“Now what’s he doin?”
Curious, I peeked. Trigger had stepped into the garbage bag which had holes in the bottom corners for his legs. He knotted the excess plastic around his waist and cinched it tight. He now stood in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot, wearing a trash bag diaper.
He swung his head to the side to smile back at Ryan. Ryan’s return grin held a tad too much sinister in it as he picked up the bottle of vodka and poured it on Trigger’s road rash.
Trigger tried twisting away as he howled, but Ryan held him firmly in place with a hand wrapped around Trigger’s bicep. Several people stepped outside to see what was happening.
“Damn,” the shorter one cursed. “That looks painful.”
“Looks like they’re about ready to leave,” I said, turning back to the women. I pulled some cash from my pocket. “Take the day off. My treat.”
The tall one grabbed the cash and hurried off in the other direction. Likely worried I’d change my mind.
The shorter one scurried to catch up.
Chapter Thirty-Two
KELSEY
Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.
I tried paying a cabbie three-hundred dollars to drive Trigger back to the mansion, but the driver refused. Instead, we tossed Trigger’s clothes in a nearby dumpster and now Trigger, in his garbage bag diaper, sat grinning from the back seat. Ryan was driving. I was in the passenger seat, flipping through the wallet Trigger had lifted, pulling out high-limit credit cards and fancy business cards for a Mr. Owen Flint. It appeared Mr. Flint was a real estate investment guru. But it was the membership card I’d found in the wallet which had me ordering Ryan to turn west, back toward the center of Miami.
“Where we heading?” Ryan asked as he followed the U-turn lane at the next intersection.
“The Outer Layer. Our guy at the dentist office is a member.”
“So?”
“So… Baker keeps files on all the members, with full background checks.”
“Will anyone be there? It isn’t even noon yet.”
“Baker has a residential suite next to his office. He usually stays there. But if he’s not, I can get us inside.”
“Umm…” Trigger said from the back seat. “I was sort of hoping to find some clothes.”
“Charlie has clothes and a shower in her office.”
“I got no issue wearing woman’s clothes, but I don’t think they’ll fit.”
“You can borrow something of Baker’s then.” I pointed for Ryan to make a turn at the next street.
We weren’t that far from the club, and ten minutes later we walked up to the private entrance and I swiped my VIP card to enter. Trigger and I took the elevator while Ryan volunteered to take the stairs to ensure they were clear. This was a secure building, but Ryan wasn’t used to sitting around, so I didn’t argue. As I entered Baker’s private office on the fifth floor, Ryan followed Trigger and me through the door.
“In this business,” Baker said, sitting behind his desk in a full three-piece charcoal suit, “I’ve grown accustomed to seeing men in diapers. But trash bags?”
I walked over and greeted him with a hug. “He needs clothes and another shower. And I need some information.”
Baker glanced over at a woman sitting in the guest chair. “Evie, can you show this,” he pointed toward Trigger, “person, into my suite and find clothes for him?”
Evie smiled, but her nose was scrunched. Despite the sidewalk shower, Trigger still omitted a pungent odor. Evie led Trigger into the private suite, his garbage bag making rustling noises as he walked. A bark of a laugh escaped Ryan, before he turned away, walking toward the security monitors.
“Do you need the financial reports? Because I gave Charlie the third-quarter statements weeks ago.”
“Nope. I need client details,” I said, tossing Mr. Flint’s membership card onto Baker’s desk.
“Those files are confidential,” Baker said as he picked up the card and read the name.
“Are we really going to play this game? You say I can’t have the information, I say hand them over or else. And it goes in circles for ten minutes until you finally cave.” I sighed as I flopped into a guest chair. “It’s all so tedious. Can we just skip to the end where you give me the file?”
Baker snorted. “You used to like playing games.”
“I’ve grown up.”
“That’s not growing up,” Baker said as he walked over to the filing cabinet. “That’s boredom. Something I never expected from you.” He used his keys to open the third drawer on the cabinet. “Remember when you tied that guy with his own leather straps and stuffed the gag ball in his mouth? You left the poor bastard on the street and told him to find his own way home. I’ll never forget him waddling away with the leather strap covering his ass crack.”
Ryan walked back and looked down at me with one eyebrow raised.
I shrugged, trying to hide my grin. “He deserved it. He broke the rules and needed to face the consequences.”
Baker tossed a file in front of me. He pointed to the file. “Owen Flint. Not one of our better clients. He’s been scolded a few times. Getting handsy with the female staff, grabbing their arm, slapping their backsides, that sort of thing. Garth keeps an eye on him.”
“How often is he here?” I asked.
“Every Tuesday night. He should be here tonight around ten.”
Ryan crossed his arms, turning to face Baker. “You and me going to have a problem if this is the last night Mr. Flint ever shows his face here?”
“That’s Kelsey’s call,” Baker said, waving a hand to show his indifference. “But I won’t miss him. You’d also make Garth very happy if you included him in your plans. He’s been bored.”
“Says here,” I said, interrupting their manly moment, “that Owen Flint spends most of his time in The Parlor before using one of the private rooms.”
“Depends if he brings a date or business associate with him.” Baker sat in the guest chair next to me. I knew his doing so was intentional. Sitting beside me, instead of behind the desk, was a sign of respect.
“Do you ever know which he’ll bring? A business associate or a date?”
“No. But he’s easily distracted by a beautiful woman. I’m sure you could lure him away.”
Evie had returned and stood over Baker’s shoulder, looking at the file. “I can do it. He has a thing for me.”
“Absolutely not!” Baker said, jumping straight out of the chair.
“What’s the big deal?” Evie said. “I’ll bring him upstairs and then they can do whatever they want with him.”
He shook his head. “Not happening.”
“He’d be less suspicious of her,” I said, looking over at Evie. “Someone new could spook him.”
Baker glared at me. “Forget it. She’s a bartender, not a cop—or whatever it is you do these days.”
“Is she scheduled to work tonight?”
“Did you hear me say no? She’s not doing it!”
Evie placed her hands on her hips, looking like she wanted to flip Baker the bird. Instead, she turned back to me. “No, I’m not scheduled to work tonight. But no one would be surprised to see me in the Parlor having a drink off shift.”
I handed her my VIP card. “I’m thinking one of Charlie’s getups would seal the deal. Steal an outfit from her closet.”
Evie held the card like a winning lottery ticket, before sauntering toward the door.
“Does anyone listen to me anymore?” Baker complained.
“Relax. You know damn well that we’ll keep her safe.”
“I want Garth involved. You either include him—or I swear, Kelsey—I’ll burn the club to the ground to prevent this from happening.”
I raised an eyebrow. Baker loved this club. He ate here. Slept here. Even had dates meet him here. I had never seen or heard Baker put anything—or anyone—before the club. Evie had her hooks into him. Deep.
“It’s not like that. She’s not like that.
”
“What’s it like then?” I tried to hide my smile. “Are you smitten, Baker? Has Cupid finally tagged you with an arrow?”
He walked behind his desk and sat as he picked up his cellphone. “Drop it, Kelsey.”
I looked up at Ryan. He was also trying not to smile as he looked around the room. I looked back at Baker as his brief call with Garth ended. “Who are the business associates that sometimes accompany Mr. Flint? Anyone interesting?”
“Your everyday banker, lawyer, doctor, sort of crowd. No one stands out in my memory except—” he paused as he opened the side drawer on his desk and pulled another file. Flipping through it, he found a picture and slid it across the desk to me. “This guy didn’t stay long, but seemed sketchy enough to land on my watchlist.”
I looked at the picture, then back at Baker as I slowly stood. Every hair on my body also stood upright. “You’re sure? This—” I pointed to the guy in the picture “—was the guy talking with Owen Flint?”
He handed me another photo showing the two of them in The Parlor sharing a table.
“Kelsey? Is that—” Ryan started to ask, looking over my shoulder.
“Yes,” I said, cutting him off. I flipped the photo over to read the notes Baker had written on the back. The photo was six months old. “Was there a woman with them?”
Baker raised an eyebrow before sliding another photo, much slower, across the desk to me. “I assumed she was an escort.”
“She’s a professional, but not an escort,” Ryan said, picking up the picture. “How is this even possible?” he asked me.
“I have no idea.”
“What am I missing?” Baker asked.
I set the photo down, placing my fingertip on the image of the man sitting next to Owen Flint. “This is Santiago Remirez.”
“And this,” Ryan said, tossing the picture he was holding onto the desk, “is his diabolical girlfriend, DEA agent Sebrina Tanner.”
I cringed at hearing Sebrina’s last name. It still made me angry to know Grady had kept his ex-wife a secret.
Baker looked down at the photo. “Is she working undercover?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s dirty. We recently busted her and turned evidence over to the agency. But we never heard what happened to her after we did.”
“If you busted her, she’d be in prison, right?”
“Not necessarily,” Ryan said, scratching the back of his head. “If they felt the case was too weak to force a plea deal, they’d fire her and allow her to disappear. It doesn’t look good to have a media storm following a controversial case involving a dirty agent. The DOJ would keep tabs on her, hoping that after some time passed, they could arrest her as a civilian.”
Baker looked back and forth between us. “What are the chances that they released her?”
“Likely,” I said as I ran a hand through my hair. “I had enough to get her fired. To prove she had a relationship with the cartel. I didn’t have enough to prove she worked for the cartel, though.”
“What about her trying to kill you?” Ryan asked me.
“She can counter she acted in self-defense. That she feared for her life.” I looked at Ryan. “I did kick her ass and threaten to slit her throat.”
“That was to keep her away from the kids.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s still something she can use. So far, Donovan hasn’t been able to find out what happened to Sebrina or her cohort Shipwreck. As for Santiago,” I looked back at his photo, “he should be in a prison somewhere, but I can follow-up.”
Ryan sat in one of the guest chairs. “If Sebrina and Santiago were financing the dentist office, and if they’re now out of the business, then who’s paying for the reconstruction work?”
“Good question. We’ll need to talk to Tech.”
The door to the suite opened and Trigger walked out looking like a gangster. His wet hair was combed back straight, and he was wearing one of Baker’s designer suits.
I glanced at Baker. His lips were once again pursed.
“Send me a bill for the suit. Trigger handles a lot of undercover work for me. It could prove handy for us if he has an expensive suit in his disguise box.”
“It’s not the price of the suit that has me pissed,” Baker said between clenched teeth. “Evie hates that suit. That’s why she picked it. There’s plenty of other clothes in my closet.”
“You look better in grays and tans,” Evie said, walking through the door.
The anger fell from his face as he looked at Evie. I looked over my shoulder and scanned her outfit. She was wearing a deep aqua dress that left little to the imagination. The matching pumps screamed sexual thoughts. Ryan grinned. Trigger drooled. Baker gawked.
“You look great,” I told her. “But I won’t know what the plan is until I do a little research. If we don’t come back tonight, then do not engage this guy.”
“Can I still keep the dress?” she asked, winking at Baker.
“Absolutely. That color is all wrong for Charlie anyway.”
“Then I’m good,” she said before departing into Baker’s private suite.
Baker’s head swiveled, following her backside as she disappeared. “She cannot dress like that! It gives the wrong impression.”
I laughed at Baker. “If you don’t get your head out of your ass, that beautiful, intelligent woman is going to find someone else.”
“She’s an employee. I don’t have relationships with employees.”
“They make legal disclosures that cover inner-office relationships. Look into it. Then take that woman on a proper date.”
“If you’re done playing matchmaker, we’ve got work to do,” Ryan said, moving toward the private stairway.
Trigger walked over and with perfect poise, held his elbow out for me. “My lady?”
I hooked my arm through his, grabbing the files and pictures with my other hand before letting him escort me into the stairwell.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CHARLIE
Tuesday, High Noon
Walking into the morgue, I spotted Cassie Rickers, Lydia’s daughter, weeping in one of the hallway chairs. Beast whined as he followed me over to where she was sitting. As I sat next to her, she looked up.
“Did he do this? Did Danny kill my mother?” she asked.
“No,” I told her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Your husband is an asshole, but he didn’t do this.”
“Why then? Why would someone want to kill a drunk homeless woman?”
“Cassie, your mother agreed to help me with some information I needed. I’m a homicide detective.” I waited until the look of confusion was replaced with understanding.
She wiped the tears from her face. “She was going to snitch on someone?”
“I don’t know what she was going to tell me. She was supposed to meet me this morning, but never showed.”
“My mother was weak. I loved her, but there was never anything brave about her. So why now? Why would she help the police?”
“For you. She knew you were in danger.”
Cassie gasped as she raised a trembling hand to her lips. “She sent you.”
“Yes. That was our deal. I save you, and she’d tell me what she knew.”
“It’s my fault, then. That she’s dead. It’s my fault.”
“No,” I said as I lowered my hand to my lap. “And it’s not your mother’s fault. Or even my fault. Only one person is responsible and that’s the person who killed her.”
She dragged the back of her hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Why does that sound so wrong? Too simple?”
I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Guilt. Grief. Maybe regrets. Our negative thinking takes over in situations like this and it’s a natural shift to blame ourselves. But the truth is, the evildoers are the ones to blame.”
Beast had been sitting next to me, but moved to sit between us, leaning his heavy body against our legs.
Cass
ie looked down at him as she spoke to me. “If Mom wouldn’t have made the deal with you to help me, she’d still be alive.”
“You’re overthinking it. You never deserved for Danny to beat on you, that was on him. That was his choice. It’s the same thing with killers. They’re the ones to blame. No one else.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but—”
I placed my hand on top of hers. “Yesterday, a little boy was killed in a drive-by shooting. Was his mother to blame?”
“No! Of course not.”
“But she let the boy play in the front yard—”
“It wasn’t her fault.”
I stood, pulling her gently up by the arm as I did. “I know. Just like Lydia’s death is not your fault.” I released my grip on her as I took a step away. “I’ll find whoever did this. I’ll make him pay.”
Cassie released a slow breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, or…” She looked lost. Frail.
“There’s nothing for you to do here. Your mother’s body won’t be released for at least a few days, if not longer. Go home. Rest. Remember the good days.”
“There weren’t many good days.”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a photo, handing it to her. Lydia’s belongings had been sent for evidence processing, but I had snuck this photo into my pocket.
Cassie looked at the worn photo of mother and daughter. “Where? How?”
“She kept it all these years. She watched over you. She loved you. Don’t forget that.” I walked away.
At the end of the hall, I pushed the door open to walk into the reception room. I jumped in surprise, my hand covering my heart as it slammed against my ribs. Tasha was standing on the other side of the door.
“You did good, Kid,” Tasha said, pointing toward the hallway. “Now, come with me,” she ordered before turning away. “I’ve got preliminary on your victim. Leave the dog with Huey.”
Huey was the fifty-something receptionist who looked like a biker. Tattoos covered half his body and he had three nose piercings. Despite his rough appearance, he was highly skilled, transitioning between grief counselor and office bouncer.
Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Page 20
