Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7)

by Linsey Lanier

  Suddenly she noticed a piece of paper in his hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

  He held it up, the gold rings on his fingers catching the light. “I saw this posted on a convenience store window. You are on your own now?”

  Sure enough, it was one of her flyers.

  She’d posted them around midtown Atlanta, everywhere she could think of, after she’d taken out a Craigslist ad and gotten no response.

  “Yeah, that’s me. And yes, I’m on my own.” She sat down in her chair to dismiss him. She wasn’t in the mood for his gloating.

  He stepped to her desk, laid the flyer down on it. “This is why I’m here, Miranda.”

  She opened a drawer and pretended to search for client papers she didn’t have. “You want to turn me in for littering, Santiago? That would be calling the kettle black.”

  She heard his low, sultry chuckle and looked up to see him shaking his head at her.

  She cocked her head at him with a you-still-here? grimace. “What?”

  His smile disappearing he thumped a finger on the desk over the flyer. The ruby ring on it flashed as if sending out a warning signal. “Are you really working on your own as a private investigator?”

  “Trying to.” Why did he care? Was he going to make her pay protection money? Good luck with that.

  “Answer me.” He spoke so sharply he made her jump.

  She eyed her lower drawer. She kept her Berretta in there—something else she’d taken when she left Parker. Now she wished she’d kept it in a shoulder holster.

  “Okay, you got me,” she said in the tough voice she used to use in bars. “Yes, I’m really working as a private investigator on my own. What of it?”

  He grinned and a diamond twinkled on his front tooth. “I seem to recall you owe me a favor.”

  She swallowed hard.

  That night in the Fulton County jail he’d given her some vital information on a case. Then he’d stepped in close, wrapped a strand of her hair around a finger—and asked what she could do for him in return.

  “That is why I came to see you, Miranda.”

  He was here to collect a favor?

  “Oh, yeah?” It was all she could do to keep her voice from squeaking.

  She shivered a little, remembering how close this violent criminal had come to her that night. Almost as close as he was now, leaning over her desk. So close she could feel his breath.

  Her skin turned cold and every hair on the back of her neck stood in attention when he spoke the next words.

  “Miranda Steele, I want to hire you.”

  Chapter Three

  Wade Parker sat at his glossy desk in his corner office on the fifteenth floor of the Imperial Building and stared out the window at the building next door. His head throbbed, his body ached, his face was raw from the first shave he’d had in three weeks.

  And his mind was a blank.

  Why had he bothered to come into the office today? He was utterly useless here. He’d sat at his desk all morning and produced nothing.

  What was the point?

  Three weeks ago Miranda Steele had walked out on him and he hadn’t been the same since.

  He hadn’t gone after her. He knew that would do no good. Instead he’d cursed. He’d roared and ranted and raved. He’d smashed things. He’d drunk to excess. He’d roamed about the empty mansion he’d grown up in, a whiskey bottle in his hand, until he’d dropped onto the floor somewhere in a dull stupor.

  Friends had come by to find out what was the matter. His father, his daughter had come, too. They all said they were worried about him.

  He’d told them to leave him the hell alone.

  He ran a hand over his chin. Its smoothness felt strange. He felt strange. Like a creature from outer space inhabiting a human body for the first time.

  And all he could think of was the sound of the front door shutting when Miranda walked out of it for the last time.

  He rubbed his temple to ease the pain. He couldn’t ease the pain in his heart.

  What a fool he’d been to fall so in love with someone so headstrong. So willful. So obstinate. She’d been right. It could never work between them.

  And yet he ached for her. For what they’d had together. Or what he’d thought they had.

  But, no. Her foolish need for danger and risk would always set them at odds. She’d chosen it over him. Over their life together. Over their marriage.

  His first inclination had been to send someone to watch her. He knew where she was. He’d traced her credit card and discovered she’d rented a room in an unsavory part of town. Just like her to be so reckless. And an office, as well. She was actually trying to set up an investigation business. That had stunned him.

  Not that she couldn’t handle cases on her own. He had every confidence she could. She had natural instincts for the work. She was as quick a learner as he’d come across in his twenty year career.

  But at what cost?

  He shook his head. There she goes, he thought, living a dangerous life and taking few precautions. But he’d decided against round-the-clock surveillance. She would easily make any tail he put on her. She was too good at what she did. He had made her that good.

  And when she did, it would only prolong the breakup. Better to make the break clean. Besides, if she got into trouble and came back to him, it would only prove he’d been right. The work, the cases she craved were too dangerous. Would she learn that lesson? Would she come back?

  His gut quivered at the thought, the anger brewing again. If she did she would not get a second chance from him.

  He was done with her.

  Slowly he opened a drawer in his desk and eyed the devise inside it. Miranda’s old cell phone. The one with the anonymous text messages she’d kept secret from him. For some reason he’d brought it into the office this morning and stuffed it into this drawer. Force of habit, he supposed.

  He picked the phone up and scrolled to the messages.

  I know who you are.

  I know where you are.

  I know what you are.

  Miranda had insisted they’d come from some crank caller, someone who’d merely been looking for attention. Someone who was no real threat. He’d thought the source was more sinister. Perhaps she was right. There had been no more texts since the last one. Since there had been no response to the calls, the person had moved on to other thrills.

  But if she wasn’t right?

  A few weeks ago in Chicago he had tried to find the person who’d sent his wife these messages. He knew now he’d taken the wrong approach. But every case, especially the tough ones, had several angles to attack from.

  A new one began to form in his mind about this one.

  What if he did find the mysterious texter? What if the source wasn’t as innocent as Miranda had assumed? Parker envisioned himself hunting her down in her office, showing her proof this person was dangerous and she should have listened to him.

  Then he would turn away and walk out.

  He turned the phone over in his hand, his mind coming to life again as he considered the next step.

  Familiar footsteps echoed in the hall. A rap on his door followed.

  He glanced up and saw his daughter, Gen, standing in the open door, looking concerned.

  She wore a straight line silver business suit that showed off her tall, athletic figure, as well as her short crop of white blond hair.

  His heart filled with pride for her. As his office manager she was more than competent. She could take over the business side of the Agency one day. Perhaps one day soon. Judd could handle the field work.

  She put a hand on her hip. “You’re late.”

  He frowned.

  “The meeting with Judd?”

  “Oh, yes.” He had called for it this afternoon to catch up on business and review the new recruits for the next training session he was offering later that year.

  Ironically, he had pretended he was recruiting new employees to Miranda and he hadn’t e
ven started.

  When he didn’t move Gen came over and sat down in his guest chair. “You okay, Dad?”

  She wasn’t usually so gentle.

  “I’m fine.”

  Her lips drew into a thin line. She shook her head. “I still can’t believe what that woman did to you.”

  Parker raised a hand. “Please, Gen. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “And on your anniversary.”

  “It was the day before the anniversary,” he corrected.

  “I know that. It was the day Joan and Coco and I worked our butts off to throw you and her a nice party to celebrate.” Her voice dripped with bitterness.

  Parker rubbed his temple again. He’d hated disappointing her and he’d especially hated disappointing Joan Fanuzzi, who’d been a loyal friend to both Miranda and himself. He’d called her personally to apologize that day. Joan had not heard from Miranda.

  He appreciated his daughter’s feelings but he didn’t want the drama right now. “How’s our bottom line for the quarter looking so far?”

  She gave him a smirk at the change of subject but her demeanor instantly turned professional. “Good. Collections are at an all time high. As are worker’s comp cases.”

  “Excellent.” The Agency was in good shape. It could run without him. Good to know.

  “Do you want me to ask Judd to come in here for the meeting?”

  Parker shook his head. “No. I’ll join you in the board room.”

  He got to his feet.

  Gen rose and moved to the door. Then she turned back to study him.

  “What is it?” He hoped he looked presentable, though he felt like the grease on the pavement under a leaky vehicle.

  She folded her arms. “I know you might not like this idea and you can say no, if you want.”

  He sat on the edge of his desk and frowned. “What idea?”

  “What if I hook you up with someone?”

  “Hook me up? You mean a date?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. I have some friends in town. I know someone who’s really nice. You could go out, have some drinks.”

  Parker scanned his internal list of social contacts and wondered who Gen had in mind. He was about to say no. Then he changed his mind.

  Why not go out on a date? It wasn’t a lifetime commitment after all. He was single now, or would be soon. Why not enjoy some female companionship? Why not pick up where he’d been when Miranda came into his life?

  He could find his own date, but why not let his daughter pick someone out for him? Let her feel she was helping him, though he didn’t need it.

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  She flinched in surprise. “Really? I thought you’d balk at the idea.”

  “Not in the mood to balk this afternoon.”

  “Well,” she grinned. “Good for you, Dad. I’ll get started right after this meeting.” She turned and scampered down the hall.

  As Parker started to follow her, he realized Miranda’s phone was still in his hand. He paused to stare down at it.

  Gen was right. He needed to start a new life.

  He would not take Miranda back. He would not make himself vulnerable to this kind of pain again. She wasn’t made for long term commitment. He should have listened when she told him that. And maybe he wasn’t looking for that kind of relationship any more, either.

  No, he would not take her back. But he would find whoever had texted her and teach her a lesson.

  Gen’s voice rang out from the hall. “Dad? Are you coming?”

  For the first time in weeks Parker smiled. “Yes, Gen. I’m coming.”

  He put the phone into his pocket and followed his daughter to the conference room.

  Chapter Four

  “You want to hire me?” Miranda stared up at the expensively dressed Hispanic drug lord hovering over her cheap thrift store desk and rued the night she’d met him and his fancy streetfighter motorcycle. “What for?”

  Did he want her to investigate a rival gang? Keep the cops away from some drug deal that was going down? Or maybe he thought his girlfriend was cheating on him.

  He straightened as if satisfied she was finally talking him seriously. “One of my dancers is missing.”

  “Dancers?”

  “May I?” without waiting for her to answer Santiago settled into her only guest chair—a padded polyurethane deal with a steel tube frame that looked cheap but had cost her fifty bucks. He positioned his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “I own a nightclub off Piedmont Road. I employ dancers. One of them is missing. I want you to find her.”

  Miranda blinked and let out the breath she’d been holding, feeling it singe her lungs. “A dancer? At a nightclub?” She could just imagine what kind of joint that was.

  “A gentleman’s club,” he said smoothly in his low, rich accent.

  Slowly she nodded, his words sinking in. “A strip club.”

  Santiago made a face and shook his head. “That is such a crass term. We are a high end establishment.”

  Okay, so it was a high end strip club. No doubt with high end strippers. And one of them was missing.

  “I need to find her. I have top dollar customers asking for her. They want her back.”

  So it was the money that made him so concerned about this dancer.

  “Have you gone to the police?”

  The gangster just stared at her with his coal black eyes.

  Bad joke.

  This club was only one of Santiago’s many businesses. A semi-legitimate one, but God only knew what illegitimate activities went on under its roof. Uncomfortable, Miranda shifted her weight in her chair. She wasn’t going to look for a gangster’s missing stripper. That was no way to start a detective business.

  “Uh, can’t your customers get those ‘services’ from,” she waved a hand in the air, “someone else at your club?”

  Catching her drift, Santiago scowled darkly. “The customers adore her dancing and are willing to pay to see it. The ‘services’ you are referring to are not offered in my establishment.”

  Yeah, and the Easter Bunny left chocolate eggs under her pillow every spring. But that wasn’t getting this guy out of her office.

  She decided to humor him before kicking him out. “When was the last time you saw your dancer?” There was a reason the police waited forty-eight hours before declaring someone missing. People usually showed up during that time.

  “This past Thursday. We had a special show for some local sports figures. I stopped by to make sure things were going well.”

  “And did you see her then?”

  He nodded. “I watched her perform. She was excellent.”

  Took her clothes off in an extra special way that night? “Have you seen her since?”

  “No one has. She did not come to work the next day.”

  “I see.” Okay, it was now Monday so that was almost twice the requisite forty-eight hours. Miranda shrugged. “Maybe she decided to quit and didn’t bother to give notice.” Maybe she was trying to get out of having to take her clothes off in front of horny men.

  “Most girls do not quit. Someone like Nitro would not quit.”

  “Nitro?”

  “That is her stage name. We call her that because when she steps on the stage, it is as if an atomic bomb went off.” He made an explosion gesture with his hands, grinning greedily, his tooth diamond flashing.

  She just bet. “So…why do you think this…uh, Nitro wouldn’t quit?”

  “For one thing, I pay very well. For another she enjoyed her work. It was a creative outlet for her.”

  Spoken like a true man. “What’s Nitro’s real name?”

  He thought a moment. “Hannah, I believe.”

  “Last name?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I do not recall.”

  So a young girl goes missing from a club and the owner—who can’t recall her last name—wants her back. Did something bad happen to her? More likely she was hiding—from hi
m. Miranda didn’t want to work for a notorious drug lord who dabbled in what she thought this was. Especially not if he wanted to drag the girl back into a life she was trying to escape from.

  She let out a calculated sigh. “I don’t know Carlos.”

  Thick dark brows drew together in a menacing look. “You do not know what, Miranda?”

  “Whether I can take your case. I’m pretty busy right now.” She gestured around the room.

  Santiago wasn’t stupid. He could see the office was empty, as was her desk. His lips curled up in a sensuous smile. “You will take my case, Miranda,” he said in that sultry, demanding voice, trilling the r in her name again.

  Then he reached into a pocket.

  She jumped, heart pounding. Was he going to pull a gun on her? But, no. Instead he drew out a fat stack of bills.

  Without counting them he laid them on the desk before her.

  Miranda gulped, stared at the wad of money. It was all hundreds. It must have been at least three thousand dollars.

  The gangster patted the stack as if it were a pet. “Let us call this your retainer. There will be twice that much when you find Nitro.”

  Feeling dizzy she put a hand to her head. Six thousand dollars? Carlos Santiago was offering her six thousand dollars to find a missing dancer? This Nitro must really be something.

  Her mind started to race. Six thousand dollars would give her time to get her business started. Six thousand dollars would allow her to advertise better. Six thousand dollars would give her some breathing room. She wouldn’t have to take a side job.

  But she couldn’t take money from a man like Santiago. Didn’t want to take it.

  She opened her mouth to say no thanks, then stopped.

  On the other hand, what if Nitro was in trouble? What if she really was hiding from him? What if she were holed up somewhere in the city, scared to death Santiago was going to find her and teach her a lesson for leaving him.

  If Miranda got to her first she could help the girl get away.

  So far, Santiago hadn’t been very forthcoming. He didn’t even know her last name. How was she supposed to work with that? She needed more information.

  “Is there anyone who can give me more details about this girl? Maybe a picture of her?”