Love on the Boardwalk (14 page)

“Shouldn’t we follow her?”

“No.” Trina watched until the little yellow car was not only out of the lot, but out of eyeshot. “We need to find out why she came here. What’s behind that door?”

“Um, a warehouse?”

“Could be. Could be a place where they cook up meth. Could be a giant Santa Claus suit-making factory.”

“Or salt-water taffy?”

“All the more reason to go take a look-see.” Also, Trina really hoped the building contained a bathroom. Camera in hand, she got out of the car and ran to the duo of Dumpsters.

“Why are you running on your tiptoes?”

“It feels stealthier.” There were a handful of other cars in the lot. But they were all parked nearer to the other buildings. The coast looked clear, at least from the outside. Trina slanted her eye to the hinge of the door. “I can’t see anything.”

“Do we go in?”

“Yes. If anyone asks, we’re just lost and looking for a bathroom.” Joe said the best lies were rooted in truth. Technically, that was all true. She turned the knob. Thought about easing it open, but decided that wouldn’t jibe with their cover story. So Trina yanked open the door and walked right inside, bold as could be.

It was your standard, industrial warehouse with horizontal slits for windows that kept the room in a gray shadow. Gray drywall. Low ceiling. Acres of shelving. A couple held unformed cardboard boxes and shipping labels. Most of them were jammed full of boxed-up merchandise. TVs. All sorts of smart phones. DVD players. Laptop computers. Expensive sneakers. Handbags. Designer sunglasses. It was a shoppers’ paradise.

Trina had to admit that for just a second, she wanted to run wild in there. Grab one thing off of every shelf and hotfoot it back to the car. But the urge passed. It was quickly replaced by the thrill of discovery.

“It’s like a genie snapped his fingers and made everything in the SkyMall catalog appear right in front of us,” Darcy said in a hollow, awed voice. “What do you think this place is?”

A jolt of dead-certain knowledge speared through Trina like a miniature paper umbrella through an orange slice on a Mai Tai. When faced with the formality of a written test, Trina found it hard to organize her thoughts to fit the questions. But she rocked at retaining whatever she learned. A steel-trap mind, that just had to be pried open the right way. And everything about this situation unlocked a very specific set of facts in her head.

“Oh, I don’t think. I
know
. We’ve just strolled into the middle of an immense credit card scamming operation.”

Darcy crooked an eyebrow in the same annoying way she had in the third grade when Trina tried to convince her that clouds were made out of marshmallows. “Remember, I’m a scholar at heart. I prefer to see at least three footnotes to support every assertion. What on earth made you leap to that assumption?”

“I read all about it a few weeks ago in a big article on different kinds of white collar crime in
PI Magazine
.” Joe had asked her to read a year’s worth of back issues as homework. Talk about great timing.

“That magazine can’t be real.”

“Oh, it is. And it’s chock-full of all sorts of useful articles about how to interpret facial expressions on Botoxed witnesses, or how to investigate a wrongful conviction.”

“Nothing on keeping at least a dozen disguises in your car at all times?” Darcy teased with her tongue in her cheek.

Hmm. She would totally write that and submit it someday. “No, but there is an article comparing different types of toupee and moustache glue. Which will hold up when running, or if you happen to be in flight.” She walked around a shelf unit and started snapping pictures.
Lots
of pictures.

“In flight?”

If Darcy was so darn curious, she should just read the article herself. Trina had the biggest clue of her career to document. “You know, hang-gliding. Skydiving. Or if you’re in a hot-air balloon.”

Darcy laughed so hard she bent over to brace herself on her thighs. “Because all the best private investigators follow people via the steampunk transport of choice.”

Civilians. They just didn’t understand. “I’ll give you the latest issue to read. Then you’ll stop mocking it. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Okay. I believe you. So how is this a credit card scam operation?”

Trina let the camera hang from the strap around her neck to wave an arm at the packed shelves. “You put all these items up for sale on sites like eBay, using fake identities, and creating bogus payment accounts. When a buyer wins an auction, you legitimately send them the new TV. Except you’ve purchased it with a stolen credit card, so you get to pocket the entire payment.”

“That’s...entirely believable.” Mouth open, Darcy spun in a slow circle, layering the visual of the room to Trina’s explanation.

“It isn’t just merchandise. You can do a big business in operating the same scam with gift cards, from fast-food restaurants to home redecorating stores to, well, you name it.” Trina hustled down to the far end, by the shipping supplies. Down there was a hub of at least a dozen computers, all open to generic shopping sites. She turned on her camera and started snapping away. Close-ups, to make sure she captured the screen shots. “I wish I’d brought a flash drive.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. We didn’t know what we’d find when we started tailing Misty. Or rather, you didn’t know what you’d find. I was pretty solidly betting on her leading us to a motel where the sheets get changed by the day, and not by the customer.”

Still, Trina filed away the mental note. Flash drives were small. Even if she didn’t know thing one about computers, it was easy enough to copy files and take it back to the office for Joe to decipher. Next time she’d do better.

“Do you see what this means?”

“That you’ve got all the proof you need to get the police involved?” Darcy was already edging back toward the door, relief stamped all over her face.

“Probably. I’ve got at least enough to show Joe. But what I meant was that Club Eden must be where they steal all the credit card numbers. Strippers take the cards before a lap dance. They always get the money first. While they’re grinding on some unsuspecting perv, another stripper must copy down all the info. Or maybe emboss it in wax, so they can make a replica card. By the time he’s fully frustrated and sporting wood, they’re done.”

“So if the strippers steal the card, that insulates whoever is running the show from the actual crime?”

“Yep. A little, anyway, until someone like me finds a way to tie them together with this warehouse.” Trina gave in to the thrill of the find and did a sailor kick to celebrate. “But I bet that’s not all. Who do you think makes the run to the mall to buy all this stuff?”

Staring at each other, the women intoned simultaneously, “The strippers.”

Dancing around the desk, Trina snapped a few more shots. “This has to be why Ralph is there so often. Club Eden is where he tells the dancers what he needs them to get once they pass along the card info.”

Perching on the edge of the desk, Darcy asked, “Can we go now?”

“I want to be sure I don’t miss anything.”

“And I want to be sure we don’t have to trot out our lame bathroom excuse.”

Before Trina could think longingly of just how great it would be to find a bathroom, a door slammed open in the opposite corner of the warehouse. Light spilled out of a small bathroom. In its doorway stood a very angry Ralph. And her need for a bathroom tripled.

“What are you doing in my warehouse?”

Darcy tugged at her hand. Hard. But Trina saw running as their second choice. No reason why they couldn’t bluff their way out of there much more easily. “We’re lost. Got all turned around trying to get to Brigantine Beach. Can you help us?”

He took a few steps closer. Narrowed his fleshy eyes. “I recognize you. You’re a Club Eden girl.”

Thinking fast, she let recognition ripple across her face. And pulled her shoulders back tight to pop her boobs a little. “I sure am. Oh, you’re...wait, I’ll remember...you always order a Manhattan without cherries, right? I never forget a customer’s favorite drink.”

“Did Star send you?”

“What? No, I told you. We’re lost.”

“I don’t believe you.” He took a step toward the desk in the corner. Reached down, and stood with a baseball bat clenched in his meaty fist. “I’ll ask nice one more time, and after that things will get ugly. What are you doing in my warehouse?”

Okay. Her newly acquired self-defense skills were great and all, but the first and last thing they’d hammered into her was when to put up a fight and when not to. Once a weapon made an appearance, Trina knew the smartest option was to run. She spun on her heel. Clutching Darcy’s hand in a death grip, Trina bolted for the door. Footsteps thudded behind them. Then the rhythmic whack of the bat against each metal shelf he passed. As far as an intimidation factor, it worked.

“Open the door. I’m getting the keys,” yelled Darcy.

Trina twisted the knob. In her suddenly sweaty hand, it didn’t turn at first. Another series of whacks grew closer. Gulping, she wiped her palm on her shorts and tried again. The door opened, and they staggered out into the sunlight. Darcy aimed the remote to unlock the car doors. As she jammed the key in the ignition, Ralph burst out of the warehouse.

“Don’t fucking think you can get away from me,” he yelled.

Why weren’t they moving? Trina looked over to see Darcy fumbling with her seatbelt. “Are you kidding me? Drive!” She took off the emergency brake and shifted the car into reverse. Gravity rolled them backward just enough to keep Ralph’s bat from connecting with the hood of the car. Darcy spun the wheel and finally hit the gas. In a screech of tires, they backed up the whole length of the warehouse.

Trina kept her eyes peeled on Ralph. He fumbled with his keys outside of a black Cadillac Deville. Dropped them. And by the time he got inside, Darcy had them out on the road.

“Where should I go?”

“Away. Fast as you can.” Trina threw an arm out when she spotted a sign for the expressway. “Turn here! Now!”

Without slowing or even (in a very un-Darcy-esque disregard of the rules of the road) using her blinker, Darcy banked left. Grateful for her quick response, Trina reached across to fasten her friend’s seatbelt. She left her own off. Instead, she turned around and knelt in her seat, watching for any sign they were being followed. After a tense and utterly silent five minutes, she flopped back around. With the fear and adrenaline drained from her, Trina felt limper than an overcooked rice noodle.

“We’re safe,” she pronounced.

Darcy shot her a look of pure scorn. “Um, that’s a pretty optimistic statement to make.”

“Ralph doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know my name. He’s got no idea where we’re staying. And we’ve got enough evidence to call Joe.”

“Not the cops?”

“I don’t know.” Trina had no problem admitting when she was in over her head. It happened too often to bother getting embarrassed. “I don’t have enough experience to differentiate between circumstantial evidence and the real deal. I know in my gut what this is. But explaining to a skeptical desk sergeant that it matches an article I read in a magazine? That wouldn’t go over well. I’d rather get Joe up here, have him assess everything, and then figure out what to do next. If the case is too weak, the cops will just ignore me, and it’ll be twice as hard to get their attention when I do dig up more.”

“So you’ll wait until Joe gets here to do anything else? Promise? You’ll keep a low profile until the cavalry arrives?”

“Of course.” She was stubborn, not stupid. Trina wouldn’t even darken the door of Club Eden again until Joe was beside her. “Besides, I’m spending the night with Brad. What could be safer?”

Chapter Eleven

Brad paced the carpeted hallway. One so long that it felt like an airport terminal instead of a convention hotel. Not that the Trump Taj Mahal was in the same class as run-of-the-mill convention hotels. Everything here was mirrored, framed in gold, or both, starting with the bulbous assortment of white and gold domes on the roof. Brad couldn’t swear to the authenticity of the Indian touches, but he could say it felt exotically lavish. Foreign. As foreign as the thrill of waiting for a woman he cared about to dance with him.

He’d looked at one end for Trina. Then hiked it to the opposite end—far enough that he couldn’t pick out the faces of anyone at the other set of escalators. Not that it was easy to spot for Trina at all. The hall was packed wall to wall with women in sequins and satin. Men, too. Ballroom dance costumes weren’t exactly subtle. Bright dresses were either skin tight or flowed with enough fabric to make three dresses. The flamenco and tango men wore shirts with extravagantly poofed sleeves. Brad had tried to dance in one. Once. He couldn’t stop snickering the whole time.

Checking his watch, he realized she was even later than he’d thought. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Decided that once—well, four times, but all in one night—was enough to get him out of her system. Brad wasn’t ready to jam a diamond ring on anyone again soon. But Brad
was
crazy about her. She was sexy and cute and funny and the most fun he’d had in over a year.

“Those pants are so tight I can tell your religion.” Coop laid a heavy hand on his cousin’s shoulder to steady himself as he whooped with laughter.

“Hi to you, too,” Brad said sourly. Yeah, his cousin had showed up at a good number of his competitions over the years. Cheered loudly for him. But Coop also teased him just enough to get his hackles up.

“Aren’t you scared they’re going to rip? Flash your junk to the judges?”

“Hey, if that happens, I’m guaranteed the highest score of the night. I’m not worried either way.” Brad shifted to peer through the crowd. “Where are the girls?”

“Probably still in line for the elevator. Trina’s trailing a serious amount of dress behind her. She was worried she’d get it stuck in the escalator.”

Yeah, the crazy costumes were Brad’s least favorite part of this sport. And to him, it was a sport. A fast-paced couple hours of dance rehearsal left him dripping with sweat and as wrung-out as a gym workout followed by a ten-mile run. So he wore just a plain black shirt with his pants. And hoped to hell Trina didn’t have feathers dangling from her hair in some intricate headpiece.

“Are you going to stick around and watch?”

Coop nodded. “We’ll stay long enough to watch you dance once, and then we’re headed to dinner. I promised your mom and mine that I’d call them with a report. They miss seeing you do this. God knows why.”

“I’ve missed it, too.” Brad wanted to kick himself. He’d fallen into a funk even before Dana officially left him. Seeing the ad about this event had lit a fire underneath him. Being here, getting a competition buzz from all the adrenaline in the air, made him realize all over again that there was more to life than work. Trina would totally get what he was feeling. He craned his neck again, wanting to tell her.

“I’ve seen that look before,” said Coop with a smirk. “In my own damn mirror.”

“What look?”

“The one you’re wearing that says your brains have dropped down to your fly. I know you told me that you and Trina hooked up, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he hedged.

“The way you look, I’d put money on it. What’s the problem?”

That it was too good. That maybe it was one-sided. That Trina saw cheering him up as just a fun chore to be scratched off from her to-do list. How could he say that without admitting to some serious navel gazing? “She gets bored easily. Likes to jump around from one thing to another.”

“So? Keep her interested. Figure out how to make it work.”

Engaged for less than forty-eight hours, and suddenly Coop was a relationship guru. “It isn’t that easy.”

“It isn’t that hard, either. Remember when Darcy and I met? She was deciding whether or not to take a job in Africa. Freaking another continent! Now that was a real problem. Especially since after less than a week with her, I knew I couldn’t let her go.”

Yeah. Brad was having those feelings himself about Trina. He knew he’d had more fun, felt more himself with her in less than a week than in the whole fourteen months he’d been with his ex-fiancée. And what was really holding him back was the worry that she might not feel the same way. That she was so caught up in the whole
pick a career
decision that he’d have trouble convincing her to take a chance on sticking with him. Safer, for now at least, to lash out his frustration on Coop.

So he scowled. “Hoping for a solution doesn’t solve everything.”

“No, but love does.”

Christ. “That is the girliest freaking thing you’ve ever said. I’m surprised your dick didn’t just shrivel up and drop off in embarrassment. What’s next—are you going to want your own big white dress to wear down the aisle?”

Coop shrugged. “Think about it.” And then he waved a hand high in the air.

Brad looked in that direction and spotted Trina. It wasn’t hard. Her bell of sunset-colored hair stood out among all the other women’s tightly shellacked buns. A choker with a full white rose bloomed at her neck. White sequins tightly hugged the curves of her chest he now knew so well. Her chiffon skirt—yeah, he hated himself a little for having picked up all the dress terms from his years of competition—had enough material to fly up to her waist in a good spin, and it was ringed with white feathers. In other words, she was a wet dream of a ballroom partner come to life.

Trina skipped up to him, her cheeks bright red. “I’m sorry I’m late. I know we start in five minutes. I didn’t realize just how crazy packed this whole place would be. Or that I’d have to try on a dozen dresses from Pearl’s costume closet to find one that fit. But I know how important this is, so I wanted to look perfect for you. And now I’m babbling. But I’m excited. We’re going to have such a great time!”

Framing her face with his hands, staring into her sparkling eyes, Brad said, “You look beautiful.”

“Brad, you should have NSFW stamped across your ass,” said Darcy. “Those pants are tight!”

“See? That’s why I’m marrying you,” laughed Coop. “We’ll be in the second row, just off center. Break anything but your legs, guys.”

Brad didn’t bother to look up as they left. He was perfectly happy locked in Trina’s gaze. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You could’ve worn jeans, for all I care. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m probably, no, definitely not as good as you. At the very least rusty. I’ll just fumble through the opening free-dance, and then I’ll go sit out front. Clap like crazy as you work your magic with better partners.”

“Better dancers, maybe. Better partners? No way.” With a quick brush of his lips against hers—raspberry flavored today, God he loved that—Brad tugged her into the line stretching into the dark corner of the ballroom curtained off as a backstage area. He’d already checked in and been assigned two partners on standby. There were always injuries and people who didn’t want to tank the competition just because their partner twisted a knee.

The confined space reeked of hair spray. Feet tapped in a dozen different rhythms. People pressed against them seam to seam. Jittery nerves led to more than a couple snapped arguments in loud stage whispers. Chiffon and satin rustled louder than the wind through an aspen forest. He fucking loved it.

A tall woman in a cowboy fringed vest barely zipped over porn-star breasts pushed them hard into his arm. “Here, you dropped this,” she said as she shoved a folded piece of paper at Trina.

“Oh, thanks.” Trina looked down at it, then back up. “But I didn’t drop—” It was too late. The woman had already snaked away through the crowd. “Weird. That was Jasmine, from the club. She didn’t even stick around to say hi.”

“Probably because we’re starting in a couple of minutes. Nice that she came out to watch you.”

“Yeah.” Trina unfolded the paper, then gasped. “It says,
Steel Pier.
Ten minutes.
I’ll tell you where to find the 2nd warehouse
,
if you promise to stop Ralph
.” She gave a little jump. “I have an informant. This is so cool!”

Brad took it. All the letters were cut outs from magazines and newspapers. He had the random thought that in another ten years, when everything was digital, it’d be a lot harder to get clues from snitches. “Good for you.” She’d really come through. A surge of pride rushed into his chest. “You found a warehouse?”

“I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.” She folded it back up and tucked it into the deep vee of her dress. “I think I’ll put it in my scrapbook once I show it to Joe.” And then she took his hand again and faced the velvet drape to the stage.

Weird. “What are you doing just standing here? You have to go, now.”

She swirled the feather border of her skirt back and forth across his shoes. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving you.”

When it came to everything else about this case, she was gung-ho. Even before it had proved to be a full-fledged case. Why the hell would she hold back now? “Trina, this is nuts. Clues almost never fall into your lap this easily. Don’t waste it. Go follow this lead.”

“I can’t.” She smoothed a soft palm down his cheek. “The last thing you need is another woman abandoning you—again—for a job. I won’t do that to you.”

The simple assertion squeezed at his heart like nothing else ever had. What a woman. It made him want to back her up to the wall and kiss the bejesus out of her. But he’d hold that impulse for later. Instead, Brad took her wrist, dropped a kiss into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “You have to go, Trina. I’ll be fine. You know why? The difference between you and Dana is that I know you’ll come back to me tonight once your job is done.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you to miss your chance to nail this guy. We’ll have lots of other chances to dance together.” He’d make sure of it.

“I won’t be long. Thanks.” She smacked a kiss on him and darted away.

Brad dragged a hand through his hair. Yeah, he was disappointed. But he didn’t regret urging her to leave. It was the right thing to do. He pushed his way out of the lineup. It took a couple of minutes to work his way back around through the crowd of last-minute audience members pushing their way into the ballroom to spot for Coop and Darcy. He’d send them off to dinner early. Coop would be thrilled

The pair wasn’t hard to spot just as the lights dimmed. But what caught his eye first was the tall woman in the fringed vest easing into a seat at the end of their row. Trina’s informant. But if she was sitting down to watch the show, who the hell was waiting at the Steel Pier for Trina?

Alarm bells went off in his head. This felt eight kinds of wrong. He’d done his best to be hands-off with Trina’s investigation. Didn’t even ask what new leads she’d followed up on over the last two days, because he didn’t want to step on her touchy, independent toes.

On the other hand, she still had training wheels in this whole investigation business. Once she’d dug her heels into the case, Joe Shulman should’ve come up and guided her. And ordered Trina to keep her distance until he got here.

Hell, they didn’t let freshly graduated cadets from the Academy go out alone on patrol. Guilt surged through him, with a wave of fear right on its heels. It didn’t matter if she got mad, or thought he was interfering. Brad would rather risk pissing her off than risk her safety. As the first few notes of the opening waltz rang out, he kneed his way down the row ’til he got to his partner and Darcy.

“I need your help. Trina’s in trouble.”

* * *

Trina hurried across the Boardwalk into the arcade that marked the entrance to the Steel Pier. A shooting game called Stinky Feet, with rows of cartoon men in bathtubs, was on her left. Cages of plush toys in primary colors were on her right. This being an AC arcade, there were even a couple of slot machines against the wall. What a fun place for a meet. Public—although its relative emptiness and total lack of children attested to it being dinnertime—which made it both a safe and smart place to swap information. If she’d had a little more time, she would’ve given in to impulse and spun in a circle with glee. Brad believed in her enough to send her off after this lead. And he also believed in them enough to know that she’d be back to support him as soon as possible. What could possibly make this night any greater?

Well, for one, a cell phone. She’d dressed to dance, not to investigate. That meant no notepad and no
just in case anything went wrong
cell phone. Not that anything would go wrong. But Joe had drummed into her his number one rule; the need to “always plan for the inevitable worst.” His number two rule? “Never count on anyone to rescue you but yourself.” Trina knew neither of those applied to meeting with Jasmine. Still, she’d tried from day one to follow every rule...or at least make a conscious and informed choice about breaking them. This fell into neither category. Aside from the conscious choice not to mention this lapse in planning to Joe.

Trina halted in front of the ornate, two-level carousel. The noise hit her first. Music blared from each ride. The shooting games clanged behind her. Screams rang out at odd intervals from people either having fun or getting queasy from the pinwheel. And a stiff wind roared at her from the ocean. She planted her feet and took stock of the layout as groups of jeans-clad tweens and hoodied teens elbowed past. Jasmine’s note hadn’t been specific on where to meet. The Steel Pier extended far out over the ocean. To the right were teacups spinning around a huge, blue and white tea kettle. Behind it rambled the lazy loops of the Crazy Mouse coaster. Kiddie stuff.

Trina gave up on the delicate thread that looped her train around her wrist. Marabou feathers didn’t deserve to be dragged across the ground covered with popcorn, slushies and undoubtedly evidence of people who couldn’t quite stomach the teacups. Instead, she gathered great hunks of dress in her hands and veered left, around the carousel and up the ramp past the red, white and blue claw machines. This side had the more adult flying swings and giant slingshot. Nobody would look twice at two grown women hanging out in front of them without any kids.