“Hey, you lookin’ for something to be thankful for?” the kid—no more than seventeen—asked. He opened his jacket to show off an array of drug paraphernalia.
“No, thanks.”
“Maybe a lady to share the holiday with?” he suggested, and Garrett rolled his eyes until he noticed a group of women—working girls, across the street.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” the young man said approvingly. “You pick the one—or how many you like—and I’ll tell you how much for a very happy Thanksgiving,” the kid joked.
Garrett didn’t believe his eyes when a slim redhead slid out from the throng of working girls, giving one of them some money and…a hug? Tiffany.
“You ready to make a deal?” the kid pushed.
Garrett was already halfway across the road when she saw him.
She clearly wasn’t happy to see him, but waited, since she knew she wouldn’t avoid him now.
“What are you doing?” he asked, breathless with relief to have found her.
“I told you. I was out looking for peaches,” she said belligerently.
“Is that her name?” he asked, nodding back toward the hooker he’d seen her with.
“No, her name is Belle. She’s very nice.”
“Don’t tell me, you were sharing recipes?”
“Something like that,” she said, turning away. He caught up, walking beside her. She stopped again, facing him.
“Leave me alone, Garrett. How did you find me, anyway?” she asked, and then paused, shaking her head. “The tracking app.”
“Works both ways.”
“Good to know you don’t mind hacking my phone. I’ll be sure to remove that when I get home.”
“Just as good to know you don’t mind reading my messages, and deleting them,” he countered.
She halted her step, caught.
“How’d you find that?”
“Daniel sent me a follow-up that made no sense, so I looked in my trash, and there it was. You know, your private investigation skills shouldn’t involve snooping on the cell phones of people you know unless it’s for a damned good reason,” he said angrily.
“Really? Fine, it was unintentional, and what about you? Going behind my back to work on the case? Were you planning to share that information with me?”
His silence told her the answer before he said it.
“No, I wasn’t.”
She looked so stricken, he felt like an ass.
“It’s too dangerous, Tiffany. Look where you are right now. Off by yourself, at night, on streets like this?”
Her jaw clenched. “I come down here all the time with my friends. Believe me, I’ve grown up in this city. I know how to take care of myself. You don’t seem to accept that.”
“I do, but you’re still new at this, and these guys, these thieves and this Freddie character, they’re professionals, Tiffany.”
Her eyes widened. “And I’m not?”
Garrett swore under his breath. “No, not yet. Not like this.”
Her eyes became glacial. “Get lost, Garrett. Leave me alone.”
She turned and marched away.
He followed.
She spun around again. “I told you to leave me alone.”
“Where are you going? What did you pay Belle back there for? A tip on Freddie?”
Tiffany glared.
“I could just go back and pay her double for the same info, or you could share and let me help you,” he said, hoping to lessen the tension between them.
He didn’t like her doing this, but it was clear she was determined, and so maybe the best he could hope for was that she would let him work with her, keep her safe.
She’d said she was impulsive, and now he was starting to see the problem. But he also liked it. It was where her passion and her charm emanated from.
It could also get her in over her head in a situation like this.
“Please? Listen, I’m sorry that I was pursuing leads on the case without telling you, but I also wish you hadn’t come out here without me. What if we work together?” he proposed. “Truce?”
She crossed her arms, peering at him suspiciously.
“Will you share any more information or leads you have with me? No more going behind my back?”
“As long as you don’t take off into dangerous situations without me.”
She looked away, appearing to consider it, and finally nodded.
“Fine.”
He held out a hand. “Shake on it?” She grabbed his hand to shake it, and he pulled her up against him hard. “Or is this a better way to seal the deal?” he whispered against her lips before taking her mouth in a hot kiss that she tried to resist. At first. Though still piqued with him, eventually she softened, her fingers curling into his jacket.
A low wolf-whistle from an observer in the shadows broke them apart.
“I’m still taking that tracker app off my phone when I get back.”
“Keep it. You might need it. I promise I won’t use it again until I absolutely have to.”
She nodded and then they broke apart, and continued walking.
“So you know where to find Freddie?” he asked.
“Possibly. He runs a place called The Dice down on Post.”
“And your plan is to go there? Now?”
“No time like the present.”
“And what were you planning to ask him? If he has fenced any pink diamonds lately?”
“Not exactly. I figured I would play some pool, and just see what was going on, if the guy is even there.”
Garrett didn’t respond. So, she wasn’t completely off base, just doing some surveillance. She also seemed completely at ease walking down the troubled streets where they were approached every five minutes by someone. When they met Garrett’s gaze, they usually took off.
“There’s a lot of poor here. A lot of people packed into a city, period, with some sharp contrasts between unimaginable wealth and unthinkable poverty. It can be rough, but it’s not too dangerous if you’re aware, and maybe a bit sympathetic,” she said.
Garrett thought she might be being a bit too generous as he noticed two men falling in behind.
Luckily, they found The Dice straight ahead and went inside.
Garrett, watching the window, saw the men walk by outside.
The place was clearly a gambling bar, games of chance as well as flat screens with numbers, races and sports playing in every corner. The bar was an OTB outlet—off track betting—and a licensed card club, though Garrett was sure that a few of the games being played—such as those using dice—were not legal. Legalizing gambling was a complicated issue in California like it was in many states, but there was no doubt that gaming brought in revenue for the city and the state, as well as for the bar owner.
It was busy for a Thanksgiving eve. No surprise. He’d worked a bar for a while in college, and Thanksgiving and Christmas Eves were often the busiest, when some people with families in for the holiday were looking to escape, and people without them were looking for company.
Busy was good, he thought, as they managed to not stand out too sharply, pushing through the crowd, which was incredibly diverse. Older, obviously wealthier patrons played along younger, less well-off folks.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Let’s get a drink, play some pool,” she said, spotting an empty table and heading to claim it.
He went to the bar, ordered two colas—they needed to stay sharp—and went back to join her. When she took off her jacket, clad in form-hugging jeans and a tank top, Tiffany garnered more than one interested look and bets started lining up on the side of the table as more than one man wanted to play with her.
When she leaned over to rack the balls, the view at the top of her tank top was a little too inviting. She smiled at a tall, dangerous-looking brute who needed to pick his tongue up from the floor. Garrett stepped between them, offering her her drink.
“Sorry, guys. First game is mine,” he
said, silently adding, and so is the woman. At least for tonight.
“You any good?” he asked, chalking the end of a cue.
“Not bad. I ran the rec room in college for extra money. I’d play when things were slow, and some of the regulars taught me their tricks of the trade. It’s been a while, though,” she said nonchalantly.
Garrett narrowed his eyes at her as she broke the balls, sending several into the pockets.
“Stripes,” she said with a wink, almost cleaning the table on her first turn.
“Been a while,” he said to her with great sarcasm. “Riiiight.”
Garrett was no slouch at the game himself, spending more than one Saturday night at the billiard halls in Philly with his brothers, one of their main methods of working off stress. Focusing, he managed to do just slightly better, but then scratched on the eight ball.
“Aw, too bad, lover. You never placed a bet, either. What are the stakes?” she asked mischievously, lining up her next-to-last shot.
Garrett was as entranced as the other men surrounding the table. Tiffany was playing the role of 100-percent minx and she did it very well.
He wanted to make sure no one else was getting ideas, and pulled her away from the table, up against him for a kiss, and then whispered in her ear, “Winner gets to pick when, how…and where.”
She smiled broadly, knowing exactly what he meant.
“Sounds like a no-lose proposition to me,” she said, cleanly winning the game in two shots.
Garrett hoped she planned to honor the bet.
He backed away, leaning against the wall and watching Tiffany as well as the general environment as she took two more guys for their money. They seemed to think it was worth it, bearing no grudge.
“My turn again?” he asked, noticing her staring toward the far end of the bar.
“What’s caught your attention?” he asked, leaning in close so it would simply look like they were sharing a moment.
“Look who’s sitting in the last seat. I almost didn’t recognize him,” she said.
Garrett followed her gaze and it took him a second, and then he realized it was the same man who had been at the restaurant they’d gone to on Russian Hill.
“Your appraiser.”
“Arthur. Yeah. Kind of a funny coincidence, don’t you think?”
Garrett wasn’t sure. “The guy could just be here gambling or having a drink.”
“Only one way to know for sure,” she said, taking a breath and grabbing her jacket as well as her winnings.
Garrett reached out to stop her as she headed toward the bar, but missed as she disappeared into the throng of people. Pushing after her, he caught up just as she wedged her way up to the bar, ordering another coke.
When she turned to Arthur, her face was a study in surprise.
“Arthur! What a surprise seeing you here,” she said.
“Tiffany? What are you doing here?” he said, his surprise evident.
“Playing some pool, winning some money,” she said with a laugh and a drink. “The store was closed this week since the robbery, so I figured why not get out and have some fun, right?”
“Sure, I suppose,” the man said, looking around nervously.
“I thought you normally spent the holiday with your family in New York?”
“I have a morning flight for the weekend,” he offered.
Garrett was about to suggest to Tiffany that they go when a blonde in her late fifties sidled up to Arthur on the other side, catching his attention.
The man’s nerves multiplied, Garrett noticed, his hands shaking. Interesting.
“Arthur, are you flirting with this young woman? I swear, I can’t turn my back on this one,” the blonde said, smiling at Tiffany, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, no, Freddie. Tiffany is just a…business friend.”
This was Freddie? Garrett was caught off guard, and saw the same reaction on Tiffany’s face, just for a second.
“You’re the owner of this place?” Tiffany asked baldly, looking for confirmation.
“Yep. It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” the woman said with the same fake smile.
“It’s a lot of fun. You do a great job,” Tiffany said, holding out her hand. “So you and Arthur are friends?” she said, fishing.
“Oh, we’re a lot more than that, aren’t we, baby?” the woman purred at Arthur, and Garrett thought the appraiser looked like he was about to have a heart attack, though he managed to mumble something vaguely flirtatious back.
“Actually, I’m on a break, and I was hoping to have some alone time with Arthur,” Freddie said.
“Oh, sure,” Tiffany replied. “Nice to meet you. Have a happy Thanksgiving,” she added as Arthur slipped from the stool.
Garrett saw Tiffany snap several discreet shots of the couple with her cell phone as they disappeared into the back room.
Then, to his angst, she turned and followed them.
10
TIFFANY HADN’T BOUGHT Freddie’s girlfriend routine for a minute. Arthur had seemed extremely stressed and not at all like he was sneaking off for a few kisses. More like he was being summoned by the executioner.
“Tiffany,” Garrett whispered, grabbing her arm. “What are you doing?”
“I need to see what they’re up to. Arthur wasn’t too happy about going in there with her, and what if he needs help?”
“Listen, Daniel sent me a follow-up text telling me to come armed because this Freddie is a dangerous person. We’re not armed and who knows what’s going on back there?”
“I am,” she said.
“What?”
“Armed,” she whispered, opening her purse to show him.
Seeing his face, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m licensed to carry concealed and I have been taking lessons.”
“Have you actually shot at anyone, ever?”
She looked away. “Not at anyone. Just at a target, but ideally, I won’t have to. I just want to see if we can hear what’s going on,” she said. “I need more than a picture of Arthur here to convince Detective Ramsey that Arthur might be the inside man,” she said, her hand twisting the knob.
“Wait. Let me,” Garrett said, running a hand backward through his hair and pushing in front of her, his back to the door, his hand on the knob. “Hit me,” he said.
“What?”
“Hit me. In the face, hard as you can,” he instructed, his gaze 100 percent serious.
“I am not going to hit you.”
“You said you’re taking self-defense lessons. Show me what you’ve got, hotshot,” he teased, his eyes challenging her. “Or in your self-defense classes, like your gun classes, do you just pretend to hit someone?”
Tiffany knew he was goading her, but it worked. She doubted she could hit hard enough to cause him any damage anyway. Gearing herself up for it, she was shocked when he grabbed her, his hands roaming right down to her backside and groping in front of anyone who was looking on that side of the bar.
“Hit me,” he said again, squeezing a butt cheek.
As he got even more daring with his hands, she didn’t have to be urged again, offering him an elbow to the gut to get some distance between them, and then following up with a punch to his face, as hard as she could.
She heard his grunt as he stumbled backward, and discovered he had loosened the doorknob, crashing back through the door, onto his back in a dimly lit hallway.
A man dressed in a black suit guarded a door at the end of the hall, and stepped forward, his hand on his hip.
Garrett lay on the ground, holding his face, and Tiffany wanted to kneel down, feeling terrible, making sure he was okay. But then he winked at her, and she knew she hadn’t damaged him too terribly.
“That will teach you to grope me in public like that!” she said with outrage, playing along.
“Is that an invitation to grope you in private?” he asked, wincing as he made his way to his feet, and turned to eye the man in the b
lack suit. “Sorry, buddy, but the lady has a mean left cross. Is that the men’s room?” he said, slurring his speech to give the idea of having drank too much, and heading toward the closed door at the end of the hall.
The man stopped him with a firm hand to the chest. “Out” was all he said, nodding to the doorway which Garrett had crashed through.
Garrett looked at Tiffany, and nodded to the guard. “Sure. Sorry,” he said, and staggered crookedly back to the door, closing it behind them.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” she said, examining his face. Patrons of the bar were only mildly interested in the drama, probably seeing similar on a regular basis, and returning to their fun and games.
“I’m fine, but ouch,” he said, touching his cheek again.
“Yeah, tell me. It was like hitting a rock wall,” she said, flexing sore fingers. “I guess Arthur is on his own. I suppose we could wait to see if he comes out.”
“Better idea,” Garrett said. “Come on.”
He took her hand and they emerged back on to the street, where he pulled her down an alley along the side of the building.
“Um, Garrett, where are we going?”
“To check for any windows along that side of the building. The room they went into should be somewhere around…here,” he said, locating a tiny casement window that was propped open slightly.
“Oh, I can hear them,” Tiffany said, though she couldn’t see much through the tiny window, meant for ventilation more than light.
“You’ve got a ways to go with your debt, Artie, and double-crossing us was not a good idea,” Freddie said.
“You said you’d count my percentage as five percent—the last take alone should have covered my debt,” Arthur said, clearly outraged. “I had to do something to get more.”
“Bad choice,” Freddie said in a hissing tone.
“I think you may have just stumbled upon motive,” Garrett whispered.
Tiffany nodded, straining to listen. No more words, but sounds of a scuffle, a low moan.
“You’re going to tell us everything, Artie, one way or another.”
The polished appraiser she and her family had known for such a long time hardly seemed like an “Artie,” Tiffany thought, but obviously Arthur’s polish was hiding a damaged finish. And he was in quite a bit of trouble, by the sounds of it.
Yours for the Night Page 14