‘‘Milo!’’ I said into the phone, never happier to hear his voice. ‘‘It’s Abby.’’
‘‘Hi, honey,’’ he said, and immediately I caught that his voice sounded tense.
‘‘What’s the matter?’’ I whispered.
‘‘Oh, nothing. I’m just here with some friends of Dutch’s and we’re in a little meeting.’’ There was a muffling sound and I heard Milo say, ‘‘It’s my wife. I’ll be off in a sec.’’
My heart skipped a beat. Milo was talking to the FBI. ‘‘Don’t tell them it’s me,’’ I pleaded.
‘‘No worries, honey. Listen, I’ve got to go talk to these folks. Can I call you back?’’
‘‘Yes, but I’m at a different number.’’
‘‘You’re at the hair salon and the car’s acting up? Okay, what’s that number, Noelle, and I’ll call the tow truck as soon as I wrap up here.’’
I gave Milo my new cell number and he said, ‘‘Terrific. You sit tight and I’ll get back to you in about an hour.’’
I hung up with Milo and noticed for the first time that Candice and Cat were both staring at me intently. ‘‘Trouble?’’ Candice asked.
‘‘Could be,’’ I said, putting the cell away. ‘‘That was Milo. By his tone I get the impression that he’s currently chatting it up with the FBI.’’
Candice frowned. ‘‘They’re everywhere on this, aren’t they?’’
‘‘Looks like it.’’
She gave me a direct look. ‘‘Why is Dutch’s boss so quick to believe he’s part of the kidnapping?’’
I hesitated. Candice didn’t know about Robillard’s past. I’d been discreetly quiet about that for fear that there were some things she was better off not knowing. But then I realized that if Robillard caught up to us, he was the type to assume that as her partner I’d naturally filled her in on all the grisly details; therefore, at least if I actually told her, she’d be prepared. ‘‘A couple of months ago, when you and I were working the Bruce Lutz case, I tuned in on one of Dutch’s really old cold cases. About thirty years ago a CIA agent named Cynthia Frost was murdered. Her neck was snapped by a killer who left her dead while her six-year-old daughter slept upstairs. I met Cynthia’s daughter and offered her a session with me and Theresa.’’
‘‘Ohmigod, you’re talking about Bree,’’ Candice guessed, referring to the young woman whom I’d briefly worked with while I was doing an undercover stint at a mortgage company.
‘‘Yep,’’ I said. ‘‘Her mom was CIA.’’
‘‘So how does Robillard figure into this exactly?’’ Cat asked, very confused.
‘‘Robillard is also ex-CIA. When Theresa, Bree, and I all sat down together, Bree’s dead mother, Cynthia, shared a vision of her murder with me. The guy I saw kill her was unknown to me, but I told Dutch I could work with a sketch artist to help identify him. Dutch was pretty surprised when he realized the man in the sketch was Robillard.’’
‘‘Why isn’t Robillard in jail?’’
‘‘Proof,’’ I said simply. ‘‘Dutch went to his boss’s boss—the special agent in charge, or SAC, for all of Michigan—and told him what he suspected. He’s been working discreetly on the SAC’s orders ever since to try and find something to connect Robillard to Cynthia’s murder.’’
‘‘Why did he murder Cynthia?’’ Cat asked.
‘‘She had something on him.’’
‘‘Do you know what?’’
‘‘No,’’ I said. ‘‘But there were several connections....’’ My voice faded as I remembered something key.
‘‘What?’’ Cat and Candice both said when they saw my alarm.
‘‘One of those connections was to Vegas,’’ I whispered. Chills ran up and down my spine.
‘‘You think Robillard suspected Dutch was on to him, and now that your man is missing, Robillard’s trying to ruin his credibility.’’
My mouth fell open. ‘‘Oh, God,’’ I said as I realized how Robillard could use his influence in the investigation any way he wanted. ‘‘He’s not working to find Dutch at all!’’
‘‘Probably not,’’ Candice said. ‘‘If I were him, I’d be pointing everyone in the opposite direction while making it look like I was tracking down leads.’’
Then I realized that I’d tipped my hand to Robillard about what I knew regarding Cynthia’s murder. ‘‘I’m in deep shit,’’ I said.
Candice gave me a sharp look. ‘‘Please don’t tell me you told Robillard what you’d seen?’’
‘‘I might have alluded to it,’’ I said weakly.
Candice’s shoulders fell. ‘‘Shit,’’ she whispered. ‘‘No wonder he’s trying to hunt you down. Abby, you’re in some serious danger here.’’
Cat’s face had turned pale. ‘‘He wouldn’t try to hurt her, would he?’’
Candice didn’t answer her, which was almost as good as saying, ‘‘Uh... yup!’’ Instead, she got up from the table and said, ‘‘Come on, we’ve gotta roll.’’
* * *
We left the motel and headed back toward town, skirting the Strip as we stuck to the northwest section of town and cruised along some streets and alleyways that looked mostly industrial.
Candice parked in a dirt lot outside of a rusty-looking warehouse with razor-wire-topped fencing skirting the building’s border. We all got out of the car and walked to the gate, which was secured by a chain and a lock. Candice stood in front of the gate and looked up to the top of one pole where a small security camera was perched. Taking off her sunglasses, she stared into the camera and said, ‘‘Hiya, Freddy.’’
Nothing happened for several seconds. ‘‘Maybe he’s not home,’’ Cat suggested.
‘‘Oh, he’s home,’’ Candice said as she continued to stare into the camera. ‘‘He’s just deciding whether or not it’s worth his time to come out and play is all.’’
The seconds continued to click by and still there was no sign that we were addressing anyone through the camera. Behind me I heard Cat sigh. ‘‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’’ she said. Cat’s never been big on patience and she’s learned to get her way by flashing her money around. ‘‘Here,’’ she said, thrusting a big wad of cash up toward the camera. ‘‘If you’re in there, we’re paying.’’
Immediately a large garage door attached to the building began to creak open. ‘‘Nice trick,’’ Candice said over her shoulder.
Cat smirked. ‘‘I’ve found it to be quite effective over the years,’’ she said.
After the door had clanged to a stop, a small portly man with apparently bad knees hobbled out from the dimness of the garage. It took him quite a while to work his way over to us as he bobbled from side to side, but eventually he arrived at the gate huffing and puffing.
‘‘Long time no see, Fred,’’ Candice said.
With a voice gritty as sandpaper and about as warm, he said, ‘‘I thought we’d seen the last of your candy-ass.’’
That made Candice laugh. ‘‘Yeah, well, you can take the showgirl out of Vegas, but you can’t quite take the Vegas out of the showgirl.’’
I studied Fred as he fiddled with the chain and the lock. He looked really familiar, but I was having trouble placing him until Cat whispered with a giggle in my ear, ‘‘I wonder if Ethel is here too?’’ and then it dawned on me that this guy could have been the identical twin to Lucy and Ricky Ricardo’s neighbor Fred Mertz.
‘‘You might as well come in,’’ he said after he undid the chain and pulled at the gate.
Cat and I followed behind Candice as she walked toward the garage. Behind us I could hear Fred locking back up. ‘‘Aren’t we going to wait for him?’’ I asked, casting a glance over my shoulder.
‘‘Nah,’’ she said. ‘‘He’ll catch up.’’
We made our way into the warehouse and Candice led us straight over to a spiral staircase. We walked up the stairs, stepped through a door, and found ourselves inside a beautifully renovated loft. ‘‘Whoa,’’ I said as we came through the door in
to the area. Bamboo flooring covered the entire floor of the modern-looking loft, which was decorated like an upscale New York apartment with crisp linen fabrics, modern furniture, and a large open floor plan. One section was curtained off, but through the fabric you could see a king-sized poster bed. The kitchen had stainless steel countertops and appliances with glass-center cabinets and really cool track lighting. ‘‘This is gorgeous,’’ I said with a whistle.
‘‘Fred’s got taste,’’ Candice agreed.
‘‘And money,’’ Cat added. ‘‘I know some of these designers—they don’t come cheap.’’
We waited for Fred to make his way back to us, which seemed a long time, but eventually he came through a door at the opposite end of the loft, which I realized held a cargo elevator.
Waving to us from across the huge room, he motioned for us to sit in the seating area. ‘‘Lemme get a pad,’’ he said as he waddled over to a desk that was covered in computer screens—one of which held a camera’s view of the front gate.
We took our seats and Candice motioned to her chest, indicating that she would do the talking. Cat and I nodded—we’d be quiet and let her handle things. ‘‘So, what brings you by, Candy?’’ Fred said as he took a seat and whipped out some reading glasses.
‘‘We need some intel,’’ Candice said, pulling a notepad out of her purse.
‘‘Names?’’
‘‘First set is Ricardo Delgado and his estranged wife, Paloma. Their son, Ricky, daughter, Bethany, and any other immediate family members you can locate.’’
‘‘Easy enough,’’ Fred said as he scribbled.
‘‘Next we’ll need any dirt you have on Bambina Cheraz.’’
‘‘Got it,’’ he said.
‘‘And Delgado’s business partner, Donovan Kelton, especially if you can find a connection to Ricky or Bambina.’’
‘‘Anyone else?’’
Candice hesitated and shot me a look that said she wasn’t sure about something. I cocked my head to the side curiously, when she seemed to make a decision and said, ‘‘Yeah. I need you to look into Rivers Security. I need to know if they’ve got a clean reputation in town or not.’’
I could feel myself sit up straighter and I was about to protest, but Candice held her hand up in a small stopping motion, and gave me a cautionary look. With effort I settled back into my chair, but I was pretty hot under the collar.
‘‘That it?’’ Fred asked, apparently not noticing our exchange.
‘‘One more,’’ Candice said, looking back to her notes. ‘‘Raymond Robillard. He’s FBI, but he used to be CIA. See if he’s got a connection to anyone local.’’
Fred shook his head back and forth. ‘‘That’s going to cost you,’’ he said. ‘‘You know how the Feds feel about me poking around in their records.’’
‘‘We have cash, Fred,’’ Candice said.
‘‘Fine, but I want the money up front this time,’’ he insisted.
‘‘What?’’ Candice snapped. ‘‘No way, Fred. Our deal has always been half now, half later.’’
‘‘Times have changed, Candy,’’ he said. ‘‘And I know this Delgado guy. He’s got a nasty rap for pissing people off by ripping them off. There’s word that he’s got some family connections.’’
‘‘Family?’’ Cat asked, then caught herself and apologized for speaking. ‘‘Sorry, Candice, I’m not here. Forget I said anything.’’
‘‘It’s fine, Cat,’’ Candice said. ‘‘He means Delgado could have friends in the Mafia.’’
‘‘I’m too old to be sticking my neck out like this, Candy,’’ Fred insisted. ‘‘You want the scoop, you gotta put up the dough.’’
‘‘How much?’’ she asked.
‘‘Ten grand,’’ Fred said.
Candice was on her feet, with her fists balled. ‘‘Do you think just ’cuz I’ve been away for a while I’ve lost some brain cells, Fred?!’’ she yelled. ‘‘Do you think I’m now open to being ripped off?’’
‘‘I ain’t rippin’ you off,’’ Fred growled. ‘‘Prices have gone up everywhere! You ever heard of inflation?’’
‘‘Oh, don’t give me that inflation bullshit!’’ Candice roared. I glanced at Cat. She looked as alarmed as I felt by Candice’s reaction. ‘‘You’re not the only guy in town that can give me what I want, you know.’’
‘‘Fine,’’ Fred said, leaning back against the sofa cushion. ‘‘Go find someone else. This is an ugly job, and I’d rather not take it.’’
Candice glowered at him for several long seconds. Finally she said, ‘‘Five grand, Freddy.’’
‘‘Nope,’’ he said smugly. ‘‘The full ten or nothin’.’’
‘‘Seven,’’ she said.
‘‘Ten.’’
‘‘Eight fifty and that is our absolute final offer.’’ Fred scratched his chin and smiled up at her. I got the feeling he found her outburst quite amusing. ‘‘Fine,’’ he said after a moment. ‘‘I suppose for old time’s sake I can let you rob me on this job.’’
Candice leveled a look at him that clearly stated she was the one getting robbed, then motioned to Cat. ‘‘Pay the man, Cat.’’
Cat glanced at me, unsure about the deal, but I nodded to her encouragingly and she took out her wad of money. She counted out eighty-five hundreds and handed them to Fred.
He took them and recounted the money, which didn’t seem to sit too well with my sister. ‘‘It’s all there,’’ she snapped, insulted by his double count. Fred ignored her and kept counting. I put my hand on her arm to settle her down, but she gave a loud ‘‘Humph’’ anyway.
‘‘I need a number,’’ Fred said when he finished counting.
Candice looked at her notes and gave Fred my disposable-cell number. ‘‘Call us on that line when you have something solid.’’
‘‘Will do,’’ he said, and we got up to leave. ‘‘Might as well ride down with me,’’ he said, motioning over to the freight elevator.
On the ride down Candice asked, ‘‘Is Wyatt still in town?’’
‘‘He is,’’ Fred said, eyeing her critically. ‘‘You in trouble, Candy?’’
‘‘No, not yet anyway,’’ she said. ‘‘But these two could use someone with his talents. Do you know how I can get in touch with Wyatt?’’
‘‘I can have him call you,’’ Fred said.
‘‘Awesome,’’ Candice said. ‘‘Thanks, Fred.’’
* * *
We got back into Candice’s rental and my phone rang. ‘‘Hello?’’ I said.
‘‘Abby?’’ said a male voice barely above a whisper. ‘‘It’s Milo.’’
‘‘Oh, thank God!’’ I said. ‘‘Listen, Milo—’’
‘‘Hold on,’’ Milo said, cutting me off. ‘‘Let me do the talking, okay?’’
‘‘Okay,’’ I said, shocked by his abruptness.
‘‘What did Dutch tell you about his investigation into Robillard?’’
‘‘Not much,’’ I admitted. ‘‘I mean, I knew he was looking into Robillard’s past, trying to find a link between him and this woman who was murdered—’’
‘‘Cynthia Frost,’’ Milo interrupted.
‘‘So he filled you in too?’’
‘‘Briefly. He said that you’d had a vision and that it was clear to him that his boss had been responsible for the death of a CIA agent. He said that he’d been given the green light from the higher-ups to conduct a very quiet investigation, and the trail led to Vegas. That’s why he brought me in on the loop, as a matter of fact— Dutch wanted to use our security company as a front to help him dig around in Robillard’s past. He said he was going to use his cousin to help gather some intel and see what came to the surface.’’
‘‘It seems something pretty bad must have popped up,’’ I said. ‘‘But I wonder why Dutch had to use Chase. I mean, wasn’t there an agent here in Vegas that could have helped uncover something?’’
‘‘That’s where it gets extra sticky,’’ Milo said. ‘�
��Early on, Dutch discovered that Robillard and the head of the Vegas bureau were college roommates and are still good friends. They even took a vacation together last year, from what Dutch had been able to uncover.’’
‘‘I knew that Donahue guy was too creepy for words.’’
‘‘It gets worse,’’ said Milo, and his voice sounded really tired.
‘‘What’s happened?’’ I asked, sensing that it got worse for Milo in particular.
‘‘I’ve been suspended,’’ he said.
‘‘What?’’ I gasped. ‘‘Why?’’
Milo sighed. ‘‘Robillard’s people came in here this morning and pretty much spent two hours grilling me about Dutch and our security company. They claim Dutch has been using his federal access to illegally get financial information on the company’s clients. They’re also claiming that he’s been extorting money from our clients for months.’’
‘‘That’s ridiculous!’’ I shouted. ‘‘Milo, that is absolutely not true!’’
‘‘Abby, will you let me talk?’’ Milo hissed, and I worked to rein it in and let him speak. When I didn’t say anything, he continued. ‘‘I know it’s bullshit,’’ Milo said, ‘‘but the company has been recording a tidy profit for the past year and a half. We can account for all of the money, but the FBI is currently convinced Dutch and anyone associated with him is on the wrong side of the law. And that includes me and you.’’
‘‘Oh, I’m aware of what the FBI thinks about me, Milo,’’ I said. ‘‘But tell me how this got you suspended?’’
‘‘Robillard made a call to my boss while I was sitting in with the other agents. He’s convinced my lieutenant that they have enough preliminary evidence to suspect I’ve been assisting Dutch with these supposed extortions. My lieutenant had no choice but to suspend me with pay until the federal investigation reaches a conclusion.’’
I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. ‘‘This just keeps getting worse and worse,’’ I said.
‘‘Tell me about it,’’ Milo said. ‘‘Anyway, I’m about to head over to my attorney’s and get some advice. In the meantime, I was able to get that cup you sent me to the crime tech before things turned ugly for me. We ran the prints through CODIS.’’
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