
"You wouldn't have made it to the warehouse in time."
"I could have questioned your instructor."
"He wouldn't have told you a thing. He was too scared."
Nick said nothing. What was there to say? All the accusations in the world wouldn't bring Matt back.
In spite of the uncomfortable silence, Kelly showed no sign of leaving.
Instead, she came to stand in front of him, so close he could smell that perfume she used all the time. He remembered its name.
Magic Noire.
Black magic.
Once he had wondered what it would feel like to fall under the spell of Kelly
Robolo
.
She looked at him without flinching. "I need your help. Nick."
He hadn't expected that, not after their last conversation. "Then you've come to the wrong guy." He started to turn around, but she stopped him by touching his arm. Almost immediately she pulled her hand back.
"
The sentence, spoken in one fast breath, took him aback. He waited a moment, absorbing the news. Although he had never met Jonathan Bowman, he knew he was a vice president at the
Chenonceau
, where Nick's late father had worked as chief of security.
Nick's antennae popped up. They always did when
Syd
Webber was involved, even indirectly.
"How long?"
"Twenty-four hours."
"He is as baffled as we are. Yesterday morning, Jonathan called his secretary and told her he wouldn't be coming in because he was sick.
Moments later, he called
Syd
was sending him to
Nick remembered his own marriage and how badly he had wanted to get away at times. "Men need space."
"At four o'clock this morning," Kelly continued, "a Detective Quinn from the
Nick couldn't help it, he was curious. "Is that what Detective Quinn thinks?"
"He's not saying anything yet, but he has sent for Jonathan's dental records."
That would make sense. Nowadays, sophisticated forensic dentistry and special
X
rays made it possible to identify victims no matter how badly they were burned. "I still don't understand why you came to me," he said. He did, but a perverse part of him wanted her to spell it out.
"The desk clerk at the motel is the only one who can identify the occupant of room 116. Unfortunately he's in the hospital with severe burns. He won't be able to talk to the police until he's off the critical list. There are other motel employees but Detective Quinn is playing hardball. He won't let me speak to them."
"That's his right."
"I realize that." She kept her expression neutral. "That's why I'm here.
I'd like you to call him. Nick. I need to talk to those people."
"Cops don't like other cops butting in."
"You wouldn't be butting in. Quinn plans to notify the PPD. He may already have."
"So why not check with
Mariani
at the Roundhouse?
Or any other detective?"
"Oh, come on. Nick." Her smile was sarcastic. "Do you really think that anyone at police headquarters will want to help me?"
Before he had a chance to reply, Kelly reached inside her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here," she said, handing it to him.
"Quinn's phone number."
Nick glanced at it but didn't touch it. "I can't help you."