by D. V. Berkom
SpongeBob shook his head. “Like I told the other two thugs, I never seen her, but the other SpongeBob did.”
“Where can we find him?” Miles asked.
SpongeBob hesitated. Leine pressed the barrel of the gun into his back. The Godfather's theme song erupted from the phone in her pocket. She didn't answer.
“I heard someone say he's in County General. He got beat up real bad.” SpongeBob's voice trailed off.
Leine could feel him start to shake. The little shit probably had something to do with it. “And why would that be, Bob?”
SpongeBob shrugged. “I don't know.”
With a sigh, Leine wrenched his arm back at an unnatural angle and held it there. “Why is he in County General, Bob?” she asked again.
“I…I think it was the two guys looking for your little girl. They beat the shit out of him. That's it. That's all I know.”
“What's his name?”
“Keith something.”
Leine let go of his arm and pulled back the Glock's slide for effect.
“Keith Price,” SpongeBob sputtered. The distinct odor of urine assaulted Leine's nose. She took a step backward as she holstered her gun.
“Looks like we're going to County General,” Leine said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KEITH PRICE SHARED A ROOM WITH three other patients. Hooked up to oxygen and two IVs, his face was a bruised mess, with one eye swollen shut. He wore a sling on one arm and both legs were out of the covers, encased in casts. Even his toes looked bruised.
Jean stood in the hallway at the request of the floor nurse as Leine walked around the side of the hospital bed. Miles waited in the lobby downstairs, having been stopped by security at the door for his attire.
Keith appeared peaceful in repose, although Leine imagined he'd been given some serious pain killers. The boy was a mess. His breathing was deep and even, though, and the nurse had assured her he'd recover, albeit with a few more scars than before.
Leine was told she could visit with Keith for a brief time, but not to tax him. She pushed on the mattress, reluctant to touch him. He snorted, once, and opened his good eye.
“Hi Keith. My name is Leine Basso.” Leine produced the photo and turned it toward him. “I'm sorry to bother you. I realize you must be in a lot of pain, but I need to find this little girl.” He blinked. “I understand you incurred these injuries from two men who were also looking for her.”
Keith blinked again. His eye watered.
“I realize you want to keep her safe. I do, too. The two men who put you in the hospital work for sex traffickers. Our latest information is that she's still at large. They haven't found her yet.” Keith closed his good eye and swallowed. Leine continued. “I'm working with her mother who is desperate to find her.” She nodded toward Jean. “Any information you can give us will at least put us on a par with the bad guys.”
“That's her mom?” Keith's voice came out in a croak.
“Yes. Do you want me to get her?”
Keith shook his head, once. He grimaced.
“She was staying with me. I told the two…men. But she wasn't there when we went to my apartment.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “I didn't tell them where she was going.”
Leine leaned in close to hear him. He was weak, his voice hardly above a whisper.
“She thinks Miles Fournier is going to help her. I found out where his favorite restaurant is and gave her the address. She's going to go there every night until he shows up and she can talk to him.”
“What's the name of the restaurant?”
“Briar Cliff.” Keith closed his eye again, his breathing heavy from the strain of speaking.
“Thanks, Keith. You've been a big help.”
“She's a sweet girl. I hope you find her.”
Keith's breathing became deep and more even, indicating he'd fallen into the sleep of the heavily medicated. Leine walked over to the drawer with his name on it and slid it open. Inside, folded neatly, she found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt covered in dried blood. She took out a business card and scribbled a note on the back, then slipped three hundreds along with the card into the front pocket of the jeans before she shut the drawer.
Leine and Jean emerged from the elevator into the lobby, looking for Miles. They spotted him sitting outside the front entrance on a cement bench. Jean excused herself to go to the ladies room.
“Well?” Miles asked as Leine sat down next to him.
“Good call. I found out Mara's trying to get to you for help. Keith somehow found out your favorite restaurant and gave her the address. He didn't tell the two goons who beat him up. That gives us a little head start.”
“Which favorite restaurant? I've got a few.”
“The Briar Cliff.”
Miles looked surprised. “The Briar Cliff? Geez, I haven't been there in ages. I used to go every Thursday for their prime rib, but it got old after a while.” He shook his head. “God, if we didn't find Keith, how would we ever have known she was waiting for me there?”
“Sometimes the gods smile on the good guys, Miles.”
“Well, looks like we're going out for prime rib, eh?”
“Prime rib? What are you guys talking about?” Jean appeared behind them.
Leine slid over on the bench to make room. “The favorite restaurant of Miles' Keith told me about. Or, at least what used to be his favorite restaurant. That's what he used to order.”
Jean's face lit up. “Let's go.”
Leine glanced at her watch. “Too late now. The kitchen's probably closed for the night. We'll try tomorrow.”
“Yeah and besides, they wouldn't let me in the building dressed like this.” Miles laughed. “Hey, Jean, we're close to finding Mara. Isn't that great?”
Jean smiled, relief obvious on her face. “That's more than great, Miles. That's the best news I've heard all week.”
Leine noticed Jean's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She wondered if she was just tired from the search, or if there was another reason.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SANTIAGO JENSEN THREW HIS KEYS in the dish on the hall table and kicked the door shut with his foot. Loosening his tie, he thumbed through the mail, but didn't find anything that needed his immediate attention. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Scotch from the cupboard, poured three fingers into a glass and dropped in a few ice cubes.
Drink in hand, he returned to the living room and flicked on the television with the remote. Soccer. Usually something he liked to watch in order to wind down at the end of the day, but not today. He stared at the screen, not seeing anything as his mind ran through what he'd found out earlier that afternoon.
In the spirit of improved relations between the LAPD and the FBI, the feds had offered new information on the Leine Basso investigation. The latest showed Leine in L.A. at the time of the murders. Airline manifests, bank accounts and car rental agreements listed the aliases she supposedly used within the agency. The information was too pat, too perfect. The whole 'rogue agent' BS didn't sit well with either him or Putz.
Jensen realized it wouldn't matter if Leine was innocent or not. It was clear the Agency expected her to take the fall for the murders.
He tipped his head and threw back the Scotch in one swallow. Leine was being set up, he could feel it. But how the hell could he prove that she didn't commit the murders? She'd been an assassin, for Christ's sake. Pretty hard to argue that point, since she'd even admitted it to Jensen. He could see their reasoning: why not have LAPD pin the charges on an outlier, someone who was no longer with the Agency? But Jensen wouldn't let a person who didn't commit the murders pay the ultimate price. Not on his watch.
Especially not Leine.
The only way forward Jensen could see was to ask Leine for the files she claimed she'd sent to Eric's boss at the Agency. For her sake, he hoped she had copies. He'd have to be careful who he gave them to and when. Jensen had a couple of contacts in the FBI that he trusted, bu
t was pretty sure being in possession of the files would not be good for their careers. There's no way faster onto a fibbie's shit-list than to screw with their career trajectory. And, if what Leine said about her ex-boss was true, it could be dangerous.
Jensen massaged the space between his eyes. He had to call her. There was no other way. He could've had Putz call, but didn't want to involve his partner. The less he knew, the better. He stared at the disposable phone he'd bought earlier that day after he found out the latest developments in the case. He'd even checked to make sure the store didn't have surveillance cameras directed at the front counter, and wore a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap to hide his features.
When the hell did he start acting like the people he took off the streets?
Leine Basso had a hold on him he couldn't shake. He thought about her when he was awake and dreamed about her at night. His only respite came when he was one-on-one with a suspect or deep into working a case. Even then, memories of the first day they met at the reality show's studio to their last encounter at his apartment floated to the surface of his brain with a force he couldn't ignore. Everything about her—the smell of her perfume, the way her eyes looked after they'd made love, how her body felt in his hands, her smile—had been seared into his memory and stoked a fire he couldn't begin to know how to contain.
Maybe he didn't want to.
Admit it, Santa. You're on the hook. This was new territory for Santiago Jensen, Babe-Magnet Extraordinaire, or BME, as his partner referred to him. He'd always wondered how perfectly good cops could throw everything away, just for a taste. Now he knew. And this connection between them went far deeper than sex.
He knew his belief in Leine's innocence wasn't entirely because of his attraction to her, however. Putz had the same gut feeling, which confirmed it for Jensen.
He picked up the phone and dialed Leine's number.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE MAÎTRE' D AT THE BRIAR Cliff seated Miles, Jean, April, and Leine at a table by a window. The low lighting, mahogany tables, and rich leather chairs conjured exclusivity and power. Leine sat next to the window. She'd already checked outside the building, but found nothing indicating Mara's presence.
“Thanks, Jonathan. Is Chef Mark working tonight?” Miles asked as he accepted a menu.
“He is. Would you like me to ask him to come to the front of the house, Mr. Fournier?” Jonathan replied with a smile.
“If he's not too busy.”
April giggled as Miles winked at her.
Jonathan continued his fawning. “May I say how wonderful it is to see you again? We've missed your visits.”
“You're too kind. I've been so wrapped up with promotion for the movie and all.”
“Of course. I understand. Would you care to start off with a bottle of cabernet?”
“Absolutely. Four glasses.”
“A carafe of water, please,” Leine added.
Jonathan gave a quick nod and disappeared into the kitchen in a flurry of efficiency. April leaned over to whisper in Miles' ear and giggled again.
Leine had voiced her objections to Miles including April since they were there to make contact with Mara and bring her home. She wasn't sure how much the Russians knew and was loathe to put her daughter in harm's way. April had pleaded with her to let her come along and Leine allowed herself to be talked into it, grudgingly. She was still a pansy-ass when it came to her daughter.
April fished her phone from her purse to answer a text message and Jean excused herself from the table. Leine watched her leave. She turned back to Miles and said in a low voice that April wasn't able to hear, “My contact at DNAsty Labs called earlier. The results of the DNA testing will be available the day after tomorrow.” Zephyr had left a hurried message on Leine's phone, telling her he'd email her the report as soon as it was available.
Miles frowned. “I'd forgotten about that.”
“What will you do if the results are different than you—”
“I don't want to talk about it, Leine. We'll deal with that when and if we have to.” His face brightened. “Ah…here we are,” he said as Jonathan returned to the table with the bottle of wine and glasses.
Leine glanced at the hallway near the bathrooms to make sure Jean wasn't within earshot and caught a glimpse of her talking on a cell phone. She'd never seen her use one before. In fact, she hadn't realized Jean even owned a cell phone.
“I’ll be right back,” Leine said to Miles. She rose from the table and headed to where Jean had been standing a second before. April didn't look up from her texting.
“Yes. We're at the Briar Cliff now—” Jean stopped talking when she saw Leine round the corner. She smiled at her and continued. “I need to hang up now. I think we're ready to order. I'll call you after dinner, okay?” She hit the end button and put the phone in her purse. “Am I holding up dinner?”
“No, not at all. Jonathan just brought the wine. I'm headed to the ladies room,” Leine replied. “If you don't mind my asking, who were you just talking to?”
“My friend back in Nevada. She's worried about Mara and wants me to update her whenever there's a new development. And—” Jean rolled her eyes, “—she's a little star-struck that I'm hanging out with Miles.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes I have to pinch myself, too. I mean, my brother is Miles Fournier. Wow.” She shook her head as though she couldn't quite believe it.
“I'll bet.” Leine smiled. “Meet you back at the table in a minute.” She slipped into the bathroom and waited a few moments before returning to her seat.
The prime rib Miles had ordered looked good, but the grilled fish was even better. April and Miles seemed to be getting along well, trading snarky remarks about the other patrons, but the conversation between the four of them had a deeper undertone that underscored the reason they were all there. April's phone played the tone Leine recognized as the one she'd selected for Cory.
“Sorry. I'd better take this.” Her face bright pink, April walked out to the foyer to answer the call.
Leine took a sip of wine and was ready to dig into her fingerling potatoes when Jean excused herself again. Leine watched her actually walk into the bathroom this time. She turned back to her meal, but noticed Miles looking at her, a scowl on his face.
“What? You don't like the way I'm eating?” she asked.
“You never let up, do you? You're going to be surprised when the DNA test shows she's my sister.” He pushed a stalk of asparagus around on his plate with his fork. “Can't you let things rest? Jean tells me she feels like you're watching her every move. Like you don't trust her.”
“I don't. That's what you're paying me for, Miles. To watch out for you and keep you safe. In order to do that, I can't allow myself to trust anyone.”
“Even me?”
“Even you. Look. I agreed to take on Jean's protection as part of my job, but if the DNA results are negative, I'm going to have a hard time justifying the change in my job description.”
“Meaning—”
“Meaning if that happens and you allow her to remain in your home, I'll have no choice but to resign.”
“She's my sister. I'm sure of it.”
“I hope you're right.”
Leine's attention shifted to movement in the shadows near the well-tended hedge outside the window. A young, dark-haired girl stood just outside the landscape lights.
Mara.
Mara's eyes widened, obviously recognizing Miles seated at the table. She ran forward and pounded on the window.
“Mr. Fournier—” she cried, her words muffled by the thickness of the glass. Miles dropped his fork and started to get up.
Leine was out of her seat in an instant, intending to move outside and coax her in, but a look of fear crossed the young girl's features. Her complexion turned white as she backed away from the window. Then she turned and ran.
A moment later, Jean appeared at the table, her face a mixture of hope and confusion.
“Mara?” she a
sked.
“Had to be,” Leine replied, throwing her napkin on the table. “I'm going after her.” She ran through the dining room into the foyer past April and was out the main door in seconds. She sprinted around the front of the building to the window, but Mara wasn't there. A car door closed behind her. She turned in time to see a sleek black BMW pull away from the curb and race out of the parking lot. Inside, the driver's silhouette was barely visible through the smoked glass window. She noted the license plate number, then quickly scouted the perimeter of the restaurant. She found no sign of Mara. Had she been in the car? When she returned to the front of the restaurant, the other three stood in the doorway, waiting for her.
“She's gone?” Miles asked.
Leine nodded her head, her frustration rising from having been so close to rescuing Mara.
“God, she's so young.” Miles closed his eyes as if trying to erase the picture of Mara's face.
Jean put her napkin to her mouth as she ran inside the restaurant.
“Jean thinks it was you, Leine.” Miles turned to face her, his arms crossed. “She thinks Mara freaked when you got out of your chair. That she saw the gun.”
“She wasn't even looking at me when she bolted,” Leine snapped. “How does Jean know what she was doing? I thought she was in the bathroom.”
“She says she saw the whole thing.”
“Then why did she ask me if it was Mara? Wouldn't she recognize her own daughter?”
“She says it was too far to see clearly.”
April looked from Miles to her mother. “I'm confused. Why would she be scared of my mother?”
“Apparently, Mara's deathly afraid of guns. It's possible that when Leine got up from the table that she saw the one Leine was wearing and got scared.”
Leine glanced at her clothing. She doubted her jacket would have opened enough for Mara to spot the weapon. “Kind of odd Jean's not out here looking for her daughter, don't you think?”