by Karen Rose
Finally she turned back to Gideon. “This is what will happen. I am officially reopening the investigation. I will have one of my agents do a search of area pawnshops to determine whether the locket was sold by anyone or if a man matching Miss Dawson’s description purchased it. In the meantime, you have one week to investigate this lead to the Eden cult. If you find anything—like a place to look for this community—you will bring it to me immediately and we will staff appropriately. Regardless, at the end of one week, you’ll report back to me and tell me everything that you’ve found, even if you don’t believe it’s relevant.”
He could barely believe his ears. She was giving him everything he’d asked for. “Yes, ma’am. And if I’m not finished by then?”
“Let’s decide that after one week. I understand your personal mission, but it’s easy for a person—let’s face it, a person like us—to get swallowed up in the quest. You might not be the best person to be searching. You could be so close that you miss something critical. Also, you could easily become obsessed with finding your great white whale. That you’ve been searching for seventeen years shows me that you won’t give up. But do this intelligently.”
“That makes sense,” he allowed.
Her lips twitched. “I’m glad you think so. Just so that we’re clear: If at any time you locate this community, you will inform me. If you locate any specific threat to a specific person or persons, you will inform me. We will investigate and resolve the situation.”
Um . . . no. But he simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I’m serious, Gideon.”
She had to be serious. She’d never called him Gideon before. “Yes, ma’am.”
She shook her head slightly, as if she didn’t believe his promise. “What will you do with your ongoing cases? Where are you on the Chang surveillance tapes?”
“I’ve translated everything that’s come in so far and e-mailed it to you. Nothing of note on the drug trafficking case, but there was some vague conversation about a credit card scam they’re starting. Jim Burns has been working with me. He can be brought up to speed quickly. If any new chatter comes in, call me and I can work on it from wherever I am. I’m not going far. I can be reached on my cell in an emergency.” Unless he was in the mountains where cell signals were spotty at best.
Molina stood up, extending her hand over her desk again. “Take care, Gideon. I hope you find what you’re looking for. If I have to tell anyone what you’re doing, I’ll keep your sister out of it.”
Gideon shook her hand firmly. “I appreciate that, ma’am.”
She gestured at the door with a tilt of her head. “Go. Your week’s officially begun.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 8:25 A.M.
He’d gotten some sleep, but not nearly enough, he thought, stifling a yawn. He’d left too late this morning. When he left on time, he managed to miss rush hour.
If he didn’t get there soon, he’d be late for his shift and shit would hit the fan for sure. The old man would like that, he thought bitterly. He’s just looking for any excuse to fire my ass early. Resisting the urge to lean on his horn, he turned on the radio.
He hated morning radio. Everyone was chirpy. Or trying for witty or sarcastic and missing both. He wished they’d just shut the fuck up and play the damn music.
He’d once had SiriusXM but let the subscription run out. He wasn’t in his car often enough for it to be worth the money for satellite radio. So he was stuck with Sacramento’s finest. TNT and Boomer. He rolled his eyes, hating both of them as he braced himself for inanity.
“And that was Jeff Buckley’s ‘Hallelujah,’” a woman’s voice said, making him blink. “I love that song,” she added wistfully.
She wasn’t one of the cranky old guys. She sounded young. Husky. Sexy.
“You’re not gonna cry, are you, Poppy?” a male asked sarcastically. That was TNT.
Shut up! he thought. Let the woman talk. He liked the sound of her voice. Soothing and smooth. He could listen to her talk all day.
“Not right this second, Tad,” she answered sweetly, “but if I do, I’ll ask for your handkerchief to blow my nose. Of course I’d wash it for you afterward. Maybe even iron it. My mama taught me manners.”
He snorted, turning the radio up a little bit. Good for you, Poppy. Set him straight. Because TNT was usually a dick. She’d dressed him down but hadn’t been rude. That was a disappearing art form.
“I do cry over some things,” she went on. “Like the animals waiting to be adopted at the shelter. We’re having an adoption day at Barx and Bonz in East Sac on Saturday. Come on down. You can meet me and Brutus. Right, Brutus?”
A yip followed and he frowned, thinking of that annoying dog from the night before.
“You tell ’em, Brutus,” she said in that baby voice people used for dogs. That he might even have used on Mutt. Once. Or maybe twice. “Come check it out and you might meet your new best friend. Adoption day is sponsored by KZAU and Barx and Bonz, where you can find everything your pet needs.”
And then she was gone, the feed going into a commercial about the pet store.
He instantly wished she’d come back. But she didn’t. TNT had taken over and he was yakking over the music. Which I detest. He snapped the radio off, relieved because he was finally at his exit. Speeding the rest of the way, he rolled into a parking place and ran into the small building that housed their offices.
“You’re late,” Hank said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t hate Hank, but the man was both clueless and irritatingly optimistic. “Traffic was a bear, that’s all. Any coffee left?”
“I just made a pot. Customers called to say they’re running a little late, too, so you can breathe before they get here.”
“That’s good.” He poured a cup of coffee and turned back to find Hank watching him with pity in his eyes.
“You sure you’re okay? Yesterday was a huge shock. I’m still . . . reeling,” Hank confessed. “And wondering what the hell I’m going to do. My wife’s pregnant again. I don’t know how long our savings are gonna last. But it’s gotta be hard for you, too. I know you expected to be—”
“I’m fine,” he ground out before Hank could say that he had expected him to take over the company. “Worry about yourself. You’ve got a family. I’ll be fine.”
Hank nodded, not bothering to hide the hurt in his eyes at his harsh tone. “Fine.”
Wonderful. Yelling at Hank was like kicking a puppy. “Look, man. I’m sorry. I’m tired and cranky. I hope you find something soon. That’s all I meant.”
“Thank you,” Hank said quietly. “I’ve gone over the checklist. You can audit me.”
Which was the way they usually did it and the way he preferred. That way he could add in a few odds and ends to their gear after Hank was done and nobody would be the wiser. Made transporting his basement guests so much easier.
“Also . . .” He pointed to the bathroom. “Random test day. You have to pee in the cup.”
“Wonderful,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back in a few.” It was good that he hadn’t gotten high last night. That shit stayed with you for a long time.
That the random pee-in-a-cup test happened today was no accident. The old man was looking to fire his long-term employees. That way he didn’t have to pay severance packages.
I’m going to stay here as long as possible, he decided. Just to make the old man squirm. Make him fire me. I dare him.
But even as he mentally spat the words, he knew they were more cavalier than he felt. Without his paycheck, he’d lose his house. And his basement.
He’d do anything to make sure that did not happen, and he wasn’t completely without resources. He knew a few secrets that would stay the old man’s hand. Secrets the old man would do anything to keep fro
m coming out. Just in case Sydney was lying about having an in with the new owners. He was covering all his bases and taking no chances.
No pink slips for me.
This was the benefit of sleep. He was thinking now. Not panicking. The best defense is a good offense. He peed in the cup, then washed his hands and checked the fit of his wig, which was, of course, just fine. It was his everyday wig and would stay on during a hurricane. Well, at least a Category 1. Good thing they didn’t live in a hurricane zone.
The less hair he kept on his body, the better. Nothing to fall off, nothing to implicate him. Placing his cap precisely on his head, he left the bathroom determined and confident.
Until his gaze landed on the woman waiting in the customer lounge, sitting in one of the armchairs like it was a throne, elbows propped on the armrests, her long legs crossed. A smug smile curving her lips.
“Sonny, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in that accent that made her sound like Katherine Hepburn, the one that grated on his nerves. The one that made him want to stick ice picks in his own ears. Or hers.
“What do you want?” he asked, fighting to keep his tone courteous.
“I think you know.” Gracefully she rose and quirked her finger. “We need to talk.”
Except talking was not what she wanted to do. And what she wanted to do made him physically ill. Every single time.
“I’m on shift,” he said. “I can’t.”
Her tweezed brows lifted. “That’s what you said yesterday, but I checked. You weren’t on shift. You lied to me.” She crossed the room to where he’d remained frozen as soon as he’d spied her. Her fingers petted the length of his necktie, smoothing it, smirking when he winced. “Why would you do that to me?” she purred.
Because I hate you and I wish you were dead. He wished he’d killed her years ago. But he hadn’t and now he was paying the price.
“I was upset. I told you that last night. I heard that Paul was selling the company.” He said “Paul,” but he thought “the old man.” Pretending to respect his father might assuage some of Sydney’s pouting ire.
“Well.” She walked her fingers up his tie, then tapped his chin with a manicured finger. He fantasized chopping them off, one by manicured one. “Like I told you last night, I can make sure you come out of this just fine.”
She lied. She lied as easily as she breathed. She’d get what she wanted and leave him with nothing. Less than nothing. He might keep his job, but every time he gave her what she wanted, another piece of him died inside.
“Come to my place tonight,” she whispered. “We can talk.”
No. NO. “Okay,” he heard himself say. Because I’m a coward. A fucking pussy.
“That’s my sweet boy. Have a safe day.”
And she was gone, taking all of his determination with her. He closed his eyes, his fury roiling like a tornado. All of the peace he’d achieved with last night’s basement guest was gone like mist.
And he still hadn’t even started looking for the blonde.
Just get through today. Do your job. And then go home, take a hot bath, walk the dog, and . . . you’ll figure it out. You’ll find the blonde. You’ll keep your job. You’ll keep it together. You always do.
“Hey, man, you okay?”
He turned to find Hank watching him with concern.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
Hank again didn’t look convinced. “I can ask Ricardo to take your place if you need me to.”
And let that asshole get his hours? No way. “I said I’m fine.”
“Okay, okay.” Hank backed away, hands held up in surrender. “Today’s group will be arriving soon. I’ve got the cooler filled. This is a champagne-and-caviar crowd.”
“God,” he muttered. “Shoot me now.” But he hoped they drank all the wine and ate all the fancy finger food because it left the cooler empty. And in his mood, he might need to fill it with something curvy to bring home. The cooler was the perfect size for a size eight. No bigger than a size ten. All soft and pliant. They folded up easier that way.
Hank laughed. “I know, right? But they tip well, and Barb and I need a new crib.”
“Then let’s do this.” He gestured to the door. “After you, Captain Bain.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 10:00 A.M.
Daisy took off her headphones and laid them carefully on the studio console. She’d kept her temper in check for four hours, but it was bubbling over.
Because Tad Nelson Todd—a.k.a. TNT—was a Grade A asshole. He’d started in on her at the beginning of the morning show, little digs at first. The way he always behaved. Those she could ignore or at least manage to laugh off. But the digs got worse and worse as the morning progressed and Daisy was pissed.
Tad wasn’t as careful with his headphones, throwing them aside in a clear show of temper. Daisy shouldered Brutus’s bag, waiting until Tad followed her out of the studio before turning on him with a scowl.
“What was that about, Tad?”
“What?” he asked flatly, as if he were bored.
“You. In there.” She pointed at the studio door. “Calling me ‘little girl.’ Commenting on my body. Insinuating I’m a wild party girl.”
“I just asked what you were doing for spring break,” he said, smirking now.
“You asked what size bikini I wore!” And he’d guessed her measurements. Lasciviously. That had truly lit her fuse. She’d almost punched him. Luckily, he’d done the bit about her measurements—as well as his comments on her sexual preferences—during the last two minutes of the broadcast. She’d brushed his boorishness off with a laugh, but if she’d had to hold her temper much longer, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done. “You all but gave out my phone number. What the hell was that about? And don’t you dare say you were just fooling around.” Not after the night she’d had. She was punchy from lack of sleep, too much caffeine, and the feeling that someone was still following her even though she knew it was her imagination on overdrive.
His lips curled in a sneer. “If you had a sexual harassment issue with me, why didn’t you say so to my face? Why did you go tattling to the brass? They’re considering suspending me. Did you know that?”
She rocked back on her heels, her mouth falling open in shock. “What? Why?”
He took a step forward, leaning into her face. “Because you squealed to Karl that I brushed off ‘e-mails and voice mails of a sexual nature.’” He used air quotes, then clenched his hands into fists, dropping them to his sides. “It was nothing. Baby shit. Professionals don’t whine about shit like that.”
Daisy shook her head to clear it. “Let me get this straight. You were reprimanded for enabling sexually harassing behavior this morning, informed you might be suspended, so you decided to go on the air and actually sexually harass me? Because that’s what professionals do? Do I have this right?”
His eyes were a little wild. Desperate. “Why not? Might as well do the crime if I’m gonna do the time. I might have a future as a shock jock.”
She blinked at him. “You’re an idiot. You know that?”
Anger flared, his jaw going rigid. “And you’re a bitch. You know that? Hell, maybe you wanted me suspended.”
She almost laughed. “You’re joking. Why would I want that?”
“So you can have the show all to yourself.”
“What? I don’t want the show to myself.”
He did laugh, bitterly. “Liar. You waltz in here from nowhere, sidle up to Karl, and then the morning show just falls into your lap. Abracadabra. Like that’s any mystery.”
She stared at him, disgusted. It was the way he’d said “sidle up to Karl,” all sleaze and innuendo. “You can call me a bitch if you want. God knows I’ve been called worse. But don’t you dare insinuate that Karl has been anything but kind and good—
to all of us. Including you. Whatever you think about me, don’t you dare spread rumors about him. He loves his wife and she loves him.” She stopped to breathe, tilting her head when she saw his fury falter. “Did they tell you why I reported the e-mails and voice mails?”
Which she hadn’t yet, actually, not technically anyway. She’d told Karl of their existence on the ride to the Sokolovs’ last night and had been relieved when he hadn’t pressed. Guess that relief was premature. Karl had obviously talked to Rafe and then the station manager. All before dawn.
“No.” Tad’s brows furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I was attacked last night.” She tugged at her turtleneck collar, drawing it low enough that he could see the marks on her throat. It was the same sweater she’d worn the night before. There’d been no time for her to go home and change before work since Rafe had needed roughly sixteen cups of coffee to wake up enough to drive her into the city. “Some guy tried to strangle me and drag me away. I . . .” The memory hit her hard and her voice broke. Ruthlessly she steadied it. “I got away.”
His gaze dropped to her throat, where the red marks had bloomed into dark black and blue bruises overnight. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
She resettled the collar high on her throat. “Yes. Rafe Sokolov has the case. He and his partner asked if I’d been threatened, so yes, I told them about the e-mails. When Rafe asked why I hadn’t told anyone, I said you’d assured me they were part of the business. That I should be flattered. Because you did say those things and last night I was scared and shaken. But I should have reported the messages when they happened. I knew better.” She lifted her chin. “I’m responsible for my bad judgment, not yours. I’ll tell them that.”
Tad frowned, looking skeptical. “You will?”
“Yeah. I may be a bitch, but I’m an honest one, and I take responsibility for my own choices. But what you did in there today? You’re on your own for that. I’ll be filing a grievance against you.” She turned on her heel, rounded a corner, intent on finding somewhere to chill and collect her thoughts before finding the station manager.