Sleepless in Las Vegas (22 page)

“How about we run a reverse on her cell phone number,” she suggested, “like you did on mine, to get her real name and address?”

“Already did. Registered to the same bogus company.”

She thought about that for a moment. “How did you get her cell phone number?”

“Took it off your phone.”

He’d obviously checked it at some point while she was away from her desk. Made her feel a bit intruded on, but she didn’t exactly have a spotless record when it came to deception.

“Mind asking next time? I have nothing to hide.” She laughed softly. “Anymore, anyway.”

He gave a brusque nod. “View it as a lesson to never leave your phone unattended. By the way, your Saints LISTSERV was open on your computer. Good idea to kill it. Companies can legally monitor everything employees do on work-issued devices. Jayne doesn’t, but many employers do. At my hotel security job, I saw people fired on the spot and walked out of the building for accessing porn sites.”

She stiffened. “I do
not
watch porn at work.”

He gave her a look that made her heart beat faster.

After readjusting her seat belt, which didn’t need readjusting, but fidgeting with it gave her a moment to settle her thoughts, she switched topics.

“Why does Marta want to find you?”

“I believe she’s working with a man named Yuri. He thinks I have something he wants.”

“What is that?”

“Evidence.”

“Do you have it?”

He shrugged. “There might be some in the surveillance footage I took of him, but only he knows what is actually incriminating. The cigarette butt you found is ninety-nine percent his. It’s a piece of incriminating evidence, but not the whole pie.” He turned off the highway. “We’ll be at my mom’s in a few minutes.”

So the man who smoked those exotic French cigarettes, the suspected arsonist, was named Yuri. Who worked with Marta.

“Why do you think Marta asked me to do the honey trap?”

“They needed a young female who was new at the P.I. game, someone they could manipulate. Yuri probably asked around, learned Jayne Diamond had an inexperienced, brand-new female intern, and they made their offer too good to resist. I bet you’ve been closing up most days at the agency, right?”

“F’true.”

“They knew that. Probably had been watching the agency for a few days. They learned I’d be at Topaz Wednesday night because I said that in a phone message I left my brother, who manages the club. Maybe he mentioned it to an employee, or maybe one of them has access to his voice messages—whoever it was, told Yuri.” He looked thoughtful. “At this point, I’m confident they think you and I don’t know each other, except for the honey trap.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Marta would never have returned to Diamond Investigations if they thought otherwise.”

“I guessed the same thing.”

“Plus, I know Yuri and his crew. They’re greedy and devious, but they have the work ethic of a herd of sloths. They’d rather drink vodka than take the time to dig deeper, see if you and I have other connections. Because of their laziness, we can work this case.”

We.
She liked how he said it, as though they were a team, fighting shoulder to shoulder in this crusade. Plus it gave her a big, fat thrill that she’d be working a
real
case. One that didn’t require her to play garbage collector.

“Tell me about Yuri.”

“A low-life slimeball who’s sucked my brother into his schemes. I had a problem five years ago, turned to Yuri for a loan.” The muscle in his jaw ticked. “You mentioned Marta was wearing a large diamond ring the first time she came into the office.”

“I noticed she wasn’t wearing it today,” Val responded. “I asked why, and she said it was being appraised at a jeweler’s.” She paused. “May I ask—why are you interested in the ring?”

“Belongs to my family.”

For a moment, his hard, stoic features crumbled. Almost imperceptibly, but Val caught it. Then he put his mask on, the one that told the world he had it together, could handle any problem that came his way, didn’t need anyone’s help.

She ached for his pain, wished she could touch him, offer silent comfort, but knew instinctively he’d view such an overture as an act of pity. God forbid anyone should pity him.

And God forbid she should fall in love with him.

* * *

A
S
D
RAKE
AND
Val walked across the yard toward his mom’s home, his phone vibrated.

“Let me check this.” He recognized the number on caller ID as Tony Cordova’s, and debated whether to answer, but Tony would only step up the calls. As he should. A good investigator got the job done through tenacity and persistence.

“Morgan,” he answered.

“It’s Tony Cordova. How you doin’?”

“Fine.”

“How’s the tyke?”

“Better. Heard you dropped by the agency.”

“Yeah. Wanted to tell you that I’ve been on-site, did a walk-through of your place. Looks like they broke in through your office window.”

They.
He wondered who had been with Yuri.

“Got proof an accelerant was used. Missing motive, though.” He paused. “How about we meet tomorrow?”

“Busy, sorry.”

“Yeah, I try to leave my Sundays for rest, but you know the lives of us investigators. Chasing crime isn’t an eight-to-five job. How about Monday around ten?”

“That works.”

Drake didn’t completely trust Tony, and he didn’t want a state fire department vehicle parked in the Diamond Investigations lot. If Yuri or Marta drove by, they’d easily guess it was an arson investigator’s.

“Don’t park in the front lot,” Drake added. “I’m temporarily using a back office in the Diamond Investigations duplex. Go behind the private, fenced-off driveway and you’ll see my office door.”

“Thank you, my friend. By the way, do you go out your backyard gate much? The one that opens on the alley?”

“Never. Why?”

“Looks like somebody caught their hand on a nail in the gate. Crime scene tech swabbed the blood, got a piece of skin.”

Sounded as if Yuri, and maybe his accomplice, had exited by the back gate to the alley. Drake doubted a getaway car had been waiting—an unknown, parked car would have raised neighbors’ suspicions. But a person could easily walk undetected down that alley at night. Which raised the possibility Yuri parked nearby, walked to Drake’s and set the fire, then exited down the alley and looped back to his car. So where did he leave his car?

The answer hit Drake.
At the strip mall near his house.
Most businesses were closed by six, so the lot was dark and empty in the evenings. He made a mental note to visit the area, see what else he might learn.

After finishing the call, Drake and Val continued walking toward the house. “By the way,” he said, dropping his voice, “don’t mention my brother. He’s persona non grata for my mom.”

Val’s brown eyes widened. She nodded.

He took a step, stopped, turned to Val. Introducing her to his mother would be like lighting a fuse on a bomb. Certain to explode in his face. But it was too late to retreat now.

“Here’s the deal. My mom and Grams took it personally when my fiancee walked a few years ago. I had some bad times after that.” He shrugged. “So, when it comes to me and women, they tend to get…”

Val nodded, her features pert with curiosity. “Protective.”

He nodded. “Not that we’re…”

“Of course not.” She glanced at the house then to him. “All women have that nobody’s-gonna-hurt-my-baby gene,” she said in a half whisper. “Not to worry. I got it under control.”

He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or scared. Guessed he’d find out soon enough. “Let’s go.”

A few seconds later, his mother answered the door. She wore a peasant top embellished with blue-and-pink flowers, denim shorts and a favorite pair of Teva sandals. She stared at Val, her gaze migrating slowly to her purple-streaked hair.

“Hi, Ma,” Drake said, “This is Val. Val, my mom, Dorothy.”

“I am so pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Val said, extending her hand, which his mother tentatively shook. “Heath, the other intern, forgot he had a class tonight and felt mighty bad because he was going to help you cook dinner. I told him I’d be happy to fill in. Hope that’s all right.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“Oh, and I love cheese enchiladas. Also love to cook, used to do it all the time in New Orleans.”

Drake lightly touched her back. Miraculously, she got the hint to stem the information flow.

His mother raised her eyebrows. “Yes, you’ll have to tell me more about your Cajun cooking.” She ushered them in.

Val walked in ahead of Drake. As he passed his mother, she gave him a variation of the look. This one said “unusual,” which meant she was a little surprised, a little confused, open to possibilities.

He knew the feeling.

In the living room, he set the bag with the cameras on the coffee table. “I’ll install these while you’re cooking dinner.”

“Fine, dear.” She looked at Val. “Your internship is in private investigations?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her lips tightened. “Dangerous business.”

“Not always,” Val said, oozing Southern charm from every pore. “Some P.I.s, like pet detectives, rarely experience danger.”

“Is that what you’re going to be? A pet detective?”

“No, ma’am. I like to get into the thick of it, solve crimes, chase down bad guys, go undercover…” She darted a look at Drake. “Although some people don’t think I’ll be able to do that because of my accent.”

From the look on his mother’s face, Drake knew her bowling league team was going to hear about this conversation, word for word.

She turned to him. “You didn’t mention there were two interns, dear.”

“Heath isn’t very talkative, probably forgot to mention me to Drake,” Val chimed in, “plus I’ve been working at home. I live with Heath. We’re boyfriend-girlfriend. Not sure if we’ll get married, but—”

“Any beer in the fridge?” Drake interrupted.

“Six-pack of your favorite,” his mom said. “I need to finish helping your grandmother get ready, so grab a beer and relax. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After she left the room, Drake turned to Val. “Heath?”

“Your alter ego.” She shrugged. “It’s a better story than your mama learning you fibbed to her.”

“Okay. Fine. But starting now, let’s put the brakes on the Heath stories. It’s getting deep in here.”

“I was trying to help.”

“You did,” he lied. “But those two are like human heat-seeking missiles who love nothing better than to zero in on the truth. Think of them as the Jessica Fletcher twins. They might be older, but they’re crafty.”

A smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

“What?”

“You.”

“Okay, me.”

“Underneath that macho exterior, you’re a funny guy. Sweet, too, but you probably don’t like hearing that.”

He didn’t. But when Val said it, in that drawl, he’d need to have antifreeze running through his veins to not like it.

He felt that way despite her locking him out of the car and letting him damn near liquefy under the sun. And driving like some kind of hot-rod hoodlum on crack. She got to him. In a good way. At this moment he could imagine nothing better in the world than standing here, studying her face, deflecting her teasing gibes.

“Keep it to yourself,” he grumbled, “and let’s park ourselves on the couch. I want to show you something.”

* * *

V
AL
SAT
ON
the couch, surveying the room. “This place has a real down-home feel to it. You grow up here?”

“Yes.”

“Well, isn’t that the berries,” she said, looking at the clock on the wall behind the TV. “That clock has dice spots for hours.”

“Gave it to my dad for his birthday many years ago.”

“He liked to gamble?”

A funny look crossed Drake’s face. “Cards with the boys, that’s about it.”

“Would’ve thought he liked playing games with dice.”

“That would be me,” he said, sitting next to her. “But I don’t gamble anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just say I liked roulette but it didn’t like me back.”

“You…had a gambling problem?” she asked softly.

“No, I had a stopping problem.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket. “We’re going to check up on our friend Marta.” He handed her the phone.

She accepted it, wondering if his turning to Yuri for a loan meant Drake had gotten into some serious gambling debt. At her former casino job, she’d seen gamblers who sat for hours at a machine or a table, winning sometimes, but losing more often. They rarely looked happy. Her former pit boss had told her there were two kinds of gambling addicts—those who wanted people to view them as victorious, and those suppressing emotional pain.

Drake was too confident to seek anybody’s approval. More as if he gambled to push down whatever was hurting him.

Putting aside those thoughts, she glanced at the phone in her hands. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to call Marta.”

“We’re not. Find the Tracker app and open it.” He stood. “I’m gonna grab a beer. Want anything? Mom usually has some wine around.”

“Not a wine fan, but thanks.”

She flipped through the screens, found the app labeled Tracker and pressed it. A maplike grid displayed. Enlarging the image, she recognized major street names in Las Vegas. A tiny red square moved slowly along one of those streets.

“It’s a real-time GPS software tracking system,” Drake said, sitting again. “See the red dot?”

“I do.”

“It’s Marta’s Lexus.”

Took a moment for the words to sink in. She raised her head, gave him an incredulous look. “You attached a GPS device to her car?”

He nodded. “When I returned to the agency this afternoon and saw that black Lexus in the lot, I had a feeling we had a Russian visitor.”

“Thought you didn’t practice paranormal investigations.”

“Every Russian I’ve met has a thing for black Lexuses and Benzes, so I made a calculated guess. I grabbed a burner—a throwaway cell phone—that I’d loaded with GPS software and hoped she had her car windows open. She had. I tossed it under the driver’s seat. Then I took the picture of her license plate.”