Kill Me Twice

by Roxanne St Claire

  She gave them both a self-effacing smile. “Christopher, could you help me, please? Just come with us to the security office and tell me if you’ve seen this guy. I hate to get the police involved—we don’t want this place crawling with reporters from the Herald.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “You know how much we need our privacy and security in this building.”

  He raised a clefted chin. “Come on, Jessie. Don’t do this to me. You know.”

  “I know. But, please?” She put a warm hand on Norton’s arm.

  He swallowed visibly. “Okay. New official statement: Someone delivered some galleys from my publisher yesterday. It could have been around three thirty. Will that keep the police away?”

  “Did you see the courier?” Alex asked.

  Jazz burned him with a look, then turned her charm back on Christopher. “This won’t go public, I promise. It’s just for my peace of mind.”

  “Okay, okay.” His cheeks darkened slightly. “I was…I needed some creative stimulation yesterday.”

  “And you had a visitor,” she gently urged him on. “Didn’t you?”

  “A very reputable escort service, Jessica. I assure you.”

  She whipped her head around to give Alex a look of sheer victory before flashing a smile to Christopher Norton. “Thank you. You are a good neighbor, Christopher.”

  He reached out and touched her arm. “Only for you, Jessica.”

  “Could you identify him?” Alex interrupted.

  Norton looked up at Alex with pure irritation. “Well, yeah.”

  “Will you come downstairs to security with us?” she asked.

  “With you, Jessica,” he responded, firing Alex another withering glance.

  “I go where she goes,” he said darkly.

  “Lucky you,” Norton said in a stage whisper to Jazz. “Wait while I get dressed.”

  The door closed and Jazz turned to him. “So. Mr. Avoid the Camera was a gay male escort.”

  “Possibly.”

  “I just knew it,” she said. “I knew he was hiding something immediately.”

  “Maybe he is.” At her confused look, he added, “Maybe the little twerp has your sister bound and gagged in there and is doing all sorts of unmentionable things to her.”

  She choked back a disbelieving laugh. “He’s a gay chef, Alex. What could he do to hurt her? Force feed her chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Then why didn’t he let us in?” Alex countered.

  “Because you are just way too intimidating.”

  The door whipped open and Norton had changed into jeans and a button-down shirt. Jazz gracefully got him to talk about his latest project all the way down the elevator and into the security offices. She managed to guide the guards out of the room after they cued up the tape. And then she proceeded to make mincemeat out of Alex’s intruder theory by getting Norton to admit that the man on the camera was his “escort” the day before.

  When they were back in the SUV, headed toward the studio for the evening broadcast, they were no closer to knowing who’d entered Jessica’s apartment than they had been the night before. Alex had procrastinated calling Lucy all day. Meanwhile, Jazz was cloaking herself in her belief that her sister was fine—except for her tawdry sexual activities on the side.

  The whole situation infuriated him.

  He pulled off Brickell Avenue onto a side street through the heart of downtown Miami. Despite the glitzy location right near the white-collar, high-end financial district, the Miami River section of downtown gave the local DEA plenty of work.

  The streets were nearly deserted, but he noticed headlights of a car about a block behind him that had taken the last two turns he did.

  “After this broadcast,” he said, his gaze shifting between the rearview mirror and the road, “you don’t have to be at the studio for two days or pretend to be Jessica for forty-eight hours.”

  She turned in her seat to look at him. “Does that mean you’re leaving?”

  “No. We’re going to find your sister. No matter what it takes.”

  As the lights approached his back end, he purposely dropped his speed. A sedan with blacked out windows passed slowly.

  “She’ll call by then, believe me.”

  The passing car picked up speed quickly and turned off at the next crossroad. Alex eyed the darkness of Brickell Park as they approached a two-lane drawbridge over the Miami River.

  “Do you have that kind of identical twin experience where you feel what she feels?”

  “Empathy? Nah, we never had a ‘shared language’ or any of those twin weirdnesses. We are night and day.”

  “Rivalry?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I’m not the jealous type.”

  “And Jessica?”

  “Jealous of me?” She laughed as though it were preposterous. “Jessica’s got it all going on and then some. Trust me, this is the first time I ever got called in to get her out of a jam. On the other hand—what is that guy doing?”

  The sedan sped out of the cross street and turned into their lane.

  Her gasp matched Alex’s curse. Blinding bright beams bore down on them as both cars approached the opposite sides of the short bridge.

  The sedan picked up speed, heading straight for them.

  “Alex!” Jazz called out, gripping the dashboard. “Watch out!”

  He swerved into the left lane to avoid a head-on collision. The sedan slowed down and whipped into the same lane as Alex threw the Escalade into reverse and cut backward. The rear end smashed into the side of the drawbridge with a deafening clunk.

  The sedan bore down harder, directly at the passenger seat. A ninety-degree hit would shove the SUV right over the bridge. Alex slammed on the accelerator and fired forward, swerving again, narrowly avoiding the sedan before it screamed across the bridge.

  “Go get him!” Jazz ordered, turning to watch the taillights disappear into the next side street.

  Alex just glared at her.

  “What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “He’s getting away!”

  “You don’t get it, do you, Jazz?” he asked.

  She slammed her hand against the seat. “How could you sit here after someone just—”

  “I protect, not provoke,” he said simply. “There’s a huge difference. My job is not to stand and fight; it’s to anticipate risks them and avoid them. My job is to keep you alive.”

  “Very noble, Mr. Bodyguard,” she said, glowering at him. “But you just let some idiot get away who tried to run us off the road.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her as he stopped at a red light. “Let me ask you something.”

  She looked at him silently.

  “You love your sister, right? You want her to have her great career and fancy apartment and legions of adoring fans.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  He floored the accelerator, channeling his frustration into his right foot, keeping his voice calm. “Pull out your phone, cancel your newscast, then step aside and let me call in some experts so we can find Jessica. Before it’s too late.”

  He heard the quick intake of her breath. Then she slowly reached for her bag and pulled out her cell phone. “On one condition,” she said.

  He barked a laugh. “I don’t do conditions.”

  “I’m in charge of the investigation, Alex. I am an equal here, not a tag-along.”

  He tried to think of one Bullet Catcher who could come into this job and match her investigation skills, but he didn’t know any who could hack and cajole information out computers or people better than Jazz.

  “Fine. You be in charge of the investigation. Just stop pretending to be her so we can find her. If you don’t show up for a few newscasts, she might call to find out why you’re jeopardizing her job.”

  Jazz’s heart was still smacking against her ribs as she dialed the newsroom number. He was right, damn it.

  “This is Jessica Adams,” she said slowly. “I need to talk to…” Sh
e looked up at Alex for a moment. “…whoever’s on the desk right now.”

  In a moment, the line clicked. “Assignment. Jergen.”

  Did Ollie ever go home? Jazz could have sworn he spent every waking minute at the station. And she wasn’t thrilled that he’d answered her call; their parting had been too uncomfortable.

  “I’m not able to do the eleven o’clock newscast,” she said quickly.

  For a long moment, there was dead silence.

  “Ollie?”

  “I heard you. You’re being really, really dumb.”

  Guilt swirled through her gut. “I know, but I’m sick, Ollie. That stomach virus is totally—”

  “Jess!” He hissed into the phone. “This is me, for Christ’s sake. Cut the crap. I know what’s going on, remember? I know exactly what you’re doing on your off hours.”

  He did? “Well…” She glanced at Alex, whose impassive expression didn’t change as he’d turned the SUV around and headed back to Del Mar Towers. “What do you think I should do?”

  Ollie snorted. “Sweetheart, what I think isn’t important. The only person who matters is Yoder. At least to you.”

  Yoder? Her mental computer called up the Y’s in Jessica’s address book. Had there been a Yoder? “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “Why the hell do you think? You’ve made your decision and you’ve made your commitment. Forget me.” He laughed sharply. “Well, you did that, already.”

  “Ollie, stop it.” How had Jessica forgotten him? “What about Yoder?”

  “What about him? He came after you, baby, and you bit the hook. Now you have to live with that decision. But this? Calling in sick at ten o’clock? It’s unprofessional, unethical, and stupid. What’s gotten into you?”

  She had no idea what to say, but he sighed softly.

  “I don’t know, Jessie.” Some of the anger had gone from his voice. “This whole thing came at you hard and fast, and I understand the allure. I mean, I obviously do. I guess even you are entitled to be weird. Especially after you got those wacko letters, and now you’ve got Guardzilla dogging you every time you go to the bathroom.”

  The allure? Of what? “It’s been difficult,” she said, going over his words in her mind. “But what’s the allure, exactly?”

  He chuckled. “You kill me, Jessie. You really do. Go do what you have to do. I’ll get Jon Boy Walden to cover for you. But on Monday, you gotta tell loverboy the truth. And don’t expect him to write you up a flattering au revoir press release. He’ll do everything possible to make your name mud when he finds out you went behind his back on this one.”

  Mud? An au revoir press release? Jazz clenched her teeth in frustration. Did she dare trust Ollie with the truth?

  Before she did anything rash, she’d follow the lead on Yoder. “I’m having a hard time reaching Yoder. I can’t find his number here. Do you have it?”

  He was quiet and she heard an alert from the police scanner in the background. “I gotta go, Jess,” he said quickly. “Anyway, I threw that number away.” He clicked off the line without another word.

  His phone number must be somewhere in Jessica’s cell or home phone. She’d find him. She could find anyone.

  Except her sister.

  As soon as they got back, Jazz locked herself in Jessica’s room to launch a skip trace on someone named Yoder. There was no mention of the name in Jessica’s computer, or on her caller ID on either her home phone or the cell Jazz had found in the closet.

  She tried every directory on the Web, and found a few Yoders in Miami, two in Miami Beach. Were they worth a try?

  She replayed the conversation with Ollie. Perhaps Jessica was about to break up with Kimball Parrish for this Yoder guy. Would Parrish fire her for that? No. He’d been talking to her about network opportunities.

  And where did Ollie fit in? Why was he so hurt? Did he love Jessica and feel jilted?

  Could Yoder be a source? Could the story she was working on risk getting her fired? Or be something she would quit over?

  Jazz trolled through her own computer files and reread all of Jessica’s messages over the past few weeks. There was a rushed quality to everything, but Jess had indicated that she was working on a big story and the station management frowned on that for some reason.

  Right there, that didn’t make much sense. They liked their anchors to have some ownership of breaking stories—at least they had at the TV stations where Jazz had worked. But Jessica gave the impression they were not keen on her doing any investigative reporting.

  She said she’d need to be off-site for a while—whatever that meant—and she was sure if Jazz could step in for her, she’d never be missed. And there was that one e-mail, sent a few days before Jazz left.

  I’ve met someone amazing, Jazz. He could change my life. He’s smart, connected, and, best of all, he has a heart of gold.

  Connected. There was something distinctly unromantic about that description. What kinds of connections were important to Jessica?

  She cared about the breast cancer foundation she’d been involved with for years. But a scan through all the computer files on the subject revealed no one named Yoder. She’d never bothered much with social connections; work was always more important than her personal life.

  She’d never hid her ambition; in fact, she wore it as well as any of her gorgeous clothes. With unabashed determination, she’d always had her eyes on the prize and had eschewed romance, fun, and travel since they’d gotten out of journalism school. Jazz, on the other hand, had pretty much embraced fun, managed to find romance—albeit mediocre—and loved to travel. Which was why Jazz didn’t make it in cutthroat TV land and Jessica was on top of her game.

  So what business connections would matter to Jessica?

  She started Googling the local television stations, then the major networks, easily hacking into the intracompany telephone databases. There was a Yoder at ABC, a female production assistant on a syndicated talk show, but Ollie had definitely said he. There were no other Yoders at the major television networks, including Metro-Net.

  All the networks were owned by larger conglomerates, so she started checking those corporate Web sites. Metro-Net was owned by Yellowstone, Inc., a megalith with fingers in more pies than she could imagine. But none of those pies was baked by someone named Yoder.

  Who was higher than the executives at these corporations…the boards? Her fingers flying, she quickly found the board of directors for Yellowstone.

  Bingo! She stared at the name highlighted on her screen, then scanned his bio.

  Miles Yoder, a former investment banker who’d made billions on the Internet bubble, had been on the board of Yellowstone since 1999. That was connected. A surge of excitement burst in her as she clicked madly until she found the phone number of his office. She grabbed Jessica’s cell phone and resumed a search for incoming and outgoing calls.

  She almost called out with joy when she matched the number. Since it had no corresponding ID, she’d skipped over it before. He’d called her five days ago from his office! A thrilling rush of adrenaline burst in her veins.

  Smart, connected, and a heart of gold.

  Jazz leaped off the bed to tear into the hall and tell Alex, then froze. Would he help? Or would he avoid risks at all costs? She hated how he’d refused to finish the job on the bridge, demanding that she play the game his way, on top of it. The macho man who had to call the shots. Sorry, Alex, but not this time.

  In a few moments, she had her computer logged onto every different name-search capability she could unearth. No home phone number was listed for Miles Yoder in the metro New York area. She tapped into the private sites for name search information, and finally unearthed what looked like the exchange for a cell phone number for Miles H. Yoder in Manhattan.

  Cross-checking it with Jessica’s phone, she found the same number there, again with blocked name on the ID screen. Giving herself a mental pat on the back for investigative brilliance, she pressed dial without t
aking a moment to think about what she was doing.

  It didn’t even ring one full time. “Jessica? Is that you?”

  She almost fell backward in relief. “Yes.”

  “Why aren’t you doing the newscast? I’m watching it right now.”

  A member of the Yellowstone board of directors was watching a Miami local newscast? “Where are you?”

  “Exactly where we left off,” he said with a hint of a soft laugh. “Hung out to dry and waiting for you.”

  Somehow, she just knew he had the answer to where Jessica was. But she couldn’t ask him, “Where am I?” while she was playing Jessica on the phone. “Are you…here?”

  “Of course. I told you I’d stay until you were finished.”

  With what?

  “Are you?” he prodded.

  “Almost. I need to see you.”

  “Now?” he asked, surprised.

  Every minute mattered. “Yes, if that’s possible.”

  He was quiet for a second. “Have you made any progress?”

  “A little.” Come on, Miles. Give me something to go on here.

  “You haven’t gotten yourself in too deep, have you?”

  Something twisted in her stomach. What was Jessica up to? She had to know, and Miles Yoder had the answers.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said. She had to see him in person and assess his trustworthiness. Possibly confide the truth. “It can’t wait.”

  “My wife is asleep.” A little aftershock rippled through her. This was definitely business, then. Jessica would never be involved with a married man. Of course, she’d have made the same claim about Jessica’s owning, watching, or participating in sex videos. “Why don’t we meet in the bar or at the pool?” he suggested.

  “Okay. Where are you?”

  “Still at the Biltmore. I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.”

  Guardzilla would love her traipsing around the Biltmore at this hour. “I’ll be there.”

  She popped off the bed and dropped Jessica’s cell phone, a buzz of exhilaration making her head light. She had to ditch Alex. He’d ruin everything with those piercing, inquisitive eyes and that supersize body, demanding she sidestep danger even if it led her directly to Jessica.