All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1)

by Linsey Lanier

  After another half hour, it looked like the gang was all here. O’Toole yawned and tried to stretch. “You got any good games on your phone?”

  Miranda gave him a smirk but reached into her pocket. Just as she did, her cell began to vibrate. She took it out and looked at the display. Parker. She glanced at the time. Uh oh. She was just a tad over an hour. By about three.

  He was going to kill her. And she knew what she’d uncovered so far wouldn’t be enough to convince him to stay.

  She turned the phone off and slipped it back into her pocket. “Nope, no games here.” Not video ones anyway.

  “How come you’re on your own tonight?”

  Miranda coughed at the unexpected question. “Uh, Parker had some things to do.”

  The sergeant raised a skeptical brow. “He sounded relieved when I told him I was closing the case this morning.”

  “He’s anxious to get back home and take care of some stuff at the Agency.” Like chewing her out. But she’d be damned if she left their first case with the wrong person in jail.

  “I still can’t believe you two are married.”

  Miranda felt her shoulders tense. The heat was getting to her. All she needed right now was to be razed by this sergeant. “You got a problem with it?”

  He scratched at his ear. “No, no. I just wondered what happened to his first wife?”

  “She died of cancer about four years ago. It was before we met.” She really didn’t want to discuss her personal life. Or Parker’s.

  “Sorry to hear that.” Then his cheeks rounded in a teasing grin and his green eyes sparkled. “And so instead of a socialite, this time he goes for another PI. Interesting.”

  Miranda gritted her teeth. She wasn’t in the mood. “What is it with you and women detectives, O’Toole?” she snapped.

  He held up his hands. “Nothing. Really. I mean, I was about to say…working with you…with both of you these past few days has been kind of…inspiring.”

  Now it was Miranda’s turn to look skeptical. “Now you’re sucking up?”

  “Oh, hell, Steele. Okay. I misjudged you at first. I’ve had a hard time with women lately.” He rubbed at his nose with a sniff.

  She softened a little, remembering what Ralston had said to her. “I heard you divorced recently.”

  He folded his muscular arms over his chest and focused out the window. “Yeah, well.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “What could I expect? She wanted more than I could give her.”

  “Didn’t like being married to a cop?”

  “Didn’t like being married to a cop who couldn’t get promoted.”

  So that was it. Ouch. She recalled Parker had told her O’Toole had some personal problems. Suddenly, she felt for the guy. “Parker mentioned you had a hard time at the Agency when you were there.”

  “Did he, now?” O’Toole sneered.

  “That didn’t come out right. I meant he said he thought you had potential.”

  His lip was still curled. “What? That I didn’t live up to?”

  What could she say? She’d never had Parker’s tact, especially when it came to talking about personal stuff. And she had to be honest. “Something like that. But I think I’ve seen you grow on this case. Like being here now.”

  He snorted. “I didn’t expect a performance review from the PIs I hired.”

  Okay, be that way. She glared out the window and stared at the house. “I was just trying to say something positive.” She’d really hit a raw spot.

  “Yeah, right. My old man always told me I’d never amount to much. So glad to learn you and Parker agree.”

  She turned back around. “Your old man?”

  “He raised me after my mother left when I was a kid. It was rough.”

  “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” He’d touched her own raw spot.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “How would you know?”

  She didn’t want to talk about it, but she was cornered. “My old man took off when I was five. My mother raised me and she thought I was good for nothing.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  Never in her wildest dreams did Miranda think she’d have a connection with a police sergeant, especially not this police sergeant. But there it was. They had a bond. Somehow in an instant they had gone from being near strangers to colleagues who really got each other.

  She spoke softly now. “So I know what you mean about never thinking you’d amount to much. I felt that way for a long time. Until I met Parker.”

  He nodded slowly, old memories playing over his face. “Yeah. Parker might think I didn’t live up to my potential, but if I hadn’t had that time at his Agency, I’d probably be a panhandler on Sahara by now.”

  Feeling awkward and not knowing what to say again, Miranda looked away and stared at the house. No sign of Forest yet. Time to get back to business. “Is this guy going to stay and party all night?” Maybe she was barking up the wrong tree.

  O’Toole reached between the seats under the computer equipment and took out a small pair of binoculars. He handed them to her. “Here. See if you can get anything with these.”

  She took it and scanned the windows, the doorway, the cars. Nothing. “You know, Ralston’s a solid detective,” she said eyes still on the front door.

  “Now there’s somebody who’s grown on this case.”

  Miranda put down the binoculars and stared at O’Toole. She’d been expecting the sergeant to make some snide remark, like “Yeah, when she’s not putting on her makeup.” But Ralston didn’t wear a lot of makeup. Maybe she’d grown on the sergeant.

  “And she’s kind of cute, too.”

  Miranda smiled to herself. The same thing Ralston had said about him. “You ought to ask her out sometime.”

  He lifted his shoulders with a grimace. “Can’t date if you’re in the same unit. Against regulations.”

  O’Toole wasn’t softened up enough yet. “Too bad. I think she likes you.”

  He blinked at her in genuine shock. “No shit?”

  “Just a hunch.” She rolled her window down some more and listened to the music. It was getting rockier.

  She looked up at the bright stars then at the lamps along the street. She ran her gaze along the pale stone wall that bordered the house. A couple of decorative palm trees had been planted in a symmetrical line. A little farther down stood another tree. One with more foliage.

  The sergeant followed her gaze. “My old man used to run a local nursery,” he sighed. “Hated that I didn’t take it over for him.”

  Now she knew what to say. “Me? I’m glad you’re a cop.”

  That made him grin.

  She pointed down the block. “You know what that third tree over there is?”

  O’Toole craned his neck and squinted. “Looks like a Chilean Mesquite. They’re good for shade in the daytime.”

  And at night for coverage.

  “Could a person climb it?”

  “If it’s mature enough. Looks like that one is.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Good enough. She was tired of waiting around. She reached for the handle and pushed her door open.

  “Steele, where the hell are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back.” She held up the binoculars. “Mind if I keep these?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she shut the door as quietly as she could and strolled along the sidewalk like a normal pedestrian. The warm, dry air cooled her body temperature a few degrees and at least there was a breeze now that the fierce sun had set several hours ago. It felt almost good out here.

  She reached the mesquite tree and eyed it, nerves building in her stomach. She put her hands around its trunk for a pre-test. Not as sturdy as she would have liked, but better than the palms.

  Well, here goes nothing, she thought.

  She slung the binoculars around her neck, found a notch in the trunk, put her foot onto it,
wrapped her arms around the trunk and pulled herself up. Nothing to it. She felt for another notch with her free foot, steadied her weight on it and lifted again.

  She repeated the movement and ascended higher. Exhilaration shot through her.

  She hadn’t climbed a tree since she was a kid. She remembered the elm in her front yard and getting stuck in it and yelling for her mother, who never came. By nightfall, she’d managed to pull her foot out of her sneaker and clamber down on her own. By some miracle her mother never found out. Good thing. She would have beaten her to a pulp or locked her in a closet, no doubt. So this was nothing.

  She was getting higher and the branches were getting thinner. She reached out for one and stuck her palm on a spiky leaf. Ow. O’Toole didn’t tell her about that.

  Don’t look down, she told herself, sucking her flesh. Just relax. After all, this was as good as the Sky Jump ride, right? Except she wasn’t strapped in.

  She craned her neck. She was up about fifteen feet now. A little farther and she could see clear over that wall. Up she went again. Just a little more.

  The laughter and splashing grew louder, the 80s music had turned to rap, and the smell of southwestern-flavored meat sizzling on a grill drifted up and make her mouth water.

  The pool was in sight, but she needed her hands. She steadied herself across two branches that formed a V and slowly let go. Her feet held her up, thank God.

  She reached for O’Toole’s binoculars and peered down over the wall.

  The pool was large and shaped like a cloverleaf. Lounge furniture had been placed around the perimeter of it. In the background, tiki torches lit up the area. Everyone was in bathing suits and held beer bottles or wine coolers. A group of young women danced and giggled near the diving board while two horny-looking men watched. Another group at the far end sat in chairs and gossiped. A man nearby manned the grill. No sign of the limo driver.

  Frustrated, she swung her view to the side of the pool near the house. There he was.

  Cameron Forest lay stretched out on a chaise surrounded by three bikini-clad women sporting a variety of hair colors.

  He’d changed into swimwear—must have been in his tote bag. His robe was open, exposing his chest, which the pink-haired girl was licking. The long-haired tawny blond had her fingers in his hair. The one with the metallic blue hair and the Elvis tattoo on her back had her head between his legs. His shorts were around his knees.

  He was getting his needs met elsewhere, all right. And he didn’t seem too broken up about the deaths of his wife and sister-in-law at the moment. Or maybe he was drowning his sorrow in booze and semen.

  Miranda felt like she had swallowed a cactus. It was all she could do not to barf over the wall. But that would give her away.

  Then she had a thought.

  Had Ambrosia Dawn found out about her husband’s fooling around recently? Maybe she had one of her temper tantrums about it. Maybe she told old Forest she was going to divorce him. Can’t let that happen. Someone like her had to have a pre-nup. One that would leave Forest back in the dives singing Elvis tunes. Not where you want to be at his age. Not after all he’d done for her. So instead, he knocks her off.

  Keeping her balance, Miranda put down the binoculars and reached into her pocket for her cell. She set it for the camera, and holding it steady, focused. Hoping the shots wouldn’t come out too grainy, she snapped five of them.

  Good thing she had. Just as she got the last one, Forest groaned and tumbled onto the cement to a chorus of giggles from the girls.

  He got up, pulled up his pants and stumbled toward the house. He was probably leaving. Had to get back to the car.

  She shoved the phone back in her pocket and scrambled down the tree.

  When she reached the sidewalk, she found O’Toole waiting for her, hands on hips, a weird look on his face.

  “What?” she said, ready to take him on.

  “Get something juicy?”

  “Did I ever.”

  He shook his head. “Miranda Steele, you are one amazing woman.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just pointed at the car. “We have to get back. Forest could come out any minute.”

  They strolled back to vehicle at a pace she hoped wouldn’t attract any attention and slipped inside just as Forest and the limo driver emerged from the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Elvis was heading back home. He’d probably fall into bed in a stupor when he got there and be out for the night.

  Miranda pulled at her hair in frustration as once more they glided through the gates of the Costa Rica Hills country club. She had to get more information about of him. A late night visit ought to throw him off guard. Let him go inside, get settled. Then she and O’Toole would ring the bell. The house manager would try to put them off, but she wasn’t about to let him.

  Grill him, she told herself. Show no mercy. She’d get the truth out of him. And right now, she wasn’t exactly sure what the truth was.

  Now that she’d had a little time to think it over, the divorce-the-cheater-so-he-killed-her angle wasn’t playing. A hothead like Ambrosia would have kicked him out of the house right away. She’d have made noise. Noise that everyone around her could hear. If she and Forest were breaking up, people would have known about it. But no one on the staff had mentioned it in the interviews. Hell, it would have been in the news.

  The only way a break up could have been kept quiet was if Forest had killed her right after she told him she was kicking him out. If Ambrosia had been stabbed with a kitchen knife or her throat had been slashed, like her sister’s had, Miranda could believe that scenario. But the singer was poisoned. With abrin. And that took time. Planning.

  “What are they doing now?” O’Toole muttered.

  Miranda turned her attention to the road. They were almost to Forest’s street now, but the limo was slowing down. After rolling a few feet, it pulled over to the curb.

  O’Toole smirked. “What the hell?”

  “Maybe the driver forgot to get gas.”

  “Forest could probably fuel the vehicle with his breath.”

  Under the streetlamps, Miranda watched the back door of the limo open with no help from the driver this time. Forest got out and began to stroll along the sidewalk.

  “Stretching his legs?”

  The limo took off.

  Miranda stared at the tall man’s head as it turned from side to side while he trekked along. Like he thought he was being watched. And here they were just sitting here. “He’s going to spot us,” she whispered.

  “He doesn’t know this car. We’ve been going ten miles an hour.”

  “But now there’s no one else around. Act like you’re lost.” She waved a hand in the opposite direction of Forest. “Turn down that street. Don’t turn on your blinker.”

  “I know how to tail someone.”

  But just as the sergeant was about to comply, Forest stepped into a dark spot the streetlights didn’t cover and ducked between two of the estates.

  “Where’s he going?” she squeaked. “Pull over.”

  Rolling his eyes, O’Toole grunted and did as she said. She had the passenger door open before he stopped the car.

  “What the hell are you doing, Steele?”

  “We’ve got to follow him.”

  His face went blank. “We can’t do that. We don’t have a warrant. It’s trespassing.”

  “He’s trespassing. Maybe you should arrest him for that.”

  He scowled. “I can’t do that.”

  “You’re a policeman, aren’t you? If I were one I’d do it myself.”

  His face flushed with irritation. “Fine for you to say. Your job’s not on the line.”

  Anger and disgust shot through her. She’d been wrong earlier. They didn’t have anything in common. All this guy thought about was covering his ass.

  “Your job wouldn’t be if you had the guts to do it,” she snapped and opened the door. “Stay here, then. If I’m
not back in half an hour, call for backup. And then call Parker.”

  She left the sergeant with his mouth hanging open and hustled down the walk as fast as she could go. At the spot where she’d seen Elvis go, she took the same turn and plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Miranda picked her way through the narrow passage in the yard that ran between the houses. It was so dark, she veered off and almost bumped into the trunk of a tree. A palm from the feel of it. And from the fresh scratches its bark made on her hands.

  She ignored them and kept going, favoring the other side of the path now. She discovered she’d overcorrected when she hit a set of spiked plants that fanned out like snake tongues. She pressed her lips together to fight back a curse as they dug into her already cut hands and snagged at even the hardy denim of her jeans. Vicious things.

  She skirted around the plants, stumbled back to the path and pressed on.

  She heard a dog barking in the distance. And up ahead, the soft sound of steady footfalls. She squinted into the shadows and barely made out Forest’s lumbering figure. He wasn’t struggling with the landscape. He looked like he knew the area well and just where he was going.

  At the end of the house, he made another turn.

  She scrambled along, crouching now so he wouldn’t see her, until she reached the same spot. Again she peered into the darkness. Forest was on a sidewalk that ran along the rear of the mansions. It was dead still now, the silence spearing her nerves, the warm air drying her skin, the houses like slumbering giants under the starlight.

  It would be pretty easy for Forest to turn around and spot her, so she took cover behind a waist-high row of long, grassy stuff and scooted down it about twenty feet behind him, thankful the foliage was easy to hide in and didn’t seem to be thorny.

  He moved quickly, passing house after house. Miranda kept up, duck-walking in the bushes. When she thought her thighs would give out, he started to slow. And stopped.

  He stood rigid and still, staring at the back of one of the homes.