I forced myself to wait another half hour, just in case an important file or brief had been left behind. The after dinner crowd began to arrive, filling the coffee house with hand-holding couples. I ordered another frappuccino, watching the theater goers and homeless converge on the downtown streets. After my butt became numb and my pupils were fully dilated from caffeine overload, I finally grabbed my purse and made my way back across the street to the offices.
The building was eerily quiet as I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. I knew the doors stood unlocked for the cleaning crew, but the only noise I heard as I got off the elevator was the steady hum of abandoned computers.
Slowly, I pushed through the frosted doors of Dewy, Cheatum & Howe, my limbs buzzing with nervous energy. Not to mention two grande frappuccinos. I tiptoed through the dark office, the plush carpet swallowing up the sound of my heels as the light from Jasmine's idle monitor guided my way.
I quickly tiptoed to Jasmine's desk, slipping behind the mahogany behemoth. Luckily, like everyone else, she kept her computer on when she left for the day. She'd logged out of the system, but I entered her back in easily enough with Richard's password. Briefs. How original. I did a mental eye roll.
Once in, I wasn't really sure what to look for. I knew I wouldn't be lucky enough to find a file marked "Swiss bank account number" but I was at a loss for where to look. I'll admit, I'm not a computer genius. I can do AOL and iTunes, but beyond that I'm kind of clueless. I began opening random files, hoping to stumble upon something useful. I could feel the clock ticking behind me and I knew it was only a matter of time before a man with a vacuum came in and asked what I was doing here.
I opened her Internet Explorer and checked her online history. Yestheyrefake dot com, a plastic surgery site came up. No big surprise. I clicked around a little more and stumbled across a pay per play cybersex site. Livelovelyladies dot com. Ugh. At least Jasmine was keeping busy at work.
I'd almost given up, deciding Ramirez was right, I was grasping at straws, when I noticed a group of files that were numbered instead of named. I'd seen files like this on Richard's computer before. Usually these numbers indicated a case number, and contained Richard's typed trial notes. I clicked, opening the files one by one. As expected, most held snippets of information about witnesses, motions, and various legal citings. But as I went down the list, opening file after file, I ran across one that was blank. I looked closely at the numbers of the other files. They all had six. This one had ten. I felt my adrenalin kick in. Did Swiss bank accounts have ten numbers? I grabbed a Post-it note from Jasmine's desk, jotting down the number. Ramirez was so going to eat crow over this.
I was so completely wrapped up in my own total genius at suspecting Jasmine, that I didn't even hear it until it was too late.
The sound of a gun cocking.
I froze, pen hovering over the post-it, hoping maybe it was just my overactive imagination.
"Bravo, Sherlock."
Nope. My imagination didn't say that.
Quickly I spun around to find myself looking straight down the barrel of a .22. I willed myself not to pee in my pants as I raised my eyes to meet… Althea?
Huh?
"Althea, what are you doing here?" Which in hindsight was an abysmally stupid question considering the gun leveled at my head pretty well explained what she was doing here.
"You couldn't just leave it alone, could you? Nosey bitch." Gone was the meek frump. In her place a crazed pair of hazel eyes blazed behind her thick lenses. The gun in her hand was surprisingly steady, the confidence in her stance unnerving.
I swallowed the sudden lump of fear in my throat. The realization of my own error hitting me with the force of a low heeled loafer in the gut. I should have known Jasmine couldn't pull off a scheme like this. Jasmine had the brain of a turnip. Althea, on the other hand, I now realized was smarter than I'd given her credit for.
"This isn't Jasmine's file, is it?" I asked, pointing to the blank page on the screen. "It's yours. You're the one who took the money. And," I added, amazed at how level my voice sounded, even as my legs had turned into Jell-O, "you're the one who broke into my apartment."
Althea did a slow smile, her lips drawing back to bare a set of slightly crooked teeth. "And here I'd figured you for just another blonde bimbo in heels."
I looked down at the gun aimed for my chest and swallowed. "Is that the gun that killed Greenway?" I asked.
Althea smiled again. Only it didn't reach to her wild eyes, still leveled at me with a barely contained energy. "Greenway was an egotistical idiot," she spat out.
"Is that why you killed him?" Okay, I was asking more out of fear of being killed than curiosity. Honestly, I could care less what Crazy Lady with Gun thought about Greenway. What I cared about was stalling for time until the cleaning crew came by.
"He deserved to die. Any man who makes love to a woman like he did then leaves them deserves to die."
"Greenway had an affair with you?" I think my voice betrayed my disbelief. I was having a hard time picturing Althea in a leopard print thong.
Althea narrowed her eyes, her unplucked brows drawing together. "What, you don't think Greenway would be interested in someone like me? You think he's too good for me? Who would ever love dowdy little Althea?" Her voice was rising, growing into a shrill screech. I took a step backward, coming up against Jasmine's desk chair.
"No, no. I-I'm sure you were just his type."
Althea let out a short bark of laughter. "Of course I was his type. I had a pulse. The man thought that just because he had a penis, women should fall at his feet. That he could charm the pants off anything. One night I forgot my purse and came back to the office after everyone had gone. Devon was here, in Mr. Howe's office. He asked me to come in and help him get into Richard's system. I said I shouldn't do it. Then he told me how clever I was. How I was much too smart to be a junior clerk. How pretty I was, how sweet. I gave him the code and he seduced me, right there on Mr. Howe's desk."
I cringed. That explained the condom wrapper.
Althea's eyes were growing wider as she talked, glazing over and unblinking like someone with a high fever. Only the gun stayed steadily pointed at me. I took another step back, sliding my hand in my purse, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Lipstick, cash, tampon. Shit.
"When we got dressed I asked when I would see him again," Althea continued, a far away look in her eyes. "And do you know what he did?"
I was afraid to answer. I shook my head.
Althea leaned in closer so I could smell the Pert Plus on her frizzy hair. "He laughed. He said he didn't need me anymore and he laughed at me. Do you know what it's like to have the person you love laugh at you?"
I shook my head again, my fingers clenching around a long sharp object. My nail file!
"So, I got even. I found out what he and Mr. Howe were up to and tipped off a clerk at the Securities and Exchange. I drained Devon's accounts. I strangled his perfect, thin, model of a wife. And," she said, her eyes snapping back to mine as she wrapped both her hands around the trigger. "I killed him. But not right away. I made him beg first. Plead on his hands and knees for his life. And you know what I did then?"
I shook my head, wrapping my fingers around the nail file.
She leaned in, her voice low. "I laughed."
I think I was going to be sick. She had become seriously unglued. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. Anyone who paired checked cardigans with corduroy skirts had to be touched. And this chick was way beyond touched. Her mouth was smiling while her eyes held a dull, open stare as if she was actually seeing Greenway beg in front of her.
Then a realization hit me as I stared into her vacant eyes. "I led you right to him."
Althea smiled. "Thanks for that. I knew he was still in town but it wasn't until you came waltzing in here that I knew he was at the Moonlight. The conceited ass actually thought I wanted to sleep with him again. He actually thought he was going to get laid.
I played along. I dressed up in painful heels and a tight little skirt." Her eyes took on that hollow look again. "And then I shot him. Twice."
I looked down at the .22. "With Richard's gun?"
She nodded. "I found it in his desk while he was in court last week. It seemed the easiest way to kill two birds with one stone. I wasn't about to share my hard earned cash with a philandering jerk like Mr. Howe. And don't pretend otherwise, 'cause I know he was married."
I shrugged. Okay, so maybe I'd give her that point. "So, what now?" I hesitated to ask.
All traces of smile left her face. "Now, I get rid of the last loose end, drive to LAX and disappear with twenty million in retirement. I think it almost compensates for having slept with Greenway."
I swallowed hard as she leveled the gun at me. I heard blood pounding in my ears, not at all enjoying being called a loose end. My fingers tightened around the nail file in my purse. I took a deep breath as Althea leveled the gun at me.
"Goodbye," she whispered.
If I waited another second, I knew I'd be sleeping in the Dumpsters. I ducked my head down and lunged at her, nail file first, cringing as I felt it jab into her flesh.
I heard her scream as the gun went off, a shot hitting Jasmine's computer monitor with a shattering crash. I felt warm liquid ooze over my hand and I think I screamed too.
Only when I looked down, it wasn't red but clear. I looked up at Althea. One side of her chest was all wet. And smaller than the other.
"You bitch! You busted my implant!" she yelled.
Mental forehead smack. Even Althea had implants? Were mine the smallest boobs in L.A.?
Althea stood there, the gun dangling from her hand as she deflated on one side. I decided running was a good plan now. I turned and bolted across the small reception room. I almost made it to the doors, when I heard the crack of the gun and frosted glass shattered in front of me. I dove for the carpet and I heard another crack as fire seared through my arm. I clasped my hand to the pain and this time my fingers did come up red.
Yep, I was definitely going to be sick.
I lost one of Dana's stilettos as I crawled on my knees behind a potted palm. I heard three more shots embed themselves in the tastefully papered walls of Dewy, Cheatum & Howe. Then I heard a sound which was music to my ears. The clicking of an empty chamber.
"Shit!" Althea screamed. She was out of bullets.
I jumped up and made a run for the elevator. Only I didn't get far. My feet crunched on the shattered glass of the front doors as I felt myself being jerked backwards by my hair.
I spun around, trying to remember anything from that Tae Bo class Dana dragged me to last year. Lunge, spin, punch? Or was it spin, punch, lunge? Crap. If only I'd been paying more attention to the moves and less to the teacher's sculpted buns. Instead, I flailed with kicks, screams, and slaps. I was fighting so girly, but I didn't care.
Althea easily wrestled me to the ground. Man, she was strong for a woman. Under all those dowdy clothes she'd been hiding a body builder's physique.
I sunk my nails into her skin, digging until I heard her scream. But she didn't stop. Her hands circled around my throat and I began to see stars. I grasped around on the floor wildly for anything to smack her with. The room started to go fuzzy, all I could see were Althea's eyes, crazed and intent on me. Her glasses must have been knocked off somewhere along the way. Her bushy eyebrows drew together, her lips curled back in a creepy smile that belonged in a Wes Craven movie. I felt like crying that my last vision would be of unplucked eyebrows and frizzy hair. It just wasn't fair.
And then my hands came up against something. The fallen stiletto. I reached my fingers out as far as they would stretch, wrapping my hand around the shoe. The room was fading from my vision, my lungs gasping for air as I wiggled beneath Althea's bulk. I channeled all the strength I had left into my arm as I swung Dana's hooker footwear in the direction of Althea's neck.
I heard a scream. In all honesty, I think it might have been mine. As the hands left my throat I blinked, sucking in welcomed breaths of air. I looked down. Althea had fallen off of me. The side of her neck was covered in gooey red, Karo syrup. The stiletto heel was sticking out at an odd angle and Althea's eyes looked kind of glazed over, her mouth making gurgling sounds.
This time I'm sure the scream came from me.
I was still screaming when Ramirez burst through the shattered front doors, a handful of uniformed officers right behind him. One of them started doing some mouth to mouth on Althea and yelling for a paramedic. They came, attaching tubes and masks to her prone form, while one cop after another arrived, talking loudly into their radios. It was all so surreal and I couldn't tear my gaze from the pool of red forming around Althea's body.
At some point I stopped screaming and realized Ramirez was holding me. Close. Tight. His arms wrapped around me. He whispered into my hair.
"Are you okay?"
I gulped. Was I?
"I, I think she shot me. Is she…" I trailed off, willing myself to take a deep breath before I screamed again.
"No. She's alive. For now." Ramirez pulled away, inspecting my left arm where the fire had dulled into an aching pain like a bikini wax that wouldn't stop. "It looks like a flesh wound," he said, carefully pulling my torn shirt away. He flagged a paramedic down from the group huddled around Althea, who confirmed Ramirez's diagnosis. He said I needed stitches and Ramirez packed me into his SUV and took me to the emergency room.
Three hours later my arm looked like it belonged to Frankenstein and my neck was the same color as the Purple People Eater. I knew that I'd be wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, but at least it matched my eye. Ramirez drove me to the police station where I gave a statement in triplicate amidst barely concealed laughter as I relayed how I'd popped Althea's saline implant. By the time we were finished, the adrenalin high of the attack had worn off and left me crashing into a new low. The only thing holding me up was Ramirez, who hadn't left my side the whole night.
The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Ramirez finally drove me back to my studio. As he parked in the drive and shut off the engine, I voiced a thought that had been nagging at the back of my mind ever since I saw Althea wielding Richard's gun.
"If Althea was the one who took the twenty million, where did Jasmine get the money for all the Botox and Prada?"
Ramirez cocked his head, as if he didn't quite get the Prada reference, but answered anyway. "They're still processing Jasmine's computer, but from what they've found so far, someone that went by the username of SexyJas was working at a cyber sex chatting site."
Mental forehead slap. LiveLovelyLadies dot com.
"She was having cyber sex at work?"
"The way the site works is men log on and pay $3.99 a minute to chat with these women over the internet. The technologically evolved 900 number."
I rolled my eyes, doubting evolution had much to do with it.
"Apparently," Ramirez went on, "SexyJas had logged over a thousand hours in the last few months."
I mentally did the math. $3.99 times a thousand equaled…a whole lotta Prada. I made a mental note to become more computer savvy.
"So", Ramirez said, turning in his seat to face me. "You've had quite a night." He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears.
"Go ahead," he said softly. "Say it."
"Huh?"
He smiled. "I know you're dying to say, 'I told you so.'"
I couldn't help it. I smiled back. "I told you so."
He grinned until that dimple flashed in his cheek. And then he leaned over the console and kissed me. Softly, gently. His lips moving over mine as if he was afraid he might break me. And the way I felt, he just might. I melted right there into his leather seats.
He pulled away, and I think I kind of fell toward him.
"Do you want me to come up?" he asked. His eyes as dark and dangerous as the panther tattooed on his arm.
Yes, y
es, yes! I took a deep breath. "No." My God, was I as crazy as Althea? What did I mean 'no'?
The disappointment was clear in his eyes this time. "Right. It's been a long night. I'm sure you're tired."
Right. Tired. What I was, was confused. I'd finally found the answers to Greenway's murder, but I realized with a sinking feeling, they didn't provide me with any answers about my own mixed up life.
Ramirez walked me to my door. Then kissed me gently on the top of my head. His eyes held mine and there was no mistaking the thoughts running though his mind. I felt my resolve weaken. "Rain check," he whispered. Then got back into his SUV and left.
I stood on my darkened porch watching him. Okay, so here's the thing: More than anything I wanted Ramirez to come up. I admit, I was seriously in lust with the man. He did things to my body with one look that I didn't even think were possible.
But then there was Richard. I had kind of told him I was on his side. And even though we were both sort of ambiguous about what that meant, I'm pretty sure it didn't include me sleeping with sexy cops. Until I decided what to do about Mr. White-Collar Criminal and my inability to get a clear result out of a pregnancy test, I somehow didn't feel right letting Ramirez spend the night. Especially after the up close and personal look I'd gotten tonight at how crazy infidelity can make people.
As my libido and my better judgment mentally duked it out, I unlocked the door to my studio.
Then let out a little yelp.
Sitting on my futon in the midst of my scattered possessions was Richard.
"How did you get here?" I asked blinking rapidly.
Richard stood up. He was once again dressed in his trademark slacks and button down shirt. He'd shaven since I last saw him, and his hair was gelled back into Ken doll position again. Actually, he looked good. Really good. Like the familiar Richard I'd fallen for in the first place.
Spying in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries #1) Page 24
