by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
Less than two minutes later he came out, closed the door and put the lock back on. With a silk handkerchief, he wiped off his prints. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
“Did you find out who sent that message?”
He must be talking to his secretary, Alisha Watts.
Alisha was hardworking, always a step ahead of Maurice, and a long time ago, she’d been Darcy’s friend. She also knew the darker side of Maurice, the side he never showed to the public. Darcy hadn’t asked Alisha for help years ago—Alisha needed her job to support her daughter—yet she’d won Darcy’s eternal gratitude when she’d called to say Maurice was out of the city till very late. Darcy had phoned Rainy that night and disappeared.
“Well try harder, dammit. Your job is on the line, Ms. Watts.”
A lie. Maurice couldn’t function without Alisha and since she’d been trying to get Maurice to promote her for years now, without success, she wouldn’t put forth a whole lot of effort for an “undisclosed sender” message.
“I don’t need to be pulled out of meetings for crap like this.”
Meetings, my fanny, she thought, studying him. She could almost tick off the seconds before he exploded. He cut the call and dialed another. From the gist of the conversation he was talking to a lawyer.
Darcy smiled. He was scared. Maurice was a lawyer.
“It’s got to be someone who saw that damn TV segment mentioning Fairchild and is looking for some easy cash.”
He listened then said, “Hell, no, I’m not offering or paying. I just want the little bastard. No, no, you saw the loan papers. You approved them. What am I paying you for, Crommer, if not to watch my back? Fine, fine. You know good and well that Fairchild is in Europe living off the profits I made for her! If she wants to hide like a hobbit, what do I care?”
Darcy could almost see the noose squeezing his tanned neck. He hung up, then moved to the car, standing between the car and the open door. He looked around, looked up to where she was perched. Darcy hunched.
“I don’t know what you want,” Maurice called out softly, foolishly. “But you won’t get it.”
Really, she thought, wishing she had a rifle. With a nightscope. Silencer, too. Of course, it would be nice, if she actually had the guts to shoot a human being, that would probably help.
Darcy knew her limits. She wasn’t a killer.
But she might have married one.
He climbed into the car, backing out.
Darcy leaned against the lip of the building and for a moment stared up at the stars, considering all she’d accomplished and whether or not this trip would evolve into more. She’d have to go over the financial reports, dig for more. She had documents signed by Fairchild, but she’d need some handwriting samples to compare.
Later, she thought, reaching for the camera and backpack.
It was time to go home.
Chapter 7
Darcy did a hip-grinding walk on her way across the salon to some kicking Nelly Furtado music, shaking the application bottle of tint for Liza Ringling. The success of her trip to Hollywood gave her extra energy and her clients were feeling it.
The joint was jumping. Blow-dryers whined and chatter filled the space in the air. Charlie was in the corner, his own private spot, nodding his head to the music and playing with his toys. I’ve got a great kid, she thought, smiling at him when he squished his nose at her.
Megan was at the appointment desk, her dark hair twisted up in chopsticks and her long, thin legs propped on a stool. She deserved the break. She’d been Darcy’s right hand and sometimes her left since Rainy had died.
The customers were enjoying the late-afternoon jam session and most were getting the full treatment. Her Korean manicure-pedicurist chatted away in heavily accented English, and the masseur was escorting Rayleen Pickman to the private room. The schoolteacher would love the soft music during the warm-oil massage, and the chance to feel pampered. Chasing after thirty six-year-olds couldn’t be easy. Darcy glanced at the tanning booth, checking the timer. She had a client in there trying to maintain her summer tan. But then, Sue Ash was eighteen, beautiful, with a body every boy in town was panting after. A tan would make little difference.
Full service, she thought, grinding to Furtado and tinting light brown hair red.
“You think he’ll like it?” Liza asked nervously.
Darcy met her gaze in the chrome-rimmed mirror. Liza’s husband was going to love it, she thought. “Every man wants a redhead once in a while. Makes him think he’s walking on the wild side. Besides, if you don’t like it, I’ll tint it back for free. But you have to wait at least two weeks.” Though not one customer had ever asked to be tinted back to their original color. “Dark red hair, a kicky new cut—Dave will think he’s sleeping with another woman.”
“Well heck, he can’t argue with that,” Liza said. “A consenting affair?”
“The best kind,” Darcy said, and Jack, all tight T-shirt and rippling muscles flashed in her mind. Quickly she pushed him out and suggested Liza pop over to the lingerie shop and give her husband more of a treat. She finished applying the color, snapped off her gloves and set the timer. Giving Liza a nudge, she handed her the latest trendy lingerie catalogue before she went off to get the woman her favorite mocha latte.
In the supply room, she’d just finished making the drink when Meg came in, holding the cordless phone.
“It’s Alexandra Forsythe,” she said softly and Darcy stilled, then handed the fat mug over to Meg.
“That’s for Liza, let me know when the timer goes off,” she said, taking the phone.
Meg frowned, pulling the door closed.
“Alex, hey, girl.”
“Hello, Darcy, how’s that handsome three-foot man of yours?”
“He’s great. Wish I could bottle his energy. So what’s up?”
“I called to tell you that I met the Dark Angel.”
“Oh my God.” The Dark Angel was a legendary figure at Athena Academy. Years ago, he’d broken into the school and accused the Academy of killing his sister. A few students, including Alex, had caught a glimpse of the handsome, passionate youth. The legend had started there and was still making the rounds among students today.
“My thoughts exactly at the time. Remember the FBI agent I caught snooping around Athena Academy? His name is Justin Cohen.”
Alex had told Darcy, Kayla and Tory about catching him at the school. She also thought she’d spotted him at Rainy’s funeral. “So what was he up to all those years ago breaking into Athena and causing hell?”
“He was trying to find a connection to his sister Kelly’s death. He thought that Athena had something to do with it.”
That didn’t make sense. “Wait a sec, back up and start over.”
“I know, it sounds strange, but given what we know about the egg harvesting and Rainy’s ovaries being scarred and the accident, it’s not that far off. His sister became a surrogate mother around the time of Rainy’s supposed appendectomy. Her doctor was Dr. Henry Reagan, the man who signed off on Rainy’s chart. And Dr. Reagan’s part-time nurse was our own Betsy Stone.”
“Oh hell.” Betsy Stone was Athena Academy’s nurse.
“His sister died during the birth and the hospital records show that the baby died along with her.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
“No.”
“I’m with you. If the mother was dying, they’d have tried to save the baby before that, and if she was a surrogate, someone was probably paying big bucks for that child.”
“I concur,” Alex said and Darcy smiled. Alexandra Forsythe was old money, highly educated, a “came over on the Mayflower” blue blood, and the furthest thing from a rich snot that there was. But sometimes that upbringing showed in her speech.
“Where is Dr. Reagan now?”
“Justin learned that he died of a heart attack years ago. Kayla is trying to track down his files. Justin’s been keeping track of Athena Academy all these y
ears. When he heard about Rainy’s accident, he checked it out and realized that we all suspected it was murder.”
“We know she was murdered, we just have to prove it.”
There was silence for a second or two, and Darcy knew that the suspicions cast on Athena Academy had shattered the very foundation of Alex’s upbringing. Her family had helped to found Athena Academy.
The evidence they had pointed right to the Academy and Betsy Stone. But was she in on it? Or had someone used Betsy to get to the school? They had to be careful about questioning the nurse. If she got spooked and took off, they’d be back to square one. Finding out exactly who else was involved and why without ruining the school’s reputation was going to be a tough act to play. “What can I do?”
“Kayla mentioned that you were doing some private investigative work.”
“I’m still learning really.” Firsthand, she thought. The skills came in handy when she was rescuing women from their abusers. But the Cassandras didn’t know about that. Yet. “You don’t want to use your FBI connections to hunt, do you?”
“No, this is personal. And I’d rather keep this between those I trust.”
Darcy smiled, touched. “You want me to check out the surrogate-mother angle? Won’t be easy. The trail is twenty years old but I’d bet if there was one, then there were more.”
“I agree, Kayla’s running a search at Athena for possible leads and we’re still looking for the fertility specialist Rainy was seeing just before her death, Dr. Deborah Halburg.”
Still? Where could the woman be? “I’ll get right on it. Alex, does Justin know about the egg mining?”
“No. We really don’t have enough information yet. But he wants to work with us on the investigation. I…think it might be a good plan.” Something in Alex’s voice sounded odd. Had the renegade Dark Angel gotten under her usually reserved skin? Darcy suspected as much when Alex abruptly changed the subject. “And by the way, I had a car accident.”
“What? Oh, my God! Were you hurt? When was this? What happened?”
“Darcy.”
“Yes?”
“Take a breath.”
She did, slowly. “Jeez, you must be okay if you’re that matter-of-fact about it.”
“I’m fine, nothing major—but I passed out while driving.”
“Like Kayla did on the Athena grounds?” Kayla had been searching for Rainy’s Athena medical files when she fainted dead away for no apparent reason, too.
“I believe so.”
That was three people. Rainy falling asleep at the wheel and dying. Kayla. And now Alex. “That’s no longer a coincidence, Alex.”
“I agree. My doctor said there was nothing wrong with me to make me faint.”
“This is getting dangerous. Someone doesn’t want us getting any closer to the truth.”
“I will use every caution. And so should you.”
There was a knock on the door and Meg peered inside, pointing to her head. “I hate to cut you off, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll let you know what I turn up as soon as I have something.”
“Thanks, Darcy. And Darcy…” Alex seemed suddenly hesitant. It wasn’t like her. “If you need any help, for…anything at all, you know I’m here for you, too. We all are.”
Darcy’s throat closed a little. She knew her friends had known something was going on with her when they’d seen her dyed hair at the funeral. It hadn’t been the time to talk, but her friend’s concern touched her. “Thanks, Alex. I’ll let you know.” She started to hang up then said, “Oh, wait a sec. This FBI agent, aka our illustrious Dark Angel…is he as handsome as we all imagined him to be?”
“Oh, yes.”
Darcy grinned. She’d been right. She could almost feel the sparks shooting through the phone. “Talk to you later. Stay cool, Alex.” Darcy could hear Alex chuckle as she hung up.
She tapped the phone against her thigh for a second, thinking. Three women from Athena had fainted for no reason. One had died because of it. And Betsy Stone? What did she have to do with all this? Being the Academy’s nurse she had access to a lot of personal information, including medical and administrative records and medications. And Darcy would bet she knew when the girls had their cycles. Stone kept the supplies.
Darcy shook her head, worried about her friends as she went back to Liza and turned an understated beauty into a knockout with rich, red hair.
Sitting at a wide glass table on the back patio, Maurice Steele propped his feet on a chair, slipped on his sunglasses, then sipped his morning coffee. The water in the pool glistened like diamonds in the bright morning sun. A soft ocean breeze flicked at the wide Panama umbrella overhead and mussed his hair. He smoothed it back, reading the newspaper, making notes and ignoring the incident of the night before. Someone was jerking his chain and he felt foolish for responding.
And he hated feeling foolish, even if no one saw it.
A small TV perched on a table a couple feet away reported the news, but Maurice was interested only in the stack of newspapers in front of him and what they said about him and the movie that had premiered the other night. He went straight to the reviews, scanning them quickly and picked out small phrases that pumped his blood pressure. Excellent. Five star, tremendously crafted script. Perfect for the role. Stellar performance.
I told them. They hadn’t believed him. He could see his bank accounts filling as his prestige and clout grew. Now they’ll come begging.
He glanced at the screen, seeing Fairchild’s face on the TV, then his. Christ. They pay attention to that drivel when the biggest blockbuster movie of the year just hit theaters? People were hanging out overnight to be the first to see it. “Report on that,” he snapped at the TV anchor who looked too much like a playboy bunny and not enough like a professional. What was her name, Shannon Conner?
He smiled. She was the reporter who’d done the exposé on Athena Academy and inadvertently given him the means to hunt down his errant wife. He liked her better already.
I could change your life, he thought, seeing the woman with slightly darker hair, a less revealing suit. And for God’s sake, get rid of those earrings. They look like the Eiffel Tower.
He’d made thousands over so they were appealing to the world. As he’d done for himself. He’d rewritten his own past, carved away the barrio and replaced it with Bel Air. He’d watched and learned, working two, sometimes three jobs, making himself indispensable to the people who had the power, clawing his way between them. He knew he’d used people, been cruel and conniving. But he’d have done anything not to be trapped in an L.A. gang and walk with a homeboy hump in his step.
Manny Sanchez was Maurice Steele.
No one knew.
He’d paid a fortune to have it erased. He was proud of what he’d accomplished, he thought, sipping his coffee.
He spun straw into gold now.
Maurice looked around at his home, the ocean crashing a few hundred yards away while the clear water of the pool rippled. The best of both. In his mind he saw his wife backstroking through the water, her slim body a tanned torpedo as she flipped and swam back. She rested her arms on the edge of the pool, smiled at him.
Something sharpened in his chest.
His weakness was her, he supposed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was the only woman who could make him hurt.
No longer interested in spending time alone, he left the lanai and marched upstairs to his bedroom. Instantly his gaze fell on the real naked woman in his bed. Her breasts were plump—and, a surprise, real. Blond hair was mussed and long, her face elfin and dainty. Suddenly, he didn’t see the aspiring actress, he saw Darcy, bare and open for him.
He moved toward the bed, untying his robe.
She stirred and rolled over, dazed with confusion till the memory of last night played across her face. He’d taken her home from the premiere.
“Hi,” she said softly, smiling and reaching for him.
“Ah, my love.” He lay over her, pushing her legs
apart, and in an instant he thrust into her, whispering another woman’s name.
Darcy tapped the keys, searching through archives of old newspapers in Arizona and Nevada. Athena Academy was near Phoenix, so anything in the outlying areas could be a source. It would take a while, she thought and glanced at the clock. She had five minutes before her next client arrived. This was her fifth search in two days for anything suspicious. She’d read through everything from penny savers to tourist magazines, looking for something that could be construed as an ad for a surrogate. She had five possible ads but she needed to narrow the search. She considered placing her own ad, offering a reward for information. Money always drew the real nutcases, but she’d know what to ask to make certain she was on the right track.
Her five minutes up, she stood, glancing at her notes from her L.A. trip and feeling torn between devoting her time to searching for the surrogate and following up on the details from her trip. She still had to research the names of the chemicals she’d seen on the barrels in the warehouse and dig out the freezer bags to see what else she could learn. Plus she was waiting for Porche’s assistant, Marianna Vasquez, to call her back. She’d made another call to the woman, wishing she’d had the time in L.A. to meet with her face-to-face.
She headed back into the salon, stopping by the extra room to check on Charlie. He was still napping and she bent to kiss his cool cheek. He wiggled deeper into the covers. He’d be in preschool soon, then first grade. She had to get her life back to normal before then. She couldn’t register him for school under an alias. And well, Charlie Daniels drew a lot of attention. Darcy hadn’t thought of that when she chose her alias. Charlie had been a baby at the time. She smiled. Stupid but funny, she thought. Now she was stuck with it.
She moved into the main salon, glad it was on the edge of town, far enough from street traffic but close enough to do a good walk-in business. There was a shop on either side of hers, and the facades were all designed to look like Old Western storefronts. She had a clear view of the street traffic from all sides and the backyard was big enough for Charlie to have some fun. Her own house was just two lots back, a one-story small bungalow style just big enough for her and Charlie. Megan lived at the other end of town, which didn’t say much, since she was only a couple miles away.