The door to the studio opened, and a stream of women filed out, all looking like they’d just walked through a car wash. They tucked mats under their arms and grabbed waters from the fridge. Several stopped by Josh’s desk, and his expression told Krista he needed to get back to work.
She stood up and stepped out of the way.
“You might try next door,” he added. “The karate studio? Some of them drive pickups. They mostly park in the back, though, because that’s where the entrance is.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. “Namaste.”
~ ~ ~
No white pickup trucks at the karate studio either, but Krista would try again tomorrow. She drove back to her office. The streets were pretty empty this time of night and she had no trouble parking. The building was dark and she switched on the light in the foyer so she wouldn’t break her neck trudging up the stairs.
Mac’s falling computer code screensaver cast the office in a greenish hue. Krista flipped on some lights. She was reading through a pile of messages on her desk when her phone chimed. She dug it out of her bag. Scarlet.
“Ace Ventura, pet detective.”
Pause.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Scarlet said.
“I wish. Mrs. Ruman’s put the word out.”
“How’s the real work coming?”
Krista pulled the lid off the file box and thumbed through the folders. “I spent the evening with R.J. looking at autopsy photos.” She gave her a rundown of the medical findings and the cause of death.
“I thought it was an icepick?”
“That was after the bludgeoning. It was the skull fracture that killed her.”
“Jesus, this guy sounds like a psychopath.”
“Yep.”
“I hope you’re being careful. Is Rob Holland aware that the woman who kicked his balls into his throat the other night is on his defense team?”
“I don’t think so.” Krista pulled out file after file, reading the labels. Finally, she decided she needed all of them. “Anyway, I’m beginning to agree with R.J. The alibi’s really pathetic and I don’t think he did this.”
“Who did then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, be careful,” Scarlet repeated. “And let me know if I can help.”
Krista got off the phone and packed up the file box. She muscled it out the door and placed it on the floor for a moment while she locked up. Then she hauled it down the stairs and out to her car.
The street was dark and quiet. Moths flitted under the streetlamp on the corner. Krista hitched the box onto her hip and dug for her car keys. She still hadn’t attached the new fob to her keychain. She pressed the trunk button. Nothing. She stood behind the car and pressed it again. Nada.
Annoyed, she hit Unlock and the interior light went on as she walked around to the passenger side.
A squeal of tires. She whirled around to see a car speeding toward her, no headlights. Her heart skittered. She yelped and leaped back against the Impala. The car veered straight for her. She dropped the file box and jumped onto the hood just as it smashed into her car with a deafening crunch of metal.
She screamed and rolled and landed face-first on the concrete, hitting her head with a thunk. Tires shrieked. She blinked, disoriented. The world was upside down, blurry, but her brain registered one thing: He’s turning around.
She lifted her head. Terror gripped her as the car roared toward her. She scrambled to her feet and made a dash for the nearest building.
Chapter Six
The patrol officer circled the Impala yet again and glanced around.
“Where’d the bumper go?” He looked at Krista.
She was leaning against the side of his radio car, pressing an icepack to her cheek.
“It didn’t come with one.” Her head felt thick and swollen, her worst hangover times ten. Multiplied by a hundred.
“Dealer plates,” he said. “This thing’s new?”
“Got it this morning.”
He shook his head, making a few more notes on his clipboard as he stood there in the glare of his headlights. The radio in his car kept up a steady stream of police chatter.
Krista sighed and checked her watch, relying on body language to telegraph her annoyance because she didn’t want to talk. Her cheek stung. She shifted the icepack against her face and took inventory of the car’s damage. The entire front passenger’s side was smashed in.
He finished his notes and tromped across the street. The lights threw long, black shadows across the pavement, making him look twelve feet tall instead of six.
“And the other guy? Not even a partial?”
“No,” Krista told him for the third time. “And I didn’t get the make. Something black, four-door.” She nodded at parallel skid marks on the pavement. “Those should at least be able to tell us something.”
He gave her a “get real” look, cop to cop. Or cop to ex-cop, in this case. Krista had made sure to mention she’d once been on the job, but a fat lot of good that seemed to be doing.
The skid marks weren’t going to tell this guy anything because he didn’t plan to measure them, or take photographs, or send paint chips off to the lab so some technician could identify the vehicle that had tried to run her down at forty miles an hour.
“You know, we’ve had a couple of carjackings over at Main Place Mall.” The radio continued to squawk, and he scribbled faster.
“This wasn’t a carjacking.”
“I know, you said.” He sounded impatient. “I’m just saying if it was a carjacking, we might be able to investigate it as part of a pattern—”
“It wasn’t a carjacking. Who would want to steal that thing? It’s a piece of crap, and that’s before it got smashed to hell.”
He shot her a look. “I’m just saying, we might be able to do more for you if—”
“I told you, someone tried to run me down. Twice. That’s attempted murder. If you guys won’t investigate then I will.”
“Of course we’ll investigate. I’m just saying—”
“I got it.” She stepped away from the car and handed back the icepack. “We done here?”
He shook his head and finished writing on his clipboard. Then he handed it over for her signature.
“I’ll try to swing by tomorrow with one of the CSIs.” He tore off a copy of the report and handed it to her. “Give that to your insurance company. They’ll need it for your claim.”
Krista clenched her teeth as she folded the report and tucked it neatly into the box of case files, which only minutes ago had been strewn across the street like garbage. She secured the lid on the box and hefted it once again.
“You sure I can’t give you a ride to the ER?” the officer asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then drive careful. I’ll be in touch if we get anything.”
Yeah, right. And Krista would be waiting by the phone.
Her passenger door no longer opened, so she went around to the driver’s side and wedged the file box into the backseat. Then she got behind the wheel and turned her key in the ignition. Miraculously, it started on the first try. Krista pulled out slowly, and the patrol officer followed her to the end of the block, where they parted ways.
Krista clutched the wheel as she made her way home. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. The adrenaline was wearing off and now the shakes were setting in. She focused on the road, on carefully obeying every traffic law. She came to a stop at a yellow light, prompting a friendly gesture from the driver behind her.
Finally, she turned onto her street and the sight of lights in her house brought a warm rush of relief. Mac was there. Krista rarely saw him because he used the outdoor staircase to come and go. At the moment, though, he was at his door paying a pizza guy.
Krista waited for the deliveryman to pull out, then swung into her driveway. She gathered up her box and purse and hauled everything inside.
“No place like home! No place like home!”
She dumped her stuff on the coffee table and went straight to the kitchen.
“Give us a kiss!”
She pulled open the freezer and found a pair of empty ice trays. A stack of Lean Cuisines and a box of Girl Scout cookies rounded out the inventory. She pulled out a sleeve of Thin Mints and pressed it ever-so-gently to her cheek.
“Give us a kiss!”
“We ate all the cashews, Spence.” She poured some Kashi into a bowl and slid it into his cage.
A knock sounded at her door. She went over and checked the peephole before pulling it open.
“Whose car is that?” Mac asked. “And what happened to your face?”
“Long story.” She would have liked to skip it, but then again, he worked for her. “Someone rammed into me in front of the office.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He frowned. “So, that’s your car out there, or—”
“It’s mine. And it’s actually still working, so I got lucky there.”
Mac darted a doubtful look at her driveway. “Well... you need a ride anywhere? Like maybe a doc-in-the-box or something?”
“I’m good, thanks. Hey, you notice anything weird down at the office today? Anyone loitering around?”
“Nope.”
“How about a black sedan? Maybe someone scoping the place out or doing a drive-by?”
He shook his head.
Krista glanced across the street and spotted Mrs. Ruman peeking through her curtains.
“Well, goodnight,” she told Mac, but he seemed reluctant to go.
“Let me know if you need a ride or whatever.”
She locked up behind him. Her discerning macaw had rejected the Kashi so she gave him a cookie and returned to her kitchen in search of something cold. She twisted the top off a cold Tecate, took a swig, then pressed the bottle to her face and tried not to wince. The skin over her cheek felt tight. Her head was still screaming, but at least she wasn’t shaking anymore.
More knocking.
She expected Mrs. Ruman, but it was R.J.
“Christ, what happened to you?” He stepped inside.
“I just—”
He shut the door and pulled her close to a lamp. He tipped her face back to examine it. “That’s going to be a monster bruise.” His brow furrowed. “What’d you do, get hit?”
“Someone hit me.” She tugged away from him. “When I was leaving the office. I smacked my head on the pavement.”
“You were on foot?”
She went through the entire story, and his frown deepened as she got to the part about the car doubling back for her. If she hadn’t sprinted for the cover of the nearest building, it might have hit her.
“What’d the cops do?”
“Not a lot,” she said. “But I’ll go back tomorrow, see what I can get.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s reality. Santa Ana PD’s got bigger problems on their hands than deranged drivers, apparently.”
R.J. stared at her, hands on hips. His jaw tightened, and she realized she’d never seen him so angry.
“Really, I’m fine.”
He eyed the beer in her hand. “Got anything stronger than that?”
“No, but I’ve got more.” She led him back to the kitchen and gave him a beer.
He took a sip, then leaned back against the counter, watching her. “So, who’d you piss off today?”
“What? Nobody.”
“Looks like someone took a wrecking ball to your car.”
“No one. I was with you half the day.”
“What about the other half?”
She huffed out a sigh. “I was at the bank. And Rico’s Auto Center. And Holland’s law firm. And then the White Lotus, Brittany’s yoga studio.”
He shook his head.
“What?”
“Don’t you think this has something to do with the case?”
“I’ve barely been on this case seventy-two hours. And as far as I know, the only person I’ve managed to piss off is the client. Which is a good point, actually—maybe it was Holland.”
“No, he was with me.” His gaze narrowed. “And when did you piss him off?”
“The other night at the Kettridge. I sort of kicked him in the balls.”
“You assaulted our client?” He sounded outraged, but he looked amused.
“He had it coming. And anyway, he’s not my client. Technically, he’s Walker’s.”
R.J. tipped his head back and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I hate this case.”
“What happened to champions of the world’s greatest justice system?”
He glared at her, and she took another slug of beer. It wasn’t helping her headache, but it seemed to be settling her nerves.
“Does anyone on the witness list drive a white Avalanche?” she asked.
“I thought you said it was a black four-door.”
“This is something different. A white Avalanche was seen rolling past Brittany’s house on the afternoon of her murder.”
“Seen by who?”
“Arturo Garza. He delivers beer to the restaurant down the street.”
“Never heard of him.”
“It’s a good thing you hired me then, isn’t it?”
He watched her skeptically.
“You should get someone at the DMV to run the pickup for you,” she said. “See if it turns up anything.”
“There are probably hundreds of white Avalanches in L.A. and Orange County.” He paused. “But we can probably narrow it down some. It’s not a bad lead.”
“Another thing I learned today—the victim lost her keys the week before her murder.”
His gaze sharpened. “Where’d you get that?”
“The clerk at the yoga studio.”
“Joshua Harvey. We interviewed that guy.”
“Sounds like you need to interview him again,” she said. “That detail could be important, especially considering there was no sign of forced entry.”
R.J. watched her from across the room. She could tell she’d surprised him, and she felt nice and smug about it.
“So, how was your night?” she asked, changing the subject now that she’d one-upped him.
“Better than yours.”
“Where’d you go in such a hurry?”
He sighed. “Holland was on a bender. Turned up at the Billiard Room and picked a fight with someone.”
“What’re you, his babysitter now?”
“I’m Walker’s troubleshooter. Comes with the job.”
She watched him, thinking about that. She’d always envied his position with Walker. It certainly paid well. But there had to be plenty of downsides, too, such as constantly bailing idiots out of trouble.
R.J. set his beer on the counter and stepped closer. Krista tensed.
“That’s some good detective work you did today.”
She shrugged. “I’m a good detective.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but it came out nervous.
R.J. picked up her hand and gazed down at her wrist, which was crusted with blood and dirt. He reached around her and turned on the faucet. Without a word, he guided her hand under the water and rinsed the cut. He smelled like outdoors and faintly of cologne. She let her gaze settle on the collar of his shirt where it met smooth, tanned skin.
“Krista.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were so blue, and her stomach fluttered when she read the look in them. She wasn’t up for this tonight. She was shaken and scared and way too needy.
He reached up and stroked his thumb slowly over her jaw. She held her breath. Meanwhile her heart was thrumming. As his gaze dropped to her mouth it thrummed even faster.
He kissed her. Lightly at first, then tipping her head slightly and going deeper. She knew there were a hundred reasons to push him away, but she was rattled and she couldn’t think of a single one. She slid her arms around him and let him
delve into her mouth, exploring. And then his hands were up under her shirt, sliding around to her back and pulling her against him.
“You taste sweet,” he murmured and pulled her closer.
She kissed him to shut him up and wrapped her arms around his neck and let the warm pulsing of her body drive the headache away. He tasted good. Too good. And his hands were sliding over her back, and she didn’t want him to stop. He shifted her so that she was pressed against the counter, and she glided her hands up his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. For so long she’d fought the urge to touch him this way, feel him, and now she was here, doing it. And suddenly his body pressed into hers and she opened her eyes, and found him watching her hungrily.
A knock at the door made her jump.
“No place like home! No place like home!”
She glanced at the door, then R.J. She left him in her kitchen and went to answer it. It was Scarlet and she didn’t look happy.
“I got your message. Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
“How the hell did it happen?”
“Hey, Scarlet.” R.J. walked up behind Krista.
“Hi.” Scarlet looked him over and darted Krista a sharp gaze. “We need to talk.”
R.J. slipped out the door, and Scarlet stepped inside.
“I’m taking off.” R.J.’s gaze met Krista’s, and she tried to read him. What had just happened back there?
“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” he asked.
“Working.”
“Don’t you need transportation? I’d offer you my Jeep, but Brian’s driving it.”
“I’ve got transportation.”
He cast a skeptical glance at her driveway.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Runs like a kitten.”
Chapter Seven
Krista dragged herself out of bed at six and managed to snap some pictures of the tire marks before rush hour traffic set in. Scarlet had promised to follow up with a CSI she knew, so Krista emailed her the shots, then tried unsuccessfully to reach R.J. She had a question about the case file she’d stayed up late reading. It wasn’t her only question, but the only one she wanted to tackle with him this morning.
Hit and Run (Moreno & Hart Mysteries) Page 19
