When I got to the top of the stairs, I wrenched the heavy door open and found myself back in the hallway.
I felt like Alice coming back from the rabbit hole. Everything on this floor was unchanged: the place was well lit, the comforting scent of lavender wafted through the air and the chamber music was a soothing contrast to Mr. Beard’s funhouse screams. I glanced up at the cameras on the ceiling. There were so many of them, blinking away silently, capturing my every move. I stared up at one in particular, sure that someone on the 37th floor was watching me. I didn’t know who it was, but I raised my arm up towards the camera, made a fist and stuck out my middle finger.
I stood like that for a second. Having made my point, I ran down the hallway, past the lobby and out the door. I didn’t stop running until I reached my car. I jumped straight behind the wheel and tore out of the lot like a mad woman.
I drove without thinking, taking turns and ramps by instinct, checking my rearview mirror occasionally. My spidey sense was on alert. I couldn’t see anyone tailing me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I swerved and made sudden turns and lane changes, but my tactics didn’t seem to do anything but make other drivers honk loudly and yell at me. That feeling of being watched never went away and I wondered if this was what a descent into madness felt like.
Chapter Nine
I found myself heading towards Lake Las Vegas and keyed my way into Sophia’s gated community. As the automatic gates shut behind me I hoped that whoever was following me, if there was anyone following, wouldn’t be able to get in. But I supposed they didn’t need to get in to know that I was going to go talk with Sophia.
I called her from my car and she picked up after one ring.
“I’m outside,” I said, “Are you home?”
“Yes. I’ll get the door.”
I sat in the car for a moment and realized that my heartbeat had finally returned to normal. I took a look around. I was safe, alive, and the only casualty had been my poor stiletto.
As I stepped out, I wondered who Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes were working for. It could be anyone – Steven, Thelma, Neil, Leo or even the bored-looking man in reception.
Sophia stared at me from the door as I crossed the driveway barefoot.
“What happened to you?” she asked, barely able to keep the look of disgust off her face.
I pushed past her and headed into the nearest room, the formal living area with its antiques and Persian rugs. “What’s your shoe size?” I asked.
I could see in Sophia’s eyes that she thought I was on some kind of medication. “Si-ix,” she said slowly.
I frowned and shook my head. “Won’t work. I’m a seven. I’ll buy a new pair of friggin’ Manolo Blahniks and bill them to you. Or maybe Jimmy Choos this time.”
“Right.” Sophia looked at me like I had horns spouting from my head. “Did you come here just here to talk about shoes?”
“No. I’m off this case. That’s it. I’ll send you my final bill and we’re done.”
She went pale and bit her lip. “You can’t do that. We have a contract.”
“I’m terminating it.”
“Look.” She came and sat near me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I can’t let you quit. You know I’m depending on you.”
“Go depend on someone else.” My heart was beating wildly again. I knew I was being a coward, but I’d just gotten out of one sticky situation and I didn’t know if I’d be so fortunate next time. I didn’t like Sophia enough to risk my life for her.
“No-one else will take the case and you know it. What’s wrong? Please tell me you smoked something or had a bunch of drinks before you came here.”
My voice rose an octave. “Do I look like I smoked something?” Come to think of it, I probably did. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. “No, I’m fine. I quit. I don’t need death threats and creepy guys trying to hurt me.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds and then Sophia said, “What’re you talking about? Who threatened you? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I lowered my voice. “It was Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard.”
Sophia looked like she’d choked back a laugh. She smiled and nodded indulgently. “Yes. Of course. Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard.”
“Don’t smile at me like that! I’m not an imbecile.”
“No, of course not.” She was using what I supposed was her ‘soothing voice.’ “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll get you – what would you like? Black coffee? Fries?”
I stood up, scowling. “I’m outta here. For all I know, you hired them yourself.” That option was starting to make a lot of sense. I nodded. “Yes. You hired me just so you could say that to the jury, and then you hired Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes to scare me off so I don’t find anything else.”
Sophia looked worried and stood up. “I guess if you’re on some kind of drugs, there’s no point hiring you. But nobody else will work for me. So it’s a tough choice.”
“For the last time,” I said, gritting my teeth, “I’m not high. I drove straight here from the Riverbelle, where I went to talk with Neil and Steven, and two freaky security guys dragged me into the holding room and threatened me. I’ve been told very specifically to stay off this case unless I want to wind up dead in the middle of the desert and I’d rather stay alive, thank you very much. Sorry about the case…” I trailed off lamely. “I hope you find someone else.”
Sophia looked at me seriously. “So you’re not high.”
I grabbed my head and half-screamed, half-groaned. “Argh!” I felt like shaking her. “Is that all you got from my speech?” It was amazing how I refrained from calling her names.
Sophia shook her head. “You can’t quit, I won’t find anyone else.”
“Well I can’t just get killed either, so between the two, it’s a rather easy choice for me.”
“No, you don’t have to…” I could see the wheels spinning in her pretty little head. “You said they tried to hurt you,” she said, “How did you get away?”
“Kicked one in the balls and stabbed the other with my stiletto. Which I’ve lost, by the way. Forever.” Sophia burst out laughing and I glared at her. “It’s not funny. Those were my favorite pair of Manolos.”
She shook with laughter for a long time and then finally managed to get herself under control. “But don’t you know any kung-fu or something? I thought all private detectives knew cool fighting moves. You could have just done some karate chopping and saved your shoes.”
I took a deep breath. “No. I don’t know that stuff.”
“Well you’re working around bad guys, wouldn’t it make sense to know some self-defense moves?”
“Yes, it would.” Obviously I needed someone like Sophia to point out how big a loser I was. “But it’s a bit too late now. I quit.”
“Wait, we can figure this out.”
“Nothing to figure out,” I said, “I’d like to be able to keep my organs, my life and my new stilettos.”
“No.” Sophia frowned and sat down again. “You’re not just quitting.”
I looked at her uncertainly. It seemed kind of rude to leave right now.
Sophia jumped up, as though she’d just had a brilliant idea. I expected her to say something insightful about how I might avoid Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes but instead, she said, “You must be exhausted after what happened. How would you like some hot chocolate?”
I looked at her curiously. Hot chocolate did sound good. Come to think, that was a pretty insightful comment. “With marshmallows?”
“Absolutely.”
I brightened up. “Ok.”
Sophia led me to the kitchen and as we walked, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Stone,” I heard her say, “This is Sophia Becker. I have some work for you, it’s rather urgent. Please call me back when you get this.”
I wanted to ask who that was, but before I could, Sophia said, “Do you want a light hot chocolate or a creamy one
?”
It wasn’t even a choice. “Creamy.”
She nodded and I sat down on a barstool at the counter and watched as she pulled out a milk carton, a jar of heavy cream and a block of dark chocolate. She placed the dark chocolate on a chopping board and pulled out a knife, when her phone rang.
“This is Sophia... Oh, hi, Stone… It’s a protection job… No, please don’t send Zac, I’d rather talk to you… Sure, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
I watched as she put down the phone and began chopping up the dark chocolate block into tiny bits. “Who was that?”
“That was Stone,” she said, as though that answered everything.
I wanted to ask who he was, but a part of me didn’t really care. I was here for the hot chocolate and when that was finished, I’d leave. I watched Sophia heat up the heavy cream and milk, and add the chocolate and sugar.
“How come you have all this stuff?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like you ever eat anything.”
She smiled. “I eat. I have a personal trainer and work out two hours a day.”
“Right. But you never have hot chocolate or Danishes or cupcakes.”
“Those are for my friends. Sometimes the girls from the club come and visit me. They’re basically the only people who still hang out with me.”
My eyes widened. “You’re still in touch with them?”
“What? Just because they’re strippers we can’t be friends?”
Point. “So why’d you become a stripper?”
“Same reason as everyone else. I needed the cash. I figured I’d dance for a few years, save a bit of dough and get a degree. Maybe start a small business.”
“But you met Ethan instead.”
Sophia smiled. “Yes. I fell for that man like a ton of bricks.”
And then found out he was some kind of sex addict. I tried to come up with something nice to say, but I didn’t know the man and what I’d found out didn’t seem particularly nice. So I said, “You know, the investigation really doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Nobody has anything to say a–”
Sophia cut me off. “Keep trying. Something’s gotta come out.”
“No, it doesn’t really. You know, even the police have unsolved cases sometimes.”
Sophia poured out the drink and reached into a cabinet for the packet of marshmallows. She popped two into the mug of hot chocolate and said, “I don’t care. Keep looking. Find something.”
She placed the mug in front of me and I wrapped my hands around it. Sophia’s eyes looked glassed over and her smile seemed to be pasted on from years of practice. She was selling herself a dream in order to stay calm and I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t deliver on that dream.
There was a knock on the door and Sophia sashayed over to answer it. I heard muted voices and sipped on my hot chocolate. It was good, just what I needed to make up for losing that triple-chocolate cupcake.
The voices grew louder and Sophia walked back into the kitchen with a man at her side. He was tall, and wore dark blue jeans and a white shirt which set off his tan. I could sense the hint of some serious muscle underneath the shirt, and his face was serious and angular. Dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, almost into his piercing black eyes, and when his gaze met mine I felt a sudden rush of electricity.
Sophia said, “This is the friend I wanted you to meet.”
He held out a hand and said, “Jonathan Stone.”
“Tiffany Black.”
We shook hands and he sat down on the barstool next to me. I wondered how he and Sophia knew each other. Had she been his stripper? Had she slept with him? Not that I cared.
As though reading my mind, Sophia said, “Stone did some work for my husband.”
Well. That probably meant she hadn’t slept with him. I don’t know why that made me feel better, but it did.
I turned to him. “What kind of work was that, Jonathan?”
“Call me Stone.”
“Stone.” The correction made me feel naïve and unhip, and I frowned.
“I did some executive protection work.”
“Oh.” That was a euphemism for bodyguard duty.
Sophia prompted me, like she was urging a toddler to recite a nursery rhyme, “Tell him what happened with Beardy Hair and Pointy Eyes.”
“Beady Eyes,” I said, sounding cross, and took a sip of my hot chocolate to remind myself why I was here.
Stone crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward, looking at me carefully.
I glanced at him, half-expecting him to smile encouragingly, or maybe even mockingly, but his face was impassive.
“I don’t know who you are,” I said to him, “I’d feel silly telling you the story of my life.”
His expression didn’t change. But he did say, “What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, who you are, what you do, and what your background is.”
“Jonathan Stone.” There was a long pause. “I’m a guy. I own Stonehedge Security. I was in the CIA. I’m retired from that now.”
“Stonehedge Security. What do you?”
“Security services.”
The guy was attractive, but I wondered if he was daft, or just being obtuse. I didn’t need an idiot protecting me, but on the other hand, he had been in the CIA. He must’ve had some experience with men like Beady Eyes and Mr. Beard, and probably with men a lot worse.
On the other hand… “How do I know you were really in the CIA?”
Stone said, “I have my references.”
“Don’t you CIA guys work like ghosts? How can you have references?”
Stone gave me a funny look, and Sophia interjected, “He worked for my husband; Ethan wouldn’t hire a bodyguard he didn’t trust. What more do you want?”
Stone was watching me carefully, and I tried picking apart my conflicting emotions. I was still on the fear rush from being threatened, and I was human enough to see that Stone was one fine-looking man, but I could feel something else, something that I wasn’t too sure of.
“I don’t really trust you,” I said.
“You’re being silly,” said Sophia, while Stone continued to watch me carefully.
“You can call Jameson,” he said finally. “He’s my CIA reference.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” I said, mentally filing the name away. But I probably wouldn’t call this “Jameson” – a man would have to be crazy to lie about being an ex-CIA operative, and Stone didn’t seem crazy. “Why’d you leave?”
“Same reason everyone leaves. It got too much.”
A shiver ran down my spine, and I knew that he’d seen a lot worse than some casino goons who liked to threaten women in their holding cell. He could keep me safe. But on the other hand, I didn’t need this man and his strange quietness hanging around me.
I picked up a teaspoon, fished out one half-melted marshmallow and chewed it thoughtfully. “It was nice meeting you. But I don’t need protection.”
Sophia looked from Stone to me, and said, “You’ll keep working on the case?”
I swallowed the marshmallow, fished out the other one, and ate it happily. Now that I had some warm, chocolate liquid inside me, I was feeling a lot better. Come to think of it, Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes were clearly imbeciles, the way they had let me run off like that. I didn’t have anything to fear from them, really, and I doubted they’d want to tango with me again. Mr. Beard would most likely spend the rest of his life in mortal fear of stilettos, and Beady Eyes would probably spend a week at home with an icepack pressed against his junk. Besides, I’d never go back to the Riverbelle, so I’d never see those two again.
It would be a shame to let Sophia down and give up on my first case. This nice, hot-chocolate-creating woman would be convicted of a murder she didn’t commit and I would be branded a failure. I’d always remember that I’d let down someone who needed my help and I’d probably never get a PI job again.
So I nodded and said, “I’ll keep working.”
�
��Great!” Sophia smiled. “I knew it was nothing to worry about.”
“Tell me what happened.” Stone’s voice was deep and serious and he swiveled around to face me, his dark eyes boring into mine.
I was about to beg off, but there was something in his eyes that demanded an answer. He was looking at me as though his whole life depended on hearing my story, so I quickly recounted what had happened, finishing off with kicking Beady Eyes, punching and stabbing Mr. Beard, and running out of the casino.
Stone looked at me the whole time, his attention never wavering. When I finished the story, I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face. “So. You managed to hurt them pretty bad.”
“Well,” I said, reflecting, “I could hear Mr. Beard’s screams all the way up the stairs and I didn’t look back at Beady Eyes, but he didn’t seem to be too happy.”
Stone nodded. “And then you drove straight here?”
“Yes.” I remembered the fear I’d felt and how I’d driven like a maniac. “It felt like someone was following me. But that might’ve just been my adrenaline rush.”
Stone looked at me thoughtfully, and then took out a business card, flipped it over, and wrote something. He passed the card over to me and I read: Carla Dubois, KravMaga, 586-3325. Stone: 548-2525
I flipped the card over. The other side was Stone’s business card, with his business name and office phone number.
“Call me if you’re in trouble,” he said, “And call Carla to schedule a lesson.”
I tucked the card into my purse and said, “I’m fine, but thanks.”
“I see you’re not wearing stilettos right now.”
Touché. The man might look like he was made of wax and sounded almost like that too, but he wasn’t stupid. I nodded and said, “I’ll call her.”
“Right. The next thing you’ll need is a weapons permit.”
“I’m not carrying a gun.”
Stone looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but all he said was, “Suit yourself.”
Innocent in Las Vegas: A Humorous Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 1) Page 5