Notorious

by Allison Brennan

  “How the hell did you—never mind,” he interrupted himself. “Don’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t break any laws.” At least not while I was investigating Potrero. “I’ll share with you what I learn, but Shelley thinks it’s fishy. She knows everything there is to know about environmental fund-raising, so if they’re kosher, she’ll know.” She sipped her wine and smiled at Nick. “I did good.”

  “You think very highly of yourself.”

  “When warranted. Come on, admit it, you wish you could do what I do.”

  He shook his head, but she caught a half grin. “It would be nice, but the rules are there for a reason. If I break the rules, a killer could get off on a technicality. It won’t happen on my watch. So don’t make me shut you down.”

  She leaned close to Nick. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t stop me if you wanted. But I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know the lines I can’t cross.”

  She wasn’t going to tell him that can’t is subjective. Some causes, some cases, she was willing to cross any line.

  His eyes darkened and Max wanted to kiss him.

  Max always went after what she wanted.

  She leaned forward but before she could kiss him, his left hand was on her wrist. He shook his head slightly, but she ignored his hesitation. Her lips parted and his right hand went behind her neck and pulled her lips to his. The sudden lust jolted her, unexpected but very much wanted. Her hand found his hard bicep and squeezed as their kiss deepened to the point where she wanted to take him upstairs without delay. Their attraction was mutual, and by the one kiss it was clear to her that they would be very compatible in bed.

  He pulled back first. He didn’t have to tell her he was leaving; she saw it in his eyes.

  “I don’t want this,” he said.

  She managed a sly smile, even through her racing heart. “You don’t?”

  He got up, picked up his files, and stared at her. That’s when she realized it was that he didn’t want the feelings of attraction, not that he didn’t want to have sex. Her confidence regained its foothold.

  “Max—” He stopped. He leaned over and gave her a last, quick kiss. “Be good.” Then he left before she could say anything in reply.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Max’s cell phone rang at five thirty in the morning. It was Shelley from D.C.

  “You know I’m in California,” Max grumbled as she pulled herself from a deep sleep.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Shelley chirped.

  Max groaned.

  “Nice way to thank me for working all night for you.”

  “Thank you.” Max was still confused, but put it off to being jolted from a hot dream that involved strawberries, chocolate, and Nick Santini.

  “You don’t sound excited.”

  “You’re excited for the both of us.”

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stretched, then walked over to her desk and turned on her computer.

  “Not excited—just pissed off. I’ve spent all my life working to protect the environment, you know? It’s my calling. So I really hate it when people scam the system. It makes us all look bad, right?”

  “Right,” Max agreed, though she was still catching up with Shelley.

  “So I called a friend of mine high up in Cal-EPA—someone who knows everything about every environmental group in California. He never heard of DL Environmental. He has access to a database of nonprofits, and DLE is registered, but no sign of that kind of donation history. Have no idea what’s going on with them, but they file a simple tax filing stating that they receive less than $50,000 in donations. Tommy thinks that they’re running a scam—you know, donate to this cause and feel good, but they don’t use any of the money for the cause.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “I think it’s bigger than fraud.”

  “How so?”

  “They own a half-million-dollar condo in San Mateo and a new car that one of their people is driving. They have a mail drop for a business address.”

  “Well, just so you know, they’re not a player at all, never raised a finger or given a dollar to any of the legit causes.”

  “Good to know. Can your friend Tommy get their filings? The nonprofit paperwork, and public tax information.”

  “Because they’re nonprofit, most of the stuff is available to the public if you know where to look. I can get it for you. Give me an hour and I’ll e-mail what I find.”

  “Thanks, Shell.”

  “So it helps?”

  “Yes.” It confirmed that Max had been thinking, but she still didn’t know where DLE was getting their money. If it was an Internet financial scam, that was under the FBI. “Can you please cross-reference any paperwork with the names John Carlos or J. C. Potrero and Rebecca Cross?”

  “Wow, you said please. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word cross your lips.” Shelley laughed heartily.

  “You’re not funny.”

  “I’ll be in New York for a conference this summer. I expect dinner and a show and lots of drinks.”

  “You’re on. E-mail me the dates and I’ll clear my calendar.”

  Max hung up and ran through all possible scenarios, but it seemed pretty clear based on the evidence she saw at Dru’s place that she and Jason were friends. Maybe she told Jason what she was doing with DLE, and Jason being a smart guy knew it was illegal. Perhaps he tried to help her, and got a bullet in the head for his effort.

  Except, that meant she lied to Max when she said that there were weird things going on at Evergreen the week Jason was killed. That could have been a cover for Dru, feeling guilty and wanting to point a finger at J. C. and his buddy Rebecca Cross? Dru didn’t seem like a killer, but she might have kept quiet about the murder. Yet when both Max and Nick started asking around about Jason’s murder again, she panicked. And would she have really kept quiet, considering her and Jason’s long-term friendship?

  Murder over a financial scam? People have been killed for less, but it didn’t feel right to Max. And would Dru have told J. C. that she planned to talk to Max about whatever was going on? Doubtful. Not if she thought J. C. was a killer. Maybe he followed her. Or …

  Or someone Dru trusted knew about the arrangement. Like her roommates, Whitney and Amy. If one of them were home when Nick came over, and then Dru bolted, they might have alerted J. C. or Rebecca.

  Too many what-ifs and not enough answers. She ordered up coffee from room service because she had a lot of work to do.

  A text message from David popped up on her phone: Parker is conscious. Being moved to Room 242.

  It was 3:00 A.M. in Hawaii. Did David never sleep? She responded with a smiley face.

  Max needed to talk to Dru. She could put all this together if Dru would admit to what was going on with the money and DLE and tell her if Jason had found out about it.

  She frowned. That still didn’t explain Jason’s obsession with the trees at Atherton Prep. Maybe Dru had said the wrong thing. She had been bleeding and in pain.

  Max waited for her coffee, drank a cup, dispensed with e-mail, then quickly showered and dressed. Today called for professional, because she might have to talk herself into Dru’s room. As she was about to leave, her e-mail popped, a message from Shelley. She’d attached a list of property owned by Rebecca Cross, DL Environmental, or R4E. There were only four, two owned by Rebecca Cross, and two owned by DL Environmental. DL owned the house Dru and her friends rented and J. C. Potrero’s condo. Cross owned the house Max had followed J. C. to yesterday, plus a remote property off Phleger Road. It was in the county, in the mountains west of Woodside. The area was mostly open space and protected land, but any original property ownership was grandfathered in decades ago, with right of survivorship.

  It was less than thirty minutes from a town, but remote nonetheless. Few people lived up there full time.

  It might just be time for a day trip.

  The case had become far more inte
resting. Lies, money laundering, murder. Ben would be furious with her because this was going to take time, but she didn’t care. Jason’s murder had grabbed her and she wouldn’t be able to let go until she solved it.

  Max left her hotel and drove toward Sequoia Hospital. Almost immediately, she noticed that she was being followed. Or was she being paranoid? Maybe the break-in while she’d been in Kevin’s apartment had thrown her for more of a loop than she thought.

  After a couple of turns, she didn’t think paranoia was to blame. The car was a white Mercedes with partially tinted windows. With the angle of the early morning sun, she couldn’t make out any distinguishing characteristics of the driver. There was no front license plate, a violation of state law unless it was a new purchase. The car looked new, but she wasn’t a good judge with cars.

  She drove straight to Sequoia Hospital. The Mercedes passed by, but she still thought it had been following her.

  Max checked in at the desk for a visitor’s badge. She had to give the name and room number of the person she was visiting, but no flags were raised. The desk told her to check in with the second-floor nurse’s station, but Max ignored that request. She didn’t want anyone questioning her right to be there.

  She caught the nurses at a busy time as meals were being cleared and visiting hours had just started. Max slipped into room 242. It was a two-bed room, but right now Dru was alone. She looked small and pale on the stark white sheets. She had a breathing tube in her nose. Max had a flash of sitting next to her in the parking garage, holding her scarf on the girl’s abdomen, blood seeping through her fingers. That she’d survived defied the odds. She was a fighter, and Max hoped she still had fight in her. If Dru came clean, Max would move heaven and earth to help her.

  Max looked at the chart in the slot next to the bed. Dru had been downgraded this morning from critical to serious. Max couldn’t read everything, but it appeared that the surgery had lasted six hours to repair damage, her lung had been punctured but after twenty-four hours in recovery she’d regained consciousness.

  Dru opened her eyes as if sensing there was someone watching her. “Hey.” Her voice was low and gravelly.

  “Don’t talk.” That was a dumb thing to say. Max planned to ask questions. She sat down on the chair next to the bed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “You. Thanks.”

  “Dru, I need to ask you some questions, but I think I know the answers and I don’t want you to get upset or work yourself up, okay? So I’m going to tell you what I think happened, and if I’m wrong, squeeze my hand.”

  She nodded. She looked defeated but emboldened. Someone had tried to kill her but she survived. That changed a person, and Max was counting on that change to be for the better.

  “Your ex-boyfriend J. C. Potrero used you to launder money from DL Environmental. I haven’t figured out what his scam is, but I will. The car that nearly ran me over in the parking garage, driven by who I think stabbed you, is owned by Rebecca Cross. She’s a teacher at Cañada College. Do you know her?”

  Dru nodded once.

  “I think that J. C. or Rebecca found out that Detective Santini came to talk to you and felt you were a liability. You know something they don’t want the police to know. Did J. C. kill Jason?”

  Dru squeezed Max’s hand. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “That’s okay. Was this money laundering scheme to hide donations to DLE?”

  She shook her head.

  “Were they getting money somewhere else but saying it was from DLE?”

  She nodded.

  Max’s stomach flipped. She was close. She thought about Evergreen—construction was ripe for graft and corruption. Maybe they planned on robbing the construction site and Jason got wind of it—but that didn’t feel right. Still, she asked, “Were they robbing construction sites using DLE to launder the money?”

  “No. No.”

  The machine Dru was attached to started beeping as her heart rate rose.

  “Shh, Dru, don’t get yourself upset. Okay?”

  “Pot.”

  “Potrero?”

  Dru shook her head. “They have a pot farm. I don’t know where.”

  Drugs? This was all about drugs?

  “And Jason found out? Maybe tried to help you?”

  She shook her head again. “Jason didn’t know. I don’t know why they’d kill him.”

  “But they did kill him, right?”

  “I don’t know. I swear.”

  Her heart rate was going up again.

  “I believe you.” Max did—she believed that Dru didn’t know whether J. C. or Rebecca killed Jason. But Max could see a possible scenario unfolding, where Jason found out his friend Dru was doing something illegal and confronted her ex-boyfriend. It was something an overprotective big brother might do, and from all the e-mails she’d read between Dru and Jason, that fit their relationship. She wanted to ask about the documents Dru had sent Jason before he graduated, but Dru was fading, and Max didn’t want to jeopardize her recovery. Still, she needed to find out what Jason meant about the trees.

  “You said that Jason was obsessed with the trees at Atherton Prep. That something was odd, holes in the trees.”

  “Trees? I said that?”

  “Yes, Saturday night when I found you.”

  Dru took a moment to collect her thoughts. The machine that monitored her heart and breathing also seemed to slow down. Good.

  “Jason was acting weird all week,” Dru said slowly, her voice scratchy. “He spent hours at ACP, walking the campus, doing nothing.”

  “You know this how?”

  “I heard Brian and Roger talking about Jason’s strange behavior. And I saw it myself. Brian said he thought Jason was on drugs, but I think he was just mad at Jason.”

  “Because Jason went behind Brian’s back to bid on this project with Jasper Pierce and Gordon Chu?”

  Dru stared at her as if she were a mind-reader. “How did you know?”

  “Research.” No sense telling Dru she’d broken into her house.

  “So Brian said to Roger that Jason was talking about the trees, or something that was happening under the trees. Holes in the ground.”

  “Do you know which trees?”

  “Not then, but later, when I moved my desk to the site, Roger told me it was the trees along the west fence, Jason would walk through them then ask Roger if anyone from his crew had messed with them. Roger said no. He didn’t really even have a crew then.”

  That confirmed what Jasper had told her the night before.

  “Do you think that’s why Jason was at ACP the night he was killed?”

  Dru thought for a long minute. “Yes. He was waiting for something. He said something like … I’ll figure out who’s messing with my site. I think that was it. But that was days before Thanksgiving. I didn’t think about it.”

  “And you never told the police this.”

  “I didn’t really remember, or I didn’t think it was important.” She looked pained. “Believe me, I cared about Jason. I wish I’d fallen for him instead of J. C. Jason wanted to get together, but…” Her voice trailed off. Max knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Jason was the good boy, the college grad, the straight-and-narrow boyfriend who was marriage material. J. C. Potrero was the bad boy who excited her and made her feel powerful and on the edge.

  Max had been there, done that. She completely understood.

  “One more thing. How did J. C. and Rebecca find out Nick Santini came to talk to you?”

  Dru closed her eyes. At first Max thought she’d fallen to sleep. Then she said, “Whitney and Amy. All of us were getting paid by DLE.”

  * * *

  Max loved spring in the Bay Area. Seventy-five degrees, light breeze, blue skies. While she loved living in New York City, nothing beat the California climate. The drive up to Phleger Road reminded her that sometimes, she needed a break. Even if it was a short drive into the mountains.

  She looked around for the whit
e Mercedes, but she hadn’t seen it in the hospital parking lot, and it wasn’t following her now. She debated telling David about it, and decided she would—when they talked or when he returned, whichever came first. If she saw it again, she’d reconsider.

  She realized that the college where Cross taught was only fifteen minutes from her property. To get to her home in San Mateo was less than thirty minutes in the other direction. If they had a pot farm up here, it was bold—though the mountain wasn’t extensively populated, there were plenty of homes and weekend cabins, bikers and hikers.

  As soon as she turned onto Phleger from Cañada Road, she realized she had a problem. It was not only a private road, but gated as well.

  The road itself was about three miles from Cañada to Skyline Boulevard, but completely uphill from where she was. The property in question was one mile east of Skyline, and from there had a more or less even terrain.

  She drove to a strip mall and found a sporting goods store. She had sneakers in her bag, but no clean running clothes. She bought a fanny pack, sweatpants, T-shirt, and windbreaker, changed in the bathroom, and drove up to Skyline Boulevard. There was no place to park on the edge of the road, but less than two hundred feet from the private road was a high-end restaurant. She’d eaten here before—delicious food and an amazing view. That it was both remote but close to the city made it doubly attractive for special nights.

  It was closed on Mondays, which was good for Max, so she parked in their lot and stretched.

  She jogged down Skyline until she reached the private road. Based on the parcel map she’d downloaded to her phone, there were only six property owners off Phleger. Like she suspected, most of the mountainside was owned by the county or state, and the owners maintained the road because it was gated. Cross’s property, which had been gifted to her by her grandparents years ago, was less than a mile down the road. Max tucked her phone into her fanny pack, along with a water bottle, Taser, and identification, glanced around for any nosy observers, then quickly hopped the metal gate.