“Your source? You’re a reporter now, Jamie?”
“Don’t get your ass bent out of shape, Nick. I’m trying to do you a favor.”
He huffed out a breath. “Have it your way then, but I thought we trusted each other.”
His statement came laced with an emotion that sounded distinctly like hurt, and she went right back to wanting to hold him. Damn man. Even arguing with him couldn’t keep her thoughts away from uncomfortable places. “I do trust you, but I need to keep my word, too.”
He nodded, softening. “Fine. I get that. I know how you are about keeping your word. It’s one of the things I like about you.”
Despite every instinct telling her to stay put, she crossed the distance between them, pressing against him and resting her head on his shoulder. She hated fighting with him even more than she hated battling her desire. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll go talk to D-bag. Maybe I can get some information from him you can use.” She kissed him on the cheek and started for the door. Nick, however, beat her to it, blocking her path. You’re not going to see that bonehead by yourself. There’s no telling what he’ll do to you if you show up at his place alone.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He stepped out of her way just long enough to pick up his cell phone and car keys off his desk. “I’m coming with you. This story is going to be ours.”
Ours. The word was almost as bad as relationship. She should stop him; offer to take Danny instead, but he was already heading out the door, and she was already following.
Chapter 57
Nick drove down a stretch of highway, only partially aware of his surroundings. Jamie had programmed the address to the trailer park where D-bag lived into his GPS, and the conversation on the drive there consisted of a digital voice reading off upcoming turns to him as he drove. And that was the extent of it. It was the longest, most awkward silence he’d endured since dropping off his first date as a teen-ager and waiting at the front door for a kiss that never came. He felt something for Jamie. Something he wasn’t sure she felt in return.
“Your destination is ahead on the left,” the digital voice said.
“ Lot 350,” Jamie added. “Right there.” She stretched her arm in front of him, pointing out a trailer coming up about one hundred yards on his left.
“Shit.” He hit the brakes and they slowed to a stop as he pulled the car alongside the curb.
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have been paying closer attention.”
“It’s okay. I was a little lost in my thoughts, too.”
Like stopping by his place when they were done questioning D-bag? He tucked the thought away for later. “We’ll need to be careful with this guy. I think I can take him if I have to, but I’d rather not have to.”
“That must be his car.” She pointed toward a white Neon with a missing headlight and a rusted fender parked in the driveway. “Looks like he’s home.”
Nick climbed out of his car and headed in the direction of Lot 350. D-bag’s trailer was a blue aluminum dwelling with a trash can tipped over near the door and a stack of empty beer bottles next to it, stacked three cases high.
“Guy sure drinks a lot of beer,” she muttered.
“He’s probably not drinking it alone. Young girls don’t usually go straight into doing drugs. I’ll bet it starts with a friendly beer and a joint first.”
Jamie shuddered. “The thought of anyone having sex with that guy is enough to make me vomit.”
He knocked on the door. “Me, too.”
D-bag answered, wearing the tattered wife-beater Nick had always pictured him in. “Yeah?” He growled. “What do you two want?”
“Can we come in?” Nick asked. “I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask you regarding Peter Arnold.”
D-bag, all six-foot, two-inches and approximately two hundred fifty pounds of him, stood unmoving, framed inside the doorway. “I got nuthin’ to say to you.”
“Please,” Jamie said. “We’ll only take a few minutes of your time. We’d just like to get an insider’s take on how Peter was able to fool so many people.”
To Nick’s dismay, Jamie stepped up, wedging herself between the two men. He had to give her credit though. Where his straight forward business approach had failed, her feminine wiles worked. D-bag smiled at her, leered really, and stepped aside. Waving the smoke of a recently smoked joint away from his face, Nick looked around, spotted a torn, plaid-and-brown sofa with a quilt thrown over the back and sat down, motioning Jamie to take the spot next to him.
“Nice place,” she whispered, scooting closer.
The trailer was, in fact, a dump, with a sink full of dishes visible through the partition dividing the living room from the kitchen. The carpet, a beige-colored shag, had frayed and was splitting away from the wall near the door, and the wood veneer coffee table held the contents of what looked to be last night’s pizza. Stacks of porn videos lined the wall beside a large-screen TV, the one nice piece of furniture in the entire home.
Nick imagined D-bag sitting on the couch, parked in front of the TV and jacking off to his collection of smut. He wished now he’d just remained standing.
“So.” D-bag slouched into a vinyl easy chair with a busted arm rest. “Pretty damn good, the way ole Peter had those girls’ IDs faked, don’t ya think? I’ll tell ya, they sure as hell had me fooled.”
Jamie rolled her eyes at his statement. She was thinking of Heather, Nick was sure. Maybe she’d know enough not to speak out and blow the interview, but Nick couldn’t risk it. Placing a hand on her knee, he gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure with all of Peter’s wealth and connections, he had the very best money could buy.”
D-bag bit into the bait like a starving shark. He nodded eagerly, eyes growing wide. “Yeah, man, that’s what I’m telling ya. Those IDs were top quality, man. I’m surprised even the cops could tell the difference. Ya hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear you.” He nearly laughed at Muscle Guy’s stupidity. “The thing is, I’m really not here to ask about the IDs.”
Confusion swam in D-bag’s narrowed brown eyes. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m really much more interested in the drugs.”
The beginning seeds of doubt and panic stretched across his taut face. Indecision played out in an instant. His mouth dropped open. A grunt escaped, but no words came with them. Then, finally, a quick shake of his head. “What drugs?”
“The methadone that-”
Jamie blurted the words out before Nick could stop her, but quieted instantly at his second squeeze on her knee. “What my colleague means,” he said. “Is we’d like to know more about the methadone the girls were using.”
“So what the fuck ya asking me for?” Belligerence colored the man’s words. “I don’t know nuthin’ about no fucking methadone.”
Nick narrowed his gaze at D-bag, giving him a thoughtful stare, and not missing that Muscle Guy hadn’t even questioned his use of the word methadone. Not heroin, or crack or some other variety of street drug. Methadone. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Because we were told you were the one hooking the girls up with the drugs.”
“Bullshit!”
D-bag jumped from the chair, his face twisted into an angry snarl. A nervous tingle travelled Nick’s spine. He could handle the guy if he had to, but Jamie was with him. He should have insisted on coming alone. He held up a hand in front of D-bag. “Calm down. I’m not making any accusations here. I’m just telling you what we were told. That’s why we’re here. To get your side of the story.”
“Well, whoever you been talking to’s a goddamn liar.” D-bag slammed his crimson-tinted body back down into his broken chair. “I ain’t never shot up no girls with methadone. I don’t fucking do drugs!”
Nick took in another whiff of the marijuana-smoke-infested trailer. No, asshole, I’m sure you stay as far away from drugs as possible. “Alright then. What can you tell me about the male actors at the film studio? Were any of
them using? Where do you think the girls were getting the drugs?”
“I ain’t got no fucking idea.” He’d mostly regained his composure and sat perched on his chair like it was a throne and he was holding court.
“What about the other employees at the studio?”
“There weren’t no other employees, other than the actors, except for Rod and Peter and me.” He paused, his gaze narrowing in on some fixed point in space, as if seizing onto some new idea. “Did that fucker Rod tell you I was the one giving those girls drugs? Is that where you’re getting your information from?”
Nick found the impossible start to happen. He was beginning to believe Rod Skinner. “What makes you think it was Rod who said it?”
“That mother fucker’s had it in for me ever since the day Peter hired me. Thinks he’s too good to work with someone like me. Was always accusing me of coming to work stoned and sexually harassing the girls.”
And no doubt he was right to do so. Nick nodded in D-bag’s direction. “I’m sure you understand I can’t reveal my sources to you.”
“What the fucking ever, man. I know it was fucking Rod who told you that, and I’m telling you right now, the guy’s a fucking liar.”
“Well, then.” Nick rose, signaling Jamie to do the same. “I’m certainly glad we made the effort to come out here and get your side of the story. Good speaking with you.” He stuck out his hand, not really wanting to touch the guy, but unwilling to let go of the façade until he, and especially Jamie, were safely out the door.
D-bag reached out and clasped his hand, giving it a shake. “Yeah, man. I appreciate you being one of those stand-up kind of reporters instead of just another one of those mudslingers. You know?”
“Great. Thanks. See you then.” He moved Jamie quickly out the door, not exhaling a breath until they were both back inside the car. “I need some hand sanitizer,” he said, jamming his keys into the ignition.
She fished through her purse. “Here. I usually carry some with me.”
He laughed. “I was afraid the guy might have flesh-eating bacteria or something.” He rubbed his hands together with the sanitizer, handed the mini-sized bottle back to her and started the car. “Mind stopping at my place?”
She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“I’d like to pick up where we left off last night.”
She said nothing, turned away from him and stared out the passenger window.
Man, but she ran hot and cold. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She turned back to look at him. “I mean, I don’t know. I like you, Nick. You must know that. And obviously, I find you attractive.”
“I sense a but coming.”
She hesitated. “I don’t believe in happy endings.”
He almost laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about?” Like some insecure female, he’d been afraid she only wanted him for a one-night-stand. He placed one hand over her knee. “You could at least give a guy a chance before you decide things aren’t going to work out.”
She stared hard at him, like she was weighing something in her mind. “You’re in no shape emotionally to be diving into another relationship.”
He chafed. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of my emotional state?”
She hesitated a moment before nodding. “You’re right. I shouldn’t presume to tell you how you feel. It’s probably best if we focus on work first though. Why don’t we head back to the office now?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yes.” She went back to staring out the window. “It’s what I want.”
They drove back to the office in silence.
Thirty minutes later, he sat at his desk, thinking of Jamie naked. She was beautiful. Soft, creamy skin. Breasts like perfect circles capped by rosebud nipples. And those lean, toned legs of hers, leading to her tight, round backside. There was definitely something growing between them. But she was afraid of giving in to it. And apparently, she was better at saying no to her desires.
A knock sounded on his office door, followed by Danny poking his head inside. “Hey, Nick, got a minute?”
The intrusion of work was probably a good thing. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I finished that background check on D-bag you asked for.”
“That was fast. Find out anything interesting?”
“Yeah.” He took the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “D-bag. Real name Michael Bradley. Born October 10th, 1967. Little Rock, Arkansas. Used to run with the Devils’ Disciples biker gang. Ran away from home at age thirteen. Busted for grand theft auto at fourteen. Rap sheet goes on from there. Larceny, B and E, and, you’ll love this; did three years for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
“Why am I not surprised? Anything on there about drugs?”
“Yeah. Busted twice for possession, one of those with intent to distribute. Guy’s parole for that bust ended ten months ago. Just in time for him to go to work for the porn studio, by the looks of it.”
Nick heard D-bag’s words again in his head. The fervent denial about doing drugs, even as the marijuana smoke swirled around them. Sure, D-bag. You don’t have anything to do with drugs, do you? And you don’t drink beer, wear wife-beaters or live in a trailer park either. The guy really pissed him off. Nick nodded at the man seated across the desk from him. “That’s good work, Danny. Thanks.”
Danny remained seated, staring at the notepad in front of him. “There’s one more thing. Not sure if it means anything or not, but the psychiatric evaluation form done at D-bag’s last parole board hearing was signed by Dr. Kenneth Watson.”
Nick looked up from his desk. “You mean Pearl’s husband?”
“That’s right.” Danny nodded, stroking his chin with his free hand. “Think it means anything?”
“I think it may explain how Peter Arnold became aware of this character. His ex-wife must have mentioned him at some point.”
“That would make sense,” Danny agreed.
“Any chance you could dig up some more details on Muscle Guy’s connection to Dr. Watson?”
“I doubt it.” Danny shook his head, staring thoughtfully into space. “Medical info’s always been tough to come by. With HIIPA in effect, folks in the profession have all clammed up like oysters. Everyone’s afraid of getting their butts sued.”
“I suppose that makes sense, but do me a favor and ask around. See if you can find out anything. Will you?”
“You got it.”
Danny left, leaving Nick alone in the room, and back to his thoughts of a naked Jamie.
Chapter 58
Two hours passed. Sitting alone in his office thinking of Jamie had gotten Nick nothing but a recurring hard on and one hell of a lot of frustration. He needed to get out of the office. Do something proactive. And find out what, if anything, Darla Arnold knew about Michael Bradley, aka D-bag.
He knew, through the grapevine, she’d moved out of Peter’s residence three years ago, and now called an oceanfront condo home. He’d been to the building once with Janelle, during their first marriage. Back when they were house hunting. Before they’d divorced and he’d bought the place in Coral Gables. He still knew the realtor though, and had placed a call before leaving the office, setting up an appointment to go look at an available unit. That got him through security at the front gate.
Parking his car in the lot farthest from the sales office, he moved nonchalantly through the building, taking the elevator up to the twentieth floor, tossing off smiles to the few people he passed along the way.
As the car slugged slowly upward, he thought about the greeting that awaited him. There was always the chance Darla would refuse to see him. And an even bigger chance she’d try to seduce him if she let him in.
The elevator came to a stop with a loud dinging noise, depositing him on the twentieth floor. Nick walked to the door of Darla’s unit, rang the bell and waited. And waited. And waited. Not at home, he decided, and felt almost relieved he would not be fendi
ng off any of her advances.
“Are you a friend of Darla’s?”
The sound of a voice from behind stunned Nick. He spun around to see a middle-aged man, pot-bellied, with white hair and garbed in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, standing at the door behind him. “Yes,” he said. “Who are you?”
“George Salazar.” The guy stuck out his meaty palm. “My wife and I live next door.”
Nick shook his outstretched hand. “Good to meet you, George. Seen Darla around lately?”
“Actually, no.” George crossed his arms over his chest, appearing to rest them on his belly. “I was going to ask if you knew where she was. She hasn’t been around for the last couple of days, and I don’t mind telling you the Mrs. and I are starting to worry.”
“That’s strange.” Given recent events, also more than a little disconcerting. “She may have gone off with a boyfriend. I’ll make a few phone calls and see if I can’t track her down.”
“I’d sure appreciate it. If you do get a hold of her, could you please tell her to call us? The Mrs. is talking about calling the police if we don’t hear from her soon.”
“No problem, George. I’ll pass your message along if I get in touch with her.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
George stood, staring at Nick for a full second longer before moving on down the hall. Nick waited for him to disappear back inside his unit and made his way back to the elevator. If Darla Arnold was missing, then Peter Arnold, scumbag though he was, might not be the person behind Janelle’s murder after all.
Chapter 59
Nick wanted more than just sex. Or thought he did. Wanted to just dive right into another relationship. Figured two-and-a-half months after Janelle’s death was long enough to wait. It had surprised her to hear him say it. Although his desire for a relationship could be just as borne of loneliness and hurt as his desire for sex. He was probably just too hurt and lonely to recognize what a bad idea a relationship was. It didn’t mean a happily-ever-after was in the making.
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 24