by Karen Rose
“Yeah, well, she didn’t listen.”
“How long was she working there?”
“For the last two weeks. She wanted to get close to the owner. Find out why he lied on the stand. Apparently she laid it on thick and followed through with… action.”
Paige grimaced. “Oh God. Tell me she didn’t have sex with that skeazy slime.”
“Apparently she did. At least that’s the story Ramon got inside. Denny Sandoval was pretty satisfied with himself, bedding Ramon’s wife—and he made sure Ramon heard about it. News like that travels damn fast. Ramon blew a gasket. His brother said he lit into some big guys in the yard during recess. They were riding him about it.”
Paige felt sick. “Is Ramon alive?”
“He’s in the clinic. He’ll live, but one of the guys he pummeled might not make it.”
“And then he’ll be a killer for real. That’s not fair,” she hissed fiercely.
“None of this is fair. Ramon told Elena he wanted a divorce when she went to see him in the clinic on Saturday.”
“You can’t blame him, I suppose, based on what he’d heard. I guess Elena’s taking such a huge risk to get those pictures makes sense. I guess she didn’t feel like she had anything to lose.” Paige headed into the parking garage where she’d left her truck.
“That’s my take, too. What did you decide to do about the prosecutor?”
“I don’t know yet. I didn’t actually talk to him.”
“Why not?”
“He was surrounded by reporters, for one, and I don’t want to be in anyone else’s video. He was in court by the time I got down here.” She frowned. “I’m still not sure enough about him to risk it. He was in court for a jury verdict—they found the guy guilty of murder. He looked really happy about it.”
“They usually do when they get a conviction. Most of the guys he tries are probably guilty as hell, Paige.”
“I know, I know. I’m just worried that the pictures Elena died to get will get ‘lost’ or worse. Going the defense attorney route might be safer after all. I tried to talk to Ramon’s old attorney, but he passed away a few years ago. Do you know any others?”
“A few. Where are you now?”
She pulled her keys from her pocket. “In a parking garage. About to come home.”
“No.” He barked it with such intensity that she flinched. “Not yet,” he added.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “You gave me a heart attack.”
“Check your truck for a tracking device. Look up under the bumper.”
“Damn reporters.” Paige crouched, doing as he’d instructed. “Why here?”
“A, it’s the easiest place to hide a tracking device, and B, it’s where I found mine.”
She paused, her hand up under the grille. “Before or after you visited Maria’s family?”
“Before. I drove to the office and switched vehicles with Alyssa. I told her to take the day off and just drive wherever she wanted to go.”
Paige chuckled. “They’ll be spending a lot of time waiting outside the nail salon if they’re tracking Alyssa.”
“Exactly.”
Paige’s fingers closed over a small device and she pulled it free. “Found it. Asshole reporters.” Her knees, still sore from her hard landing, started to protest the crouch and she rose stiffly. “I need to stretch my—”
The next word was forgotten, the step behind her the only notice she had before an arm like iron wrapped around her neck. From the corner of her eye she saw the glitter of a blade and she twisted, jabbing her elbow into a rock-hard gut and throwing her body to the right with all her strength.
Get away. She twisted again, slipping free. Momentum sent her to the concrete floor and out of sheer instinct she rolled to her back, striking a vicious kick to the man’s knees.
He was a mountain, a goddamned mountain, and her kick might have been that of a child. As fast as she had been, he leaned forward to grab her hair, the knife in his hand, coming at her. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. Fight. Fight.
Watch the knife. She struggled to kick out at him again, her eyes on the knife.
And then the mountain crumpled, the man staggering to his knees in a thump that made the floor shake. Paige kicked, sending the knife flying to land harmlessly under her truck. The sound of the knife skittering along the concrete echoed in her ears.
The man fell forward, as if in slow motion, and Paige rolled out of his path.
Lying on her side, she looked up, her racing heart beating a hole in her chest.
Him.
It was him. Grayson Smith. He stood over the knife man, face dark with fury, his arm still outstretched, a briefcase clenched in his fist.
A warrior in a three-piece suit.
Time began to move again as Smith reached to grab the man, who leapt to his feet and ran. Smith started to chase him, then cursed and dropped to his knees beside her, his briefcase hitting the floor with another loud thud that made her flinch. “He got you.”
Paige’s hand flew to her throat. Warm and sticky. She stared at her hand, covered with blood for the second time that day. “Shit.”
Smith yanked a handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressed it to her throat, then lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled.
Four
Tuesday, April 5, 12:02 p.m.
Goddammit. She was white as a sheet. Blood steadily flowed from the slice on her throat, turning her red coat black. Grayson gently tilted her face up to the light, willing his hands not to shake as he continued to press his handkerchief against her wound. An inch lower and she’d have been dead. Her pulse was like a goddamn rocket.
He spared a glance in the direction the man had run. The bastard was gone. He fumbled for his cell phone, managed to call 911 while keeping pressure on her throat.
“This is 911. What is your emergency?” the operator asked.
“A woman’s been stabbed in the throat. I need an ambulance at the parking garage four blocks west of the courthouse. Second floor, close to the stairwell.”
“I’ve dispatched emergency services. Is she conscious?”
“Yes.” Thank God.
She’d closed her eyes. Her hands clenched, relaxed, then clenched again. He freed the top buttons of her coat, checked her pulse. It had already slowed substantially.
“Are you in a safe place?” the operator asked.
“I think so.” Grayson’s breath still came in hard pants, while the woman had hers evening out. “The man with the knife ran away.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He was six four, two hundred thirty or forty pounds. He had on a black baseball cap, so I couldn’t see his hair color. He was wearing a black nylon jacket and black cargo pants. I only saw his back.”
“Okay, stay on the line. Help is coming.”
“I’m going to put the phone down to keep pressure on her neck,” Grayson said. “I’ll put it on speaker.” He set his phone aside and cradled the woman’s head, lifting her gently until her head rested on his thigh. His handkerchief was soaked through so he tugged his tie from his collar and pressed it to her neck instead.
“I’m all right,” she murmured and he let out a harsh breath. She opened her eyes, looking straight up at him, compelling him to answer her.
Except he didn’t know what she wanted. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Paige. Paige Holden. Thank you. You probably saved my life.”
His lips twitched, relief rushing through him at her slightly arch tone. “Probably?”
One side of her mouth lifted. “Gotta leave me a little dignity.”
“I’d say you did more than okay, Miss Holden.” Now that it was over, he was amazed that she’d fought against a man nearly twice her weight. “That was one hell of a kick.”
“That’s one hell of a briefcase.” She struggled to sit, but he restrained her gently.
“Don’t move. If you
sit up, you could start gushing again. Which would be bad since I don’t have any more ties or hankies. The ambulance is coming.”
Her eyes flickered. “I lost my phone. I was talking to someone. He’ll be worried.”
He? Emotion rose quickly, stunning him. Annoyance, anger. Jealousy? Yeah, all of the above. Which was crazy. “Who were you talking to?” he asked, trying not to growl.
“My business partner. He’s going to be out of his mind. Can you find my phone?”
Her phone lay against the tire of the car in the next parking place. He stretched as far as he could, just able to scoop the phone up with his fingertips. Studying it, he frowned.
It was the brand sold in convenience stores. “Exactly what business are you in?”
She studied him for a long moment. “Private investigation. I’m still a newbie.”
Oh. Elena Muñoz had hired a PI to help clear her husband. That made sense. Finally something does. He redialed the last call received, then handed her the phone.
Her eyes never left his as she waited for the call to go through. Wary, she was.
“I’m okay,” she said into the phone without preamble, then winced. “Don’t shout at me. I said I’m okay.” She winced again. “A guy attacked me with a knife, but I’m fine. Grayson Smith is here.” She glanced up at Grayson uneasily. “Of course he wasn’t. He chased the guy with the knife away.”
Grayson took the phone from her hand. “This is Smith. Who is this?”
“Her partner, Clay Maynard.” The man sounded frantic. “Is she really okay?”
“No. The guy sliced her throat with his knife. An ambulance is on its way. She shouldn’t need more than stitches. I’ll let you know which ER.”
“Thanks,” Clay said gruffly. “She’ll fight you over going in the ambulance. Make her go. Please. And Smith? Don’t leave her till I get there, okay?”
Grayson frowned. He recognized Maynard’s name but couldn’t remember from where. “Sure.” He picked up his own cell. “I’m disconnecting,” he said to the operator. “The medics are almost here. Thanks.” He dropped both phones in his pocket.
Paige struggled once more to sit up, reaching for her phone. “Please give it back.”
“After you’re in the ER,” he said and she glared.
“Extortion.”
“Whatever works.” He leaned closer, so close that he felt her breath on his cheek. She was connected to Elena, and he needed to know how. Once they got to the ER, he might not have the privacy to ask. “You were working for Elena Muñoz?”
She hesitated. Then gave him the same brief nod she had on the courthouse steps.
“In what capacity?” he asked.
“Proving her husband is innocent. She found new evidence. It’s compelling. It also got her killed.”
If he had a nickel for every claim of new evidence… Still, considering the events of the morning, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt. For now. “Why come to me? The police will investigate…” His words trailed away when her eyes flashed, violently. “You didn’t tell the police about this evidence?”
“No. And I don’t plan to.”
Anger bubbled up. “Why the hell not?” She hesitated again, longer this time. “Hurry,” he hissed. “The ambulance is coming.”
“Elena told me cops did this to her, right before she was shot the last time.”
For a moment he was speechless. It was quite an accusation, one he didn’t believe. But she obviously did, and she had been attacked. “Why come to me?”
“I want to do the right thing. I have information and I need to trust someone. I needed to know if you were an honest man. Are you?”
Her question left him uncomfortable. “I saved your life.”
“I know. Now I need your help to save someone else’s. Are you an honest man?”
Most of the time, he thought. “Yes.”
“Good. Now help me sit up. I’ll let them check me out here, but I’m not getting in that damn ambulance.” She struggled to sit and he held her down. Not, he discovered, an easy feat. She obviously hadn’t really been trying before. “Let me up,” she hissed, her struggles becoming desperate. “Please.”
Panic flared in her eyes and he realized that this woman, who seemed so fearless, was scared of ambulances. He’d found there was usually a reason for such fear. He wanted to know what that reason was.
She was valiant, but for the moment vulnerable. “You want my help?” he asked coolly. “You go in the nice ambulance.”
“That’s extortion,” she said again, this time through clenched teeth. She was trembling and he was tempted to let her run. But he held her firmly. For her own good.
“Like I said,” he said, still holding her shoulders in place. “Whatever works.”
“Don’t hold me down.” She was breathing hard, fighting him, her panic rapidly escalating as the ambulance drew closer. Her feet were planted firmly on the concrete and she was trying to rise. “Let me go. Please.”
A different kind of dread filled him. He’d known enough victims of assault to see the signs. The wounds on her throat could be stitched. Whatever was behind this fear went far deeper. He lightened his grip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She fell back against him, her forehead beaded with sweat. “I’ll go. I promise. I’ll go in the ambulance. Just… don’t… don’t hold me down.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again as gently as he could. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She met his eyes, hers haunted. “Don’t go. Please.”
Grayson brushed his hand over her hair as the ambulance came to a halt. “I won’t leave you. Close your eyes and breathe.” She obeyed, visibly attempting to regain control of herself. He found himself doing the same, because his heart was pounding like hell, his gut churning with adrenaline and dread and… admiration.
She’d been afraid this morning, still she’d done the right thing. She came to me.
She’d fought an attacker, but now lay against him. Still frightened. But trusting me.
He hesitated, then brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was flushed. But soft. “You’ll be okay,” Grayson murmured. “I won’t leave you.”
Tuesday, April 5, 12:30 p.m.
He looked up at his handiwork. The body swung nicely, the knots in the bedsheets holding firm. To even the best-trained eye, this was a suicide. He should know. He’d had a great deal of practice at making murder look like it wasn’t.
Cleanup had become his specialty and Denny Sandoval had been a worrisome loose end for a long time. But that time was over.
Denny had finally spilled his secrets. All the ones I care about anyway.
He inspected the bedroom, making sure everything was in place. The note Denny had been gracious enough to write was on his dresser. His suitcase was put away, his clothes back in his drawers. There would be no indication that he planned to run away.
He’d already checked Denny’s cell phone. There were no calls in or out that were troublesome. Except the call to Silas. Fortunately Denny had called Silas’s “business” phone. The police might look at the number because he’d called it shortly before Elena was shot, but it would take them nowhere.
Now, Elena Muñoz was an entirely different matter. Her ruse had gotten her killed. And caused me a hell of a lot of trouble. She’d turned out to be far more resourceful than he’d given her credit for. Not that it would have taken much to outsmart Denny.
I should have killed him six years ago. But it would have raised too many of the wrong eyebrows, so he’d let the bar owner live. He looked up at Denny’s swinging body with contempt. The prick just had to go and bang Muñoz’s woman.
Of course that stupidity was completely topped by his keeping photographs of the payoff. Photographs, for God’s sake.
Denny had denied it. Vociferously at first. Not so vociferously after a few rounds of “encouragement.” Then he’d spilled it. He’d hidden a security camera behind the bar that night. Th
e night I paid him to keep his damn mouth shut.
Denny had actually thought he could use them. Against me. As insurance. Idiot.
And had Elena seen these photographs? Oh no, Denny had whined. But of course she had. That she’d seen something important didn’t take a genius to ascertain. Denny had shot her, but not well enough. He’d had to call Silas for backup.
He still wasn’t sure what to do about Silas. Silas had lied to him. That couldn’t be condoned. But… Silas had his skills. I’ll have to think on that for a while.
Now he had bigger issues to consider. Not only had Elena Muñoz seen Denny’s pics, but she’d downloaded them. Apparently Denny didn’t realize his computer recorded every access and every save of every file. Because Denny was a goddamn idiot.
Elena had walked away with damaging pictures. Of me. Giving money to him. He looked up at Denny’s swinging body, fury bubbling within him. Luckily I was smart enough to disguise myself that night or Denny would have met with a much crueler fate.
He went downstairs to the bar and pried open the cash register. The cash held within wasn’t enough to gas his car for a week, but it would look like a robbery. He surveyed the mess behind the bar, broken glass and rivers of booze. He’d been looking for more cameras and had found them. The camera feeds all went to Denny’s laptop, which he’d also taken. Asshole. Keeping insurance on me.
As a final note, he opened the front door a crack, then left through the back. Teens would be all over this place like jackals on a carcass. They’d further wreck the joint and steal everything that wasn’t tied down. Eventually somebody would find Denny swinging. Any cops suspecting foul play would have to sort through a lot of debris.
Good riddance, Denny. He slid Denny’s laptop into his backpack. No police would find the pictures in a search. But the pictures were out there, somewhere. He needed to assume they would be found. People would know Sandoval and Muñoz’s friend had lied under oath. Muñoz would probably be freed, eventually.
Luckily he’d always had a backup plan. Convicting Ramon Muñoz had never been a done deal.
His cell phone rang as he started his car, the one number he always answered on the first ring. “Good morning,” he said.