“Will do.”
She started to walk away and then turned. “What about my gun?”
“It’s at the lab. It’ll be at least a few days.”
Assuming her story checked out, he meant. They’d already checked her hands for gunshot residue, but they still needed to test the weapon.
Krista ducked under the crime scene tape and walked back to her car, ignoring the wary gazes from neighbors still lining the street. She slid behind the wheel and sat a moment, simply listening to the silence. Then she started up her car and wended her way home. She didn’t remember exiting Pacific Coast Highway or even turning onto her street, but suddenly she was in her driveway. Mac’s car was in its usual spot. The lights in his apartment were off.
Krista felt numb. Dazed. She got out of her car and walked around front. A pair of headlights zoomed up her street and a black 911 glided to a stop. R.J. peered at her through the window.
“Get in.”
She didn’t move.
“Now.”
She looked at her darkened house. She looked at R.J. She pulled the door open and slid inside.
He peeled away from the curb and whipped around the corner, thrusting her back against the plush leather seat. On the boulevard he took it to sixty.
“You should’ve called me.”
She didn’t answer. Wind whipped through her hair and she stared out the window at the blur of storefronts—surf shops, health food stores, trendy restaurants that would probably be closed in a year. Sushi Go-Go was an anomaly. It had been around nearly a decade. The pretty young waitresses attracted a steady clientele.
R.J. zipped into a parking lot and pulled up to a front row space.
Ruby’s Diner. Another OC landmark.
Krista stared at the sign, remembering countless late-night quests for pecan pancakes. If she saw one right now, she was pretty sure she’d hurl.
R.J. got out without comment. He came around and opened her door.
“What are we doing?”
“Re-fueling.”
With a sigh, she got out and trialed him into the restaurant. It was brightly lit and bustling with people, which was more than she could say for her house. Krista ducked into the restroom. She avoided her reflection in the mirror as she scrubbed the blood from her nails and cuticles. Then she joined R.J. in a moon-shaped booth. He handed her a menu that smelled like syrup and she skimmed the words without reading anything.
“You look like hell.”
She glanced up, then down at herself. She wore an oversized gray T-shirt one of the patrol officers had given her. By the smell, she figured he’d dug it out of his gym bag.
“What can I get you?”
Krista glanced up at the waitress. She had leathery skin and a platinum-blond pixie cut, and lines around her eyes that made her at least fifty.
Krista handed her the menu. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
R.J. shot her a glare. “Two Tortilla Scrambles,” he told the waitress. “And a pot of coffee.”
The woman left and Krista closed her eyes and leaned back against the vinyl seat. She couldn’t think about food, but she was too tired to argue.
“Thanks for leaving my name out.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. For the first time she could remember, there was nothing smug in his expression. No twinkle in his blue eyes, no hint of teasing.
“Maybe I didn’t.”
“If you didn’t, I’d have Newport PD crawling up my ass right now.”
She looked away, uncomfortable with his gratitude. “I kept it simple.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She gave him the nutshell version, starting with everything she’d observed as soon as she’d stepped onto the property. It was the same statement she’d given earlier, only she didn’t omit the part about bumping into him. By the time she reached the detectives’ interviews, the waitress was back with their food.
R.J. peppered his eggs and dug in. Krista nudged her plate away and heaped sugar into her coffee. Usually she drank it black, but her adrenaline was crashing.
R.J. watched her take a sip. His gaze was direct. Disconcerting. She’d never seen him so serious.
“Yesterday I did a phone dump on Lily’s old number,” he said. “You get around to that?”
She slurped coffee. It was so sweet it made her teeth hurt.
“I pulled the new one yesterday.”
He frowned. “Where’d you get the new one?”
“I’m a detective.”
He watched her silently.
“So, what’d you find?” she asked.
“Over a two-month period around the date of the Sheffield murder, Lily Daniels had one-hundred-twenty-six calls to the residence of a Robert Beech.”
“That’s two calls a day.”
“Only she wasn’t calling every day. She’d go in bursts. You know who Beech is?”
“Her boyfriend?”
“He’s a director. Does commercials, pretty well known around town.”
“So I take it that’s who she was meeting at the seedy motel at midnight?”
“Not quite,” R.J. said. “He was meeting someone else that night.”
Krista stirred her coffee as her brain started to function. “So I’m guessing this man’s married—hence, all the sneaking around. And I’m guessing Lily found out he had another woman on the side and started, what, stalking him? Harassing him?”
“Harassing, extorting, it’s not totally clear.”
“Walker doesn’t know?”
R.J. shrugged. “I’m sure he does, but he finessed the deposition. You read it?”
It had been in the files DeSilva sent over.
“Lily said she was meeting a friend who never showed, which was why she was cooling her heels in the motel parking lot at midnight.” Krista said. “She didn’t mention she was a dissed lover who was stalking a married man, maybe shaking him down.”
“Walker could drag the truth out if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to discredit his star witness.”
“What about the prosecutor? He’ll blow her out of the water.”
“If he puts it together,” R.J. said.
“You don’t think he will?”
“The investigator he’s using for this thing’s a lightweight. He could very well miss it.”
Krista sipped some more coffee. It was helping her feel human again.
“Let’s walk through this,” she said. “Lily’s at this motel, watching her lover cheat on her with some other woman when she sees a man park Sheffield’s black Mercedes at the end of the alley. According to the depo, she was there from midnight to one and heard no gunshots.”
“That’s because there weren’t any.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “How can you know she’s telling the truth? She already lied under oath.”
“This is corroborated by two other people,” R.J. said. “The crime scene tech, who’s going to testify there wasn’t enough blood at the scene for Sheffield to have been shot there, and the coroner.”
“Livor patterns?” Krista asked.
“That’s right. Looks like the body could have been moved after death, then staged in the alley.”
Krista went over it in her still-fuzzy brain. “And the Mercedes—”
“A bait car. It was sitting there, keys inside, wallet probably out in plain view. In that neighborhood, it was only a matter of time before someone came along and boosted it, making themselves a prime suspect in the murder.”
“So you don’t think this thing is about framing Saurez?”
“I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The car thief should’ve been some run-of-the-mill street punk who happened to come along. Even if he didn’t steal the car, he would’ve stolen the wallet and started using the doc’s credit cards, making himself a suspect. Way it was probably supposed to go down, some dumb kid would get crucified and some piss-ant public defender would try and make a case for him and fail. The kid would go away
for a few years, open and shut case, no problem.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
He nodded. “Whoever did this got burned when Chollo’s cousin walked into it. Now Chollo’s bankrolling this thing and his little cousin has the best defense attorney in Los Angeles and he’s leaving no stone unturned.”
“And Nguyen? Why would he lie about what he saw?”
“Why would anyone? Money. Or maybe he’s being threatened.”
Krista sighed and looked around the restaurant. The customers had dwindled to a few tipsy couples who’d stopped in on their way home from bars.
“Which brings us to the question I’ve been hammering at for days now,” she said. “Who was this doctor and who wanted him dead? It’s bound to be the same person after Lily.”
R.J. forked up some sausage. “Lemme know when you figure it out.”
“We’re not partners on this.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I mean it.”
They eyed each other across the table.
“You know a lot about this case,” she said. “I take it you’re Walker’s lead investigator?”
He nodded.
“Then I guess you know about the life insurance?”
“Two mil,” he said. “All to the wife.”
“I assume you checked her out?”
He shoved his plate away. “Everyone did. She’s clean. There were some rumors maybe she was having an affair, but we couldn’t nail it down. And she does a good grieving widow.”
“You think she’s phony?”
He smiled. “This is L.A. Everyone’s phony.”
“You know what I mean. That’s a lot of money.”
“Not necessarily for a doctor. A jury’s going to have to see some cold hard facts to buy into that.”
“The widow isn’t on trial here. Saurez is.”
“Yeah, but Walker can’t win this case without a fall guy,” he said. “A doctor gets his face shot off, someone’s gotta pay. Hard for the jury to acquit one suspect without someone better waiting in the wings.” He winked at her. “Jury Psychology 101.”
Krista folded her arms, irritated now. “If you’re Walker’s lead investigator, why were you in Hawaii when the trial started?”
“Personal reasons.”
His face looked blank. She couldn’t read a damn thing into that, and she didn’t think she wanted to. She knew zilch about R.J.’s personal life, and she should keep it that way.
She watched him, still distrustful. He was holding out on her. She could feel it in her bones.
He stretched an arm over the back of the booth. “I hear the lead dick on this case used to be LAPD. Name’s Kevin O’Quinn.”
And there it was, finally. The reason he’d been dogging her for two straight days. Probably the reason Walker had hired her in the first place. Krista had heard about the LAPD connection, but didn’t think much of it.
“So?” she asked.
“So any chance you can make a few calls? See what the cops have on this phantom boyfriend?”
He wanted Krista to call in a favor, but she’d never even met O’Quinn. Her career with LAPD had been a little short-lived.
“You mean ask someone to sneak me the case file so you can hand Walker his fall guy?”
He held her gaze.
“And while you’re at it, maybe you can grab my witness out from under me and snag my fee?”
“Our fee.”
She leaned forward on her elbows. “Do you have a brain disorder? How many times do I have to say it? I’m not—”
“—partnering with you. Yeah, I heard you.” The smug smile was back. “You’ll come around.”
Krista braced herself for the familiar rush of annoyance, but it didn’t come. She was too worn out to feel anything.
She looked at her watch. “We should go.”
The drive back was silent as they wended through the streets. Her eyes felt gritty. The hollow feeling in her chest was back, deepening like a sinkhole. Krista stared out at the darkened houses, where people slept peacefully. In a few short hours, they’d be getting up and starting the day. She pictured a flushed-cheeked young woman in go-go boots, locking her apartment and rushing off to work. So much life ahead of her. So many dreams unrealized, including ones she hadn’t even had yet. Amber Sandusky. Amber Swift. So hopeful and clueless and determined, all at the same time.
“Why Amber?” Krista muttered.
R.J. glanced at her. “Maybe it was an accident.”
“With a silencer?”
“Could have been a mistake. She and Lily don’t look all that different, especially in the waitress getup. And they drive similar red cars.”
Krista had thought about it. She wasn’t convinced, though. A silencer on the gun suggested a pro, and she couldn’t imagine a pro making such a colossal mistake.
R.J. rolled to a stop in front of her house. Krista eyed the dark windows and stifled a shudder.
“Thanks for the coffee.” She looked at him, but he was already getting out of the car. Without a word, he slipped his pistol from under his jacket and circled her property. She stood awkwardly on the front stoop, looking up and down her quiet street until he came up the sidewalk, tucking his gun away.
“Want me to check inside?” he asked.
“I can handle it.”
“You sure?”
“I was a cop, for Christ’s sake.”
He stared down at her and she felt her chest tighten. She was exhausted. Filthy. And her nerves were raw. Usually, she had much more bravado, but it was gone now. It had drained out of her on Lily’s driveway.
He was still watching her with those deep blue eyes.
“Fine.” She huffed out a breath and unlocked the door. “Knock yourself out.”
He slipped past her, and she stayed by the door, kicking off her shoes. She remembered the way he’d looked at her at Lily’s, the way his breath had felt against her temple. She imagined him looking through her bedroom now, and she forced herself to stay put.
He returned to the living room as she switched on a lamp.
“All clear.” He stopped in front of her. “Looks like you’re good tonight.”
He gazed down at her. She read his look and heat shot through her as he bent his head down and kissed her. His mouth was gentle, which surprised her. He coaxed her lips apart. Then his fingers slipped up into her hair and he moved in and everything changed in a heartbeat, from soft and gentle to molten-hot, a thousand times hotter than she’d imagined it. And then her fingers were in his hair, and she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. His chest was a solid wall and she felt the rasp of stubble on his chin as he changed the angle of the kiss. He pulled her flush against him and lust speared through her. She imagined pulling him down onto her sofa. She imagined tearing off his clothes and doing what she’d fantasized about. And she imagined waking up naked and alone.
She jerked back, breathing hard.
“Damn.” He looked down at her with a heavy-lidded gaze.
“What was that?”
Instead of answering, he pulled her against him and went after her mouth again. He kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck. His mouth was hot and she loved the way he smelled… and she could not, not, not do this tonight.
She pulled away, heart thudding, cheeks hot. Her chest felt tight with panic.
Finally, he eased back, giving her space, and rested his hand on her shoulder as she watched him warily.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“No.”
He sighed and dropped his hand. “See you tomorrow, Hart.”
“We’re not partners.”
He shook his head and walked out her door.
Chapter Seven
Krista slept in ten-minute snippets and got up feeling like she’d gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. Her shoulders ached. Her head pounded. Even her jaw hurt, probably from clenching her teeth throughout much of the night.
“Give us a
kiss! Give us a kiss!”
Spencer flapped over and stared down at her. She’d spent the night on the sofa because she preferred the rustle of feathers to the lonely silence of her bedroom.
Yes, she was pathetic.
She fed some cashews through the mesh and stroked Spence’s beak. “Pretty bird, aren’t you? That’s right.”
He lifted his wings, showing off his plumage. “Pretty bird! Pretty bird!”
He could have been an actor.
Krista shuffled to the bathroom, where she climbed into a scalding shower and scrubbed with a loofah until her skin was pink. She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and started to put on her holster before she remembered about her gun.
“Shit.”
She tossed a defense spray into her purse and hit the door. Almost eight, which meant four hours and counting. Today’s objective: get her witness to the courthouse by noon and get her paycheck by close of business.
No problem.
Krista swung by Starbucks and then headed for the office, where she hoped to find Scarlet. She called Detective McMillan while she drove.
“Where are you?” he asked tersely. “It’s after eight.”
“On my way,” she said. “Just wanted to see if there were any new developments.”
Silence.
“Detective?”
“Did I miss something?” he demanded. “Last I checked you were a person of interest in this case, not an investigator.”
Okay, so he didn’t feel like sharing. It was going to be one of those mornings.
“Guess that means ballistics isn’t back yet.”
He scoffed.
“Well, I had something to pass along,” she said, “maybe speed things up a little. You got a pen?”
“What is it?”
“Lilian Daniels’s credit card info. I’m sure you noticed that paperwork on the floor and you’re probably running it already.”
She could almost hear his brain working as he tried to remember the files scattered across the bedroom. The place had been a wreck, and it would take days for detectives to sort through the relevant information. And since Lily wasn’t the victim—yet—today’s focus would be on Amber Sandusky.
“Let me save you some time, all right, Dan? You’re trying to find Lilian. So am I. She has a credit card and a gas card, and I’ve got numbers for both.” Krista rattled them off and pictured McMillan scribbling in his memo book. “You should run these right away and see if either’s been used lately, say in the past five days since she was last seen? It might give you a bead on her.”
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