by Jo Leigh
He’d known her what, a couple of days? How was it possible he liked her so intensely? That he couldn’t shake the feel of her, the scent of her?
This was new for him. The last woman he’d been serious about, Carol, hadn’t bamboozled him like this. They’d started as friends in the academy and the relationship had progressed. They’d decided that it would be good to live together, and that had been pretty good for five whole years.
Then she’d met someone. A fellow cop Bax knew casually, someone he’d never have imagined with Carol. He was one of those manly men. Hunted, fished, worked out with great big dumbbells. To the best of Bax’s knowledge, it had never occurred to him to pick up a book. Carol seemed happy with him, though, so there it was. He used to miss her. Now, he only thought about her when they ran into each other through the job.
This thing with Mia, though, there was none of the distance he’d had with Carol. It was as if she’d bypassed his logic circuits, hitting him straight in the emotions. Not smart. Not when they were both involved with a big case like this one.
“Did you want to ask me some questions, Detective?”
Shit. “Yes, I do.” He pulled out his notebook and pen. “First, why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Gerry Geiger.”
“Relationship? We didn’t have one, other than him being a pain in my ass.”
“In what way?”
She smiled, and he thought of how different it was to see that famous grin life-sized instead of on a movie screen. “He was no different from all the other stalkerazzis. Always looking to get the most unflattering pictures, the most compromising positions. The uglier the better.”
“Did he catch you in any compromising positions?”
“Lots of times. I’d like to tell you my life has been so pure there was nothing for him to catch, but that would be a crock. I’ve partied with the best of them, or perhaps I should say the worst. In fact, it was Gerry who managed to get a copy of my mug shot when I was busted for that DUI in L.A.”
“Did you and he have any discussions about that?”
“No, Detective, we didn’t. We had no discussions whatsoever. Come here, baby. Come on.”
Bax bit back a sigh as the women segued from the interview to getting her tiny dog on her lap. Then he waited for a couple of minutes as the dog, nestled under her considerable cleavage, barked at him. Bobbi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed a little calmer after the dog finally shut up.
“As for the night he was murdered, I left the nightclub set at a quarter to eleven. You can check with the AD who signed me out. I then went to my room, took a very long bath and went to bed.”
“Anyone who can confirm that?”
“The pet concierge, Mercy I believe her name is, brought the babies to my room.”
“Do you remember what time?”
“No. Sometime after eleven. After that, no one can vouch for me. Sorry.”
“Do you think someone from the film killed him?”
She didn’t seem the least shaken by his question. “Very possibly. He wasn’t a nice man, Detective. He was rude, pushy, obnoxious. His lifeblood was our misery.”
“And yet, according to Mrs. Geiger, you called on him to take pictures when it suited you.”
“Look, sweetie, I didn’t make the calls myself,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes. “Oscar has people who do that kind of thing, not me.”
“So you never actually spoke to Mrs. Geiger.”
“God, no. But from what I hear, she’s quite the lush. Even Gerry Geiger had had enough of that one. I heard he was getting ready to leave her.”
“How did you hear that?”
“Was it Nan? Maybe not. You have to understand, Detective—do you have a first name? That detective bit is getting old.”
“We’re almost done. Was it Nan Collins who told you that Geiger was leaving his wife?”
“I don’t recall, honestly. It was just one of those rumors on the set. You know how those are.”
“No. How are they?”
She smiled, clearly not appreciating his humor.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s it.”
“You’ll let me know if you think of anything else, yes?”
Her smile became even less charming. Perhaps he should have let her call him Bax.
“I’ll rush to find you if I think of another thing.”
He stood, causing the dogs to get hysterical yet again, and then he was outside in the warm June afternoon. He needed to type up his notes, call Grunwald, although he was no closer to a suspect. But attention had to be paid to the protocols.
Besides, once he was inside, he could check room service records and find out about the pet concierge. Jeez, hotels had certainly changed a lot. Or maybe he was just a hopeless hick, destined for backwoods motels.
As he entered the hotel lobby, his gaze went straight to the front desk, to Mia. She didn’t see him, engrossed as she was on the computer and her phone. He watched her for a long while, probably too long. She typed and talked with a smile that he knew now was genuine. Not like Bobbi Tamony, or any of those movie people. None of those actors could hold a candle to Mia. She was beautiful, wickedly bright— Bax closed his eyes. This was not good.
In fact, it was humiliating. Thirty-six years old, and he was moony over a slip of a girl. Jesus. Pretty soon he’d be writing her name on the back of his notebook.
He turned around and walked outside, stretching his legs for the first time that day. Thinking about this situation.
First of all, he was leaving. He’d already been accepted at Boulder and there was nothing for him in New York, so it wasn’t optional. Second, she wasn’t leaving. Mia had scored herself an incredible job, and she wasn’t about to give that up for the likes of him. Third, he was really, really tired. That was probably what all this insanity was about. He’d get a good night’s sleep and things would go back to normal.
This was not the way he did things.
He was on a case, for God’s sake. A high-profile murder. What, did he think he could skate just because he’d turned in his resignation? As long as he was on the damn clock, he would put his entire energy on the job, not on his dick.
Only, it wasn’t just his dick.
Shit.
“YOU HAVE A MINUTE, Mia?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
It was Mercy, the pet concierge at Hush and one of Mia’s favorite people here at the hotel. She was shy and sweet, and they’d had great talks about crazy guests and their pets, not to mention all the hotel gossip. They met for drinks or dinner whenever they could.
She seemed distracted, which was understandable. They’d had an extraordinary number of pets recently, all of them wanting the kind of specialized services Hush was famous for. Home-baked treats, massages, walks of course, and playtime in the PetQuarters. Mercy had even hired special help to get through the month as most of her personal time was spent caring for Bobbi Tamony’s two Chihuahuas.
“You were with that policeman this morning, right?”
“Detective Milligan? Yeah, I was helping him with some details about the case.”
“Uh-huh, anyway, I don’t know if I should bother him— No, it’s nothing. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Wait. Don’t go. What was it you wanted to tell him?”
Mercy also wore the Hush uniform, but her pink bow tie had little black puppies on it. She had bigger pockets on her jacket, too, to hold all the biscuits. What made her look completely adorable though was that she wore her long blond hair up in a ponytail, held there with a big pink bow that matched her tie. So cute. But Mia could tell she wasn’t her usual perky self.
“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” Mercy stepped closer to the desk. “It just that when I went up last night to deliver the pups, I could tell Bobbi had been crying.”
“Was anyone with her?”
“No, but she was acting really odd. She shoved a bunch of stuff under
her blanket when I walked into the room.”
“It could have just been, you know, Hush stuff.”
Mercy waved her hand. “Oh, heck no. She leaves her vibrators out on display on top of her night tables. She was really bothered by something. I asked if I could do anything and she said no, but…”
“What?”
“I saw the guy that was murdered coming out of her room that night.”
“The night he was killed?”
Mercy nodded. “I have no idea what he was doing there, or if it means anything. You think I should tell him? The detective?”
“Yeah. I think so. It could mean something.”
“All right. I’ll find him before he goes home. Thanks.”
“No problem. Let me know if there’s anything else you think of. I mean, it’s probably easier for me to catch the detective.”
“Uh-huh,” Mercy gave her a look that said she wasn’t fooled in the least. “As soon as this madness is over, you and I will have ourselves a talk.” She leaned over the edge of the desk. “He is pretty damn hot.”
Mia felt a blush heat her cheeks. Lucky for her, the phone rang. “Concierge, this is Mia, how may I help you?”
Mercy shook her head as she left and Mia was quite certain that if Mercy, who was far more intuitive about puppies than people, knew about her thing for Bax, then the entire staff at Hush knew as well. Great.
7
“YOU’RE HERE.”
Bax nodded then got up from the pony wall in the Hush garage. “I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
Mia approached him, a little bit thrilled that he was here and a little bit leery as to why. “You didn’t have to. The paps don’t seem to care that much about me today.”
“Fools.”
“Oh,” she said, but she didn’t think he heard her. This was so odd. It was like some elaborate dance but she didn’t know the steps. He comes close, he backs away, he tells her it’s all about the job, then says, “Fools.” Not fair. And still, she was drawn to him. Terribly so.
She touched the sleeve of his leather jacket. As June was coming into its own the days and nights were becoming warmer. Soon that leather would be too much for the season and he’d put the jacket away. She bet he looked great in a T-shirt. “It’s nice of you.”
“I would have preferred driving you home, but all I can do tonight is see you to the subway. I’ve got to go to the precinct.”
“Did Mercy find you?”
“Neither mercy nor grace, unfortunately. I’ve been stuck with sloth and greed all day.”
Mia grinned. “I meant Mercy, the pet concierge.”
“Right. Uh, no. No, she didn’t.”
“She told me a couple of things you should know. Come on, walk me to the subway and I’ll fill you in.”
He didn’t take her hand, but she thought he wanted to. She sure did. Instead, she did what she knew was safe. Told him all she could remember about her conversation with Mercy. She was terribly professional and when they were standing at the subway steps and he looked at her with his deep brown eyes, she melted like an ice cream cone in summer. At least on the inside.
She thought about him all the way to Brooklyn Heights. Even the murder didn’t stand a chance of chasing Bax away. As she climbed into bed at ten-thirty, she had to admit it. He wasn’t just a crush. No crush had ever made her feel like this. She was a goner.
DESPITE THE FACT that it was almost lunchtime, Mia didn’t do the sensible thing and relax in the break room. Oh, no. She decided to steal away to the trailers and deliver a rather large fruit and muffin basket that had been left for Danny Austen. Maybe she could get him talking. He might open up to her more than he would to a police detective, right?
She made a quick restroom stop just to make sure she looked her best, then hauled the basket from behind the desk and headed out.
The security guard at the exit was sweet, holding the door for her and asking if he could be of help, but this was something she needed to do alone.
The garage was pretty empty, which meant this trip was probably a waste of time. Usually, when there was no one by the trailers it meant they were all on the set. Oh, well. She would still deliver the basket.
She had to switch hands twice before she found his particular motor home because the basket was so heavy. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to carry it much further. Resting on the step in front of the door, she knocked. “Mr. Austen? I have a delivery.”
She waited. Thought about breaking down and buying something from the vending machines in the break room. Something naughty.
Another knock. “Mr. Austen? Delivery.”
She waited for half a mo, then tried the door. It was open. She’d seen the way the movie people were with these so-called trailers. They were like offices, and people seemed to go in and out without much concern. Still, she poked her head in. Nothing.
With a push and a heave, she went inside, amazed again at the opulence. She could have easily lived there. Heck, they could have taken off the wheels and she’d have been happy.
Mia put the basket on the table. Walking toward the back of the motor home, she touched the marble countertops. They didn’t seem like a veneer. One thing she hadn’t seen in the empty trailer was the bathroom.
She went back and opened the first door, but that was just a closet. Then she opened the second door.
And screamed.
Danny Austen, naked as the day he was born, was in a very tiny shower with another very naked man. They were both all soapy and foamy, which made sense because there was no water running to wash them off.
She jumped back and slammed the door shut.
The stupid thing bounced and flew open again, giving her an even more unfortunate view.
One more time, she shut the door, catching it this time with both hands.
She was out of that trailer almost as quickly as Piper was going to fire her.
THERE WAS NO GOOD time to read a tabloid. Bax realized that profound truth immediately, but there was also no turning back.
The cover in his hand had all the bold printed scandals that would fit, but he was only interested in the central picture. Bobbi Tamony, dressed in something gold and slinky, was sitting at a banquette, her head bent over a large mirror. There was a rolled-up bill at her nose through which she was snorting what looked like several hundred dollars’ worth of cocaine.
The photograph wasn’t credited and the date given was the unhelpful sometime last week. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if this picture was worthy of murder. How had the paper gotten the photo? From which paparazzo?
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to those cretins. One was worst than the next, yanking out their First Amendment rights at the drop of a hat, despite the fact it was clear they had no idea what the First Amendment said.
But what choice did he have? The paparazzi were Geiger’s people. This afternoon Bax had three of them lined up, the most interesting of whom was Henry Toth. According to his compatriots, Toth and Geiger were rivals, not just with work, but on a personal level.
That wasn’t for another half hour, though, so Bax went back to the magazines. He really hated that he’d spent perfectly good money on this crap. That, in fact, he had a whole stack of tabloids staring at him. He cared nothing about which stars’ diets were now disasters. Which plastic surgeries had gone horribly wrong. Or what starlet was the latest to be dumped.
He also hated that he’d been read the riot act last night by the captain. Not that he was doing anything wrong, just that he wasn’t doing the right things faster. Much faster.
Seemed Oscar Weinberg had friends. Lots of them. In very high places. Who didn’t seem terribly concerned that a paparazzo had been killed. In fact, the subtext had been that the killer had done a public service.
On the other side of the coin were the tabloids themselves, rallied to a cause that had more to do with sensational headlines than actual concern, but a cause nonetheless that made the NYPD look
bad.
Why, then, was it taking him so long to find the murderer?
He hadn’t bothered to answer the captain’s questions. The captain hadn’t become the captain because he was a stupid man. He understood exactly why things were moving at a snail’s pace. He also understood that by giving Bax grief, he was absolving himself of any guilt associated with the case. He could happily move on to the next crisis, leaving Bax to take whatever blame might come. Would come.
Bax sighed as he picked up the next tabloid on the pile. It too had a picture of interest on the cover. Not of Bobby Tamony, but of Danny Austen. Nothing about his sexual preferences unless you counted partying with a barely eighteen-year-old starlet.
Something about the picture… He went back to the front page featuring Bobbi Tamony, then put the two magazines side by side. There, in the background in both pictures, was the same woman. Nan Collins, the glorified extra. There was no mistaking her, despite the blurriness of the photos.
She wore a cut-down-to-there blouse, the same blouse in both shots. In one picture, she looked directly at the camera. In the other, she looked to the right. A man might surmise the picture had been taken on the same night.
Perhaps Bobbi and Danny had been at the same club? It didn’t look like the Hush hotel bar. The décor was all wrong. Mia would know. She might just know something about the woman, too. He’d better go—
He put the brakes on. He needed to be careful about her. Yes, she was an excellent resource, but to depend on her and her gossip too much could lead him to unwarranted conclusions. It was so easy to believe everything she said, even after her own admissions that she was repeating rumors. He liked her. He wanted her to be right. It was a recipe for mistakes the case couldn’t afford.
