Eddie’s eyes weren’t just cloudy with grief—they were hopeless. “Why would someone do this to us?”
“God,” Mandy said again. Her eyes watered. We exchanged a look, and I was touched by her compassion. I raised my eyebrows, creasing them in question. We communicated via expression, which we had perfected during high school classes, and she finished the silent conversation with a subtle nod of her head.
That was it. We’d take the case. Sleeping in would just have to wait until the Blondes were behind bars.
A PLAN SIMMERED IN my mind.
I put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He still hadn’t taken a sip of water. “Eddie, have you eaten today?”
He shook his head.
“Can you?”
He was about to shake his head again when he paused. “I guess I could. But—“ He glanced toward the restaurant.
“You don’t want to be around people?” I guessed.
He nodded.
Mandy stood up, as if doing something would ease the tension. “I’ll order for you from the restaurant and bring it up when it’s done. What do you want?” She pulled out her phone and took his order—chicken tenders with fries and ranch on the side. I ordered a steak salad, and I knew Mandy would get her usual grilled chicken Caesar salad.
“Why don’t we go back to your room?” I suggested. More clues about him and Tanya would be there, and he’d probably be more comfortable answering our questions.
Eddie led me up to the third floor, and I texted Mandy the room number. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a simple queen bed and room without-a-view wasn’t it. His suitcase was open in the corner and neat rolls of clothes and accessories were piled in it. No sign of a woman’s suitcase—until I noticed an adjoining door leading to the next room, unlocked and cracked open. So they weren’t even sharing bedrooms. Didn’t sound like the romantic getaway most couples go on for their anniversary—more like eighth-grade camp.
His laptop was propped up on the desk, which had a fake leather top and an ugly green lamp peering over it. That was my target.
Eddie sat heavily on the bed and rubbed the bristles on his chin. He looked like he would either fall asleep or lose a gasket any second—anger and hurt were written all over him. “What can we do to get those bitches?”
That was the kind of determination I liked to hear. I could work with it. “Have you checked to see where they used the credit cards?”
He went and sat at the desk, leaning over his keyboard. I took out my phone. Pretending to be consumed with my screen, I glanced over his shoulder as he typed in his username and password. Using some association techniques I’d learned from a book on retention, I logged it away to retrieve later. After getting to the bank’s website, he glanced suspiciously at me, and when he saw I was engaged with my phone, typed in his information. I mentally rolled my eyes at his password: OMAHA71baseball. I could have hacked that on my own.
Strolling to the chair, I sat down and finished my text to Solomon. Beach. Lobster. Dancing. Drinking. Rio agrees with me so far. I left out the part about being entangled in the very thing he’d asked me to avoid—the Blondes. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Thinking of him made me think of the FBI. “Are the feds coming from the U.S.?”
“Yes.” Eddie looked up from the screen. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
That’d be another chance for me to back out—with the feds on the Blondes’ trail, perhaps I could go back to vacation mode. That is, once I knew someone I trusted was on the case.
“See here.” Eddie pointed at the screen. “They maxed out our two credit cards at …” he counted. “Seven different stores. That’s ten thousand.”
I gave a low whistle. That wasn’t petty cash. Looked like the stores were all department stores, except one that could be a car dealer. Later, I’d get back in his account and snoop further. For now, I tried to put together an idea of what turned them from thieves to murderers.
I went through the scenarios in my mind. “Did Nancy or Tanya know self-defense?”
Eddie stared blankly at me.
“If Nancy had escalated the situation, fought back, or seen their faces, they’d have to kill her.”
Eddie objected. “A car bomb is an elaborate way to deal with a feisty victim. But no, Nancy couldn’t have taken anyone down. She was about thirty pounds overweight and had bad knees. And Tanya.” He scoffed. “She couldn’t even defend herself from a spider. She’d scream at me to kill them anytime she saw one.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, spiders are quite terrifying.”
“Quite. But all that to say that she couldn’t throw a punch to save her life.” He let out a tight laugh. “And she was big on gun control, too—wouldn’t let me buy a gun or even pick one up. Said it’d be bad for my image.” He rubbed his knuckles, and then turned back to the screen.
So it sounded like Tanya enjoyed telling Eddie what to do, and he didn’t like it. But I was still only seeing things from his perspective. Although he looked like a respectable man, I knew there were two sides to every story. Details. I needed details. With my phone, I sent a quick email to my intern, Joshua, back at the office, asking him to get me a list of Eddie and Tanya’s enemies and also any dirt on Eddie he could find. Joshua, who was a wide-eyed, sheltered Hawaiian native, was incredibly gifted at finding dirt on people. I was sure he’d get back to me with something.
Leaning back in the chair, I watched Eddie as he scrolled through news sites. Tanya’s picture was everywhere. There were probably a dozen news teams headed to Rio to get the story—now to get his side of it. I started my interrogation.
My first rule: Never ask a straight question. My second rule: Let them underestimate you. Third rule: Make rabbit trails. Sometimes the clue that broke the case came from a random detail.
“What’s with the watch?” I stared at the cheap, scratched plastic watch he wore.
Eddie shut the lid of the laptop and turned to me, running his hand through his hair. His eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy. “It’s to remind me where I came from. Before I ran for mayor, when I was barely making ends meet as a carpenter, I splurged on this forty-dollar watch from Walmart. Now I wear it every day to remind me of the value of forty dollars.”
The words deepened my respect for him. “I think I remember reading about your race in the papers. What was your slogan—‘We can fix it’? Or you were called the carpenter or something?”
He grinned. It made him seem so much younger, and roguish. “Yeah, I was the carpenter.”
I raised my eyebrows “The media went wild with your hard-working, honest American character. They said you couldn’t be bought out by any corporations. Your campaign was funded by more civilian dollars than any other campaign in history. You won by a landslide, didn’t you?”
His eyes glinted in memory. “It seems so long ago.”
“But you’re still the hard-working, honest American carpenter.” I phrased it so it could be a statement or a question.
He slowly nodded. “I’m just building something more complicated than tables.”
“Bet you wish you could just work on tables some days.”
“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. The burden of his civil service weighed heavily on him.
“Do you still refuse to take money from corporations?”
“That’s my policy.”
“Hmm.” Was he telling the truth? Not taking corporate money would be nearly impossible in this political climate. I knew how D.C. worked—he couldn’t accomplish anything if he didn’t have a company or two that owed him a favor. That was something else I’d have to check out.
“Did Tanya have any personal enemies?”
An unmistakable look of guilt crossed his features. “Yes. Me.”
I looked down, pretending not to be shocked at his admission.
He continued. “Tanya worked for GenEarth, an environmental company that tries to keep the earth the way it was before the industrial revolution.�
�� He rolled his eyes. “I think she would’ve been happier if everyone drove buggies and washed their clothes by hand—that is, as long as she had servants to do her share of the work. GenEarth was suing the State, two energy companies, five waste-disposal companies, and three water plants. She wanted them shut down.” He sighed heavily. “Tanya was the face for their law department as well, so she’s the one people targeted. She got hate mail every day and not a few threatening phone calls. It wasn’t just the stuff she said that got people riled up against her—it was the way she said it. I … I … I really, um, disliked her for it.” He cleared his throat. “But I wanted things to get better between us, so I booked this trip. It was our last chance.”
He spoke in short bursts, as if he was nervous, but I had to keep him talking. “Have you heard of the Blondes before?”
“Not until I read about them in the paper after booking the trip.”
“And this is your first time to Rio?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have life insurance?”
“No. Neither do I. We have a savings account with enough money to last us if either one of us died.”
“Does she have family?”
“She has five sisters and a brother. They will be … so devastated. She was always the ringleader at holidays and came up with new traditions. Last year at Thanksgiving, we had a hot dog roast instead of a turkey. I can’t imagine the family without her.”
My shoulders wilted. Things weren’t smooth between them, but it truly seemed like he loved her, despite their different political views.
A soft knock sounded at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw Mandy’s shock of red hair. She had an armful of cardboard takeout boxes. The two bodyguards stood sentinel at each side of the door.
I let her in and we dug into the food. They didn’t have a steak salad, so Mandy chose a traditional Brazilian entrée for me—feijoada. To say it was delicious would be an understatement. I couldn’t concentrate on anything except stuffing it in my face. Once I’d swallowed the last bite and licked the last of it off my spoon, I leaned back with a contented sigh.
We all looked up what we could about the Blondes on our smartphones as we ate, sharing the facts we discovered. We found a lot of articles in the local papers, and the story had even hit NPR.
The Blondes had been operating for two years and the local authorities were beyond frustrated. They had no leads. They didn’t even know how many gang members there were. Up until now, they were more of an annoyance than anything else, taking well-off tourists for a few hours, spending their credit cards, and then letting them go. But things were changing.
Eddie looked up at me with pleading eyes. “They’re doing this three to five times a week, according to the papers. If they start killing each target, that’s a lot of dead bodies.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of more women found in Dumpsters. We had diddly-squat to go on, and it didn’t sound like the police had any more than we did. I had to find something, some clue, some person to lead me to them before they killed again.
IT WAS 4:30 A.M. by the time we made it back to our own hotel. Mandy crashed in her bed and was asleep in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t sleep, even though I was exhausted. My brain would not shut off.
Taking the elevator to the fifth floor, I used my keycard to get into the hotel gym. It was larger then I thought it would be, and even had a punching bag in the corner. It wasn’t a real one, just the kind on a plastic stand filled with sand or water, but it would do.
After stretching, I ran on the treadmill for ten minutes to warm up and then pushed the punching bag to the middle of the room. I was glad no one else was there. I had some pent-up energy to release, so this bag was in for a beating.
I started with a simple jab, jab, hook—then added an uppercut. After three minutes, I was sweating.
With each punch, I made sure to stay on the balls of my feet, knees bent, shifting from one foot to the other.
Strike, punch past the bag, pull hands back to chin, duck, come up with the uppercut.
I imagined the bag was a thug, an attacker. Hank Williams or one of his henchmen. Even though he was dead and buried, I felt my anger boil at the thought of his smug face.
Night and solitude did this to me—I gave my dark side free rein.
I was angry. Angry about a lot of things. Angry at men like Williams, angry that I had to deal with Dan and his advances, angry about my mom’s phone call, angry that Tanya Lofton had died, and angry that Solomon was ignoring my texts.
What ever happened to a normal life? I lived in little Boise, Idaho. Nothing was supposed to happen in Boise. There was little to no crime and it was one of the top ten places to raise a family in the U.S. So why did all kinds of trouble follow me?
And the worst thought of all—why did I like it?
Sweat drenched my body. I left wet marks on the bag with each punch. Adding in some kicks, I poured all my power into my hips and relaxed my foot, giving each kick a whip-like action. Each kick tipped the bag on end, sloshing water in the bottom. Anger churned within me, but like running in the dark when I was scared, punishing this bag made the anger grow.
“Argh.”
That’s when I realized that it wasn’t them: Hank, Dan, Solomon, or even Mom. I was mad at myself. It was this thing inside, a cloud that overshadowed everything. The dark side of myself. Something had broken loose. When I first felt it, I hated it. But with each passing day and each new criminal I met, I found myself getting used to it, even liking the way it made me feel safe.
It had kept me safe from Hank and Glen Williams. It had saved Angela. It couldn’t be all bad, could it?
But the part that scared me was that I was hungry for more. I kept imagining ways to stop those that got away. Permanently.
Silent tears streamed down my cheeks and I fell to the floor. What was wrong with me? Why was I like this? I didn’t hate people—I loved people, wanted to protect them. And yet I couldn’t deny that something in me was different.
No, this wasn’t me, not who I was. I wouldn’t be that weak little girl ever again.
Getting to my feet, I wiped at my eyes and hit the bag. Jab, jab, hook. I was spent, exhausted and tired, but felt good.
I had no answers about how to deal with the dark side of myself, this primal urge to kill. But sometimes, even answers didn’t fix things. Punching a bag in the early morning light was the closest to peace I’d get.
SOAKED IN SWEAT, I walked into my room to find Mandy sitting up in bed groggy-eyed. She looked at me and waved a hand toward the bathroom. “Solomon’s in there. He wanted a shower.”
I snorted. “Nice try. I’m covered in sweat and didn’t sleep last night, so I get first dibs. You’ll just have to wait, missy. You don’t want me on the furniture until I’ve hosed off.”
I pushed open the door, and steam billowed out of it. In the shower was a tall figure. A broad-shouldered, hairy-chested, completely naked man. I yelped and closed my eyes. “Ohmigod—”
Solomon turned and wiped the fogged-up shower door, grinning at me. “A little privacy, eh?”
“I, uh … what—?” I backed out and shut the door. Turning, I slid down the wall and covered my face.
“Told ya.” Mandy giggled and threw a pillow at me. “You see anything?”
“No. I mean, yes. But the glass … foggy.”
“Bummer. You should really check out the assets before you make your relationship official.”
My face burned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this embarrassed. Here I was, sweaty, in my ratty gym clothes, and that’s when Solomon decides to show up? Why not last night, when I looked cute? I glared at Mandy. A good wing woman never would have let him through the door. “How did he get here?”
“Well, Sarah Renee Steele …” I knew she was trying to be a pain by the way she said my full name. “I’m sure he took a plane. It would be quite a hike otherwise.”
“Mandy!”
“Okay, okay. He said the FBI got called in on some case and he can’t check into his room until one or something. And he had to see you.”
I was a little lost. “FBI?”
He spoke from behind the bathroom door, making me jump. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I work for the FBI.”
My head swam at that, and not just because I was still hot from my workout. The realization that I was so close to someone in law enforcement floored me. I searched my memory for every time we had been together, trying to figure out if I had slipped at all. I didn’t think I had. We hadn’t spoken about a lot of personal things, so I hadn’t dropped any clues about my past. Grabbing the pillow, I put my face in it and swore at the top of my lungs. I’d been reckless. I never should have gotten close to a man who was such a mystery.
But still, it wasn’t all my fault. He’d lied to me.
I knocked my elbow against the wall in disgust. “Guess they don’t teach you tact at the FBI.”
“Guess they don’t teach you how to knock at law school,” he retorted.
I crossed my arms and glared at Mandy. “Guess I need a new friend who won’t let lying men into the room without my permission.”
“I never lied,” he said through the door.
“You said you were a consultant.”
“I am. I never said I wasn’t FBI.”
Liar. It was what he didn’t say that worried me. What else wasn’t he telling me?
Mandy flopped her head on her pillow. “Don't blame me. I was asleep, he knocked and woke me, and blah blah blah, told me his story. He wanted to get a shower because he was stuck on a plane all night. You should be happy to see him, but you’re acting crazy. I knew you liked him, but dang, girl.” I set my jaw at that. She sleepily mumbled, “Now get out of those butt-ugly workout clothes and into some jeans. How long have you owned those? Since freshman year?”
I looked down at my clothes. She was right. I’d had them since college. Looking under my arms, I noticed sweat stains and a not-so-pleasant aroma. Yeesh. “I think I need to go shopping.” I scrambled for my suitcase, hurrying before Solomon came out.
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 17