Poison and Prejudice

by Field, Chelsea

  But I couldn’t risk it. Stupid conscience.

  I held out my hand. “Hang on. Sorry, I can’t remember whether I tasted it.”

  He eyed me as he returned the juice, and I was relieved I’d taken out the other earring. “Long night?”

  “It was actually,” I said, pleased to have a real story to back up the notion. “I had that date I told you about, but then I got bitten by a black widow spider and ended up in a medical facility.” Then Connor’s bed. But I didn’t mention that part.

  “Ouch. Sorry to hear. I’m glad you’ve pulled through okay.” He sucked down half the juice and then put it on the end table next to the sofa. The water dripping from his body formed a puddle on the floor, reminding me I should’ve asked about his swim and migraine. “Excuse me. I’ll have a quick shower and rejoin you in a minute.”

  “No worries.” I flopped onto the couch and picked up my book like I didn’t have a care in the world. If only that were true.

  I waited for the water to turn on, plus a whole extra minute to make sure he’d stepped underneath and wasn’t about to pop his head out for anything. Then I raced downstairs to the garage.

  My eyes landed on the closed trunk. Opening it was the last thing I wanted to do, and yet urgency pushed me forward. I gripped the key with shaking hands and edged around the car, reminding myself I wasn’t allowed to scream when I saw the dead woman this time.

  Bracing myself, I opened the trunk.

  It was empty.

  The dead woman was gone.

  5

  My missing earring wasn’t there either, but that failed to reassure me.

  I’m not proud of what I did next. I freaked out. Although at least I had enough self-preservation to cover my tracks. I forced myself to go upstairs, listen at the door to make sure the shower was running, and replace Zac’s keys. Then I made a run for it.

  My silver Corvette, a company car that was a whole lot nicer than the rust bucket I’d left behind in Australia, was on the street out front as Connor had assured me. I called him. “Where’s the key?”

  Connor must have heard the barely masked panic in my voice and asked his favorite question. “What’s wrong?”

  “To the Corvette. Where is it? Where are you? I’m, um, taking a break.”

  “Tailpipe. Meet me at my place.”

  I fished the keys out, not caring about the black streak it left on my skin and resisted burning rubber as I made my escape.

  Halfway to Connor’s, the adrenaline waned enough for me to realize how foolish I was being. The body disappearing didn’t mean anything. Nothing about the situation had changed. Unless my missing earring really had fallen off into the trunk and Zac had found it and was now plotting to kill me.

  But my earring could be anywhere, and Zac hadn’t seemed the least bit odd before he went into the shower. Then again, he was a professional actor, and I sure as hell wasn’t. And now I was acting suspiciously as far as Zac was concerned. I was going to have to come up with a darn good excuse for my abrupt departure. One I had better come up with fast. I pulled over to send a text.

  Sorry to rush off. My cat had to have an emergency trip to the vet, and I wanted to be there, but I’ll make sure I’m available whenever you’re hungry.

  Poor Meow. This wasn’t the first instance I’d used her as a scapegoat. And I was borrowing the inspiration from when she’d needed to be raced to the vet after being poisoned by a creepily obsessed celebrity chef (a now reformed, but still very creepy celebrity chef). At least this vet trip was fictional. Even so, maybe I should roast her an extra leg of lamb when I was making Oliver his.

  I parked in Connor’s circular driveway six minutes later. Judging by the absence of her car, Maria—his housekeeper and second mother—wasn’t home so we’d have the place to ourselves. The door opened before I could try the handle, and Connor wrapped me in his arms.

  He wasn’t great at verbal comfort, but damned if he didn’t give incredible hugs. I felt instantly better. His familiar citrus and sun-warmed leather scent was only outdone by the smell of home-baked chicken pot pie.

  “Come on,” he said. “Comfort food first, then we’ll talk.” He led me into the dining room where the pie was laid out.

  My mouth watered. Maria was a wizard in the kitchen, and I didn’t know what she did with the pastry, but it was the stuff of dreams. Except Maria wasn’t here. Oh.

  I squinted at Connor suspiciously. “Did you make this?”

  He wriggled his eyebrows, something I’d never seen him do before. “No, but I had Maria make it as soon as I heard about your morning and then told her to take the rest of the day off.”

  “Impressive,” I said, tucking into the flaky pie crust and delicious filling with gusto.

  He generously waited for me to eat before starting in with the questions, but he couldn’t hide his impatience. I obliged by eating fast.

  Okay, I would’ve stuffed my face regardless.

  As it always did, the food had a calming effect, and I felt the last tendrils of my panic ebb away. Sadly, there was plenty of rational anxiety left in its place.

  “Feeling more like yourself again?” Connor asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “Good. Then start at the beginning.”

  “But Harper already told you the beginning.” I’d been secretly gloating I’d gotten out of that.

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  Biting back a groan, I relayed the whole morning to him. He frowned when I recounted the vomiting in the gutter bit.

  “Harper didn’t mention that. Her reporting skills must be rusty.”

  “Or she was being kind to me.”

  He grunted. “Maybe.”

  Our phones both went off at once. Connor’s vibrated. Mine meowed. Oliver had been fiddling with my phone again, although admittedly, I’d had ample opportunity to change it.

  It was a message from Harper.

  So what happened? I’m *dead keen* to hear the full story.

  Connor slipped the phone back into his pocket. “This is what I get for letting her know you were okay and we were about to meet. Keep going with your account please.”

  Our phones went off again before I could open my mouth.

  Let me know if you need a *hand* with any investigating. Izzy can vouch for how *handy* I can be.

  Well, she certainly wasn’t squeamish. Though I got the feeling that making inappropriate jokes was her coping mechanism. I’d been known to do the same.

  I skipped over the part where I shoved the note in my mouth but had to confess the possibility that one of my earrings might have fallen off into the trunk. And how the body had disappeared by the time I went to check.

  Connor looked like he was holding his jaw in place with pure force of will.

  I’ve been doing a lot of *bodywork* today. On cars, I mean.

  I ended my story with the Homeland Security guys and their request that I be an informant.

  The vein in Connor’s neck, the one that was only visible when he was furious, made an appearance. “They have no right to ask you to do that. I hope you told them where to stick it.”

  “Well, actually—”

  “No.”

  “Um—”

  “No!” The word was hard and sharp like gunfire. “It was one thing to help Etta try to prove Abraham Black’s innocence because you couldn’t say no, and that was insane enough, but now you want to play double agent for a murderer and human trafficker? We both know your acting is weak.”

  Gee, thanks. Never mind I’d been thinking the same thing.

  “They showed me photos of the missing girls,” I said. “Kids who’d lost their parents and had experienced more horror and poverty in their few years than I could begin to imagine. They had nothing to smile about, and yet they smiled for that damn photographer and trusted those strangers had their best interests in mind. And now they might be locked up in some guy’s basement wishing they were starving back in Africa! I might be their best
chance to ever have something to smile about again. How can I deny them that?”

  Connor swore. Then he swore again. “How do you get into these situations?”

  A fair question but one I had no clue how to answer.

  “And why are you so quick to throw yourself into danger for someone else?”

  I thought I’d just explained that one quite eloquently.

  “And for goodness’ sake, how did I wind up with the most stubborn, danger-prone woman on the planet?”

  A sudden round of thuds interrupted his complaint; metal against wood. Someone was using the lion-head knocker on the front door.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say payback for what you’ve put your mother through.”

  * * *

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Harper said with a brightness that made me suspect the opposite was true. We’d reconvened around the dining table, Harper helping herself to a serving of the chicken pot pie before sitting down. “I had to test drive a car I’d fixed and thought I’d drop in because I figured Izzy would need backup in whatever harebrained scheme she’s gotten herself involved with now.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or offended she had me pegged so quickly. There’d only been one harebrained scheme I’d been involved with since she’d met me.

  “Um, thanks, I guess.”

  “No problem. Plus I figured you two would keep me in the dark unless I pushed the issue. Which isn’t fair when I’m the one who found the body. And after I was so helpful in clearing Mr. Black’s name.”

  Connor raised his eyebrow. “You were?”

  “Oops. No need to go all overprotective big brother on me. I was perfectly safe. As was everyone, except Izzy I guess.”

  Instead of getting mad, pressing for details, or arguing the point, Connor returned to his chair and nodded in my direction. “You better bring her up to speed.”

  Wow. Harper had special powers in dealing with Connor. I’d have to find out her secret.

  I hoped it wasn’t just a lifetime of exasperation. I’d made a good start, but it would take me years to catch up.

  When Harper had the full story too, Connor took over. “Izzy’s safety is my top priority.” He eyed me like I was pigeon poop on his spotless SUV rather than the woman he’d had amorous relations with last night. “Since she can’t seem to stop throwing herself into dangerous situations that she’s not qualified for, I’ll have one of my men train her in self-defense.”

  It was a good idea, but I didn’t like him talking about me instead of to me or making decisions on my behalf, so I said, “I already have the Taser and pepper spray.”

  “What happens if you can’t get to them? What happens if someone stronger overpowers you and holds a gun to your head?”

  Seeing as that exact scenario had happened a mere five weeks ago, I knew the answer. I almost died, and someone else got shot saving my life.

  “Okay, I’ll learn self-defense.” I hoped it didn’t require me to get overly fit or do weight lifting and stuff like that. I was too busy tasting food for my clients, eating food with Connor, and cooking food for Oliver. I did at least walk Etta’s dog Dudley sometimes though.

  “Meanwhile I’m going to start investigating this case too.” Connor continued as if my capitulation to the self-defense thing had been a given. “The sooner those girls are found, the sooner you’ll be out of danger, and I don’t trust Homeland not to screw this up.”

  Nope, I wasn’t dating a control freak, not at all. I’d once asked him if he was obsessive compulsive, and he insisted he just liked order. I’d moved a salt shaker to be sure, and while he’d resisted shifting it back in front of me, by the next day it had returned to its proper alignment with the pepper shaker.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. The man folded his underwear.

  Plus he was a damn good investigator, and I wouldn’t mind wrapping this up as soon as possible. For my own sake as well as those poor girls’.

  “No way,” Harper said. “You’re not cutting me out of this. I might not have pursued being a PI, but it wasn’t because I wasn’t any good at it. I’m multitalented. Plus you said it yourself, the quicker we figure it out, the better for Izzy.” She winked at me.

  “Forget it,” Connor said.

  Yeah, that was more like the kind of reaction I’d learned to expect from him.

  Harper was undaunted. “Give me a role, or I’ll tell Mom everything. You know she can’t resist a good mystery. She’ll probably get Etta involved too.”

  It was a low blow. But an effective one.

  Connor shook his head. “They say if women ruled the world there’d be no wars. But they’re wrong. All the wars would just be started by good intentions.”

  6

  “So what’s the plan?” Harper asked, looking at her brother.

  I couldn’t tell whether she was showing genuine respect for Connor’s wealth of experience or pretending to in an attempt to soothe his ruffled feathers.

  “All we know so far is that Alyssa and Zachariah are believed to be involved in the disappearance of fifteen vulnerable girls and that Zachariah has, or had, a dead woman in his trunk. How well did you see the woman? Is it possible she’s one of the missing girls?”

  “Probably not,” Harper said. “We didn’t see her face, but she was Caucasian and blond underneath the blood. There can’t be too many African kids in orphanages matching that description.”

  “None of the girls in the photos Homeland showed me were white or albino,” I confirmed. “Are the two crimes likely to be related?”

  Connor gave one of his infinitesimal shrugs. “Unless Zachariah makes a habit of transporting dead women in his trunk, the chances are decent. It wouldn’t be the first time one serious crime has led to another. But it’s impossible to say for sure, and the trafficking has to be our priority.”

  I chewed my lip. If the two were related, it gave us marginally more to go on, but we had to keep an open mind. The possibilities were so vast and the facts so few that I felt lost. “How are we supposed to approach a case like this?”

  “Same way as any other. Start with motive, means, and opportunity. Why would two big-name stars get involved in a human trafficking ring? What would they need to smuggle fifteen girls to America?”

  “Do we even know it’s America?” Harper asked.

  “We have to assume Homeland thinks so, or its agents wouldn’t be sniffing around here and putting a murder investigation on hold to flush them out. They have more information than us, so we’ll follow their lead.”

  “Okay,” I said. “There’d have to be a lot of cash involved, but surely the darlings of the masses aren’t short on funds?”

  “Not by normal standards. But people who make a lot of money tend to spend a lot of money. They might want multiple income streams.”

  The idea that anyone could be that cavalier and selfish shocked me. In the other murder cases I’d been involved in, the killers or would-be killers had understandable reasons for their drastic actions. Not justifiable, but understandable. But to sell girls into slavery or worse for cold hard cash?

  Then again, people killed all the time for just that reason. That’s what my favorite client Earnest had taught me. I felt the familiar pang in my chest, a grief at losing him that I doubted would ever go away, but I focused my mind through the pain. Earnest had worked to expose corporate businesses that cut corners, often costing lives in the process, albeit more indirectly. Allowing horrific working conditions in unregulated developing countries. Choosing cheaper but less safe materials or processes. Promoting foods and tobacco that substantially increased the consumer’s chances of disease. There were countless ways profit was prioritized over human life. And the managers making the decisions were generally wealthy beyond most people’s wildest dreams.

  “Celebrities do lots of stupid things,” Harper volunteered. Given she didn’t know the reality of the poisonings, she had no idea how right she was. “Maybe they’re being blackmailed into
looking the other way.”

  “Also plausible,” Connor said.

  The last option I could think of was more disturbing than I wanted to voice, but Joe had already pointed it out to me. “Or one of them could have a perverse streak that requires a steady supply of young girls to satiate.”

  Connor’s lips compressed, and even Harper lost the sparkle in her eyes.

  “That’s plausible as well. It wouldn’t be the first example of a husband and wife teaming up to commit atrocities against children.”

  My stomach rolled with nausea—something it had been doing a great deal of today. Now I was hoping for the money motive that I’d first thought was so horrible. I guess as soon as human trafficking was on the table, there couldn’t be any reason for it that a normal person could empathize with. Thinking of that in light of Zac’s natural charisma made me wonder if we might be dealing with a psychopath. That didn’t make me feel good about however long this investigation was going to take.

  Connor brought me back to the problem at hand. “As far as means and opportunity go, I’m betting they wouldn’t handle the smuggling themselves, so they’d need criminal contacts for that. But if the last girls went missing almost twelve months ago, it doesn’t sound like they’d be in contact with them often, so we better concentrate on what happens after they arrive.”

  “Okay,” Harper mused. “They’d need a secure, remote location to hold the girls once they’re here. Either temporarily or longer term, depending on their purposes. So it would make sense to look into property holdings, but Homeland would’ve already done that.”

  “Which means they might be using a property under someone else’s name. We need to look at their networks.”

  I was just wondering whether I was superfluous to the Harper-Connor discussion when he added, “Izzy, you’ll be in a good position to observe who Zac sees day-to-day. You could also take a look through any photos he has in his home. They’re often a decent indication of who someone has deeper relationships with.”

  “He has a whole photo wall,” I said. One that had been installed by a professional picture hanging service the day after he’d moved in.