“We’re taking the job, aren’t we?”
Parker raised a dark brow. “Don’t you want to hear what it is first?”
Okay, maybe she was jumping the gun. She sat back, trying to look skeptical. “Sure.”
“Do you remember Ambrosia Dawn?”
She frowned. “Who?”
“She was a popular singer about fifteen years ago.”
Miranda only shrugged and lifted her palms.
“ ‘The Love I Have for You?’ ‘All Eyes on Me?’ ”
She thought a moment. She wasn’t a big music listener. Fifteen years ago she’d still been married to Leon. No wonder she couldn’t remember any love songs from then.
“Coco sang some of her hits.”
Now one of those titles came back to her. “All Eyes on Me.” It was about a singer, duh. One who had enjoyed outrageous fame and fortune, but who was now down on her luck and had lost it all. And all she really wanted was her true love to look at her and really see her. It was touching when sung right.
“Oh, yeah.” She started to hum the tune she remembered her friend singing at the Gecko Club. Of course, Miranda sounded more like a frog.
Parker cleared his throat. “It went something like that.”
“So what about her? Ambrosia, I mean.”
Parker’s face went grim. “She’s dead.”
“Oh, my God. That’s awful.” Miranda vaguely remembered seeing the singer on TV. “She wasn’t that old was she?”
“Forty-one.”
“I’d have thought she was younger. She had a variety show, didn’t she?”
“A few years ago, yes.”
Now the image of the singer came to her. Always in long, flowing gowns, with lots of background singers. She had a set of pipes, too. “What a classy lady.”
“Indeed. And she was still popular. She’s been performing in Las Vegas.”
Miranda let out a sad smirk. “The place where all old singers go?”
“Perhaps.” Parker inhaled. “Sergeant Sid O’Toole of the Las Vegas Metro Police has asked for our help.”
Miranda sat up again. “That’s our case? Wait. Ambrosia Dawn was murdered?”
Parker nodded. “Her body was found in the desert. One of her eyes had been gouged out with…a melon baller.”
Miranda’s lip curled. “What? That’s disgusting.”
“Yes.”
Her mind shot into work mode. Had the killer taken the eye for a token? “Does O’Toole think it’s a serial killer? Wait a minute.” She snapped her fingers. “‘All Eyes on Me.’ Wasn’t that her signature song?”
“I believe so.”
“That’s got to have something to do with it.” She got up and paced all the way to the far end of the huge office.
She felt hot and cold and antsy all at the same time. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into this case. She’d find the person who murdered the famous singer. After all, hadn’t one of her best friends sung her songs? Come to think of it, Coco reminded her a little of a modern version of Ambrosia Dawn.
“Miranda,” Parker said, caution in his tone.
She stopped pacing. Uh oh. She knew there was a catch. “What?”
For a long moment he studied her, as if considering his next words carefully. At last he said, “Are you sure you want to take this case? We don’t have to.”
She thought about the cautiously gentle way he’d made love to her since she’d come home. Like she was some sort of fragile glass doll. Okay, maybe that was necessary the first few weeks, but lately she wanted to rip those expensive clothes right off his luscious body.
Good grief. Hadn’t she hauled bricks and pounded shingles alongside the burliest of men? Hadn’t she beaten a co-worker in the ring with her martial art skills?
Irritation shot through her. “Don’t baby me, Parker.”
Parker rose, strolled to the window with that maddening patience of his, and folded his arms. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. I’m simply trying to ascertain your state of mind.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Well, ascertain this. My state of mind is ready and raring to go.”
“Are you sure you’re ready? Are you sure you want to leave home?”
Her mouth opened then shut again at the tenderness in his voice.
Okay, it was a fair question after what she’d been through. After what Parker had been through because of it. She stepped toward him to the table along the wall where several new photos were on display and ran a finger over one of the silver frames.
She smiled down at Mackenzie’s picture. The daughter she’d found after a thirteen-year search. Thanks to Parker.
And next to her was Wendy, now Mackenzie’s best friend, the girl Miranda had once thought was her daughter.
When she came home from the hospital, the two girls had celebrated their fourteenth birthdays together with a big party given by their families. Then came the holidays with gifts and parties. Miranda never thought she could be so happy. But then the New Year came and went. The girls went back to school and became lost in their activities and the world of the young.
She loved both of them but they had their lives. And so did she. She was well enough now to work a case.
She took his hand.
He squeezed it and put it to his lips and all her anger melted away.
“Of course, I’m ready, Parker,” she said softly. “How could you think I’d want to turn this opportunity down?”
The wrinkles around Parker’s sexy eyes creased into a grin. “Just what I thought you’d say.”
“So we’re going? We’re taking the case?”
He turned back to his desk. “I’ll notify our new client right away. I must warn you, though. O’Toole wasn’t the best employee the Agency ever had.”
That was odd. Parker didn’t usually turn out duds. “What was his problem?”
“I felt he never really applied himself.”
Lazy? Or more than that? Parker always loved to understate things. But who cared? They were going out on their first case as consultants together.
She folded her arms and gave Parker a cocky smile. “Well, that’s why he needs us, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” He eyed her again and she could see the wheels in his head turning.
“What now?”
The corner of his lip turned up. “As a matter of protocol, one of us should be in charge.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Protocol, huh? On a police case?”
“On our part of the investigation. It will ensure things go smoothly.”
“Uh huh. And I suppose that should be you?”
With a sly twinkle in his eye, Parker turned to his credenza, opened a drawer and took something out. “I thought we’d roll for it.”
He opened his palm to reveal two red dice.
Miranda laughed out loud. “You’re on.”
“Brace yourself.” Parker took the dice in one hand, shook and let them fall onto the shiny desktop. The cubes spun and settled.
A five and a one.
“Easy six.” Could she beat it? “Okay, buster.” Miranda picked up the dice, blew on them, shook. Nerves of excitement coursing through her, she let them go.
They seemed to spin forever then finally came to rest in the middle of the desk.
Two sixes. Miranda let out a hoot. “Boxcars. I win!” She gloated with a little dance and Parker couldn’t hide his amusement.
Miranda came around the desk and patted his arm. “Don’t be a sore loser. I’ll let you win next time. When do we leave?”
“I can get us on a flight this afternoon.”
She couldn’t wait to get there. “Hot dog. City of Lights, here we come!” Then she grew somber as a zealous indignation rose up in her breast, fueled by the excitement. “Ambrosia Dawn’s killer won’t get away with this,” she said. “We’ll make damn sure of that.”
Chapter Three
The four-and-a-half-hour non-stop flight Parker managed to snag was unev
entful and landed them in McCarran International Airport by late afternoon, Las Vegas time.
After fighting through the crazed passengers heading for the slot machines and the traffic on Paradise—which to Miranda seemed a tad too hot to really be paradise—they arrived at the Metro police station on Sierra Vista.
As Parker opened the glass double doors to the white building with the silver façade at the front, Miranda turned to gaze across the dusty yard to the street. Beyond the pavement lay the southern tip of the Las Vegas strip with its tall casinos and flashing lights.
“Doesn’t look like it does on TV.” She’d been all around the country but never this far west.
“It will when the sun goes down,” Parker said wryly.
Inside the building, they made their way to a glassed-in reception area and Parker stepped back to let her do the honors, thanks to a roll of the dice.
He was such a good loser, she thought as she presented her Agency card to the officer at the desk. “We’re here to see Sergeant Sid O’Toole,” she told him.
He nodded and gestured toward a door. “He’s expecting you. Go through there, down the hall. Third office on the right.”
“Thanks.”
Parker held the door for her again and in they went.
The LVMPD station was a lot like most of the police stations Miranda had been in. Garish fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Cheaply painted walls in a pale puke green. Equally cheap flooring. Benches along the walls where people sat with anxious or irritated faces. The muffled noise of heated discussions or longwinded instructions from this or that office. The smell of stale coffee.
Still, it felt good to be a real guest for a change instead of a guest of the state.
Before they had reached the end of the hall, a man appeared at the far corner. He was wearing a sour look and carrying a Styrofoam cup. The coffee in this place must really be bad.
The man stopped short and stared at them. “Parker? You here already?”
“Hello, Sid. I didn’t see much point in wasting time.”
“No, you were never one to do that.”
Sid moved toward them and they met three-quarters of the way down the hall. Miranda watched the man transfer the coffee to his other hand and shake with Parker. “Thanks for coming.”
“Happy to be of help.” Parker gestured in her direction. “Sid, this is my associate, Miranda Steele.”
“Glad to know you.” The man extended his hand to her.
“Likewise.” She shook the hand, eyeing the husky frame under his khaki slacks and short-sleeved checkered shirt.
His wavy, dark chestnut hair looked like it needed a cut. His fair, Irish-looking complexion, spattered with dark freckles seemed like it couldn’t stand up under the Las Vegas sun. His bottle green eyes were bloodshot and sullen and seemed too wide apart. There was something in them she didn’t like. But other than the vague remark Parker had made in his office about the man’s performance at the Agency, she couldn’t say what.
Sid grinned widely, revealing a crooked eyetooth and a less-than-Hollywood-white smile. Probably from too much coffee drinking. “Well, let’s go to my office and I’ll brief you.”
They followed the man down the hall, around the corner, and into a small, windowless office with a metal desk and filing cabinet.
There were no pictures or photos or decorations of any sort except for a lone calendar on the wall behind the chair turned to last month. It must have come from one of the casinos because the picture on it was of several showgirls decked out in tiaras and shocking pink feathers and showing a lot of skin.
Miranda resisted the urge to grimace.
Sid set his coffee down on the desk and eyed the single guest chair. He scratched his head. “Sorry about that. We don’t have a lot of perks around here. There’s another chair in the next office.” He gave Miranda a wink. “Why don’t you get it for us, sweetie?”
Miranda’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“Sid—”
Sid stepped around the desk waving a dismissive hand at Parker. “What’s a matter, honey? You don’t have to be afraid of us police officers.”
“Listen—” She stopped herself before she’d called their first client a jackass within ten minutes of meeting him.
Sid moved behind the extra chair. He lifted it an inch off the floor and set it down. “See? It’s not heavy. You look like you’re in good enough shape to handle it.”
As Miranda wrestled down her tongue, she could feel Parker tense beside her. “Sid, I neglected to mention that Ms. Steele is one of the top graduates of the Agency’s training program. And she’ll be in charge on this case.”
Sid blinked once, twice. He looked at Parker. Then at Miranda. Then back at Parker. Then he let out a high-pitched squeal of a laugh. “You’ve got to be joking, Parker. You put a girl in charge of murder investigation?”
That did it.
“Hey!”
Miranda took one step toward the jerk, wrapped her foot around the back of his leg and pulled him off balance and onto the floor. With the speed of a comet, she rolled him over, grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm behind his back.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m wondering if you’ll be able to carry that chair once I break your arm.” She gave it another pull.
“Uncle! Okay! Get her off me, Parker.”
What a baby. She leaned down and hissed in his ear. “The name’s Steele. Miranda Steele. Ms. Steele to you.”
“Okay, Ms. Steele. Can you ease up a little?”
“Apologize.”
“What?”
“I said apologize.”
Sid groaned like a whiney teenager. “Parker, help me out here.”
Parker strolled around to get a full view of Sid’s face. “I think you had better apologize to my associate, Sid, or we might be here all night.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Miranda glanced up at Parker and was relieved he seemed amused rather than angry. After all, she’d probably lost their first case. She didn’t really want to let the guy up, but Parker had a point. They couldn’t stay here all night. She decided to be big about it.
“Apology excepted, Sergeant O’Toole.” She let go of his arm and rose.
Nursing his appendage, Sid turned over and sat up, whimpering like a puppy.
Parker exhaled. “Would you like us to leave now, Sid? All you would owe us is traveling expenses.”
Sid’s face turned the color of a three-alarm fire. “You can’t leave, Parker. I need you.”
“Are you sure, Sid? Ms. Steele and I are a package deal.”
“Of course, I’m sure. I don’t care who works with you.”
“Or who’s in charge?”
He stared down at the floor a moment, as if weighing the options. Then he struggled to his feet and brushed off his clothes looking sheepish and almost contrite.
He turned to Miranda. “Like I said, I apologize, Ms. Steele. I’ll get the damn chair.”
“Forget the chair,” Miranda snapped. She doubted O’Toole’s sincerity and didn’t dare show how glad she was she and Parker didn’t have to turn around and go home. “Has Ambrosia Dawn been examined by your ME?”
“Yeah. He’s working on her now.”
“Then you can bring us up to speed while you take us to see him.”
Chapter Four
“Call came in around three this morning,” Sid said, pushing the elevator button in the hall. “Ambrosia Dawn’s body was found on the west side of I-15 about twenty miles south of here.”
“Just lying on the side of the road?” Miranda asked.
“Right there in the sand. About ten feet from the pavement. She had a towel around her head and had on a robe. The body was wrapped in polyethylene.”
“You mean the kind used as enclosures and protection on a construction site?” Miranda had experience with that.
“Exactly. Hey, you know your stuff.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, I do.”
Parker frowned as he followed Miranda into the small compartment. “I-15 goes straight through the desert on to California.”
“Yep.”
That was nice. The killer could have cruised on to Los Angeles, hopped a flight, and be in Argentina by now.
Sid eyed Miranda cautiously as he stepped into the elevator and gave his arm another rub before he pressed Down.
“Who called it in?” Miranda wanted to know.
“Anonymous.”
She pondered that as they rode one floor down.
“Couldn’t have been much traffic that time of night,” Parker murmured half to himself.
“Usually isn’t,” Sid said, keeping a steady gaze on the elevator’s red numbers.
The bell pinged and they stepped out into a long, sterile-looking hallway that reminded Miranda way too much of a hospital.
Sid led them down the corridor and through a set of large double doors. He swiped an ID card and another door opened. He pressed a button on a box on the wall. “Sergeant Sid O’Toole requesting entrance.”
“I’ve been expecting you, Sergeant.”
Yet another door opened and Miranda followed Sid into a wide, brightly lit room lined with two long rows of stainless steel tables. The air was cool for preservation purposes but it still had the wonderfully pleasant aroma of disinfectant thinly disguising decay.
A man in a face mask and blue scrubs stood at a table that contained a body.
She’d been in a morgue a few times during her training but she didn’t care for them. Not many people did. She couldn’t imagine working here day after day.
Sid ushered them over to the man and introduced him as Dr. Andrew Eaton, the medical examiner. “Mr. Parker and Ms. Steele will be helping me on this case.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t shake hands?” The doctor said with a touch of a British accent as he raised his gloved appendages.
“We’d prefer it, Doctor.” Parker said, acknowledging the dry coroner humor.
Miranda gave Eaton a nod as he removed his mask.
She took in the tall, thin frame under the scrubs, the glasses, the elongated face and nose, the head of thick blond curls. She’d put his age around forty. A very nerdy-looking forty. But he also looked like he’d been around the block. And his block had included a big dose of gore.
All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1) Page 2
