I WAS SO lost in my own thoughts that I don’t even remember the walk to the valet stand. The first thing I was aware of was the handsome man standing there. No, handsome was an insult to this man. He was the sort of gorgeous that made you want to say, “Knock me down and fuck me right now.” I was sure I knew him from some movie, some TV show. If Stevie were with me, she’d be able to spout his entire career, including visits to chat shows and charity work. Thick black hair, tan skin, big brown eyes framed by long eyelashes any woman would kill for. And a body with a flat stomach and tight arse. He smiled at me and I thought, He asks me back to his room, I’m going. After the day I’d had, a quick one with someone who looked like a Greek god was exactly what I needed.
“Your ticket, ma’am?” he asked with a slight Mexican accent.
At which point I realized he was the valet.
Are all LA valets better-looking than most movie stars? I wondered. I handed him my parking voucher. Holy Zeus, at this rate I was never going to leave LA, because there were a whole lot of men here I needed to meet, and in a hurry.
If I’d taken Roberto up on his offer of a villa, I’d have had a room handy I could use with my new friend here for fifteen minutes or so, but oh well. This wasn’t my lucky day. Yet, at any rate.
The valet took my parking tag from me. A nasally voice said from somewhere behind me, “She don’t need the car yet.” And I knew it definitely wasn’t my lucky day.
Hermes Trismegistus, Vin Behar was an ugly man. He grabbed the parking tag from the valet’s hand. He crushed it in his fist and had it in his pocket in seconds, and I wasn’t getting it back because there was no chance in hell I was putting my hands anywhere near his trousers. He gripped me on the upper arm, his fingers digging into my bicep. “The lady’s staying for a drink.”
“Take your hand off me or lose it.”
He knew I could back that up and took his hand away. But in a quiet voice to match my own, he said, “We talk, or I tell the cops about your trip to visit this guy here.”
I wanted to get far, far away from him. But for the moment it was more important to find out what he knew. There were a lot of people staying at the Peninsula. “Who?”
Behar pulled out a tape recorder, and then glanced at the valet. “You wanna do this here?”
The valet took the hint and moved away.
“I don’t want to do anything with you anywhere.”
“Your husband dies, and you come here to see Roberto Montesinos. Think the cops might be interested?”
Dammit. Behar knew Roberto’s name. That was bad. “The cops are already interested in what you were doing outside Colin’s apartment last night.”
Behar grinned, an ugly sight even on the best of days. “I was in Vegas last night. With lots of witnesses.”
Of course he was.
His meaty thumb with peeling cuticles pushed the Play button, and my voice said, “Yes, Roberto, nine sharp.” The thumb lifted, and the player clicked off.
I looked at the player, rather than at Behar. “Where did you get that?”
“Cellular ain’t secure. And here you are, at Montesinos’ hotel, right after your husband got shut up. Come on. We’re going to have us a talk.”
“This should be amusing. Or some definition of amusing. Not the one I generally use, of course.”
We ended up at an outside table, shielded from the afternoon sun by a giant white canvas canopy. A miniature fountain with dancing waters played nearby to the soft strains of Mozart. I tried to figure out which piece it was. All of that music history crammed into me, and so little of it stuck. Stevie, on the other hand…
Stevie. What on earth was I going to do about Roberto’s demand I return to New York and abandon Stevie? Behar might be threatening me, but I had real problems on my hands.
“Buy me a drink,” Behar said.
I spread my hands out. “No money.”
“You gotta pay for parking.”
“Or talk my way out of it.” I’d been betting that the hotel had been instructed to take care of my parking. Otherwise, my car would sit here a very long time. Which would be an unfortunate handicap in a driving town like Los Angeles.
“You spend an hour with Montesinos and you got no money?”
Hm. Good point. I was off my game. And he hadn’t even offered me some, the stingy bastard. “I’d offer to let you search me, but you’re disgusting and you’re not getting an inch closer to me. Say whatever it is you have to say. I’ve a long and unpleasant morning that’s getting worse by the second.”
“I want a hundred thousand not to mention Montesinos to anybody.”
That got to the point.
“While I’m spinning miracles, would you like me to arrange for you to somehow become attractive?”
He spread his hands on the table. “That’s in addition to the money your dead husband already owes me.”
Colin owed Behar money? I laughed. “I don’t do drugs, Behar, but if I did them, your supplier would definitely be on speed dial.”
He grinned. His teeth were discolored and yellow. “You think I’m lying about this?”
“Yes. Sorry, was that too direct for you?”
He tapped a button on his recorder and I heard Colin say, “Of course it’s fifty-fifty, you twat.” Then Behar saying, “Then where’s mine, you jackoff?” And Colin saying, “She’s been on location for the past month. I haven’t gotten the goddamned money. Can’t give you what I fucking don’t have.”
That was definitely Colin. I had no reason to believe that Behar had fantastical sound-editing skills, so that was most likely an actual conversation between the two of them. Zeus in a side cart. Colin had been working with Behar.
“I want my money,” Behar said.
I wasn’t going to let him know his recording had served its purpose and rattled the hell out of me. “Let’s think back to the part where I’m not certain I can afford to get my car out of parking, shall we?”
“Your boyfriend has it.”
Boyfriend? If I’d had a boyfriend anytime in the past few months, I’d be a great deal more relaxed than I had been.
Then it dawned on me he meant Roberto.
I stifled a giggle as I stood up. “You think you’re so clever because for whatever reason I talked to someone who might or might not be Ricardo Montalban—”
“Roberto Montesinos.”
“Right. Whoever. And you’re going to blackmail him for a million trillion dollars because of…me? Here’s a tip. Someone who wants to be a blackmailer has done other bad stuff. Comes with the territory.”
“Speaking from experience?”
I shrugged. “If this guy Renaldo has that kind of money lying around, he’s probably not a stupid man. And he’ll shut you up pretty fucking fast.”
That was a safe bet. When I was thirteen, I watched Roberto shred a would-be blackmailer to smithereens using only a few of the things Roberto had dug up about him. By the end of it, the man had been begging for Roberto to spare his family. Nobody’s life is perfect, some people’s less than others, and Roberto was born knowing how to find weak spots.
“Let’s go.” Vin stood up. “Time’s a wastin’.”
The single saving grace of being marched through the lobby by this cretin was that it was not the worst thing that had happened to me all day…although it ranked in the top five. We headed straight for the walkway that led to the villas, which took us past Genevieve the Magnificent. She leapt to her feet and intercepted us. “May I help you?”
“We know where we’re going,” Behar said, and he tried to keep walking.
The concierge at the Peninsula was no wilting violet. She got right in front of him and said, “Our guests value their privacy. Please tell me who it is you’re here to see. You can wait in the lobby while I contact them.”
“Montesinos, lady.”
“Sir, if you’re going to be belligerent, you’re going to have to leave the hotel.”
“You let her in to see him.”
Genevieve appraised me, her attitude several degrees below zero, as though she’d never seen me before. Beautiful move. Then she flicked her attention back to Behar. “Please ask whoever you want to meet with to make an appointment to see you elsewhere. These gentlemen will escort you to your cars.”
Behind us stood two linebackers in matching suits and quiet shoes. Neither one had a pretty face, but with bodies like those I was willing to overlook that problem. Their bodies weren’t so much attractive as solid and willing to pummel.
It would be nice to have that kind of power again. And I would. As long as I left Stevie by herself.
“Call him,” Behar growled.
“Unless you have a tape of Colin saying, ‘Help, Drusilla’s murdering me,’ I don’t give a flying fuck what you do with it.”
Behar gave me a cracked one-sided smile. His teeth were yellow. “Yeah, you do. ’Cause you haven’t walked out of here yet.”
He did have a point there. I took that as my cue to begin walking toward the front door.
Behar caught up with me, tailed by his linebacker. “You got twenty-four hours. And the price just went up.”
“Keep dreaming of big paydays, see where it gets you. And we’ve both seen what happens to people like that in Vegas, haven’t we?”
My car was already waiting, out at the curb, engine running. The valet opened the door for me and I handed him my last five as I got in. Why, I don’t know. He must have been used to much larger tips at a hotel like this, and at the moment I needed to keep any money I could lay my hands on. The valet winked at me as he closed the door. I didn’t have enough energy to wink back.
Behar’s tape didn’t worry me. Or, to be more truthful, several larger problems had gotten in line ahead of the tape and it had to wait its turn. I was also certain Behar would not take that tape to the police unless he had to. Or unless he’d already gotten the payoff money. He seemed like the type who wouldn’t stay bought.
Errand number one for the day was done: face Roberto Montesinos and survive. That got a big check mark in my mind. Surviving Behar was just a bonus on top of that. Errand number two: discuss my situation with my lawyer. I took out my phone. Stevie had put Nathaniel as speed dial two. She, of course, was speed dial one. Speed dial two picked up on the first ring. A perky female voice asked who was calling and, when I identified myself, told me how to get to the lawyer’s offices. No mention of a meeting time, so they were waiting on me.
Wow, it had been years since anyone had waited for whenever I could bother myself to get there.
It’s good to be the king. Unfortunately for me, the king in this situation was Roberto, not me. But I’d make do.
The second I put my phone back in my pocket the mobile rang again.
“Who was that?” Roberto asked.
I told him who Behar was and what he wanted.
“Your husband was working with this man?”
“It comes as shocking news to me as well, Roberto, in the possible case that you care.”
“Do not mention this to the police,” he said.
“Have you always thought I’m this much of an idiot?” I hung up on him. And then I turned the phone off before I started the car up again.
CHAPTER NINE
AT SOME POINT, Century City must have been zoned for lots of tall office buildings with mirrored outsides tinted copper. And nothing had numbers on it, making it hard to double-check that this was the right building before I drove into the correct valet-only car park. The other cars within easy reach of the valet were Mercedes or Lexuses, with one Ferrari and one Porsche (a Carrera, not a Boxster) mixed in.
I had the feeling my poor Chevy would be hidden away somewhere deep in the bowels of the garage, safe from contaminating the others.
Two men, in their mid-thirties and power suits, were waiting by the elevator when I walked up beside them. A blonde and a brunet, two of my favorite kinds. Their conversation trailed off as I made eye contact with one, and then the other. When I smiled, the taller one said, “Hi,” and the second bloke adjusted his tie.
Sometimes your day is working out such that you need to give yourself a little ego boost here and there.
The doors opened to a futuristic control center staffed by one woman, who looked like an efficient dominatrix with perfect makeup and hair tied up in a smooth bun. The red headset matched her red outfit, which led me to suspect she had several headsets to choose from. On either side of the desk was a pair of giant, and locked, doors. The rest of the office was closed off. If an angry client came through here, she was the only one they’d see, and she looked like she’d be comfortable with the pump-action shotgun she probably kept under that desk.
She told me to have a seat before pushing a button and saying something softly into the microphone.
I flipped through the magazine at hand. It was all ads, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what some of them were selling. In one, the woman in the picture was completely naked, so it couldn’t be clothes or shoes or diamonds. Then one pair of the doors to the inner sanctum opened and a young brown woman walked through them. “Drusilla?” she said, unsmiling. Hers was the voice from the phone. Probably Nathaniel’s secretary or assistant or whatever they’re calling them these days. “Follow me, please.” She ushered me through the gates.
Once through, she said, “I’m Carmela Tanner. I’ll be handling any scheduling with Mr. Ross.” She led me through a web of corridors marked by the polish of the wooden inlays and lack of decoration of any kind. I was ninety percent certain I could find my way back to the start unaided, if I needed to, and no one with weapons was chasing me. Most of the doors were closed, and any glass walls had thick white curtains in front of them. Carmela and I could have been strolling through an abandoned building, for all the signs of life I saw there.
I rubbed my fingers across my palms, which were faintly warm and moist. My husband had been murdered and I had to see a criminal defense attorney and that situation was making me nervous.
We stopped at one door and Carmela opened it for us, quietly and efficiently. The office was large but felt small due to the number of bookshelves, packed full of those matching sets of books every law student must receive upon passing the bar exam. Stacks of file folders sat on every available surface. The man behind the desk was busy scribbling away on (what else?) a yellow legal pad and did not look up as we walked in. His hair was a darker blonde than it had appeared last night under the harsh street lamps, and he was also younger than I’d supposed last night. Those wrinkles came from hard-grinding work, not years. He had well-maintained hands, though, which would be important if he ever made his way in front of a jury. I hoped I did not need a lawyer for a jury.
My main introduction to criminal lawyers came via the portly, sweaty guy in Baton Rouge who wore a shiny suit. He asked my boyfriend of the moment, “Who arrested you?” followed by, “How much you got?” My boyfriend borrowed money from me to pay off the cop, and never paid it back. And then he had the gall to ask me for rent money. I had the gall to ask, “Who are you again?” It wasn’t an amicable parting, but it so rarely is.
“Mr. Ross,” Carmela said, her voice wavering with a touch of uncertainty.
He finished what he was writing with a stab at the paper and then he looked up. I smiled. He didn’t return the favor. Instead, he dropped his pen and indicated the leather chairs facing his desk. “Carmela, a couple of waters.”
I had to decide which chair to sit in. Physical position is so damned important in so many endeavors—for one thing, it determines who has the power. I chose the chair farther away from the desk. When he looked at me, he’d see me sitting there, relaxed and comfortable, instead of right up against his desk. Also, I had the sun behind me, which would put him at a disadvantage.
Before I sat, I reached out my hand over the desk. “I don’t think we’ve had a proper introduction.” He had a firm but not crushing shake, which I appreciated, but he also didn’t lengthen it by as
much as a fraction of a second, which I didn’t appreciate as much. Had I lost whatever charm I’d worked on the guys in the elevator, or was he immune to it? I usually get some reaction from males, even the gay ones. He wasn’t pinging my gaydar, either. Nathaniel was going to bear watching.
As I sank onto one of the giant leather armchairs, I crossed my legs. That he noticed. My inner sense of comfort rose quite a bit. He wasn’t oblivious of me. I relaxed a little and flexed my foot a tiny bit, which enhances the curve of the calf muscle. But almost as quickly as he’d glanced at my legs, he picked up another legal pad and skimmed it, as though he hadn’t observed anything. “Let me tell you what I already have here, and you can fill me in on anything I’m missing. Your husband, Colin Abbott, was murdered late last night at an apartment in Hollywood.” He glanced at me. He had brown eyes, with lots of gold highlights. “A case like that doesn’t warrant as much attention as this one is starting to get.”
“What’s different this time?”
“He had some kind of relationship with Penelope Gurevich. You know who she is?”
I nodded. “A television star?”
He grinned. He had a nice mouth. “Yeah. Cops get nervous when celebrities get involved in murder. You don’t seem upset or surprised that your husband was, uh, seeing someone.”
“I didn’t care. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.”
“How could you not care? You’d only been married six months.”
“It was a green-card marriage. Which might be a problem in and of itself.”
“Trust me. Marriage of convenience sounds a lot better than wanting revenge for getting dumped by the love of your life for a TV star. You have any friends back in Las Vegas who will swear about the state of your marital bliss?”
Oooo. Mr. Sarcastic. I liked him more and more. I gave him a couple of names and phone numbers. A few girls Colin had dated, and one or two of the guys I went out with. Nathaniel shook his head, while he wrote them down. “Weird setup just to get a green card,” he said.
“Colin’s work permit was running out and he couldn’t get it renewed. Seemed like the easiest way.”
You Know Who I Am (The Drusilla Thorne Mysteries Book 2) Page 9