Though this time she hadn’t had the chance to face down the killer. She’d been too late to save a life.
Santiago came out of the house and strolled over to her car. He rapped on her window with his knuckles.
She rolled it down.
“I’m sorry, Carlos.”
He nodded, looking back at the house, his face paler than she’d ever seen it. Even after the violence he must have seen in his life on the streets, the sight of Hannah Kaye’s body had shaken him.
“Hijuepuerca,” he growled under his breath. Son of a bitch.
Yeah. Hijuepuerca.
He leaned down close to her his black eyes shining with hate. “Miranda Steele,” he said in a low rumble. “Find who did this to my dancer.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The police finished up and started to leave. Chambers came over and asked if he could drive her home. Miranda declined and instead offered to drive up to Gainesville with him to inform Hannah’s parents.
He shook his head and told her to go home.
So she headed back to the city still numb with shock but recovered enough to drive. She found an oldies station playing hard heavy metal and cranked it up all the way, trying to drive the gory image from her mind.
But it would take more than Led Zeppelin and ZZ Topp to do that.
The rain had stopped by the time she got home and the sun was setting in a blaze of color. The air remained cooler. Fall was coming on. Climbing up the stairs she wondered if she should stay in Atlanta. She didn’t have roots here anymore. What was the point?
Inside her apartment, she cleaned her Beretta and put it away in her drawer. Then she opened the bottle of Jack Daniels she’d picked up on the way home. She got a mug from her cabinet—another one of those cat cups. This one had a gray kitten sniffing a blue flower in a garden.
She poured two fingers into it and gulped it down.
The booze burned her throat but after a minute her muscles started to relax. She poured another two fingers and carried the mug and the bottle into her bedroom. She stripped off her damp clothes, took a shower, pulled on a T-shirt and laid down on her bed.
Hannah Kaye. A young woman who had her whole life in front of her. Promising future as an architect building hospitals. A boyfriend who seemed crazy about her with a compatible dream of designing medical machinery. They could have graduated, married, had terrific careers, children, the works.
But no, that wasn’t enough. Hannah wanted more. She wanted excitement. Attention. The thrill of men drooling over her, chasing after her.
And she got it. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of attention she’d intended. She’d made a mistake. Fallen for the wrong guy. Made a bad choice.
And her last days had ended in excruciating pain and no doubt an agonizing series of if onlys.
If only she hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend. If only she hadn’t gone off with the customer in booth three. If only she had told somebody about this guy. If only she hadn’t taken the job at Santiago’s club. If only she’d been just a little smarter, a little more cautious.
But she hadn’t been. And she’d paid for it with her life.
Find her killer.
Miranda poured more whiskey into her mug and groaned out loud. Who did Santiago think she was? Superwoman?
The police would have to do that.
When Chambers questioned her at the scene she’d turned over the papers he wanted and filled him in on everything she knew about Thomas Anthony Drew. It was up to the police detective and his cronies at the station to find him now. Chambers had better equipment, more manpower, the power of arrest.
She couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the will. Not her job.
Miranda stared at the heart shaped pendant on the ankle bracelet around her wrist. A.T. Adam Tannenburg. Just now that case felt like another failure. She took off the bracelet and laid it on her night stand beside her phone.
She picked up her mug. It was empty. She refilled it and chucked down the last mouthful of Jack Daniels. As the alcohol took effect, she fumbled for her light switch and turned it off. She laid her head on the pillow, her brain reeling. Sleep. She needed sleep. A good night’s sleep and she’d be able to figure out what to do. She felt as if she could sleep forever.
And as she rolled over in the darkness and drifted off, Miranda realized she wasn’t sure anymore what she had the will to do.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nine forty-five in the morning. She should be at the office in a meeting but where was she instead? Taking back anniversary gifts for Miranda Steele.
Gen Parker fumed and bristled as she waited for the clerk, who had to discuss the matter with her manager. Yes, Gen knew the item had been purchased over three weeks ago. But it wasn’t even her gift. She was doing a favor for a friend.
Then again, maybe it was all her own fault.
Livia Burton, whom she’d invited to the Gecko Club last night as a possible future date for her father, had unloaded the chore of returning the gift she’d bought for his first anniversary.
She’d been busy, Liv had said, and forgotten to return it. She was a real estate agent, Liv had reminded her, as if Gen didn’t already know it—Liv used to work for her grandfather—and she had three showings the next day.
Could Gen be a dear and return it for her? At that point Gen had been relieved her father hadn’t taken an interest in the woman.
And then there were the two gifts from Wendy Van Aarle and her family that she’d promised to take care of. They’d also been too busy to take them back, what with school starting and Wendy’s ice-skating. She should have told Iris no, Gen thought, but she’d been trying to be nice.
That was her problem. She was just too damn nice.
She’d already returned the hand-stitched leather-bound photo album from Livia. And the personalized stationery with a pair of matching his-and-her Italian designer pens from Wendy. Her mother must have helped her pick that out.
Once she’d gotten rid of Iris’s gift, she’d be done. And what a gift it was. A bowl made of Swarovski crystal with two lovebirds perched on its rim. Her father would have adored it.
Love birds. That was a joke.
She tapped her tapered fingernails on the glass counter.
What was taking that clerk so long? She had the receipt. The bowl wasn’t damaged. Surely they could resell it.
She should have torn that clerk’s head off when she made a fuss. Instead she decided to follow her father’s example and use kindness. The technique didn’t seem to work as well for her.
He was such a sweet man, a good man. He deserved someone so much better than Miranda Steele.
What he’d ever seen in that selfish, hot headed bitch she’d never know.
Sure, she was good at what she did. She’d even saved her life once. Though it had been Miranda’s actions that had gotten her in that spot. So she was a great detective. So what? You could get into real trouble mixing your personal and professional life. She ought to know.
Curt Holloway had had the eye for her for weeks now. And though he made her blood race, did she give him the time of day? Not on her life.
Work and love don’t mix. That was why there were rules about that in most organizations.
She guessed her father was learning that lesson the hard way. Poor Dad.
At last the clerk returned with a bright smile, an apology, and a hand full of cash.
Finally.
Gen thanked her as sweetly as she could and made her way out of the store.
Free at last.
She hurried over the marble floor, past the fountain and into the parking deck. She’d parked here thinking it would be faster to get back out on the street.
She glanced at the time. Damn, she was late for that meeting. Plus she had those reviews from yesterday to finish up and another potential client coming in just before lunch. She’d better call Sybil and let her know where she was. She’d been in too much of a hurry to even text her earlier.
She stopped in front of a thick cement pillar to dial. She didn’t notice the vehicle parked just behind her. She didn’t hear him get out. Or his footsteps as he came up behind her.
But she did feel the rough hand as it slapped over her mouth, clamping it shut. An arm went around her waist pinning her arms against her body. Her cell phone tumbled to the ground.
Heart pounding she screamed into the sweaty flesh, tried to bite. Then she kicked out behind her the way she’d seen some of the investigators do in the gym. Dear God. Dad had taught her self defense skills once. But suddenly she couldn’t remember any of it.
Not anything that worked anyway.
The man holding her began dragging her across the pavement. She kicked and screamed into his palm trying to cry out for help. But there was no one around and he was so strong.
Tears stung her eyes. Her chest burned so hot with fear she thought she was going to have a heart attack.
She couldn’t get away. She just couldn’t get away. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of where he was taking her.
To an ugly dark red truck with a light colored stripe. F-150. Dent in the door. Crew cab. She tried to make out the tag number but she was at the wrong angle. Skin, she thought. DNA.
As they reached the truck, he removed his hand from her mouth an instant to open the passenger door.
She screamed and managed to twist her hands enough to dig her nails into his wrist.
He stifled a yell. For an instant she saw his face. Crooked mouth. His eyes were wild.
Then she realized he was reaching for something in the truck. A rag of some sort. Was he going to gag her? She tried to get another kick in but he’d already jammed the rag onto her nose and mouth. She couldn’t breathe.
Was he trying to suffocate her?
No. Too late she realized there was something on the rag. Something to make her go to sleep. Something to knock her out.
She felt her muscles relax. She lost control of her body. He lifted her into the back seat and strapped something around her hands. She was as limp as a ragdoll.
Help, she thought as he arranged her feet on the floorboard and leaned her head back against the mat. He was about to close the door and she knew he would take her far away.
She wanted to cry out, struggle, run away. But she couldn’t budge.
And the last thing she saw before he closed the door was a patch of shaggy dark blond hair under a ball cap and a vicious smile of satisfaction.
Chapter Forty
Parker was back at his desk, this time reviewing the data he’d unearthed on Thomas Anthony Drew, the man he’d learned about yesterday at the high-rise on Ponce de Leon.
He’d discovered some interesting bits of information since then.
Drew had worked at a place called Phelps Supply Company in Decatur delivering medical equipment from February to early June. He was unmarried and seemed to have no close living relatives. He had a bank account where he had deposited checks from his employer, but had made no withdrawals.
And he owned a light gray Hyundai that was currently impounded by the police. It had been found abandoned two days ago in the vicinity of Exótico, Carlos Santiago’s strip club.
Parker brought up the DMV photo of Drew.
A good-looking man in his early thirties with dark, curly chin-length hair and a pencil mustache. Well built, strong looking.
He brought up the employment shot of Gabriel Anthony Pierson and arranged them so they sat side-by-side on his screen.
Pierson was good-looking and well built as well, but there were obvious differences. Drew’s dark hair versus Pierson’s shaggy blond. Drew’s thin dark pencil mustache. Pierson’s look was slouched and sullen while Drew’s was more alert. The shape of Drew’s mouth was different, as was his nose. Still, the two might have been brothers.
And both men had listed the same residence for the past three years on all the documents Parker could find on them.
And they shared the same middle name of Anthony. What did these two men have to do with each other?
Parker wondered if a deeper search would lead him to an eighty plus Thomas Anthony Drew who was deceased. And what that would mean.
Why was Miranda looking for him? She had to believe he had something to do with the missing dancer from Santiago’s club she was searching for.
He sat back and considered what to do.
It would be a simple matter to pick up the phone and call her. Ask her directly.
But then she would ask why he wanted to know and he’d have to tell her he was pursuing the text messages on her phone again. That would be a pleasant conversation.
No, he wouldn’t call Miranda. He’d tap a source at the Atlanta Police Department and find out more about Drew’s car first.
He reached for his coffee cup and took a sip of his third helping this morning.
He hadn’t slept well after his night at the Gecko Club. The memory of the evening made him wince.
He’d arrived at the club around seven and found Gen at the table she’d reserved for them. He’d also found no less than three ladies, social acquaintances he’d sporadically dated after Sylvia died, sitting at nearby tables.
Gen’s doing. What part of “not ready” did she not understand?
But he supposed she’d already made the arrangements when he’d told her that. And so, ignoring the ladies, he’d decided to sit back, enjoy himself and listen to Coco’s new songs. As usual she sang them beautifully. And Parker could see Antonio was more in love with his pretty blond bride than ever. He was happy for them.
But the performance only reminded him of the song Coco had sung at his wedding to Miranda.
He’d called it an early night and gone home to bed alone.
He switched to his screensaver on his computer and took his coffee with him as he got to his feet and strolled to the window. He gazed out at the tall city buildings in the distance.
What sort of future could he look forward to without Miranda?
Everything he did reminded him of her. He couldn’t escape the memories. That dark wild hair. That lovely face. That zest for life. Her keen mind. Her indomitable spirit.
He should go off somewhere. Go on a trip. Get away from the memories. But where would he go? Other places would remind him of her, too. Paris, London, Rome, Hawaii.
Besides, he hadn’t yet found the illusive Gabriel Anthony Pierson, the former cleaning man.
And he had a business to run. Which he should be doing now.
He glanced at the time. It was nearly eleven. Wasn’t he meeting with a new client this morning? Where was Gen? Shouldn’t she be in here filling him in on the details?
She hadn’t even stopped by to talk about last night.
He left his office and made the short trip down the hall to his daughter’s. He found it empty.
Sunlight cast beams along the shelves filled with neatly placed business and management books. The silver frame holding a picture of her mother sat on her desk in its usual spot. The cream colored sweater she kept at the office hung on the back of her chair.
No coffee cup, no paperwork on the desk. Her laptop hadn’t been turned on. Where was she?
Parker reached for his cell phone, dialed her number.
After five rings it went to voice mail.
“Gen, it’s your father. The meeting with the representative from Cooper Enterprises is about to start. Is there a problem? Call me.” He hung up.
He made his way out to the lobby and the reception desk. “Sybil, has Hans Cooper arrived yet?”
She held up a finger, finished her call, and turned to him. “No, sir. Not yet.”
He nodded. “Do you know where Gen is? She hasn’t come in yet today.”
The young woman thought a moment. “She had some errands to run at the mall. But I thought she’d be in by now.”
“Errands?”
“She’s, um, returning anniversary gifts for some of your friends.”
Parker d
idn’t know what to say to that.
Hiding her embarrassment Sybil cleared her throat. “Have you called her?”
“I got her voice mail,” Parker said.
She gave him a gracious smile. “Let me try.”
She pressed a speed dial button on her phone and waited. After a moment she frowned. “I got voice mail, too.”
Parker stared at her blankly wishing he could will his daughter’s whereabouts out of thin air. Then he realized Sybil was speaking to him again. “Excuse me?”
“I said, when did you last see her, sir?”
“Last night at the Gecko Club.”
“Oh, that’s right. She told me she was taking you there. How was it?”
“It was fine.” And the last thing on his mind right now.
“Did she…um…go home with someone?”
Again he gave her a blank stare. “I don’t know.” He’d left before she had. But Gen wasn’t the type for one-night-stands. He turned back to the office. “Let me know when she gets in.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pushed through the doors and made his way down the hall.
He didn’t think Gen would go home with a stranger. She didn’t care for spontaneity, but perhaps she had met someone at the club. Perhaps she’d simply stayed out late and overslept. He should try Antonio. Maybe she’d drunk too much and had stayed overnight with him and Coco.
He started to dial Antonio’s number then stopped.
It would embarrass her to call and check up on her as if she were still in high-school. She was a grown adult. She was all right. He shouldn’t worry so much about her. Perhaps Miranda was right. He could be overly protective at times. It was his raising to protect the women he loved.
He’d just walked through the door of his office to prepare for the Cooper meeting when his cell buzzed.
He let out a breath of relief. There was Gen. She was sending him a text explaining her lateness. Probably embarrassed and apologizing profusely. He resolved not to be hard on her. She was already too much of a perfectionist.
Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7) Page 19