“Then I won’t mention it,” Mitch said. “Stef and I are trying to track down another old basketball buddy—someone named Tony, but I don’t know his last name. Pete said he quit the team after Brad’s death.”
“That’s right. I’m not sure Tony was the kind of person who had a last name, if you know what I mean. He didn’t even bother to call and say he was bailing on us. There was something shady about that guy, but he had a decent jump shot and he could hit those three pointers. He used to live in an apartment on the corner of 39th Avenue and 100th Street in Corona. Can’t miss it. The building had a wine-red awning shaped like a bat wing over the front entrance. I gave Tony a ride home once after he hurt his ankle in a tournament.”
“You know where he worked?”
Mike wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I never got a straight answer out of him on that subject. I’m not sure how he and Brad hooked up. Take my advice, steer Stef clear of that character.”
“Point taken.”
Stef rejoined them and made excuses that they had other friends of Brad’s to call on today. Mitch could see her barely contained anxiety as they returned to the limo.
“Well, what did he say?” she demanded as Marquise held the door open for them.
Mitch quickly related the story Mike had told him about Brad’s being seemingly torn over a job offer.
Stef’s brows arched. “Could it be he was torn over his arrangement with Sable?”
“I think so, especially if she was planning to blackmail Ross Collingwood with that tape. Maybe she’d promised Brad his job back if she succeeded.”
“Is it possible that Sable never intended to go through with their arrangement? Maybe the arrangement itself was a ruse so she and Tony could stay in frequent contact with Brad and keep tabs on the baby,” Stef added passionately.
“That’s an excellent point,” Mitch acknowledged with an admiring smile, suppressing an overwhelming urge to kiss her. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Stef was proving herself to be one hell of a woman, one who would stand by the man she loved through thick and thin. They’d found out some alarming information about Brad. No doubt she was reeling from the blows that he might have been involved in a criminal conspiracy with Sable. She might even feel that Brad had betrayed her and their family, but she was unshaken in her belief that Brad had loved their child and would never place her in a harmful position. And Mitch found he trusted Stef’s instincts.
Brad had been lucky to be on the receiving end of such unwavering devotion.
Mitch saved the best news for last. “I’ve got Tony’s address. I don’t know if it’s current, but it’s a lead.”
“You got his address?” Stef flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Her infectious warmth enveloped him and brought his body to a painful and pulsing arousal. Just for a moment he fantasized about coming home to the scented softness of Stef’s arms every day—until he caught the chauffeur’s eye in the rearview mirror.
He had a feeling that news of this hug would get back to The Guardian. Mitch swore silently and gruffly disentangled himself from Stef’s arms. He couldn’t risk being yanked off the case for fraternizing with the client.
Come hell or high water, he was going to find her baby.
Chapter Ten
They had Tony’s address. Stef felt as if they were making progress when the limo pulled up outside an austere gray apartment building with a wine-red awning in Corona.
They examined the names posted over the buzzers for each apartment. There was no one obviously marked Tony. Stef held her breath as Mitch pressed the button for the super’s apartment. Please God, let them find Tony here. Alive. She wanted her daughter back.
A cantankerous voice scraped over the intercom. “Yes?”
Mitch winked at Stef, planting an optimistic glow in her belly. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find my friend Tony’s apartment. I’m worried he might have moved. I don’t see his name posted.”
“You mean Tony Conklin?”
“That’s my man.”
“He doesn’t live here anymore. You a friend of his?”
“Yes, sir. Apparently not a close enough friend, though, since he didn’t bother to tell me he was moving. When did he move?”
“Hold on. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Stef crossed her fingers in the pockets of her coat for good luck as the spry elderly man suddenly appeared at the front door. He wore a blue flannel shirt tucked into a pair of rugged work pants. And he carried a thin yellow sheet of paper and a pencil.
He opened the door for them, eyeing them suspiciously. “You say you’re friends of Tony?”
“Yes, sir. Tony and I go way back.” Mitch’s hand came to rest on the small of Stef’s back. “I’m in town on a business trip with my fiancée and I wanted to introduce her to him. I tried calling, but the number was listed to someone else. I figured he got a cell phone.”
“Well, he just up and disappeared without paying the rent. Left all his things.” The old man pointed a finger at Mitch. “You tell him I sold everything I could, applied it toward the rent. But he still owes me twelve hundred dollars.” He showed Mitch some scribbling he’d done on the back of the yellow sheet, which appeared to be a rental agreement.
“Wait a minute,” Mitch said. “Let me get this straight. One of your tenants disappears and leaves all his stuff and you’re not the least bit concerned?”
“Of course I’m concerned. I want my rent.”
“Did you call the police and report him missing?”
“Why would I do that?” the super rumbled. “Tenants run off in the middle of the night all the time. I figure he was probably arrested.”
“Did you at least call his work or his family?”
“I tried his job, but they hadn’t seen him, either.”
Which added more fuel to the fire of possibility that Tony was dead.
Stef leaned into the solid strength of Mitch’s body as if he were her fiancé. Smelled the scents of citrus and sea salt that branded him. He was as brilliant as he was gorgeous and she hoped to God that the edginess she noticed in him wasn’t because of what had happened between them yesterday. He hadn’t let it get out of hand. But was he worried that it might happen again?
Ever since Mitch had kissed her she’d become aware that she was starved for passion. Her cheeks burned with shame that she was thinking about making love with Mitch when her baby was missing and Keely was in danger.
She squeezed Mitch’s arm. They had to find the link between Tony and the kidnapper holding her biological child. “Oh, my God, sweetheart. I hope your friend is all right.”
“When was this?” Mitch pressed the super.
The old man scrutinized the contract. “July—two years ago.”
Mitch pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his raincoat. “Here’s six hundred dollars, that’s half of what Tony owes you, in exchange for whatever contact information you have for him. I want his work number, references, whatever you got. If I find him, I’ll make sure he pays you the rest of the rent. Deal? I want a receipt for the six hundred dollars.”
The super waffled for a few seconds, then took the money. “Deal. I’ll make a copy on the fax machine of the contract with the particulars.”
Mitch was grinning from ear to ear when they walked out of the apartment building ten minutes later. Wind rattled through the bare branches of the trees lining the street and a few raindrops splotched onto the sidewalk. Stef nudged the photocopy in his hand so that she could examine it, too. “I want to see.”
“Sure, sweetheart,” he teased, his teeth gleaming white against his tanned face. Stef’s heart skittered to a stop. His eyes held the mysteries of a blue-velvet sky. Soft. Sensual. And unfathomable. His warm breath whispered along her cheek, stirring her hair. “You know, I just never imagined myself as someone’s sweetheart.”
Longing, sharp and bittersweet, tangled through her, paralyzing her tongue. She meant to sa
y something flippant, that she was only following his lead because he’d introduced her as his fiancée. But something in his tone—a core thread of truth woven in his teasing words—egged her to respond with heartfelt honesty. “Don’t underestimate yourself. Beneath that movie-star face and that bossy attitude is a big heart.”
“Bossy, huh?” His gaze narrowed on her. Every nerve in her body swirled to life with awakening desire like Fourth of July sparklers.
“Yes, incredibly bossy,” she said bravely as a raindrop touched her nose. They were on a busy city street and she felt an electric soul-stirring intimacy taking root with Mitch, which, if she were honest with herself, she’d never felt with Brad.
The noise of the traffic and the wind blurred behind her as she waited for Mitch to react. She took in the breadth of his shoulders and her nipples tightened to hard, aching buds. Mitch was threatening everything she held dear. Destroying her world. She couldn’t betray her family like this, could she?
No, she couldn’t. She was behaving like a fool and he had the decency not to take advantage of her vulnerability. And he probably didn’t feel the same way.
She forced her attention back to that piece of paper. “Is there anything useful here?”
Mitch’s blunt-tipped finger pointed out a handwritten address. Was it her imagination or was his voice huskier than usual? “Here’s his employer—Rolston Security. Remember what Pete O’Shay said about seeing a uniform in Tony’s car? Looks like Tony was a security guard.”
“Is there any other contact information? References? Next of kin?”
“No. But The Guardian has worked wonders with less. By the time we check out Rolston Security, The Guardian will have run a driver’s license check, a criminal records check and a credit check.”
Stef plucked his cell phone from his belt clip. “Start dialing, sweetheart. I want to find this jerk.”
HE SHOULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT her with him.
Mitch knew from the moment she’d waylaid him in the apartment and insisted on accompanying him that Stef would be a distraction, and she was. His pulse rate was soaring upward along with another rigid part of his anatomy. They finally had a solid lead on Tony Conklin and Mitch was being sidelined by a primitive and foolhardy urge to halt the sexual banter between them by kissing her senseless.
It was only fair. After all, she was making him senseless. So senseless he’d incorrectly dialed The Guardian’s number. Mitch punched in the numbers a second time, his stomach dipping and rolling on a wave of exhilaration as the limo headed back to Manhattan to the security company’s address near Union Square. Stef had called him sweetheart. And incredibly, she’d looked at him as if he were her hero.
Sweet Mother of God, it crossed every professional ethical boundary, but he’d liked it more than he would ever admit.
Mitch was sure G.D. would detect his shaky breathing as he gave him Tony Conklin’s last known address.
“Excellent, Mitch,” G.D. said. “I’ll do a background check on Conklin ASAP. Have you got time for an update? I’ve been accumulating some interesting information on my desk.”
Mitch cast a sideways glance at Stef. She had her head bowed and her hands folded in her lap as if she were praying. Or was exhausted and needed a rest. “Shoot.”
“I just received a fax listing the participants in the rock climbing event sponsored by Office Outfitters. Sable’s name is on the top of the list. The operative who finagled the list tells me she’s an experienced climber and climbs once or twice a month at the same school.”
“So she had the means and the motive to make Brad’s fall look like an accident?”
“Yes, although we can’t place her at the scene,” G.D. said with a frustrated sigh. “All we know is what she admitted to you at the jazz club last night—that she learned of Brad’s death from a phone call she received while having a bath that evening. Unfortunately, the only prints my fingerprint expert lifted from the tape recorder and the pen video camera belonged to Brad.”
Mitch frowned. “Maybe something more incriminating will turn up on Brad’s laptop. In the meantime, I’ll verify Sable’s phone-call story with the store manager she claims called her. Maybe we can catch her in a lie.”
“Good. And one last thing, we showed the nurse who was attacked the night of Riana’s abduction a photo lineup. She couldn’t identify Brad as her attacker. She told Edwards that it happened too fast. She wasn’t sure about any of them. I’ll call you as soon as I have the info you requested on Conklin. And you might want to look at the morning Times when you have a chance. Annette’s still talking to anyone who’ll listen.”
Mitch disconnected the call and relayed the gist of the updates to Stef.
She gave him a relieved smile that made him feel almost jealous of her loyalty to her husband. “I told you Brad didn’t abduct Riana.”
A car horn blared in the maze of traffic. Mitch felt his jaw tighten with roped-in frustration. “I think you’re misinterpreting what I said. The photo lineup was inconclusive because the nurse was too disoriented from the shock of the stun gun to get a good look at her attacker. Brad could still have been her assailant.”
Stef folded her arms across her chest. “So you say.”
“Yes, I do. Last time I looked at my credentials I was qualified to make those kinds of conjectures. I haven’t ruled him out as a suspect. He has no alibi for the night of Riana Collingwood’s abduction and he was unaccounted for until approximately 1:00 p.m. the next day.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He felt her silence scorch him like a hot Santa Ana wind. She needed to stop defending Brad and to look at the cold, hard facts.
Mitch asked Marquise to stop the car so he could pick up a copy of the New York Times to check out the article about Annette that G.D. had mentioned. In the interests of keeping the lines of communication open between them, he showed the article to Stef. “Look at this. Annette’s having an epiphany about love from her jail cell, probably hoping it’ll buy her some sympathy. Too bad she didn’t decide love was the only thing before she blew her sister and her brother-in-law to kingdom come.”
Stef read the article and passed it back to him, stiffly. “It’s kind of sad that Annette did the things she did because she was trying to earn her mother’s approval. I wonder how Darren Black feels reading this, knowing she did those terrible things. I wonder if he’d defend her?”
Mitch was tempted to suggest that Darren Black was damn lucky Annette had broken off their engagement. What kind of life would that have been, constantly being compared to her sister’s husband and his billions? But Mitch kept his mouth shut. He tore the article from the paper and put it in his notebook. Stef didn’t say a word for the rest of the ride.
When the limo finally pulled up outside an ugly brown brick building, Mitch ground his molars together as he struggled to speak normally. Remain professional. “You still with me?”
She gave him a saccharine smile that suggested otherwise. “Sure, sweetheart.”
She was pissed off at him now for again casting shadows of suspicion on her husband. Mitch rolled his shoulders, cracking the tension in the taut muscles. The three miles he’d run this morning hadn’t been nearly enough. But then, he hadn’t known Stef would be glued to his side all afternoon.
Do the work. Deal with the emotions, he brusquely reminded himself.
He helped Stef out of the limo, careful not to touch her any more than necessary. Though the exterior of the building was hideously ugly, the interior of Rolston Security’s offices was crisply painted in shades of gray and burgundy. An artist’s rendition of the company shield took pride of place on the main wall of the reception area. Mitch gave the receptionist his business card from the Find Riana Foundation and asked to speak to the manager.
A few minutes later he and Stef were ushered into a well-appointed office.
A lean man in his early fifties with caution etched in his face like cracks in a sidewalk rose from behind
a handsome oak desk. He had ex-cop written all over him. Several plaques and photos on the walls testified to it. “I’m John Rolston. How do you do, Mr. Halloran?”
Mitch introduced Stef as his assistant. “I apologize for dropping by without an appointment. But it is urgent.”
“About the Riana Collingwood investigation?”
“Yes.”
“I was under the impression The Guardian was handling the investigation.”
“He is. I was hired recently by him to investigate the tips coming into the hot line.”
“Plum job. You N.Y.P.D.?”
“No, L.A.P.D.”
Rolston smiled. “Lot of good detectives must have their noses out of joint. The Guardian’s a legend in this town.”
Mitch accepted that as a compliment. “I’m here following up on a tip we received that involves one of your employees—a Tony Conklin.”
“Conklin? I’ll have to check my files. It must be a serious tip if it brought you out in person.”
Mitch hid a smile. Rolston was playing him, fishing for information, but he didn’t have time for fun and games.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Rolston. You’re a smart man—the prizes in your office tell me you’re retired N.Y.P.D. I’m sure you can see the obvious advantages in assisting in the apprehension of Riana Collingwood’s kidnapper. I’m sure you also understand that when I say that time is of the essence I’m not flapping my gums. Are you following me?”
“I see where you’re headed.” Ralston typed Tony’s name via the keyboard on his desk and peered at the monitor. “Mr. Conklin hasn’t been employed by this company for at least a year because he’s no longer in the system.” He rose and approached a bank of blue filing cabinets that lined one wall of his office. “I never toss the personnel files. People are a lot more careful about who they hire these days and checking previous employers.” He thumbed through the files. “Here it is. Conklin, Anthony James.”
He opened the manila file. “He was one of our night patrol guards for about fifteen months, until he didn’t show up for his shift and didn’t call. We repeatedly tried to contact him. We even tried calling his emergency contact number, but it was out of service. A letter of dismissal and his last paycheck were mailed to his home address, but there’s a note from accounting in his file that the check was never cashed.”
Operation Bassinet Page 15
