Nobody But You

by Julie Kenner

And even though it was probably a bad idea, that was one obligation David looked forward to fulfilling.

  Jacey popped a stuffed mushroom cap into her mouth and turned in a circle, surveying the crowd that had turned out for the Baker Wilson Gerard Parker & Talbot monthly attorney-staff Sunday afternoon mixer. Her gut instinct was to bolt, but she tamped it down. She’d come with a mission and she was determined to see it through.

  After David had brought her home last night, she’d tossed and turned in bed for hours, until she’d finally gone into the living room and started channel surfing. An old Bogart movie made her think of David, and she’d snuggled under her quilt, watching Bogie and Bacall until she fell asleep.

  By the time Tasha found her the next morning, Jacey’s resolve had been strengthened. Al might be out of the picture, but D day was still looming, and she was on a quest to find a normal, marriage-minded male. David might make her tingle in places she’d never tingled before, but Mr. Right he wasn’t. No, the best David could hope for was Mr. Right Now, and Jacey wasn’t looking for him.

  All of which meant she was back to square one. And lawyers seemed as good a place to start as any. So when Tasha had thrown on a sundress and complained about having to go to her firm’s monthly mixer, Jacey had invited herself along. Now, though, the resolve that had been so strong at sunrise was dissolving in the midafternoon heat. Now she was wishing she’d stayed on the couch, eating cheese-covered popcorn and watching Romancing the Stone on video. But no, she’d forced Tasha to bring her here for a reason, and she was going to darn well see it through.

  She spied a tall, lanky attorney with a shock of blond hair and John Lennon glasses standing underneath a Matisse rip-off. The guy wasn’t David, but he looked nice enough. And the whole point was to avoid the David types anyway.

  She grabbed Tasha by the elbow and urged her closer. “Who’s that,” she asked, covertly nodding in Blondie’s direction.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Tasha said, stepping back toward the smoked salmon she’d been eyeing.

  “Just tell me.”

  Tasha sighed, but complied. “Eric Madison. A fifth-year associate. Rumor has it he’ll be up for partner next year. His specialty is securities litigation.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s single.”

  Jacey nodded. Eric Madison fit her dating profile perfectly. “He’ll do. Can you introduce me?”

  Tasha crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, her hip brushing the table. “You were mugged yesterday. You found out your sorta-boyfriend is dead. And you almost did the wild thing with a private detective on the floor of Gregory’s store.” She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  No.“Yes. Of course. I have a plan, remember?”

  “And finding out that Al’s dead put you behind schedule,” Tasha said.

  “Well, it did.” She sounded defensive and she knew it. Although, truth be told, Jacey wasn’t nearly as concerned with the impending arrival of D day as she was with getting David out of her head. David was a love liability she didn’t need—the kind of guy a girl falls hard for because the sex is amazing, only to wake up and discover she’s forty, unmarried, and with absolutely no prospects. No thank you very much.

  She licked her lips, determined to stay the course, tow the line, and all that jazz. “Just introduce us, okay?”

  Tasha took a deep breath, then nodded. “Fine. You want boring, I’ll bring you boring.”

  “Thank you,” Jacey said. A victory, but not one she intended to revel in. For that matter, a secret little part of her hoped that Eric turned Tasha down flat. Which, considering her plan, was entirely the wrong attitude.

  Tasha took a few steps, then turned back. “In case it helps in the small talk department, we went to college with him.”

  “With Eric?”

  “He was in that class we took together in the English department.”

  “Oh.” Jacey wasn’t really sure what to say to that, and Tasha slipped back into the crowd. Jacey grabbed a carrot stick and leaned against a marble pillar, munching on the carrot as she tried to envision Eric wearing sweats and lugging a backpack. No luck. A twenty-year-old David, however, kept popping into her mind—bold and brash and a total hell-raiser. Exactly the kind of guy she’d secretly drooled over even while she was hiding out behind her sketch pad, too shy to talk to the guys.

  “Jacey!” Elliott Talbot lumbered over, then took her hand in one meaty paw. Elliot was a huge, burly man with heavy jowls and old-man eyebrows, each with a single, thick gray hair. He used those brows to punctuate his speech, giving the probably unwanted impression that fuzzy caterpillars were crawling above his eyes, antennae waving. “You look wonderful, my dear. How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Thanks. I’ve been good.” She kept her smile plastered on and silently urged him to go mingle on the other side of the room. Tasha insisted her boss was harmless, but he intimidated the hell out of Jacey. Of course, considering his track record on plea bargains, Jacey was pretty certain he intimidated the hell out of the district attorney’s office, too.

  “Did you go see Anderson?”

  At the mention of David’s name, Jacey’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, I did. Thanks for the referral.”

  “So what did you think of him?”

  At first I thought he was a nut, but he’s been upgraded to sexy as hell. She swallowed. “Perfectly competent.”

  “Well, he’s cheap, anyway,” Elliott said.

  Jacey bristled. “He’s very good at what he does,” she said. “In fact, he already found the man I was looking for.”

  “Really? I’m so pleased.” Elliott’s jaw tightened, and Jacey remembered what Tasha had said about the way David had described Elliott in Stalking Death—all bluster and very little law. Well, from what Jacey had seen, that description was perfectly apt.

  “That’s right,” she said, unwilling to let the subject drop. “He, uh, found out that Al died.”

  One bushy eyebrow lifted, the antenna flapping. “I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

  Jacey licked her lips. “An explosion,” she said. “In March.” She frowned. Something about that didn’t sound quite right, but she couldn’t figure out what was bugging her.

  “Well, I suppose it is easier to find a dead man,” Elliott said. “They don’t move around as much, you know.”

  Jacey plastered on an overly polite smile, but couldn’t think of one thing to say. Fortunately, Tasha rescued her, pushing through the crowd with Eric at her side.

  “Jacey,” Tasha said, pushing Eric ahead of her. “You remember Eric.”

  “Sure,” Jacey lied, as Elliott signaled good-bye and then faded into the crowd, probably as happy to get away as Jacey was to be rid of him. One point in Eric’s favor—he was useful for clearing away arrogant defense attorneys. Other than that, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was too tall, too blond, too blasé, and she already regretted having Tasha drag him over. She searched her memories, trying unsuccessfully to conjure a mental picture of Eric from the past. Nothing. “So great to see you again.”

  “You, too.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. She took it, noting how soft his skin was. Nothing like David’s rough hands—hands that had been surprisingly gentle when he’d caressed her skin. “It’s been a long time,” Eric added.

  She nodded. Damn. The guy remembered her, but she was clueless. She tried to picture the class—an auditorium, the professor blathering on about symbolism in Julius Caesar, the rustle of paper as the stu—

  She cut the memory off with a frown as she remembered. Beware the Ides of March. That was it. That’s what was bugging her.

  “The Ides of March,” she said, turning to Tasha.

  “What?” Eric said.

  “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand and offered an apologetic smile. “It’s great to see you again, but I have to go.”

  “Go?” Tasha said. “Go where?”

 
; But Jacey was already halfway to the door. Tasha caught up with her by the elevator.

  “Jacey, wait. What the hell is going on?”

  “The Ides of March,” Jacey said. “The date’s all wrong.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll tell you everything tonight,” Jacey promised. “Right now I need to go.”

  “Where?”

  “To tell David, of course.”

  “To tell him what?” Tasha asked, undisguised exasperation lacing her voice.

  “About Al,” Jacey said as the elevator doors slid closed, Tasha’s confused face disappearing behind a wall of polished steel.

  Jacey hit the button for the parking garage. If she was right, then Al just might be alive. Good news, of course, from Al’s point of view.

  As for her, she was more curious than excited. Al had lied about Harvard, had given her a fake name, and might actually be alive even though everyone thought he was dead. Not characteristics of Mr. Right by any means. But enough to pique her curiosity? Definitely.

  And as a bonus, she now had one hell of a good reason to go see David again.

  Al jiggled the Volkswagen’s door handle, irritated to find it locked. Damn her to hell, why the fuck had she gone and locked it? Now he was going to have to break in, because there was no way he was leaving without those diamonds.

  Stemple had tracked down Jacey’s home address, and as soon as she’d come out of her apartment that morning, Al had started following. It was her, all right. Jacey Wilder was Jude Wilde. He didn’t know why she’d given him a fake name, and at the moment he didn’t care. So long as he got the diamonds back, she could call herself Daisy Mae LaBomBom and it wouldn’t rock his world.

  Apparently Daisy Mae had saved her errands up for Sunday, because he spent the entire morning following her, waiting for an opportunity to take a look in the car. First she’d taken a taxi to Pep Boys. Then she’d headed for Starbucks in the Volkswagen. Then a video store, a drug store, a paint supply store. She even stopped at a ramshackle old house with a dilapidated garage. After that, she’d hit a newsstand and made one more visit to Starbucks. And not one place she stopped had a secluded parking lot.

  Finally, she pulled onto the entrance ramp for the 101. He followed her all the way downtown, and then into the parking structure for the twin towers on Grand Avenue. He’d parked a few rows away, waited for her to disappear into the elevator, and then crept to her car.

  Since it was Sunday, the garage was relatively empty. But since the towers housed two or three huge law firms, it wasn’t entirely deserted, and on more than one occasion he’d had to duck down behind the car to avoid being seen when the elevator doors slid open and the Sunday afternoon workaholics got off.

  Stupid lemmings. He’d been lucky—lucky—that Harvard had turned down his application. Otherwise he might have ended up working hundred-hour weeks in some snobbish law firm. Instead, he was semiretired, living the high life with money in the bank—or, at least, he would be as soon as he got those diamonds back.

  With a frown, he focused on the Volkswagen. He should be able to pop the lock—he’d read enough thrillers, and he even had one of those gizmos the cops used. He reached into his bag and pulled it out—a long, thin piece of metal—and then slipped it down between the doorframe and the window. Now all he had to do was maneuver it just right…

  Nothing.

  He tried again, but his luck wasn’t any better.

  Well, shit.

  The squeal of tires echoed over the concrete and Al’s heart pounded faster. Reggie couldn’t know he was here—Al had been totally diligent about watching for a tail. But just in case, Al needed to finish up and get out of there. Fast.

  He jammed the metal back down, this time with too much force. It slipped, and he sliced his thumb, letting out a howl that echoed through the garage.

  “Goddamn, motherfu—” He shoved his thumb into his mouth and bit down, pain against the pain. Now thoroughly pissed off and more than a little worried that Reggie or another of Joey’s thugs would come strolling by, Al ran the two rows to his car, rummaged in the trunk, and returned with a tire iron.

  One good swing and the driver’s side window was history.

  He unlocked the door and leaned inside, laying over the driver’s seat to give him easier access to the underside of the passenger seat. He ran his fingers along the smooth upholstery, looking for the tiny slit he’d made. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. What the fuck?

  Confused, he sat up. Maybe she’d found the diamonds. Maybe she’d sewn up the tear. Maybe—

  “Well, lookie what I found. My little friend Al.”

  Al froze, his stomach churning, and he made a concerted effort not to lose the three breakfast tacos he’d downed that morning.

  “Looking for something?” Reggie said.

  Taking a deep breath, Al garnered his courage and backed out of the car, then stood to face Reggie. The thug’s scar was raw and angry, bulging as Reggie moved his tongue around inside his mouth. Oh God, he was a dead man.

  “Answer me, you little shit.” Reggie grabbed him by the collar and hauled him closer, until they were nose to nose and Al’s toes were barely scraping the pavement. “Where the fuck are the diamonds? Are they in the car?”

  “That’s where I hid them,” Al squeaked. “But they’re not there. The girl—”

  The elevator binged, and they both turned as the doors slid open and Jacey stepped out.

  Reggie yanked him down and they hit the pavement.

  “If the girl has them,” Reggie whispered, “then I’ll go after the girl. But if you’re bullshitting me—”

  “No, I swear. They’re not in the car. She’s got to have them,” Al said. He didn’t know whether she did or not, but he liked the idea of Reggie going after Jacey a whole hell of a lot more than he liked the idea of Reggie going after him.

  “Hey!” Jacey’s voice. “What are you doing with my car?”

  Al looked up, realizing that from where she now stood, she could see not only him and Reggie but the smashed-in window. He turned away quickly, hoping she didn’t see his face. Stemple had told her he was dead and being dead to Jacey suited him just fine.

  “I’m calling the cops!” Jacey yelled, digging into her purse and pulling out a cell phone.

  “Get her now,” he whispered to Reggie. So long as he was stuck with Reggie, he might as well use him. And if the thug roughed her up and got her to tell where the diamonds were, that was one less task Al would have to pay Stemple for.

  “Too risky,” Reggie said. “She’s probably already through to nine-one-one. We’ll get her later.”

  Al swallowed. We. Apparently Reggie was going to be sticking close.

  “Grab the radio,” Reggie said.

  “What?”

  Reggie shoved him into the car. “Grab. The. Fucking. Radio.”

  “Right.” Al gave it a tug and it slid out. The removable kind, but Jacey must not have bothered. Reggie didn’t even give him the chance to climb out of the car. Just yanked him by the back of his shirt and pulled him over the seats, practically dragging him across the driveway and into a faded blue Buick.

  “Fasten your seat belt,” Reggie said, as he cranked the engine, then peeled out of the parking space.

  Al did. A tiny bit of safety in a life that was fast becoming very, very dangerous. For him, and for Jacey Wilder.

  • • •

  The cop wasn’t the least bit optimistic about finding her radio. Not that Jacey expected much. Lucy’d been vandalized twice before. Apparently that was the price of living in Los Angeles.

  But she’d hoped that the cops would arrive in time to catch the two creeps who had sped out of the garage in the blue car. No such luck. They’d taken their time getting there, and since Jacey hadn’t seen the license plate, the police just took a quick statement, told her to contact her insurance company, and left.

  Scowling, she watched the black-and-white drive away. So much for L.A.’s fines
t.

  Now in addition to the mystery with Al, she had to deal with a broken window and a missing radio. Considering the weather report called for rain on and off for the next few days, she really needed to get the window fixed right away. She ought to head straight for a glass place she knew about that worked Sundays, and just call David to tell him the news about Al. But that plan didn’t sit well.

  She might not want to admit it to Tasha, but she was going to have to admit it to herself—she wasn’t nearly as interested in finding Al as she was in seeing David again. Not good considering her plans, but the truth.

  And right now she was having a crappy enough day that she was willing to give in to desire rather than common sense. So she’d go see David in person. She’d get him back on Al’s case. If Al was alive—and if David found him—well, that was a problem she could deal with later.

  Chapter 7

  I was at a dead end. A big, fat zero and nothing to show for my efforts but one dead lug and a busted nose.

  Searching the lonely streets for Sarah hadn’t turned up any decent leads and Big Sal was beyond being helpful. And the most frustrating part? Someone didn’t think I’d hit a wall. Someone out there thought I knew something.

  I damn sure wish I did.

  It was time for a new tactic so I hailed a cab and hightailed it to the Palisades. A sweet neighborhood, filled to the brim with folks who have more money than I’d ever see. Folks like Mallory. And Sarah. And their father, Colonel Richard Stamp. It was his daughter who’d gone missing. It only made sense her old man might know something. Heck, I’d seen enough cases in my time to know I couldn’t rule out that Sarah’s old man might be behind the whole thing.

  And I’d never know unless I started asking questions.

  “You in there? I asked you a question.”

  David blinked and turned to Finn. “Did you say something?” They were back in the Studillac, heading toward Millie’s.

  Finn rolled his eyes. “I was just wondering what’s on your agenda for today,” he said. “You planning on researching your dead guy some more? Or are you going to give the girl who’s not your girl a call? Or none of the above?”