Unwed and Dead (The Dead Ex Files Book 1)

by Claire Kane

  Two minutes later, they stood before the dull collection of crates, the shrieks and smells of the parakeets kept at bay by Greg’s countermeasures. Lacey stepped up to the nearest crate, and placed a hand next to the image of the child stapled onto the crate. Victor came up next to her, and he felt himself pause. “That kid looks familiar, Lacey.”

  Lacey opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself. What do you mean “familiar”?

  “Like, I’ve seen that face somewhere before. The name, too; it rings a bell.”

  Well? Lacey said, hiding her impatience from Greg under a guise of thoughtfully peering at the image.

  “Well,” Victor replied, turning to peruse the other boxes, “I think it’s a good thing I’m here with you to have a look around.”

  Greg glanced at Lacey, just then. “What’d you find?”

  Lacey frowned. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell much by just a picture, a name, and some Japanese characters. My kanji was never very good.”

  Greg arched an eyebrow. “So, is that your feminine way of saying, ‘Greg, get a crowbar’?”

  Lacey gave him a small smile. “Not exactly, but, since you do own this place, it wouldn’t be illegal. And let me guess, you already have a crowbar.”

  Sure enough he held one up. A sudden tremor went through Lacey’s mind. They were alone. A single swift blow from that thing might be all he needed to put her out. What would he do with her then? Chuckling nervously, she took a casual step back, trying to pass it off as her wanting a wider look at the crates. After a moment, she locked eyes with him. “Well?”

  Greg gave her a wicked smile. “Eager to see how well I can use my equipment, eh? All you had to do was ask.”

  Lacey’s throat went dry. The implications of his statement disgusted her, but she knew she couldn’t give it away. She needed the information she was sure he could give her. She forced herself to be calm inside. You can do this, girl, she told herself. You’re strong. You’re smart. You’re amazing.

  With another smile, Greg went to work on a crate. “See, this is actually a big part of why I brought you here. Hang tight, and I’ll explain in a sec.” Nails groaned as he worked the crowbar into a groove, then began to lever it back and forth. “See, Orochi always told me he’d been shipping stuff to orphanages, and to charities that helped victims of human trafficking after they’d been rescued. He’s pretty smart about it, too. Uses multiple different Japanese banks to house his funds, which means he can donate anonymously. You wouldn’t think it, but he’s actually a pretty charitable guy. Or, at least, he looks that way. He’s been storing these crates here for months. Something tells me there might be something inside them that isn’t as good as he’s made me think. I’d like to find out before he screws me over by surprise.” He went quiet and resumed his work on the crate.

  Lacey felt a faint ripple on her skin that came with Victor’s ghostly touch. “You are, you know,” he said. “Strong, smart, and amazing. I wish so much I could have married you.”

  Lacey turned away to hide a blush. She hated blushing, especially where others could see. Now’s not the time, Victor. And anyway, aren’t you supposed to be in church, or something?

  Her dead paramour frowned. “Normally I would be. This place was swarming with demons last time I was here. If I go silent without warning, you’ll know I had to run. Those things don’t give much notice that they’re coming for you. But when they do, you can’t miss their intent.”

  Lacey bit her lip. I’m glad you’re here now, at least. Have you figured out why that kid looked familiar?

  A crack of splitting wood and a shrill groan of nails announced that Greg had nearly opened the box. Victor and Lacey both stole a glance at his progress, then Victor spoke up. “I’m glad you asked. I have figured it out, and now I’m insanely curious to know what’s really inside these boxes. Curious and nervous, that is.”

  Lacey raised her eyebrows. Oh?

  Victor pursed his lips. “The last few weeks of my internship I kept finding these random stashes of money. Each one was supposed to go to help some random orphan kid. The money all had notes, and they always said the same thing: ‘Take this money to such and such a bank and deposit it for this child.’ Totally fits with what your old boss just said.”

  The look on his face told Lacey that he’d swallow the lump in his throat if he could, and he was silent for a moment. Well? she pressed.

  “Well,” and he looked over as Greg triumphantly jerked the lid off, releasing a shower of sawdust. “I get the feeling I may not have been contributing to charity after all.”

  Greg swore, and Lacey’s eyes went wide. The guts of the crate were filled with small plastic bags of white powder, desiccated; brown plant material and cash. Whole wads of cash.

  Victor groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I was laundering drug payments?”

  Lacey’s breath caught. “Greg, are those—”

  Her former boss nodded fiercely. “Orochi was setting me up.” He turned to Lacey. “I brought you here as a material witness in case I need to testify. You saw me open the crates, and you can tell how surprised I am by all of this. He waved an arm at the findings. “He violated our deal, and he violated my trust. I’d had a suspicion that he was looking for a way to exit me from the business so he could take my share. Looking at all this, I think I know what he had in mind. All Orochi would need to do was—” He stopped suddenly, his ears perking expectantly. Lacey and Victor copied him, but Victor shook his head after only a moment.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he said. “Not sure what he’s listening for, but I’m only getting the usual sounds.”

  Lacey eyed Greg, pretending she hadn’t heard Victor. “Am I missing something?”

  Greg frowned, then sighed. “Knowing Orochi, he would have had the cops already on their way. I guess I was expecting them to surround the place and find us in the middle of all this,” and he gestured at the crate. “He’d lose a big chunk of cash in the short run, losing this merchandise. But with me in jail, and him taking my cut, it’d be chump change in the long run. I bet he’s got more inventory in his other warehouses to make up for losing this one. He’d do that, too. That sly son of a gun. Well,” he said, a chilling grin forming on his face, “turnabout is fair play, right?”

  Lacey’s heart raced again. She wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but she didn’t think she wanted to find out. In her gut, she knew he was probably complicit too. But how to prove that? Nerves squeezed her bladder uncomfortably.

  Greg pulled out his cell phone, and Victor concentrated on his thoughts. After only a second, Victor locked onto the man’s plan. “He’s calling the cops, Lacey. Going to turn in Mister Watanabe on an anonymous tip. Ah. And—wait. Taniguchi? That’s right—he said he knew they were partners. Wow. I’m glad I’m around to see this.”

  While Greg dialed, Lacey touched his arm gently. He looked up at her, then smiled stiffly. “Hey,” she said, “where would I find the ladies’ room?”

  Greg raised his eyebrows. “You went just before we came here. How much did you have to drink at dinner?” She blushed, and he chuckled, then pointed. “Down that way. Just keep going until you find the office. Pass that, and then the second door on your left.”

  “Thanks. Back soon.” Hurrying away without a backward glance, she heard Greg start to speak. If he was trying to set a trap for his partner, Lacey didn’t want to be in the middle of it. She’d have to hit the bathroom quickly and make it back in time to get out before the cops arrived. Yet, as she jogged past the office, she noticed the door ajar. Curiosity got the better of her, and she peaked in.

  The place looked like any other dockside office she’d seen, and she eased through the door and snatched at some of the papers on the desk. After scanning them for a moment, her eyes widened. In just a few pages, she found information that would easily implicate Greg in money laundering, human trafficking, and even, possibly, murder. “My, my, Mister Mendoza,” she muttered. “We’ve been a bit slo
ppy about hiding evidence, haven’t we?” Why such papers would be lying openly on his desk boggled her mind, but maybe Greg had been right—maybe Watanabe really had set things up. If so, planting this kind of evidence in the open would be sure to land a swift conviction for the head of KZTB.

  “Lacey?” Greg’s voice sounded from beyond the door. Starting, she rammed the pages into her purse, and dashed to the door. Peering carefully out, she found she was clear, and bolted for the women’s room, easing the door shut behind her. She took care of business quickly—as much for an alibi as for comfort—then made a show of washing her hands, certain he’d hear the running water. She emerged nearly a minute later, playing on the male idea that women always took forever in the bathroom.

  Greg, of course, was waiting just outside, a mixture of satisfaction and worry on his face. “Wow,” he said. “You got out of there quick. Good thing, too. The cops are on their way. Best that we take off.” His face softened. “Besides, the night is still young.”

  Lacey giggled nervously, not sure how far she wanted to go with this. She was nearly certain, by now, that Greg had had nothing to do with Victor’s death. And yet, she’d just found some real dirt on him—something she couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away from. She was already in too deep for comfort. She needed to get away from him, and that meant playing along for just a while longer.

  Greg stepped closer and took her hand. She felt a sticky sweat on his palms, but checked her disgust and let him continue. “We outsmarted him, Lacey. And I couldn’t have done it without you. He lied to me about what was in those crates, and I should have trusted my gut and checked sooner. But we’ve got him now. I’ll let the cops deal with this.” He turned to leave, and tugged at Lacey’s hand.

  She resisted. “Wait a second, Greg.”

  He turned back to her, impatience clear in his eyes. “We need to leave. I don’t want to be here when the police arrive.”

  “But, Greg—”

  He shook his head sharply. “No buts, Lacey.” He wrapped both her hands in his and held them up. “Trust me here, Lace. I’ve totally got this.” He removed his respirator mask and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Lacey couldn’t hide the way her face flushed. Greg, of course, seemed to take it as bashfulness, instead of fury, but Victor was clawing at the guy and screaming about what he’d do to him if he were alive.

  “Let’s go, Lacey. I don’t want the evening to end this way. And,” he said, a fox’s grin curling his lips, “I’m pretty sure you don’t want that either. Besides, we haven’t even finished dinner.”

  She swallowed hard, but steeled her mind and nodded.

  “Babe,” Victor said, “you know where this is going. Ditch this guy now. And—wait a second—did he really do that? Lacey he—oh, no. No, no, no. Not them again.”

  Lacey actually felt Victor’s presence depart, and she couldn’t help but whirl frantically to try finding him. She caught a glimpse of him flying up and through the back wall, and then there was nothing. At least, until a cold, dark presence seemed to spread through the area. She shuddered, and Greg clasped her hands tighter, a new warmth spreading from her palms and slowly up her arms. Oddly, she found she half enjoyed it.

  “C’mon, Lace,” he said sounding a bit tipsy. “Chopper One isn’t going to fly itself back.”

  The thought of doing this alone, without Victor, kicked her anxiety up several notches.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The ride back left Lacey feeling increasingly heady. She wondered why she’d been so nervous in the warehouse. Something about Greg’s nearness beckoned. Seattle’s nightlife slipped by below her, couples under streetlamps, patrons filing into bars, cars wandering wherever they would. She wished she were down there with Greg, instead of still up in the air. Indeed, Greg was almost drunkenly amorous on the return flight, stroking her hands and face frequently, leaving trails of fire in the wake of his touch. She found she was enjoying it more and more, but the visceral pleasure mingled with naked disgust and a growing sensation that bordered on panic.

  Despite Greg’s appearance of confidence, she was sure the police would implicate Greg when they found a warehouse he owned filled with illicit substances. She couldn’t help but think that he’d drag her down, too, if things went south. Even more troubling was the fact that she couldn’t believe that he was actually innocent. She knew she was walking a razor’s edge, and held no illusions that things might not turn ugly in an instant.

  So why was Greg’s constant touch so enjoyable?

  It wasn’t until they landed, and Greg cut the engine to let it idle itself to sleep that Lacey realized just how good the man smelled. He climbed out, and hurried over to help her. As he ran around the front of the helicopter, she noticed him stuff his hands in his pockets again, and wondered at the way he rather gingerly opened the door. Still hoping to stay in character, she took his hand—still moist with perspiration—as he helped her down.

  Yes, he did smell wonderful; and it was rubbing off on her.

  Rubbing off… Her eyes widened as realization dawned, and she was so distracted that she gave no resistance when Greg’s arm snaked around her waist and he led her away from the helicopter. Not toward the stairwell, but toward the opposite corner of the roof. His hand filled the small of her back as he guided her toward the parapet surrounding the roof. He stepped in next to her, pressing his flank against hers as he looked down on the street.

  “It’s pretty,” he said simply. He turned to look at her, and she felt his eyes on her. “But not half so pretty as my little Asian delicacy.”

  Lacey giggled half-heartedly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up this act. Worse, she was already feeling the effects of whatever was in Greg’s cologne; he must have had some in his pocket earlier. Whatever it was, it was undeniably powerful. The night seemed to glow as her eyes dilated, and she felt warm all over. She craved the sensation of his fingers on her face and hands. But her conscious mind knew it was all a lie, and she struggled to break free as her mind harked back to the time he’d used spiked perfume on her. Then, in another breath, her worries began to fade again.

  “I’m sorry about the warehouse,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t want to do that, in the middle of our date, but it just seemed right. I knew I could trust you, and it had been burning a hole in my mind for two weeks. Now that that’s over, though, I’m still game for the offer to go back to your place. But can we just have a moment, here in the dark, just you, me, and the city?”

  Lacey bit her lip. “It’s getting late, Greg.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not even ten. The night’s just getting started.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure I can do this. Not right now. I mean, what we saw back there. It shook me. I’m going to need some time to process this.”

  In turn, he slipped his hand in his pocket again, then pressed his palm to her neck and held it there, pulling her toward him. Her pulse soared, and her head fought with her hormones. She jerked away abruptly, and took a definitive stride away from him. “I can’t, Greg. I wanted to, but things have changed. Just give me some time.” She turned on a heel and walked quickly toward the stairwell. “I do business better when I’m not worried about incarceration.”

  Greg was in front of her in a flash, bodily blocking her retreat.

  “Greg? What are you doing?”

  His hands settled on her hips. “Lacey, all night long you’ve been telling me how you really feel about me.”

  “Greg,” she said, trying to pull away, “I’d love to do business with you. I’m just—”

  “Business,” he said huskily. “I know exactly what kind of ‘business’ you’re interested in.” He stroked her cheek, fiery lust in his eyes. “Imagine what we’ll accomplish together.”

  His face moved in closer to hers, his musky cologne calling to her on the night air. Her face was frozen in surprise, her lips parted. He pressed his mouth to hers. It was warm and soft, and her body screamed for it, though her he
art pounded her chest in protest. Her mind struggled against the drugs, but whatever Greg was using, it was too strong. Taking fistfuls of Lacey’s long black hair, he kissed her deeper, pressing his body against her.

  Lacey pulled back to get air. She reached into her purse and clamped her fingers around the files from Greg’s office, slightly shaking. She needed these files, this evidence. But she also needed Greg to stop feeling so supercharged. “Let’s just… cool our jets a little.” She smiled weakly.

  “What are you waiting for? I’m an eligible bachelor. I own all… this.” He spread his arms, then gently squeezed Lacey’s arms. “You know how many women want me? How many of your co-workers want me? Deidre was actually right about that part; the women wanted me, and with Deidre’s condition, well… a man needs his outlets. Deidre was none the wiser, and I improved staff morale. Ask Janae how much she enjoyed it. Lisa. Even Deborah; she succeeded… quite a few times.” He raised his eyebrows a touch in pride. He was clearly intoxicated.

  “Wh-why would you tell me that?” She was repulsed.

  He fingered a lock of her hair. “I’m just letting you know what a hot commodity I am. I want you to want me, and actually, I know you do. It’s just, this playing-hard-to-get act you’ve been doing is driving me insane. I have urges, needs. And tonight, you look”—he gave a husky groan of approval—“like a goddess.”

  Shaking herself free of the intoxication, she stepped back in her heels, her right ankle wobbling. He stepped forward in pursuit, but she continued her retreat until her upper thigh hit something. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she realized she was against the roof’s ledge again. Wind rustled her hair, unsettlingly. And although a horn honked only ten stories below, it sounded miles away.