“Whoa.” King was the guy who’d stared at me in Katrina’s last night. Except in the photo he wore dark sunglasses with his fedora. “Have you ever seen him without the sunglasses and hat?” I asked Baumann.
“Never.”
“I saw him with the hat, but without the sunglasses. He was in the Tenderloin the night of the protest.”
Baumann paused, thinking. “He was there, huh?”
“You mentioned Sasha was planning to meet someone after the protest? Any idea who she was meeting?” I told him what the blond woman had said, that they took Sasha because she was a reporter.
“She was meeting someone for her story,” he said. “Supposed to file that night. She had one more source to check with. It’s slated for A1 on Sunday. A blockbuster story. We were going to scoop every paper in the country on this one.”
“What’s it about?”
He sighed. “I’ve never given a reporter this sort of leeway before, but Sasha’s an exceptional case. She’s the best reporter, student or professional, I’ve worked with in my thirty years in journalism. As far as her story goes, she was keeping it close to the chest. But she did say it involved the mayor’s office. Something that would bring the mayor down. In flames.”
“Bloody hell!” I flashed back to seeing the mayor coming into Café Katrina’s after the protest.
“Yes. Something big.”
I was looking at my notes, scribbling and circling words: King. Antifa. Mayor Evans. Protest. Oakland. Berkeley. The Tenderloin.
“Why would King’s group have kidnapped Sasha if her story was about the mayor? And why were both of them at Katrina’s afterward?”
“Together?” Baumann raised an eyebrow above his glasses.
“No. He left right before Evans and his entourage arrived.”
We both sat there in silence, thinking. Finally, I said, “I don’t suppose she told you anything about her source?”
“Sasha, like me, protects her sources. She would only tell me if I needed her to and right then I didn’t need to know. Now, I’m kicking myself. I should’ve never let her go off like this, keeping the story to herself. She was just so damn stubborn sometimes. I should’ve made her tell me everything—for her own good.”
“Any idea where she was meeting the source?”
He shook his head.
“But that never happened, did it? They grabbed her at the protest.”
“They might have been trying to prevent her from getting to the meeting or maybe her source was behind the kidnapping,” he pointed out. “What if he or she was compromised and also grabbed? We don’t know much at this point.”
I chewed my lip for a minute, thinking. There had to be some clue somewhere as to who her source was. “Her laptop is missing,” I said. “Any chance it’s somewhere here?”
“I tore the newsroom apart looking for it,” he said, opening the door. “But maybe fresh eyes will help. You’re welcome to look around. I’ll show you where she sits.
As soon as we walked in, a young man rushed up to him.
“Brody just filed. It’s in the que.” The boy, who had messy hair and blue eyes looked me up and down. He gave me a smirk I think he thought was sexy.
Baumann handed me a card. “My cell is on the back. Call me if you need anything. Josh, can you take Miss Santella over to Sasha’s desk? Tell her anything she needs to know.”
“Got it.”
I scribbled my own number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Baumann before he walked away. “Thank you.”
I turned my attention to the boy in front of me who still had that dumb ass look on his face. I drew back and took him in from his pretentious hair down to his Abercrombie tight sweatshirt, shorts and expensive sneakers. I admit, I might have lingered a little on his crotch. Then, I met his eyes and smiled.
Unnerved, a red flush crept up his neck and he turned away. “This way.”
In a far corner was a desk below a map of Berkeley. The desktop computer screen was pushed off to the side, along with a keyboard. A few books were stacked in a corner. The desk was covered with a large calendar.
“I’m looking for her laptop,” I said, not wasting time on chitchat with Big Man on Campus.
“It’s usually right here if she’s in the office.” He tapped the desk top and then leaned down peering under the desk. “Otherwise, if she’s out at class or something, she’ll sometimes tuck it into her bag down here.”
He stood back up. “Not there.”
I sat at her desk.
Josh cleared his throat behind me. “Is Sasha okay?”
His voice made me soften. I turned in the chair. “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out. You friends?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Do you have any idea who she was meeting at the protest or where?”
He frowned and looked off in the distance. “She was really excited but she didn’t tell me anything. She kept skipping around the newsroom saying the Pulitzer was hers.”
I laughed, but then quickly sobered. Turning back to the desk, I grabbed the calendar, going straight to the other night.
It said, “Eddy. 12. KKK.”
Standing, I walked out without another word. Walking back to my car, I thought about calling James with what I’d found, but decided to sit on it for now. I’d call him when I had more to report. Meanwhile, I had next to nothing to work with: a partial license plate number and some scribbles on a calendar.
Who was Eddy? Was she meeting him at 12, midnight? Was he a Klu Klux Klan member? Or did it mean something else, altogether?
CHAPTER TWELVE
STUCK IN TRAFFIC WAITING to get onto the Bay Bridge, I cursed all the people in the Bay Area who apparently had nothing better to do than clog traffic.
I rolled down my windows, letting the breeze from the water wash over me and cranked the Jetset Junkies to drown out the cat calls from the moron in the lane beside me.
Yes, it’s a Ferrari. Yes, it’s mine, not my daddy’s or my baby’s daddy’s.
My music came to an abrupt halt as my phone chimed through the car speakers.
Bobby.
“Hey.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice betrayed me.
“Hey.” He cleared his throat. Was he nervous? “We still on for tonight?”
Hearing Bobby’s voice always made me a little weak in the knees. No other boy had ever had quite that effect on me. Today was the day Bobby and Dante were going to meet. Dante was making dinner for us and Bobby was going to stay the weekend with me. I’d been both nervous and excited about it for the last week. That is, until Sasha was taken.
For a split second, I considered canceling, but then realized that it was what I always did: run off to be by myself when things got complicated.
“Yes. I’m really looking forward to it, but something’s come up.”
“Are you canceling?”
“No, I just meant that I have some stuff going on I need to tell you about.” I lowered my voice. “I really, really want you to come. But I might be busy this weekend with some other stuff. You can tag along, if you don’t mind.” I grimaced. I sounded so wimpy, and uncertain.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
“You have a few minutes?” I asked.
By the time I got to the toll gate, I’d told Bobby the whole story.
“What can I do?” It was the first thing he said when I finished and it made me smile. He was just my speed.
Traffic on the bridge had slowed to a stop and I gazed out over Treasure Island to where my Russian Hill apartment building was. It protruded from the highest hill in the city. I dropped my gaze to the left where the Tenderloin was and where my new home would be soon.
Bobby repeated his offer. “I want to help. Tell me what to do.”
“I’m not sure. I need to get in touch with the TV station. They had a helicopter up that night. I need to find that woman with blond hair. I need to find out who Eddy is? I don’t even kn
ow where to start. I just want you to understand why I might seem a little antsy tonight or distracted.”
“You’re doing what you can,” he said. “You did right to chase after Sasha. You got a plate number. That’s huge,” his voice was firm. “And you got something at the newspaper. We’ll try to figure out what it means. We can call the TV station. And if something comes up tonight, we’ll skip dinner and chase that lead. Got it?”
Bobby got me.
“Thank you.” I said softly. “See you soon.” I clicked off and felt a weight lift off me that I hadn’t realized was there. I couldn’t cancel on Bobby and Dante, but the thought of drinking and partying with Sasha missing didn’t sit well. I couldn’t get the look in Darling’s eyes out of my mind. The strongest woman I know reduced to a fearful child.
When I got to my place, Dante was already there and something smelled amazing.
I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re already cooking?”
“My sous chef was MIA, but I managed to get started.”
“It’s going to take six hours for you to make dinner?”
“At least.” He seemed offended that I would think otherwise. His dark hair was pulled back off his face. So cute.
“Do you always wear a man bun when you cook?”
“Always. Where’s Django?”
I ignored his question. I swear everyone cared about that damn dog more than me. I threw out my arms and stretched luxuriously. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Ditto, paesana.” He looked up and smiled. He looked good. His olive skin glowed and his eyes were bright.
“What’s on the menu, Julia Child?”
He rubbed his palms together. This was his favorite part. “Traditional Corsican saffron-infused risotto with scallops, scampi, and ranch quail eggs served with garlic-infused squash blossom fritters followed by a wild fennel, watercress, and rocket salad sprinkled with a rosé vinaigrette. For dessert, a simple but refreshing lingonberry gelato.”
I shrieked and ran over to grab him around the waist, twirling him around. “I don’t even know what the hell you just said, but I know it’s going to be fabulous!” I grabbed his face and kissed his cheeks so many times he grew red.
“You are the maestro!” I drew away and did a deep bow. Then I remembered Sasha and was filled with guilt. I reached for the bourbon, pouring us each at least three fingers.
He raised an eyebrow as I handed the crystal glass to him.
“But seriously, where is Django?”
“My dog is having an extended sleepover at the salon for now. I’ll fill you in on what’s going on. It’s Darling’s granddaughter.”
By the time I’d finished, we’d both downed the bourbon and poured more.
“Oh, boy.”
“Yup.” I took a big gulp. “So that’s why I couldn’t help you with the curmudgeons on the board. Any luck?”
He looked thoughtful. “Maybe. Sal gave me some ideas where to look. I think I might have stumbled onto something.”
I raised my glass to him. “You’ve always been my favorite partner in crime, Dante.” I was starting to feel buzzed from the booze and it made me sentimental.
“Well, it sounds like there’s a replacement waiting in the wings.”
I raised an eyebrow and he smiled. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
My stomach erupted in nervous flutters.
“I’m worried sick about Sasha, but I am going to try to set that aside and enjoy the two most important men in my life meeting for the first time.”
I poured us glasses of red wine from the bottle I had opened the night before. “Salut!”
“What? You trying to get us drunk before he even gets here.”
“Drink!”
“Salut!” he said and took a small sip. “Oh, Gia. You have fine taste in wine. Awful taste in clothes and men, but fine taste in wine.”
I gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Stop. I told you that Bobby was different.”
He winked. “He must be different because he’s the first boy you’ve ever introduced me to.”
“Really?” I was surprised to hear it, but when I thought back I realized he was right. Dante was too special for anyone else to meet. My stomach tumbled. I only hoped they would like each other. Otherwise, I’d be devastated. They had to like each other, didn’t they?
While Dante was busy in the kitchen, I sneaked into my bedroom to make a few calls. If I didn’t do at least something to try to find Sasha tonight, my anxiety would ruin everything.
I called Channel 5 first. The friendly receptionist told me my best bet was to come by the studio in the morning. The same crew who covered the protest would be working then. I should ask for the producer. Then I called James and left a message asking him to call me if he had any luck tracing the license plate. My last call was to Darling. The salon manager, Shelley, told me that Darling was sleeping. That she hadn’t slept at all the night before and now had finally crashed. I didn’t want to wake her so I told Shelley I’d be by in the morning.
THE CANDLES WERE LIT and the lights dimmed. Bobby would be here soon. I was nervous, so I let off steam by dancing around to the White Stripe’s “Seven Nation Army” while singing at the top of my lungs. I kept annoying Dante trying to get him to dance with me. He finally banished me to the living room.
“Did I mention you have awful taste in music, too?” Dante hollered from the kitchen.
“Oh, be quiet, you old fart. This is what all the hip kids are listening to.”
“Using the word ‘hip’ makes you unhip,” he yelled back. I hid my smile in case he was looking.
The entire apartment smelled amazing from Dante’s magic in my kitchen.
Until Bobby arrived I would dance. As night fell, my giant windows reflected my shadowy figure moving around like a banshee. I never bothered to close my blackout shades. I didn’t give a damn if someone wanted to watch me walk around naked or dance like a madwoman. It wasn’t worth the claustrophobic feeling I’d get closing off my views. However, the contractor was installing smart windows in my new place in the Tenderloin. My phone would allow me to control the tint on the solar-powered windows to dim the sunlight in my eyes or provide complete privacy.
Until I moved, I’d live the way I always did: transparently.
My building was the tallest one in the city so anyone spying would have to be some pervert in a nearby building. Besides, the stupendous views were why I bought the place. To the north was a view of Fisherman’s Wharf and Alcatraz. Off to the left—the Golden Gate Bridge. To the west was North Beach—the Italian section of town—then beyond that Treasure Island and to the right of that—a smidge of the Bay Bridge.
“Gia, can you come here, a sec?”
I turned off the music and headed into the kitchen. He was stirring something that smelled like heaven.
“I’m glad to see you getting involved in this Swanson Place.”
“Yeah.” I instantly felt uncomfortable.
“But once that’s over, what do you think you want to do?”
I took a slug of wine and shrugged. “What do you mean? I’ll do what I always do.” Nothing. Drink. Smoke pot. Have sex. Do karate.
He frowned. “Gia. You need to do something. Being involved in your dad’s company could be a really great thing for you. You’re a brilliant woman doing nothing with your mind.”
“I’m doing something.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m helping find Darling’s granddaughter.” It sounded lame even to me.
“Gia.” His tone said it all.
“I haven’t decided what to do with my life, yet.” I was whining. It was not attractive, I knew.
“You are almost twenty-four.”
I swallowed the dismay rising in my throat and looked away.
“Swanson Place is a great project for you. It speaks to your passion to help people. I think you really could do a lot with projects like that.”
Without answering, I grabbed th
e bottle of bourbon and left the kitchen. I stepped out on the balcony to sneak a cigarette.
Making Swanson Place happen would be really good for me. But was it as altruistic as it appeared or was it truly selfish? Something for me to ease my enormous crushing guilt over Ethel’s death. I’d asked her to get a message to Kato and not long after that she’d ended up dead. I’d thrown this innocent woman with nothing more than the clothing on her back to the wolves. The Sicilian Mafia was after me and she got in the way. She was no match.
They disposed of her without a second thought.
I couldn’t prove it, but the coincidences were too staggering.
They killed my mother, father, brother, and godfather. They tried to kill Kato, but were interrupted. Why wouldn’t they kill a poor homeless woman who stood in their way?
But Ethel, like Kato, should never have been brought into their sights. That was on me.
Pushing all those thoughts back, I decided I was going to try to enjoy this night of good food, yummy wine, and amazing company. I’d done everything I could tonight to find Sasha. Maybe I’d have better luck in the morning.
As I thought this, the doorbell rang and my pulse raced.
I hadn’t seen Bobby in two weeks. Two long weeks.
Quickly, I stubbed my cigarette out in my L’ Hotel Paris ashtray and sprayed my tongue with some of the mint mist I kept on the balcony.
I FLUFFED MY HAIR AND fixed my lipstick in front of the giant and ridiculously expensive Waterford Crystal mirror hanging on the wall inside my front door. Dante grinned over my shoulder.
“You’re acting like a school girl going to prom for the first time.”
I swatted him. “You know I never went to prom.”
“Not my fault.”
“Was, too. You’re the one who had to get a compound fracture skateboarding two days before prom.”
“You could’ve gone with a million other guys. I have no idea why you wanted to go with your gay best friend.”
Gia Santella Crime Thriller Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers) Page 23
