Notorious

by Allison Brennan

  He said, “Did you offer to pay Dru Parker for information? For her story?”

  Max bristled. “No.”

  “Just asking.”

  Nick Santini was a hard man to read. A lot of cops were, but he was more difficult than most. He seemed to be pleasant and professional on the surface—even kind, getting her the coffee and muffin—but there was an underlying hostility, and though his posture was relaxed, it seemed that every muscle under his skin was tense and waiting. For what, Max didn’t know.

  Max wanted this cop to trust her, but she didn’t know how.

  He glanced down at his phone. “Gorman says Parker is in surgery.”

  “That’s good news, right?”

  “That’s all it says. I suppose it depends on how much blood she lost and what damage they find when they get in there.”

  She gave him the last piece of information she had in an effort to earn his trust. “Dru Parker’s car is registered to a nonprofit group, DL Environmental. Heard of it?”

  “No. How do you know?”

  “I’m a reporter. I ask questions.”

  “Don’t pull that bullshit on me. Did you search her car?”

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t like the instant accusation, or the change in tone. She hadn’t done anything to deserve his animosity, but that could certainly change.

  Her hand on the door handle, she said, “It’s been a long day, Detective. And you have a lot of work to do.”

  “Stay out of this investigation.”

  She stared at him. “You told me yourself that you just put the case on the inactive sheet, and if it weren’t for me, it would have stayed there. No way in hell am I walking away. You can either work with me on this or I’ll do it myself.”

  “I could put you in jail.”

  Max laughed. “I’d like to see you try.” She opened the door and stepped out. With her hand on the roof she said, “Thank you for the clothes and coffee. I’ll be at the Menlo Grill at noon tomorrow to discuss this case, as we planned. Either bring your appetite, or bring an arrest warrant.” She slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Twelve

  A rap on her door pulled Max from the article she was reading on her computer about the attack on Dru Parker. Half the information was flat-out wrong. The way local news was reported today, especially outside of big cities, was primarily online and had a desk reporter listening to scanners then calling the PIO for information. Whether Gorman intentionally misled the reporter or if she really thought Dru Parker had been attacked during the commission of a robbery, Max didn’t know. Fortunately, they hadn’t named Dru in the paper, so that tidbit was something Max might be able to use. If her friends didn’t know she was in the hospital, maybe she could get more information out of them.

  It was nine in the morning. She hadn’t gotten up until after eight, but after a fitful night, she’d needed the extra rest. She was already on her third cup of coffee from the pot that she’d ordered from room service.

  She opened the door.

  “David.” She looked at the young girl with long sandy blond hair standing next to him and smiled. “Emma! This is a fantastic surprise. Come in.”

  Emma grinned and ran in, giving Max a hug. “Dad took me to the de Young Museum yesterday. They had a really cool photo exhibit of the national parks. Have you seen it?”

  “No, but sounds like something I would like.” She glanced at David. He was not smiling. “I’m thrilled to see you, but aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?”

  “We have time,” David said. He said to Emma, “I need to talk to Max, then I have a surprise.”

  “Tell me.” Emma practically jumped. She was twelve, between the age of excitement and teenage apathy. Max was glad she was less apathetic and more excited about life.

  David pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it and squealed. “OMG, first base? Really? Giants versus the Mets? The night we get back? I can’t believe it, you hate the Giants.”

  “You love the Giants, I love the Mets. One of us will go home happy.”

  Emma hugged David. “Ten minutes and then I’ll be back. Can I have five bucks?”

  “Charge whatever you want to my room,” Max said.

  “Thanks, Max—you know you’re in trouble, right?”

  “I didn’t think your dad drove thirty miles out of his way before a five-hour flight to tell me how much he loves working for me.”

  Emma left and Max sat back down at her desk. “She’s grown two inches since last summer.”

  “Brittany told her she could get her belly button pierced when she’s thirteen.”

  “You didn’t come here to bitch about Emma’s mother.”

  David raised an eyebrow. “You usually enjoy it when I complain about Brittany.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  David sat down on the chair across from her, but he didn’t relax. There were a lot of similarities between David and Detective Nick Santini. Max dismissed it to their military backgrounds. David could have easily been a cop. Max had asked him once why he didn’t go into law enforcement, and he’d never really given her a good answer.

  “We have a problem.”

  Max waited for David to tell her what was bothering him, but she feared the worst. “We have a problem” never led to anything good. It led to people quitting on her, or her firing them. “We have a problem” was always an ending, never a beginning.

  David didn’t say anything, either.

  “Don’t leave,” she said quietly.

  “I can’t do my job if you lie to me.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “You neglected to tell me that you were nearly run over in that damn parking garage, or that you saved Dru Parker’s life.”

  “So she’s okay?” She’d tried getting information from the hospital this morning, but they gave her the runaround and she grew impatient.

  “Don’t.”

  “David, I didn’t want you doing this.”

  “What? I don’t get it, Max. What am I doing that pisses you off?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You told me that I was your right hand.”

  “You are. You know I don’t trust anyone else.”

  “And that’s a lie.” He stared at her. “You don’t trust anyone.”

  “David—”

  “I need to be in the loop, Max. The need to know loop. Always. I have to be able to trust you to be honest with me.”

  “This coming from the man who’s told me more than once that I’m too honest?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  How did Max explain to David what she wanted? What she needed? “For years I investigated on my own, wrote articles on my own, did research all by myself. I can work all day and all night and live off caffeine and chocolate and it doesn’t impact anyone but me. You have a daughter you never get to see.”

  David leaned back. “Now I’m clueless.”

  “This is your time with Emma. You get only four weeks with her a year. I’m not helpless, and I’ve already had you working when you should be ignoring my calls.”

  David didn’t say anything. Max couldn’t stand it. “Dammit, David, you’re a good father. I’m not going to ruin that.”

  “You couldn’t. I’d much rather Emma have you as a role model than Brittany.”

  Max was surprised. “I’m not a role model for anyone.”

  “You have your moments.” But he smiled, and for the first time since David sat down, Max relaxed. But his smile disappeared and he leaned forward. “Next time, don’t leave out the details.”

  “All right.”

  He seemed to assess her sincerity, and Max wished she could promise more, but all she could do was try. She didn’t want to lose David—as an employee or a friend.

  “I have some information.” He handed her a sheet of notes written in his small block letters. “Here’s the financials details on Evergreen, and the agreement with ACP. Evergreen would have filed
bankruptcy by the end of the fiscal year, no doubt, if this didn’t happen.”

  He glanced at her two trifold boards. “You have a lot of information already.”

  “Not enough. But my uncle is financing the sports complex, so I have an in with Jasper Pierce. I’ll find out exactly what his connection is with Evergreen and the Hoffman family. No one hands over a multimillion-dollar contract with no bids for no reason.”

  “And the Lindy Ames board?”

  “That’s just personal.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “It’s your disapproving grunt.”

  “I don’t disapprove.” He looked back at her. “I think you need to find out what happened or it’ll be one more thing that keeps you awake at night.”

  “Go,” Max said. “Enjoy Emma. Have a safe trip. And please don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t, and Max was relieved. She wasn’t used to having a relationship like the one she had with David.

  He opened the door. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Saturday? I’ll be back in New York.”

  He smirked. “We’re flying home Friday afternoon, going to the Giants-Mets game that night, and Emma has to be back to her mother’s by noon Saturday.” He nodded toward her boards for Jason Hoffman and Lindy Ames. “You won’t be leaving until you solve both cases. And I think it’s going to take you all week.”

  * * *

  Max almost thought Nick Santini wouldn’t show. It was Sunday afternoon, she was a reporter, he was a cop. David had called one of his buddies in the Marines and learned that Nick was a decorated veteran who’d served in both Iraq and Afghanistan as part of a Special Forces unit. He was still in the Reserves, like David. David was Army, but as far as Max was concerned, military was military.

  Max sat in her favorite booth in the bar. Her phone vibrated again with another call from William. He’d left a message for her last night, which she’d ignored, and called again already this morning, which she also ignored. Maybe now he understood that she was serious about that parking ticket.

  She answered the phone.

  “I thought you were going to send me to voice mail again,” William said.

  “What do you want? We said everything that needed to be said last night—unless you were lying.”

  “I didn’t lie to you. Why can’t you trust me on this?”

  “I want to,” she said.

  “I was calling to warn you—Andy knows about what happened at the Ames house last night.”

  “Why does Andy care?” But he had come to see her Friday night, and their conversation hadn’t been all that friendly.

  “I told him you weren’t looking into Lindy’s death, and now you’re making me a liar.”

  “I never told you to lie.”

  “You brought me into it last night!”

  “Me? You’re the one who had the secret parking ticket and didn’t tell anyone. All I did was call you on it. So I repeat, why are you now a liar?”

  “Andy asked me point-blank what you were doing at the Ames house last night. I played dumb, like I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  “You don’t. I never told you.”

  “I can guess.”

  “You’d be wrong.” Max shifted uncomfortably. She hadn’t told David about the call to her hotel yet, and he wouldn’t like that she’d kept the information from him, especially after their heart-to-heart this morning. And she didn’t know if she’d honestly forgotten to mention it, or if subconsciously she knew David would have canceled his vacation with Emma if he knew there had been a threat, however subtle it was.

  “Then why?”

  Max might have told William about the threat, except that she saw Andy walking briskly toward her. He looked as happy as Brooks and her grandmother had last night.

  “Your best friend is paying me a visit. Is that why you really called? To warn me that Andy was on his way?”

  “He’s there?”

  “Good-bye.” Max hung up on William. Andy leaned over, his palms flat against the table.

  “What the hell are you doing harassing Kimberly Ames?”

  “Hello, Andy,” Max said. “I’d invite you to sit down but I’m expecting someone.”

  Andy sat and Max’s temper went up a dozen degrees. “I told you to leave Lindy’s murder alone.”

  “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “You don’t take orders from anyone. You never did. I came to you as a friend the other night—”

  “I’m not going to repeat myself.”

  “What did you say to William that got him all upset?”

  “Why don’t you ask William? He’s your best friend.”

  “I did, and he talked around it, but he can’t lie to save his soul, and the more I pushed the more upset he became.”

  Max stared at Andy. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because Kevin O’Neal killed Lindy, and you’re stirring up shit that doesn’t need stirring.”

  “How do you know I was at the Ames’ house last night?”

  “Everyone knows!” He slammed his fist on the table, causing water to slosh from her glass.

  Max noticed that Nick Santini was approaching. His eyes weren’t on her; they were fixated on Andy, as hard as his expression.

  “Hello, Nick,” Max said with a half smile.

  Andy had been so engrossed in trying to intimidate her that he didn’t notice Nick until he was standing right next to the table. His manners battled with his anger. Manners won, barely.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted your meal,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Good-bye, Andy,” Max said.

  Andy stood, turned back to her and said, “We used to be friends. If that means anything to you, you’ll just stop this nonsense and go back to New York.”

  “I think you know me well enough to know that I like running with scissors.”

  For some reason, that infuriated Andy. “Be careful which way you point the scissors.”

  Nick said, “Is that a threat?”

  “Back off,” Andy said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Nick showed his badge. “Everything concerns me.”

  Andy wasn’t fazed by Nick’s shield. He smirked, glanced at Max, then said to Nick, “Watch out. She bites.” Then he left.

  Nick watched Andy leave the restaurant before he sat down. He looked at Max and said, “You don’t look intimidated.”

  “I’ve known Andy for a long time.”

  “Ex?”

  She shrugged. “High school sweethearts.”

  “That’s right. You graduated from Atherton Prep.”

  The way he said it made Max wonder how much research he’d done into her background. It was mostly an open book—she had a detailed bio on the “Maximum Exposure” Web site and there were interviews she’d given that spilled most of her secrets. How she was raised by her grandparents, didn’t know who her father was, and her mother disappeared when she was a kid. Oh, and that she’d been left millions of dollars by her eccentric great-grandmother and her family sued to try and null and void the will. They lost, she won, and the rest is history.

  If Max could take on her family and win, she could take on Andy Talbot and anyone else who interfered with her pursuit of the truth.

  “Yep, I’ve lived here since I was nine-and-a-half when my mom dropped me on my grandparents’ doorstep. I didn’t even know I was the great-granddaughter of one of the wealthiest women in California until then. But you didn’t come here to talk about me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  She didn’t quite know how to take his comment. “I’m an open book. Ask me what you want to know.”

  “Was your ex-high school sweetheart Andy talking about my case?”

  “No.”

  Nick didn’t say anything, waiting for Max to continue. She didn’t. Sh
e didn’t know if he would change his mind about helping her with the Jason Hoffman investigation if he knew she was also pursuing a cold case one of his colleagues considered closed. Juggling the two was becoming increasingly difficult.

  “You don’t ask for help, do you?”

  “That’s a question out of left field.”

  “Which you smoothly avoided.”

  “I did?” She smiled. The waiter came over with two menus. She ordered a pinot grigio and Nick ordered a beer.

  She gave him an olive branch. “Sometimes, asking for help comes with strings. That’s why I prefer a trade. Like this.”

  “I didn’t agree to anything.”

  “But you will.” She hoped. “Unless you have an arrest warrant in your pocket.”

  “If Harry Beck had his way, you’d be in jail.”

  Her stomach dropped. Nick Santini knew far more about her and why she’d returned to Atherton than she realized. Why was she surprised?

  “Harry Beck is a prick.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “He has nothing to do with the Jason Hoffman homicide.”

  “But that’s not why you’re here.”

  “You obviously know why I’m here; you talked to Beck.”

  “I wanted to hear it from you. If I believed Beck, you’d be an accessory to murder or something. He was a bit irrational when he spoke of you.”

  “I’ll bet.” She assessed Nick’s interest; it seemed genuine. “If you talked to Beck, you know I’m in town for a friend’s funeral. Kevin O’Neal was tried for the murder of my best friend, Lindy Ames. I never believed he did it. He committed suicide last week, I suspect because he never could shake his reputation. The jury was hung, and Kevin lived with everyone in town thinking he was a killer. Including Beck.”

  “If not Kevin, who?”

  “I wish I knew. But I didn’t originally return to investigate Lindy’s murder. I came to help his little sister come to terms with his suicide. I owed him that much.”

  “Why?”

  Nick’s probing questions irritated her. The complexities of her feelings about Kevin and Lindy were just now becoming clear to her, and she was still twisting them around, trying to understand. She wasn’t ready to discuss them with anyone, especially a virtual stranger. The waiter returned with their drinks and they ordered lunch. “I’d prefer to talk about what I know about Jason Hoffman’s murder.”