by Sarah Andre
Jordan scribbled notes. “How long have you been seeing Roberto?”
“I hooked up with him when he left the Avalanche, you know, that night.”
At her awkward expression, Lock motioned for her to continue.
“Then he called yesterday when he came back into town. I, like, really think he’s The One.”
Her face glowed, and knowing Vannini’s misogynist rep, Lock felt sorry for her. Real sorry.
“I may take some vacation time next month to visit him once the ski season ends. He’s, like, almost begging me to.” She flipped her helmet hair.
“He sure is hot,” Jordan said with a smile, and even before his temper sparked Lock felt her palm slide onto his knee. She patted it twice and withdrew.
“I know, right?” Prissy leaned forward. “He’s so charming with that Italian accent and how he gives you those sexy looks.”
Jordan rested her chin in her palm, her expression like a conspiring girlfriend. “So how did you end up with Roberto the night of Tiffany’s murder?”
“Well, I was behind the Dumpster getting high,” she began without shame, but Jordan immediately held up a hand.
“Start when you were with him in the bar.”
Prissy frowned. “I wasn’t. I mean, I was in the bar, but I wasn’t with him. I planned to go over, but, like, I was talking to friends, and then I took a break to…you know.”
Smoke weed.
“We know.” Jordan nodded. “It’s just that we spoke to someone tonight who’d also been in the bar, and he saw you talking to Roberto and holding a Cosmo.”
Prissy’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t drink Cosmos.”
“It wasn’t yours. You gave it to Tiffany.”
“Not me.”
“Did you know Tiffany?”
She shrugged. “I knew her, because, like, we were usually at the same team parties, but she never talked to me. I wouldn’t, like, give her a drink, that’s for sure.”
“Did you see anyone talking to Roberto before you went outside?”
She pursed her lips and thought. “A couple of girls came over, but like, he waved them away.”
“Someone with hair that looks like yours?” Frustration streamed from every word and Lock squeezed Jordan’s shoulder.
Prissy pursed her lips, eyebrows knotted. “Hmm. Nope.”
“So you never spoke to him, just went outside to smoke a joint?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“You mean you were already in the parking lot when Roberto and Tiffany came out?”
Prissy nodded and Lock suddenly clued in to the importance of this side topic.
“Yeah. She was pretty drunk, so he had his arm around her. Sorry, Lock.”
He couldn’t respond. Every muscle froze waiting for Jordan’s next question.
“Were you able to hear what they said?”
“Oh, sure. The Dumpster’s only a few yards away.”
“For Lock’s sake, tell us everything that happened from the moment they left the bar.”
“Well, first she was kind of shocked to see him. You know, like, ‘What are you doing here?’ or something like that.”
“Was she happy-shocked, or more like shocked and scared.”
“I wouldn’t call it scared, it was more, like, annoyed.”
“Go on.”
“She accused him of stalking her, and he said, ‘We must talk,’ and when she tried to walk away, he kind of pushed her up against a car. He asked if she’d told Lock yet, and she said, ‘No, but I will.’ Then Roberto grabbed her hard and insisted this other model in Milan told her lies, and she should forget what she heard.”
“What lies?”
“I don’t know. Something he’d done, but it must have been pretty bad. He sounded really upset that she knew.”
Proof of Vannini’s doping. He exchanged a quick glance with Jordan.
“What was Tiffany’s reaction?” she asked Prissy.
“Oh, she was angry right back. She said ‘I could end your career in the blink of an eye, so if I were you I’d show some respect.’”
Jordan waited, pen poised. “And then?”
“He said something else, but it was too quiet. He kinda looked mean. And then she struggled and said, ‘I won’t tell.’ Then Lock came flying out the door. It was all, like, so exciting!”
Jordan pressed her lips tight. Lock knew her enough to recognize she burned with frustration. Just like him. They were so close. They just needed proof. One witness.
“Was anyone else in the parking lot besides the two of them?” Jordan asked.
“No.”
“Did you see anyone in the bar who may have been upset with Tiffany besides Lock and Roberto?”
“Nope.”
Jordan nibbled a muffin and gazed at Prissy thoughtfully. “So now the fight’s over, you’re behind a Dumpster and had never met Roberto. How could you possibly have hooked up with him? Witnesses say he got straight into his car and left.”
She giggled and flipped that helmet hair again, a gesture that seemed to annoy even Leo at this point.
“Well, after the fight, people held Lock back. I was close enough to Roberto’s car that I just slipped in the passenger seat and scrunched down. A few seconds later he climbed in and, let’s just say he didn’t kick me out.” She beamed with pride, and Jordan grinned in a poor imitation of admiration.
“How did you know which car was his?”
“I saw him come roaring in when I was walking over from my shift here. Can’t miss a Lamborghini. Or a guy who looks like that.”
Jordan’s grin remained. “Wow. You’re pretty gutsy.”
She nodded and yawned. “Can I go now?” It was obvious by the exhaustion on her face that she was coming off her high at Mach 10.
“Sure,” Jordan said absently. Lock paid the bill, and they stayed silent until Prissy went into the kitchen.
“What now?” Leo asked.
She flipped her pages closed. “We better split up. Lock, you go find Wolf and ask him what he remembers about that night. Write everything down. Leo, since my cover is blown, could you find Roberto and pretend Tiffany told you the secret? See if he gives up any clues.”
Leo smiled. “I am a crime writer, you know. I can bullshit my way through an interview to get what I need.”
She blushed. “I’m sorry.”
Lock cleared his throat, feeling the heat rise in his face. “Thanks for bringing up that roofie angle, Leo.” It still meant if Vannini hadn’t done it then he had, but that look was off his brother’s face, and Lock would take any small win he could at this point.
His brother flushed too. Ten months together, and they still didn’t know how to relate. “I’m just glad you upheld your promise.”
“What promise?” Jordan asked, looking like a pointer sniffing out a fallen bird.
Prissy pushed through the kitchen doors with her jacket on. “Sorry guys, the owner wants to close up now.”
Lock snagged the last muffin and followed the other three to the door, where Prissy called out goodnight to someone named Harry. The three stepped into the night amid the chaotic stream of people on the sidewalk while Lock lagged behind, half chewing the muffin, half covering himself like a leper with the collar, scarf, and cap. When he walked out, Jordan was asking again about the promise. He couldn’t hear Leo’s short murmur. Prissy waved at someone down the block.
Suddenly he was blinded by headlights turning on. The car was twenty yards away, parallel parked, and the asshole flicked on his brights.
The other three jaywalked across Main just as the car careened out.
Too fast. This is Main Street!
He noted a silver SUV and then stopped thinking. It was deliberately aiming straight for Jordan, Leo, and Prissy. Jesus Christ!
He charged into the street. The engine gunned, the SUV sped up.
He wasn’t going to make it! He closed in on the three, hearing the ominous crunch of tires in the hard-packed snow just to his right. T
hen screams from onlookers. With a primal roar, he vaulted off his feet, arms spread and tackled them. At the last second, his fingertips slipped off Prissy’s nylon jacket.
Momentum slammed him to the ground atop his brother and Jordan. A horrific thump and more screams. Lock caught the taillights disappearing down South Galena Street. And then everything went silent. A horrible silence that lasted seconds, but felt like hours. Followed by shouts and trampling feet.
He glanced dazedly over his shoulder and only made out frizzy helmet-hair, lying inert in the street.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sirens wailed in the distance. Instinctively Lock’s skin crawled. Jordan insisted his tackle hadn’t hurt her rib but crouched with her arms around her sides, shivering uncontrollably. She looked like she was going to puke. Leo, sporting a bloody nose, limped to Prissy’s body and began administering first aid, along with an older man in a neon-yellow jacket.
Lock sighed with relief. “She’s not dead,” he murmured to Jordan. “But that hit was totally deliberate.” Christ, he’d almost lost his brother and Jordan. Poor Prissy. If only he’d grabbed harder.
“She was j-just…and now s-she’s run over.” Jordan’s teeth chattered, mangling her speech, and Lock longed to haul her in his arms.
“Seriously, are you sure you’re all right, Jo?”
She nodded. Leo said something to neon-jacket man, glanced at the swirling lights lighting up the night sky a few blocks away, and limped back. His nose was really gushing now, and he pinched the bridge hard. “Her pulse is stable. You two better get out of here before the police and media arrive. I’ll stay as a witness and call you later.”
“Isn’t th-that illegal? This is a crime s-scene.”
“Go. I still have cop friends around here.”
Lock nodded, dug in his pocket, and handed over Leo’s car keys. “We’ll meet you at the St. Regis bar. And Leo…thank you.”
“Get moving. The press’ll be here any second.”
“I th-think we should stay together. That poor woman,” Jordan sputtered.
“We’re actually safer apart,” Leo answered, sounding nasal. “We don’t know if they’re after us. We don’t know they won’t come back and finish the job.”
Jordan visibly shook now, and Lock was done standing around like a helpless schmuck.
“Come on. Leo’s got it handled.” He slipped an arm around her and drew her down the quieter South Mill Street. “Let’s grab a whiskey and decide what to do next. It’s five blocks to the St. Regis. Are you okay walking that far?”
She nodded, limping stiffly in her boot. He swallowed thickly, trying to rid himself of the gruesome image of Prissy laying in that street. Christ, she’d just been giggly and high and in love with Vannini. How could this happen? What the hell had they uncovered?
Jordan stopped abruptly, stripped off a glove and fished out her cell. “Yes, h-hello. Roberto Vannini’s room please.”
Lock’s breath stilled. If Vannini was behind the wheel he wouldn’t be back at the hotel yet. Once again Jordan’s mind leapt way ahead of his.
After thirty seconds she hung up and pursed her lips. Her color and confidence seemed to be returning. “Make a note of the time,” she said, pocketing the phone and shoving her glove back on.
Eight forty-three.
She stayed silent the remaining blocks, and he was pretty sure she hadn’t voluntarily gone this long without asking him a question in four days. A testament to her shock.
Once inside the warmth of the slightly empty, dimly lighted lounge, they sat at a back corner table and ordered two double Crowns, neat. When the waiter left, Lock took a chance and unwrapped the gear covering most of his face.
“I better call Jefferson and fill him in on”—she swallowed, “all this. He’ll know what we should do. Besides interviewing Vannini, I mean. Leo won’t be able to so I will.”
Lock briefly considered trying to stop that plan, but Jordan was as hardheaded as women came. Nothing would prevent her from returning to Vannini’s room. In fact, all he could do for her was stand in the hallway, straining to hear any sound of a struggle or cry for help. He rubbed his whiskered jaw hard.
She fumbled with her cell, her fingers still shaking uncontrollably.
“Hey.” He slipped the phone from her grasp and engulfed her cold, clammy hands in his warm ones.
She lowered her eyes. “That was so horrible, seeing her laying there. It…it reminds me of when…my father…you know.”
He squeezed her hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She took a couple of breaths, and he studied how those long, black eyelashes brushed her cheeks. How her shapely pink lips were slightly chapped, but still so appealing he wanted to haul her onto his lap and kiss her pain away. His groin nudged him, and he blinked to attention. She was about to spill secrets about her father. And a woman had been plowed down by a car. Not a great time to be thinking about sex.
“There’s too much to do,” she said. “But could you scroll through my directory and dial Jefferson for me?”
He did as she requested, then handed her the phone.
“Jefferson?” she squeaked, after a few seconds. Whatever her boss said brought tears to her eyes, and now hauling her onto his lap became a visceral need. He clung to her free hand, hoping somehow she knew she wasn’t alone in this.
“It’s bad,” she whispered into the receiver. She yanked her hand away and brought it to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks.
The waiter arrived with their drinks and stood there, frozen, probably because of Jordan’s meltdown, but Lock didn’t need the Lock and Load bullshit right now and motioned him forward. Once the snifters were on the table, he handed the ogling guy a fifty.
“Try your best to keep the tables around us empty.”
“Yes, sir.” He looked about eighteen, and by the awkward the way he held the tray he was new at this.
“There’s another hundred when we leave, if you keep your mouth shut. You never saw me, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
There was no more he could do. If the waiter outed him, he’d deal with it then.
Lock refocused on Jordan as the young guy slipped away. She tried to list the facts, but began to hyperventilate.
He held out his palm. “Drink some whiskey, I’ll fill him in.”
Although she hesitated, he kept the care and concern on his face, and finally she handed the phone over.
“Jefferson?”
“She doesn’t drink whiskey.”
“She does now. We need your help. We could be in trouble.”
“Aw, Christ.”
Lock heard computer keys clicking and frowned. “What’re you doing?”
“Booking the next flight to Aspen.”
“We don’t need that kind of help, we need your brains.”
“She’s like a kid sister to me. If she’s in danger, I’m coming out.”
Lock watched Jordan take a gulp of whiskey and dissolve into red-faced coughing that squeezed more tears out. He pressed his lips to keep from laughing. “Don’t worry, dude,” he managed to say, “I’ll keep little Jesselynn Claire safe.”
“Ohhhh!” she gasped through her coughing, and waved for the phone.
“What?” Jefferson asked.
“What?” Lock asked right back, confused at everything happening now.
She lunged for the phone, almost spilling her drink, and he blocked her with ease, sending her a WTF look.
“What did you call her?” Jefferson asked in a flat tone.
“I thought you said she was like a kid sister?”
Dead silence on the line, and suddenly Jordan’s frantic waving and coughing swear words became crystal clear. “Oh shit,” he muttered. “She lied to you too.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“He wants to speak to you.” Lock finally held out the damn phone. Jordan gazed at it bleakly. Her boss, mentor, and close friend had just discovered her years-long deception.
Minutes ago, she’d stopped the struggle to snatch it back, knowing the damage was done and life as she knew it was over. Rebecca’s too. Her insides burned from the whiskey, and her throat still felt constricted, so when she gripped the phone, Jefferson’s name came out in a raw whisper.
“So,” he said briskly, “I’m up to speed on your past, and I’d bet my Harley that something about your father or your past sent you on this wild hunt rather than your mother’s need for tests. But we’ll discuss that shortly.” His tone was completely conversational, like he was giving her the rundown on a new case. “My immediate concern is why Lock Roane thinks you’re in danger.”
She cleared her throat and tried for voice again. “We interviewed Jennifer Johnson tonight, and right after that we were all involved in a hit and run. Lock pushed Leo and me out of the way, but Prissy—Jennifer—is badly injured.” She gulped a breath, afraid she’d lose it again.
Jefferson swore. “Go on.”
“We think she may have inadvertently known who killed Tiffany or witnessed something that forced the killer to act again. Or else we were the targets, and she just happened…”
She couldn’t finish. Jefferson exhaled long and slow on the other end, a sure sign he was trying to get a grip on his temper. That she would ask for his help now, when he had to think the worst of her. She sniffed back the tear-induced congestion, determined not to wallow in self-pity. There was no time for girlie-crap.
“Bring me up to speed,” he said.
She pulled herself together enough to lay out what facts they’d gathered today: Roberto adamantly denying an affair with Tiffany, Reeves being the webmaster, but right-handed. What Prissy overheard in the parking lot. Some blonde woman spiking the Cosmo. And finally the hit and run.
“Anything else?”
“I think that’s all.” Jordan glanced at Lock for verification. He’d been on Leo’s cell while she talked, but was off now and listening intently. His whiskey glass was almost empty.
“What’s your next step?” Jefferson asked.
“I’ll visit Roberto and bluff about knowing Tiffany’s secret. We’re in his hotel, at the bar.”
“I’m assuming he didn’t answer the door.”