Aiden put that hand on my shoulder again. "Hard to say. But there's no evidence of any struggle on the premises. Nothing to indicate a second victim."
All good signs that if Apple had been here, she was unharmed. Well, relatively speaking.
I let out a deep breath. "Good." I paused, trying to summon up some sense of strength and presence. "Look, I'd really appreciate it if you could keep the kidnapping under wraps."
Aiden shot me a look. "Jamie, this is a homicide investigation."
I nodded. "I know. I'm not asking you to lie. I just…need a little time."
He didn't look convinced.
"Right now the kidnapper still thinks he has Kendall Manchester. Which means he still thinks he's going to get paid. If it leaks that all he's got is a stripper from the Valley?" I bit my lip. "Well, that wouldn't bode well for Apple."
His official stance softened some. "I know you're concerned for your friend. But I think it's clouding your judgment a little. Kidnapping is serious. This is FBI territory."
"I know." I took a deep breath. He was right. I was probably in over my head. But the more people we brought in to this, the better chance the kidnapper would get wind, and Apple would be the next dead body in a sketchy neighborhood.
"Let me help you," he offered.
Which I appreciated. But I also knew Aiden was by-the-book. And in this case, I had a feeling I might need to go off-book to keep Apple safe.
"I can't ask you to do that," I responded.
"You didn't. I offered."
God, he was sexy when he was being protective. "Just give me 24 hours," I said.
Aiden opened his mouth to protest.
But I kept going. "By this time tomorrow, I'll cooperate fully with law enforcement. Police, homicide, FBI—anyone you want."
He sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his eyes at me, contemplating the deal. He was silent so long I was sure he was going to haul me over to the homicide detective right then to retell my real tale. But instead, he finally said, "Okay. 24 hours."
I tried to look confident and not project the surprise I felt. "Okay." I held my hand out to shake on it.
Which elicited that hint of a smile again. He took my hand, but instead of shaking, he pulled me in close, wrapping both arms around me. "But be careful," he whispered, his voice low and intimate enough to make my cheeks go warm. As well as certain other parts of my body.
"I will," I promised, suddenly never wanting to leave his embrace.
He held me there for a moment longer before letting out a long sigh as he released me. "I guess this means another rain check for dinner tonight."
Sorry," I said, truly meaning it.
He nodded, and I could see the disappointment weighing on my chest mirrored in his eyes. "You mentioned a second rental property?" Aiden said, going into business mode again.
I nodded. "Wendell owns both." I gave him the address.
"I'll have Riverside PD check it out."
"Thank you." While it was a long shot that the kidnapper would move Apple from one of Wendell's properties to another—especially considering he'd left a dead body at the first one—it was worth looking at. And after what we'd found here, I was glad I wasn't the one who'd be doing the looking.
"I'll keep you posted," he promised, backing away to join the other law enforcement buzzing around. "And you'll do the same?" he asked.
I nodded, even though I was mentally crossing my fingers.
I watched Aiden jog away as Caleigh came up to my side. "I've got the all clear to go," she informed me, looking like the detective had put her through the wringer too. "You?"
I nodded, my eyes still on Aiden.
Caleigh must have followed my line of sight. "Everything okay there?" she asked, infusing the words with meaning. She was well aware of our on-again-off-again-rain-check-again relationship.
I shrugged. "I hope so." I realized how much I meant that. Spilling the whole story about Apple to Aiden had felt good. But it was the truth about New Zealand that I really needed to tell him. And all I could hope was that he still wanted to cash in those rain checks afterward.
"Let's go," I told her, turning away and taking purposeful strides back toward my car.
"Where to?" she asked, stepping double-time to catch up.
"To ask Wendell Manchester why there's a dead kidnapper in his rental property."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On the way back to LA, Caleigh called Sam and Maya and filled them in on what was likely to be hitting the local news soon as a "suspicious death" in Riverside. It was late by the time Wendell let me through the gate and inside his house. He looked ready for bed in a gray silk robe and matching pajamas. As we stood in the foyer, he made a gesture to follow him into the living room, but I wasn't staying long. My frustration had reached a point where soft armchairs, coffee, or whiskey would not help. Well, maybe the whiskey.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"Who?" he asked.
"Apple," I said through clenched teeth. I was so over this.
He opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Confusion crossed his face, but I wasn't buying the innocent act. Not anymore.
"She was at your rental property."
"My…what rental property?"
"In Riverside. Eastside," Caleigh piped up.
He waved her off. "No, that place has been vacant for over a year." He paused. "How did you even know I owned it?"
"I'm a PI," I ground out. "It's my job to know things. Like I know that you hired Pete Rivera."
"Who?"
But I wasn't the one who was going to answer questions here. "I know you had him fake-take Kendall, actually abducting Apple in order to pay a ransom for the tax write-off. But something went wrong. What? Did Rivera want more money? Was he threatening to go to the cops and expose you?"
Wendell's eyebrows drew together. "I've no idea who or what you're talking about."
"Oh come on, Wendell. The caterer ended up dead in your rental unit."
"Whoa!" He held up both hands, backing away. "Dead? Who's dead?"
"Peter Rivera," Caleigh repeated. "The former Latin King turned caterer who was at your party the day Apple disappeared."
"Coincidence?" Wendell squeaked out, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Try again,"
"Look, I-I-I have no idea who that guy is. I hired a catering company, yeah, but I didn't get on a first name basis with the help."
"Well, Pete knew you well enough to die in your rental property."
Wendell shook his head as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "No, look, you said he was here? On Saturday?"
I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Well, he must have stolen the keys!"
I shot him a look. "Is that the best you can do?"
He started pacing the width of the foyer. I couldn't tell if he was truly sorting out how Rivera ended up in his place in Riverside or if he was buying time for a good enough lie.
"I keep duplicate keys to all my properties in the study. It's right off the kitchen where the caterers set up."
"How would he even know to look for them?" Caleigh asked. "How would he know about the property?"
"I-I-I don't know." He ran his hand over his head. "Maybe he asked around. Maybe someone told him. You found out about it. It can't be hard to find."
While I wasn't totally buying his innocent act, he had a point. According to his guest list, there were well over a hundred people at his party on Saturday. Any one of them could have grabbed the keys if they really were that easy to access. Property records were available to the public. If someone had done their homework on Wendell before attempting to kidnap his daughter, they could have easily gotten a list of properties he owned and cased them to find an empty one. And what better place to hide his daughter than in one of his own rental units—the last place he'd think to look. It was all plausible.
But on the other hand…
"I hear you're hav
ing troubles with the IRS." It was a statement, not a question.
His eyes widened for half a second before he regained composure. "How do you know about that?"
"I told you. I'm a PI."
"Apparently a good one," he mumbled.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I told him. I felt Caleigh smirk beside me. "Tell me—how much do you owe?"
"W-why?" he stuttered.
"What's going on here?" Stephanie appeared at the top of the stairs. In contrast to Wendell's sleep attire, she was fully dressed in the same slacks and dark blouse I'd seen her in earlier that day. She quickly descended on us, her gaze going from me to Caleigh to Wendell. "What's happened?"
"Nothing," Wendell quickly spat out.
"What's' going on," I answered for him, "is that Wendell was about to tell us about his IRS troubles."
Stephanie's face pinched. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"As I'm sure Wendell is well aware," I said, answering the assistant while still pinning Wendell with my death glare, "a kidnapping ransom is tax deductible."
"Tax de…wait, wait, wait!" Wendell's face paled, and I noticed his forehead was covered in a thin wet sheen. "Are you trying to say I'd kidnap my own daughter?!"
I shrugged. "If the shoe fits…"
Wendell shook his head. "No, no, no. You've got it all wrong. Look, I didn't have anything to do with this!"
"Convince me," I said.
He took a deep breath. "Okay, yes, I've got some tax troubles. But it's nothing my lawyers can't work out. Nothing."
I glanced at Stephanie, who had been silent while I'd been accusing her employer of kidnapping and fraud. Now her face held a tight look, as if she were biting her tongue. I'd bet my bottom dollar these tax issues weren't really nothing.
"Look, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this. Especially not murder," he said, his voice squeaking on the last word.
"Murder?" Stephanie said.
Wendell waved her questioning expression off. As if she were a minor annoyance rather than a valid part of our conversation. "Look, I did not do this," he addressed me. "You have to believe me."
Part of me wanted to. But so far nothing out of this guy's mouth had been 100 percent honest. What were the chances he was starting now?
"Where were you around noon today?" I asked him.
"Today?" Wendell looked to Stephanie for help. "I don't know. I-I had a lunch thing…"
"With two agents from William Morris about a reality TV series."
Wendell nodded vigorously. "Yes. With them."
"In LA?"
Wendell looked to Stephanie again. Geeze, didn't the guy know anything about his own life?
"Mid-Wilshire. Tratiano's. I can get you their number," Stephanie offered.
"Send it to my office," I told her. Then I turned to Wendell. "And I'm going to need to speak to those agents as well."
Wendell did more nodding, causing a tiny bead of sweat to trickle down his temple. "Yeah, sure. Anything you need."
I was about to dig deeper into his alibi for Peter Rivera's death, when my phone chirped. It was a text from Sam.
If you don't come get Kendall, there may be a second death tonight.
Apparently even Sam's patience had a limit.
"Is everything okay?" Wendell asked, eyeing my phone.
I nodded, shoving it back into my purse. "It's nothing. I'll be in touch."
While I had a strong suspicion Wendell knew more than he was saying, I also thought it unlikely he could fake that alibi. Mid-Wilshire was a good hour from the house in Riverside. Without traffic. It wasn't like he could have just ducked out of lunch to kill Pete and pop back to pick up the bill. Unless he was counting on the two from William Morris to lie for him, he wasn't our killer.
At least he hadn't done the dirty work himself.
I reached my car and reluctantly texted Sam back. I didn't want to take Kendall in. I wanted a large glass of wine and a hot soak. I wanted peace and quiet and my head against my pillow. But what choice did I have?
Bring her to my place. Half an hour.
I dropped Caleigh off at home and drove to my own building. As I trudged up the stairs and hit the landing, I saw a shadow along the wall. Sam must have sped the whole way there in order to beat me. Though, from what I'd seen of Kendall so far, who could blame her?
I took a deep breath and steeled myself for an evening of selfies and selfishness.
"Hey," I said as I rounded the corner. But then I stopped short.
It wasn't Kendall waiting by my door.
It was Danny.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Hey, Jamie." Danny was leaning against my door, ankles crossed, hands in pockets, looking perfectly at ease. He was wearing a pair of jeans, flip-flops, and a T-shirt that was tight enough to show off his muscular frame but loose enough not to look ridiculous. He was the perfect picture of California casual, right down to the lazy grin on his face, causing a dimple to peek out at me from his left cheek.
"Uh, hi," I managed, trying hard to ignore that delicious dimple. "What are you doing here?"
"I was hoping we could talk?"
My hands were suddenly jittery as I tried to fit my key into my front door. Danny wanted to talk. I couldn't imagine what about. "Sure." I was trying to match his cool calm, but my voice came out tight and strained.
"If now's not a good time…" He trailed off.
I cleared my throat. Whatever he had to say, there was no point in drawing it out. "Yeah, no, now's fine."
I wondered where the girlfriend was. Did she know he was here? Shouldn't they be having a romantic dinner for two right about now or snuggling up on the couch with wine and Netflix? My stomach knotted at the thought.
I stepped inside, and he did the same. I tossed my keys on the side table, set my purse down, and wiped my clammy hands on my skirt. "So, what's up?" I asked, turning to face him.
Big mistake. As soon as my eyes locked on to his deep sea green ones, I felt the knots in my stomach morph into hot tension. Mixed with deep longing. Mixed with a healthy dose of embarrassment.
Get a grip, girl. It's just Danny. Your best friend. Your buddy, pal.
Only I wasn't sure I could think of him as just Danny ever again.
"You, uh, said you wanted to talk?"
"Uh, yeah, I, uh…"
Was it just me, or did he seem nervous too? Oh God. Please don't tell me he was here to talk about the girlfriend. I felt the near uncontrollable urge to stick my fingers in my ears and chant la, la, la.
"I came to apologize," he finally said.
I wracked my brain for what he wanted me to forgive him for, but I couldn't come up with anything. "Apologize for?"
"I'm sorry I put you in such an awkward position before I left for New Zealand. I felt the tension between us on Derek's boat, and you have every right to still be annoyed with me," he said.
"You don't need to apologize," I told him, feeling embarrassed and guilty all over again at the mention of New Zealand.
"Yeah, I do. It wasn't fair of me to push you when you weren't feeling anything romantic here," he continued.
I bit my lip. Hard. I had been feeling it. Feeling it so hard that I'd followed him halfway around the world. And seeing him now, standing there all hot and vulnerable, had those feelings bubbling so close to the surface again I feared they might spill over and I'd tell him everything.
"You don't need to apologize," I repeated. "I…it wasn't awkward."
"Liar." Danny chuckled, the sound low and rumbling.
I swear it echoed off the walls. Or maybe it was just echoing in my own head as all I could seem to focus on was him and how hard my heart was hammering.
"Okay, maybe a little awkward," I said truthfully. Just not for the reason he thought.
"Well, I will admit, I came on a little strong before I left. And I never should have put you in that position. I should have respected the friend zone boundaries, you know?"
"No, yo
u didn't…" I licked my lips. "I mean, I actually feel like…What I'm trying to say is I sort of…" I trailed off, searching for the right words to tell him how I felt.
But he took a step closer, putting both hands on my shoulders. The heat from his palms seared into me, the touch silencing me.
"It's okay. Look, we're cool now."
"Cool?" I squealed out.
He grinned. That lopsided, half grin thing that always held a hint of mischief in it. I loved when he smiled at me that way.
"I've licked my wounds and moved on."
I swallowed hard. "Moved on?" The words tasted like sandpaper.
He released me and took a few steps toward the windows, shoving his hands into his pockets again, seemingly unaware of how affected I'd been by his touch. "Yeah. You're off the hook, kid. I'm seeing someone new."
I nodded, unable to come up with anything positive to say about that.
"I know, it's kind of sudden, but she's helped me put a lot of things in perspective, you know? She's good for me."
Ouch. Unlike me? But he was right. I'd driven him to leave town. I'd frustrated him, rejected him, and never really been honest with myself about how I'd felt about him, let alone honest with him.
"Anyway, I just wanted to come apologize because I don't want this to affect us."
"Us?" I was beginning to feel like a parrot repeating everything he said. I cleared my throat. "What do you mean?"
He pulled his right hand from his pocket and shoved it my way. "Still friends?"
I stared at it for what felt like forever. Like shaking on this promise was some sort of contract I'd never come back from. Friends. A few weeks ago, that was all I wanted to be. Now, the thought filled my stomach with a hollow ache.
His expectant look finally prompted me to reach out and shake his hand. What else could I do? I tried to smile in his direction, pretend I was happy for him. I felt the corners of my mouth lift, but I feared I looked more deranged than anything else. I certainly wasn't feeling happy. I wanted to vomit and cry.
No, I didn't want to be friends. Well, not just friends. I wanted more. I at least wanted to see if there could be something more. And now…
I wanted to blurt out how I really felt and tell him the truth. If he knew what I was thinking and feeling and how I'd followed him across the world, surely he'd change his mind. He'd see how good I could be for him too.
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