Allie laughed. “It’s just like Eden St. Claire to celebrate catching a pair of serial killers by getting married.”
The residual tension in Simone’s spine eased. “Our friend has always prided herself on being unpredictable. Why else would she leave journalism and have accepted that new job as a police consultant in their cold case division?” Eden and Allie. Simone smiled. Sometimes she swore her life began that first day in kindergarten when they’d found each other on the playground. Sisters from the start. Simone, Eden, Allie and...
Simone squeezed her eyes shut against the unwanted image of a freckle-faced, redheaded little girl with mismatched sneakers. Chloe. Simone brushed her finger against the heart pendant at her throat.
“You have a court case today?”
Allie sighed that exhausted sigh that normally took her weeks to build up to. “I’ve been consulting on a custody battle that’s getting nasty. This poor kid. Hearing her parents fight over her and their failures as human beings is taking its toll. She’s a sad little thing. Hard to believe her name is Hope.”
“How old is she?” Simone sipped her coffee and settled into BFF mode. Whatever was lurking upstairs could wait a few more minutes.
“Nine,” Allie said after a slight hesitation. “The age when everything changes.” Simone dug her manicured fingernails into the hem of her skirt. How well they knew. After twenty years of trying to put the murder of her childhood friend Chloe Evans behind her, behind them, Chloe’s killer had resurfaced and begun bestowing special “gifts” on her, Allie and Eden. The gifts she could handle, for the most part. It was the psychopath’s attention to their professional—and personal—lives that got to her. He’d wedged himself into Eden’s case, nearly costing an FBI agent his life. It was all Simone could do not to think about what Chloe’s killer might be planning next. As much as Simone agreed Chloe Evans’s case should be readdressed, the wounds that came with it weren’t ones Simone was in any hurry to revisit.
The pastry and coffee churned in her stomach as the image of wilted violets and pink stationery came to mind. Push it aside. Focus on the case. On Mara. On what you can control.
“You sound stressed. I take it you can’t do lunch today?” Allie asked.
“Any other day, Al, I swear. My case is circling the drain and I have massive damage control ahead of me. Ah, how about dinner tonight or tomorrow?”
“I’m leaving tonight for a conference in Los Angeles. How about next week after Eden and Cole get back?”
So it wasn’t a one-on-one she needed, but a community confab? “It does for me if it does for you. Allie...” she trailed off, almost afraid to ask. “You haven’t gotten any more notes, have you? This doesn’t have anything to do with Chloe’s killer, does it?”
“There’s been nothing since Chloe’s missing shoe was mailed to the police last month. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with that. Well, not directly. Just something that’s come up I need to talk out.”
“You know what?” Simone knew how much it took for Allie to ask for help. Their stalwart “take on anything” friend was one of the most logical, stable people Simone had ever known. She was also a terrible liar. “How about a late lunch? I can probably get out of the office around two—”
“It can wait, Simone,” Allie cut her off. “Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. You have enough on your plate without adding my sudden insecurities to the mix.”
Since when did Allie feel insecure about anything? “I’m a phone call away, or a text.” Simone looked down at her phone as a second call came in—another from her boss. A headache pounded against the side of her head as if asking permission to be admitted. “Chin up, Al. The world isn’t used to seeing you frown.”
“How do you know I’m frowning?”
“Because I know you and Eden better than you know yourselves.” She hadn’t earned her mother hen reputation by accident. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah. Good luck with the boss.”
“I’m going to need it.” Simone disconnected and tested her stomach by plucking off another flaky bite of chocolaty goodness. She heaved an Allie-worthy sigh and leaned her arm on the door, rubbing her temple as she willed the caffeine to take her away.
The sharp knock on her window had her yelping. Coffee sloshed over the back of her hand, spattering the side of her white shirt, and left her seeing red. “Son of a—”
Simone leaned back and stared out at the familiar, slightly pudgy middle-aged face. “Russo?” The senior deputy who had been assigned to watch Mara stepped away as she shoved open the door. “What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that?”
“I needed to talk to you.” He motioned her into the shadows. “Alone.”
“Well, nothing gets the attention of a single woman faster than stalking her in a parking garage.” Simone planted her hands on her hips and dipped her chin. After a calming breath, she looked at him, only then noticing he wasn’t in uniform. But he was wearing his sidearm. “Is there any news on Mara? Tell me you found her.”
“Can’t say that.” Russo’s eyes narrowed. “And I won’t be getting any updates since Ernie and I have been advised by our union rep not to discuss the investigation.”
“What investigation?” Simone crossed her arms as alarm bells clanged in her head. “It’s not your fault she’s rabbited.”
“Apparently that’s not how the higher-ups see it. Dereliction of duty was one of the phrases my boss and one of your lot from the DA’s office were throwing around. Dereliction, yeah, right.”
One of her lot? The hostility in his voice shoved her off-kilter. Russo was as easygoing as anyone she’d ever known. It was one reason she’d specifically asked for him where Mara was concerned.
“Ernie and I did everything by the book,” Russo continued. “From the time we parked in front of her apartment at six p.m. We did the routine checks, confirmed arrangements for this morning to bring her to court. She even made us a big thermos of coffee before she turned in around midnight.”
“Sounds like Mara,” Simone said. “Then what happened?”
Exhaustion crept over the deputy’s face as his anger seemed to abate. “One second we’re drinking coffee and eating oatmeal cookies, and the next, the sun’s streaming through our windshield and Mara’s gone. We didn’t even have a chance to get our bearings before we’re called into the station and put on indefinite administrative leave effective immediately.”
“You’re suggesting Mara drugged you.” There wasn’t any way to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Show me one thing that’s made sense with this case from the get-go,” Russo said. “That's not even the weirdest part. As we started asking questions about this morning and tried to explain ourselves, our captain informs us the orders for our suspension came from a higher-up. We’re off the case.”
“And the higher-up he’s referring to is someone in my office?” Could this day really get any worse?
“My only other guess would be the Feds stuck their nose into the Denton case, but I haven’t heard one word about them sniffing around, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Who was it you spoke with from the DA’s office?”
“Didn’t get his name but I’ve seen him around the last few months. I don’t know what happened last night with Mara, but in all my twenty years on the job, I’ve never once fallen asleep. I can only hope it was Mara who drugged us.”
“But what would she—”
“She’s gone, isn’t she? Our best guess is she wanted out. Maybe she came to it on her own, maybe she had help.” Concern and suspicion shone in his dark eyes. “I hate to think of anything happening to her, Simone. Especially when she was under our watch.”
Not just under their watch; Mara was her responsibility. Not that it had taken mu
ch convincing to get the young woman to testify against her former boss. Other than last-minute panic a couple of weeks ago, the recent college graduate had seen her involvement in the case as a grand adventure. How many times had Simone wished all her witnesses were as eager to help? “Wait. Back up a second. Did you say your boss called you to the station before you could report Mara as missing?”
“Now do you see why I wanted to talk to you away from your office?” Russo asked. “Whatever’s going on with your witness, with this case, someone’s putting their thumb on the scale. It’s like we’re five steps behind. It’s bad for Mara, she’s either out there alone getting into trouble, or...”
Simone held up her hand in defiance as guilt and fear rose. “We’re going to assume it was her choice to run until we have evidence to the contrary.” Simone had been distracted lately. Maybe she’d missed something with Mara. Maybe she hadn’t been as convincing as she’d thought. But the more Simone digested it, the more it didn’t make sense. How many times had Mara told her she was still running and crunching numbers, that she was determined to lock down every penny of money Paul Denton had funneled through his companies, both legitimate and shell? Simone had told her there was enough data already. But she hadn’t specifically warned her off.
Simone’s arms began to tremble and only then did she realize she’d clenched her fists so hard her muscles were rebelling. “You’re sure she didn’t give any indication she was going to bolt?”
“I’ve guarded my share of witnesses, Simone. She was nervous, sure, but she was solid. Besides—” He hesitated and winced.
“Besides what?”
“She didn’t want to let you down. She looks up to you, Simone. You’re a bit of a hero to her.”
A new layer of guilt overtook the sense of responsibility she’d felt. “Tell me about this guy from the DA’s office.” She needed to put all this into some kind of order before she talked to her boss.
“I snapped this before I left the station.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped on the screen. “I’m assuming you know who he is.”
Simone looked at the thirty-something, impeccably dressed blond man. The icy blue eyes were all too familiar even from the far distance. Simone’s world tipped. “That’s Cal Hobard, special assistant to the DA. He came to work in this office about six months—” Six months ago. The same time she’d officially filed charges against Paul Denton.
If Simone was the type of person who believed in them, she’d think this was a coincidence. She and the DA had always had a cordial relationship despite his belief the Denton case was a no-win situation, one that could even put his political future in jeopardy. Whereas everyone else in the office seemed to understand Denton’s conviction could be a career maker.
Simone gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Still, there was no telling what anyone’s agenda might be.
“We need to find Mara,” Simone said. Not only because the case hinged on the young woman’s testimony, but because Simone had promised to keep her safe. “Can you get me copies of all your notes? Anything you might have kept track of since you’ve been watching her?”
“Absolutely. You want me to deliver them to your office?”
“No.” She couldn’t risk it—someone in the office was working against her. Right now, she couldn’t shake the sensation that returning to the DA’s office three floors above would be tantamount to walking into the enemy’s camp. “No. Get everything together and deliver it to Jack McTavish in Major Crimes. Do you know him?”
“Sure. Jack’s good people. Excellent cop.”
That Simone had been dating him off and on for the last few weeks should help. Apart from Jack’s partner, Cole Delaney, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more in the police. Jack would never betray her. “I’ll give him a heads-up to expect something. I also want to know what you were dosed with. I don’t suppose you kept the thermos—”
“We had to turn it in to confirm our story,” Russo said as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small vial in an evidence bag and handed it over. “But to be safe.”
She’d definitely brought the right cops on board. “I’ll get this tested.” One of the reasons she kept up good relations with her former expert witnesses. “You might mention to Jack that you turned in the thermos to your superiors, to get that information out there and on the record. Meanwhile, if you need to get in touch with me, contact me through this email address.” She ripped off a piece of paper out of his notebook and scribbled the backup email she, Eden and Allie shared on Eden’s private server. And here she’d called Eden paranoid when she’d first set up the arrangement. “Have the subject line say ‘A Bert and Ernie update.’”
Russo smirked. “Gee, that’s a new one.”
“Blame your partner’s parents for naming him Ernest,” Simone said. “You good now?”
“I won’t be good until Mara turns up.” Russo shook his head, his concern palpable. “I’ve dumped a huge mess in your lap, Simone. You can’t do this alone. There has to be someone you can trust to help you.”
“There is.” Simone’s throat tightened in dread. “But he’s not going to be happy to see me.”
Chapter 2
“Now that’s not something you see every day.”
The dazed wonder in his most recent hire’s voice had Vince Sutton glancing up from where he’d been filling a third pitcher of beer. It was a Thursday night and the regulars were in The Brass Eagle. “What’s that?”
Since he’d hired Travis Fielding all of three months ago, Vince had found there was little that didn’t amuse the college senior. Tall and gangly with an odd penchant for retro seventies’ paisley and sideburns, the computer science major seemed to be off in his own world most of the time.
“Tell me that’s not an angel who just walked in.” Travis suddenly jumped back as he’d over-poured the line of tequila shots. The pungent liquid dribbled over the lip of the bar and onto the kid’s pristine white sneakers.
Despite hearing the distinct cha-ching of lost cash, Vince tossed Travis a towel. When he glanced over again, he found his employee’s “angel” standing directly across from him. “Simone.”
Vince went numb as he took in the familiar lush waves of thick hair, her startling sapphire-blue eyes that, despite every attempt, couldn’t hide her emotions. Not from him, at least. Had it really been three years since he’d touched her face, those cheekbones? Trailed his finger down that pointed nose that only hinted at the stubbornness he knew she possessed? Traced that small tattoo on the base of her—
“Hello, Vince.”
Her voice washed over him, sultry, intoxicating. How two words could hold so much—a greeting, a promise, a reminder—was beyond him. Then again, he’d stopped trying to figure out Simone Armstrong around the time he’d served her with divorce papers.
As if by rote, he reached for a bottle of Riesling. He poured her a glass before her tempting smile captured him completely. “You’re looking good.” As if Simone could ever look bad.
Beside him, Travis guffawed and blinked wide eyes at Vince as if he’d become his idol.
Simone still had that classic Hollywood blond bombshell thing going for her. But beyond the seductive touch of Veronica Lake and the fulsomeness of Marilyn’s curves, there was more than a fair share of the smart spitfire combo of Hepburn and Bacall.
“So are you.” With a slight nod, she accepted the wine he offered. “Hello.” She offered her other hand to Travis, who scrubbed both his palms hard against his chest before taking her hand. “I’m Simone Armstrong.”
“She means Deputy District Attorney Armstrong. The Avenging Angel,” Vince added with enough venom in his voice to make Simone’s eye twitch. “And this, Simone, is Mr. Travis Fielding. I’m betting he’ll find his voice once he picks it up off the floor along with his tongue.” His gaze skimmed her as low as
he dared. “I see you haven’t exhausted the fashion industry’s supply of white fabric yet.” His eyes stopped on the tiny pearl button between her full breasts, and then on the pendant at the base of her throat. The open collar of her tailored silk shirt dipped respectfully enough for office attire, but allowed a peek at those luscious curves of hers. Did she still invest in that barely there underwear? His fingers itched to discover whether she wore lace or silk. Or anything at all.
“Why change what works?” Simone flicked an annoyed expression at him before offering a warm smile to Travis. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Travis. Do you mind if I have a word with your boss for a few minutes?”
“N-no.” Travis’s breath came out in a shudder.
Vince walked around the kid to move beyond the bar. “Don’t forget those shots for your customers. And take two pitchers to the back table for me. The construction workers are getting restless.”
Travis nodded and blinked himself out of whatever hormonal trance Simone had put him in.
“Do you mind?” Simone stopped him when he led her to a booth by the front window. “Back there?” She gestured to the cubby beside the bar where he normally did the daily books. The stubble of hair on the back of his neck prickled as he noticed the tight grip she had on her briefcase. Simone was nothing if not professional, but now he saw something he wasn’t quite used to.
His ex-wife was nervous.
Whatever pleasure he might have taken in causing her some temporary discomfort vanished as every ounce of training—from his service in the Marines to his subsequent years as a private investigator—put him on guard. Whatever was going on had to be bad for Simone to turn up on his doorstep.
“Sit wherever you’d like.” He maneuvered her ahead of him, getting her situated before he sat facing the room. He kept one leg out and braced in his usual “just in case” posture. “What’s going on, Simone? You don’t do social calls on a whim.” Or ever. “And certainly not after this much time had gone by.”
Reunited with the P.I. Page 2