The gentle tinkling of Far Eastern music reminded him of Miranda’s laughter, of how happy they’d been the last time they’d come here. It was before Parker and Steele Consulting. Before Las Vegas. And after Leon Groth was gone. One starry night in May, they’d stolen a few quite hours alone, just the two of them, to celebrate nothing in particular except the joy they had found in each other.
If only things could have stayed that way.
“Mr. Parker. How good to see you this evening.” Chao Lao, the owner, stepped through an inner doorway to greet Parker.
Parker shook hands. “And you, Chao. How have you been?”
“Well, well. And yourself?” Dressed in a dark business suit as finely tailored as the one Parker had changed into, Lao was one of the hardest working businessmen Parker knew. He thought highly of him.
“I’m fine,” Parker told him, stretching the truth. “The Agency is having one of its best years ever.”
“Excellent.” Lao nodded and smiled as if Parker’s personal life was nonexistent, though he had to know something of Parker’s breakup. It seemed everyone did.
Parker appreciated the discretion.
Without missing a beat, Lao gestured toward the dining room. “Your party is waiting for you. Please step this way.”
Parker followed the man through the rows of diners to one of the better tables. It was far enough away from the table he and Miranda had always shared to be tactful. Again, Parker was grateful.
But when he spotted who was seated at the table, he nearly balked.
Her maple brown hair done up in a graceful chignon, she wore a simply styled deep gray chiffon sheath over the tall lean figure of a woman who jogged regularly. A single strand of pearls graced her long slender neck. Elegant as ever. Just as she’d been at every social event he’d seen her. As he approached she turned her head and fixed him with the sharp gaze of the top defense attorney she was.
Wilhelmina Todd. Antonio’s associate at Chatham, Grayson, and McFee.
She’d been a social acquaintance for years. Apparently Gen thought she’d be a good match for him. Parker wasn’t so sure.
“Hello, Wade,” she smiled with her confident air. “Did Gen throw you off guard with this…arrangement?”
He slid into the booth across from her as Lao handed him a menu and silently slipped away. “I suppose she did.”
“Then I can admit I’m feeling as awkward about this as you must be.” She didn’t look awkward. She looked as cool as the proverbial cucumber.
Still, her remark made him smile. “It’s good to see you, Wilhelmina.”
“And you, Wade.” She reached across the table and took his hand in a warm squeeze of old friendship.
How long had he known her? Six, seven years? Since Antonio started at the firm. He’d often brought home stories of the young ambitious female attorney who was both rival and colleague. Both were eager to make partner someday. Wilhelmina had to be in her early thirties, like Antonio. Parker had never thought about her age before.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Oh, busy as ever. I’ve been working two attempted murders and a narcotics case lately.” She named one of the defendants who had been on the news.
Parker nodded politely. He hadn’t watched much television the past few weeks.
“Plus Felicia’s in her last year of high school. She’ll be going off to college next year.”
“Is that so? I remember when she started junior high.”
“Time flies as they say.”
But the last few years hadn’t been fun for Wilhelmina. She’d lost a child. Shortly after Parker and Miranda had met, Miranda found the killer of Wilhelmina’s younger daughter, Tiffany. Those were difficult days for the attorney. It had been when he was falling in love.
Awkward wasn’t the word for this so-called date. He’d have to speak to Gen about her choice of companions for him.
He opened the menu. “Shall I order for us?”
She smiled her winning smile. “How chivalrous you are. Something with chicken, I think.”
“Very well.”
He selected rice wine, an oyster and ginger soup, and chicken and vegetables in sesame oil. He avoided the basil rolls with chili paste he’d once shared with Miranda, and especially the spicy sausage. He didn’t think Wilhelmina was the type for a three-alarm pepper dish.
Not many women were.
The meal was served and they ate and chatted about mutual acquaintances. Though Parker avoided mentioning Wilhelmina’s boss, Oliver Chatham. The chief partner in the firm was Mackenzie’s adopted father. Talk of him would lead to talk of Miranda.
The thought of lawyers made him realize he’d have to be seeing one shortly. It wouldn’t be Oliver, though, thank the Lord. Grayson was the one who handled divorce.
While she ate Wilhelmina kept up the conversation with small talk of local events and mutual acquaintances. Parker pushed the fragrant bamboo shoots around on his plate. He recalled how excited Miranda had always been when he’d introduce her to a new dish. Her culinary history had been limited and there were so many tastes she hadn’t yet experienced. He had loved feeding her and watching her reaction. Wilhelmina wasn’t the type to get excited over a meal.
And tonight he found he wasn’t in the mood to eat.
Wilhelmina finished her entrée and sat back with her teacup. She had a wistful look in her eye. “There’s a law firm in London that seems to be interested in my work.”
That news was a shock. “A long way from home. Are you thinking of taking a job with them?”
“I haven’t decided yet. And they haven’t made an offer. We’re just going through the preliminary dance, feeling each other out. You’re the first person I’ve told.”
Another surprise. But somehow he was flattered.
“It would be a challenge. And after Tiffany’s gone off to college, I’ll need that.”
Parker knew what she meant. Work was keeping him sane at the moment. And Wilhelmina had suffered a divorce from a cheating husband right after the death of her youngest. She’d had a hard two years.
He laid his napkin down next to his half finished plate. “I have some contacts in London, if you need them. Not that you would.”
She gave him a wry look. “Is that a brush-off, Wade?”
He cleared his throat. Of course if Wilhelmina went off to London there wouldn’t be a chance to pursue a relationship. He wasn’t usually so thoughtless. “Not at all, I—”
She laid her hand against his. “I’m being facetious.”
“Yes, of course.” Dear Lord, he was out of practice. He felt like an awkward schoolboy at his first dance.
Her gaze grew penetrating. “You’re not at all yourself tonight, Wade. Not that anyone would expect you to be.”
“I’m fine.” Parker fidgeted with his napkin. They’d done so well avoiding a personal conversation. He didn’t want that to end now.
Wilhelmina withdrew her hand and leaned her chin against her palm with a sigh. “You tell yourself that. You even believe it for a while, but it’s a lie. The truth is it takes time to heal wounds so deep.”
She and Isaiah Todd had been married a long time. Their breakup must have been excruciating for her.
Suddenly her words seemed to open the lesions Miranda had left in his heart, making them bleed and fester all over again. The attorney was right. He was far from healed.
He had to admire her honesty.
He studied her intelligent brown eyes. Wilhelmina was an attractive woman. A wonderful woman. Another time, there might have been something between them. But just now…she was right. He wasn’t ready.
Wilhelmina picked up her cup again. “I’m so sorry it didn’t work out for you. Miranda is one special woman.”
“She was. She is. It’s just—”
“You don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t mean to pry.” Waving a dismissive hand she took a sip of wine.
Parker bolstered his strength. Certainly he c
ould casually discuss his former wife with a friend. “I don’t mind, Wilhelmina. Really, I am all right.”
She gave him an of-course-you-are grin. “I’ll just say that I admire her courage. I can’t believe what she’s doing now.”
Parker stiffened. What did Wilhelmina think Miranda was doing? “She’s opened her own investigation office.”
“Yes, but to take on someone like that as her first client.” She shook her head in disbelief.
Parker froze. “Client?” He wasn’t sure what clients Miranda had managed to get. He’d told himself he didn’t care.
Wilhelmina straightened. “Oh, dear. You don’t know, do you? I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“I haven’t kept up with Miranda’s activities.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Are you going to tell me who her client is?”
Parker had never seen such a sheepish look on the elegant attorney’s face. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But now that you have…”
She nodded in acquiescence. “It’s someone I first told her about over a year ago. Carlos Santiago.”
Parker put down his drink with a thump. “The drug lord?”
“That’s the only Carlos Santiago I know.”
Parker felt as if Wilhelmina had just shot him in the chest. He nearly doubled over. Not only with the shock of this news, but with the rage bursting inside him like a break in the Hoover Dam. Foolish, irascible woman. She was going to get herself killed.
Just as he knew she would.
His first impulse was to rush over to her office in that God-forsaken part of town and demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing. His second impulse was to put Judd on a twenty-four-hour watch on her. His third impulse—the one that came after several deep breaths—was to recall he no longer cared what happened to Miranda Steele.
If she wanted to be careless and impulsive and throw all reason and caution to the wind, it was up to her. If she did in fact get herself killed, that was on her, too.
He was no longer responsible for her.
He realized Wilhelmina had been talking to him. He hadn’t heard a word. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She repeated it. Evidently Santiago had hired Miranda to find a missing dancer. A girl who was a college student at Georgia Tech. Wilhelmina had heard it from Antonio, who’d heard it from Coco, who’d heard it from Joan Becker. Joan had gone to see Miranda yesterday afternoon.
His pulse returning to normal, Parker fortified himself with the rest of his rice wine. He longed for something stronger but, no. He had no intention of regressing to the state he’d been in after Miranda walked out on their marriage.
He thought of Dave’s more than usual awkwardness today when he’d asked him to work on tracking down the source of those text messages on Miranda’s phone. He must have known all this then. No wonder he’d been so uncomfortable.
He thought of the secrets he’d sensed tonight between Curt Holloway and Janelle Wesson. They knew it, too.
Dave Becker. He’d left him searching through old videos for a man who might have visited the Parker Agency to get to Miranda. Or to her phone.
His resolve grew solid as granite. He would find this man. He would show Miranda Steele the danger she was in. He would prove it to her.
He would have the last word.
“I’m sorry, Wilhelmina,” he told his date, if that indeed was what this dinner had been. “But I need to get back to the office.”
She blinked at him in surprise, but her expression quickly turned to understanding.
He said goodnight and without making arrangements for another getogether with the attorney, he called for the check, paid it, and left the restaurant.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was just after seven-forty-five p.m., about an hour before the show. Miranda scanned the two dozen or so pairs of eyes staring up at her from the red felt chairs and white-clothed tables of Exótico’s back meeting room.
In the chairs sat the club’s entire staff. Kitchen workers, waiters, waitresses, hostesses, busboys, bouncers. All dressed in the universal black of those positions. Plus the dancers who were in jeans and a rainbow of T-shirts, their colors blending together under the muted light of fancy wall scones.
The air fairly smelled of the tension in the room.
Everyone looked miserably uncomfortable, not only because of the subject of this meeting but because they probably weren’t allowed in this place reserved for top dollar customers, except as servants.
Most of the non-performers were Hispanic. Dark-haired, ruddy-skinned friends and relatives of Santiago and his gang members. Keep it in the family.
And since that was so, Miranda knew they’d be willing to help. Or at least she hoped so.
“According to Dolly and Bambi,” she told them after Santiago had introduced her and told them to listen up and cooperate, “there was a man in the audience who seemed to be extremely fond of Nitro.”
Miranda shifted her weight and watched the nervous faces watching her.
Instead of a glittery, glam outfit she’d worn her best suit tonight. A black skirt and jacket ensemble that was austere, dark, serious. She thought it might scare answers out of tight-lipped workers, but maybe it was too intimidating.
Before she’d gone home to change, she’d finished her calls to the local hospitals. No Hannah Kaye or Jane Does matching her description had come in over the past five days. The GPS tracker on Hannah’s car still hadn’t produced any results, either. Miranda had left it running, wondering if she could get her money back if it ended up giving her zip.
So this meeting was her best bet right now. Somebody here had to know something about the mystery man.
“This man,” she continued, “always sat in the front row when Nitro performed. Booth number three. According to witnesses he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But last night, that seat was empty.”
Some of the workers glanced cautiously at each other. By now everyone knew Hannah Kaye, aka Nitro had been missing since last Thursday. They were starting to get the creepy picture she was painting.
“This man had dark, curly hair, and a dark pencil mustache. He might have been driving a light color sedan.”
“What kind of sedan?” a big-armed man standing in the back wanted to know.
At least someone had spoken. “Midsized. We don’t have a specific model.” She didn’t want to lead them. She wanted them to tell her the details. “What I need to know is who among you knows something about this man. Does anyone know his name, for instance?” Might as well go for the gold.
A young man with a chunky face and a hairnet over his straight black hair put up a hand. “I do not know anything about this man,” he said with a thick accent. “But I know Ms. Nitro, she was a big flirt with the customers.”
Snickers tittered up from the group.
“That’s an understatement,” murmured a dancer with strawberry blond hair piled in braids atop her head.
Miranda pointed at her. “What do you know about it?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. You seem to have an opinion.”
Her cheeks turning pink the dancer glanced over at the chunky-faced man. “Matias is right. Nitro was here for the attention. She was always talking to customers. More than we’re supposed to.” She shot a brief glimpse at Santiago and her face turned from rosy to crimson.
Another dancer waved a hand in the air. “It’s true what they’re saying, Ms. Steele. I don’t know about that particular guy, but there were a lot of guys who would have loved to go out with Nitro. She encouraged them. She always needed to be out in front. Like Ginger said, she craved attention.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group.
It made sense. After all, Santiago had told her the customers adored Nitro’s explosive, atomic bomb dancing. Miranda thought about what Hannah’s roommate Bonnie had said. She
was the quiet one and Hannah was the talker. Apparently it went farther than that. Miranda wondered if Hannah’s craving for attention had something to do with her new step-mother.
She pointed at the waiters. “Do any of you remember serving this man drinks?”
They looked at each other blankly and shrugged. “We serve lots of people every night,” a young woman with sunken eyes said with a scowl.
A man on the side of the room said, “I do not remember anyone in the front row matching that description.”
“I do not remember no pencil-faced man,” said another.
Drawing in a slow breath, Miranda summoned her patience. “Witnesses state the man came here every night for a whole week. Surely somebody noticed him.” It couldn’t have just been Dolly and Bambi, who for some reason were absent from this meeting. And so was Yolanda for that matter.
She pressed on. “Who’s assigned to that section?”
“We take turns. Javier had it last night.”
It would help if she knew which week the guy had been there. “How about the rest of this week and last? How about the whole month?”
The big-armed man in the back raised a finger. “I can get you that information. I’m the floor manager.”
“Okay, thanks. In the meantime, does anyone know anything about this guy?”
Nobody said a word. They were getting fidgety. It was time to get started or they wouldn’t be ready for the show.
“Anybody?”
Silence.
Miranda was about to give up and let them go when a skinny guy with large ears, who barely looked old enough to be in this place lifted a hand. “I’ve worked that section, ma’am,” he said in with a squeak that reminded her a little of Marty Jenkins.
Miranda put a hand on her hip. “And?”
“I think I remember that guy. He’d always come in early and stayed late. Always sat in booth three. I remembered he ordered Irish Whiskey, neat. No ice, no soda.”
Miranda stopped breathing. Somebody who actually remembered the guy? Was she finally getting somewhere? “What else can you recall?”
“Like your witnesses say, he was very focused on the stage. Especially when Nitro was on.”
She had a thought. “Did he pay with a credit card?” If they could track that down, they’d have all the information she’d need to find the guy.
Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7) Page 12