Hot Contact

by Susan Crosby

“Open and shut. You already know the details.”

  “No. If that was all there was to it, I would’ve been told before now.”

  Joe hadn’t thought about it like that. She was right, though. So what was missing?

  “My theory,” Fred said, “is that some pal of the shooter had a beef with him and shot him with the gun stolen from your father.”

  “How would it end up in Mike Vicente’s possession?”

  “Are you sure it’s Mateo’s gun?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe watched her state the bald-faced lie, knowing what she was after. If Fred knew that the serial number on the gun in his dad’s safe had been filed off, he also knew they couldn’t positively identify the weapon as Mateo’s—and that Arianna was bluffing. In fact, if Fred mentioned the serial number at all, he implicated himself.

  And Joe’s father.

  “You positively ID’d it?” was all Fred asked.

  “We did,” Arianna said.

  “I don’t have an answer for that.”

  “Liar.” Arianna’s jaw clenched. “You know. You’re just not telling.”

  “What does it matter? Really? What does it matter? Nothing changes.”

  “I think you saw the killer at the scene,” she said. “I think you knew who he was and didn’t tell anyone. I think you took my father’s gun yourself and sought out the killer and shot him yourself.”

  “If I’d shot the guy, I would’ve used a weapon that the P.D. didn’t already have a ballistics report on.”

  Arianna stood. “We’re wasting our time.” She headed out of the room.

  Joe followed.

  “Wait,” Fred said, loud enough to stop her. He ambled up to her. “I loved Mateo like a brother. He was a good cop and a good guy. Always bragging about you. Saved my butt a couple of times. You heard the saying about letting sleeping dogs lie? You need to do that. Nothing you find out can bring him back.” He looked at Joe. “Convince her.”

  “I’m looking for answers, too. And my father is still alive.”

  “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Arianna yanked open the front door. It was as much anger as he’d seen her display since they’d met.

  “Well, that was a complete waste of time,” she said once they were in the car.

  “Not entirely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s apparent there’s a conspiracy of some kind.”

  “A conspiracy of silence,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “Maybe he has a point, Arianna. Maybe we should give it up.” Maybe I don’t want to know how my father was involved in this.

  “Not yet.”

  “If you find out that Zamora did the killing, would you turn him in?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Would you?” Her eyes looked bleak.

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’re a cop,” she said. “You uphold the law.”

  “What I think about this case doesn’t matter. No D.A. would want it. No cop would want to deal with it. Not twenty-five years after the fact. Not for a cop killer.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then, “You really think I should stop looking?”

  “I won’t tell you what to do,” he said. It would be useless to try, anyway.

  “And you would be content not knowing your father’s part in it?”

  “Content isn’t the word I would use, but I would be willing to let it go. Dad can’t tell us anything, and he can’t be punished.”

  After a minute she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “It’s Arianna. We’re done. Where can we meet you?”

  Joe waited until she’d written down the directions Doc gave her for where to meet, then he leaned across the console and gave her a hug. She resisted for a few seconds, then she buried her face against his neck and let out a long, shaky breath.

  “That was a bad interrogation,” she said, relaxing against him.

  “He’s a pro. You couldn’t have broken him no matter what you said. You did fine.”

  She pulled away. He brushed her hair back, glad he had come with her, even though she would’ve managed fine without him. Her honesty was refreshing, her intelligence a magnet that pulled him in, her passion more than a little addictive. He knew it wasn’t to his benefit to tell her to give up the inquiry, since she would probably move back to her apartment when they were done, but he couldn’t keep her with a lie. For her sake he thought she should give it up. What was done was done.

  “Let’s go meet Doc,” she said.

  “I’ll drop you off then come back and get you.”

  “You can stay. I’d like your opinion, too. If you don’t mind.”

  “You don’t think it’ll bother him?”

  “I doubt very much he’s going to come work for us. He’s a lone wolf, that’s for sure. So, you might as well meet him, too. This will be as casual a job interview as I’ve ever conducted.”

  He pulled away from the curb and turned left at the first stop sign, following her directions. “If you don’t think he’s the right person for the job, why are you bothering?”

  “Because we need someone in San Francisco, preferably three someones. Doc’s not only good, he brings a client list, and I gather it’s the kind of client we usually deal with, not just skip traces or spousal infidelities. I think his rates are higher than ours.”

  He gave the car some gas to climb one of San Francisco’s famous hilly streets and enjoyed the ride. “So he doesn’t need you, but you need him. That puts him in the driver’s seat.”

  “It sure does.”

  He pictured a face-off between Arianna and Doc. “This ought to be entertaining,” he said, smiling at her, then glad to see her smile in return.

  “You can keep score.”

  “Or referee. Too bad I left my black-and-white striped shirt at home.”

  She laughed, and he relaxed at last.

  Arianna let her eyes adjust to the dark interior of the charming Italian restaurant. Soon she saw a lone man at a table near the kitchen, his back to the wall. That wouldn’t make Joe happy, she thought. Cops always wanted to sit with their backs to the wall and facing the room. She did, too.

  She walked to the table, feeling Joe’s presence behind her.

  “Doc?” she said.

  He stood, shook hands with them, then settled into his seat. “I waited for you to order.”

  He had light brown eyes with more than a hint of gold, Arianna noticed. Olive skin, black hair, not really handsome but appealing in a rough-around-the-edges way.

  She realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “I am,” Joe said, picking up a menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “The artichoke ravioli,” Doc said. “Or spaghetti and meatballs. The best in the city.”

  Arianna decided it would be rude not to eat, so she ordered angel hair pasta with basil and fresh tomatoes.

  “You get what you needed from Zamora?” Doc asked.

  “We got what he would give us,” Arianna said. “Which wasn’t much. I appreciate your keeping an eye on him for us.”

  “You’ll get my bill.”

  “I’m sure. Look, are you interested in the least in coming to work for ARC or am I just spinning my wheels here?”

  “Direct. I like that. Well, Ms. Alvarado, if I weren’t ‘interested in the least’ I wouldn’t be here.”

  Arianna waited until their server put their iced teas on the table before she continued. “I think Sam told you we want to open a branch office in the city. He wants you.”

  “You say that as if you don’t.”

  “I have a hard time trusting someone who doesn’t give his name.”

  “You’re wondering what I’m hiding?”

  “Yes.”

  He stirred some sugar into his tea, keeping her waiting, his expression benign. She wanted to dislike him, but she found she couldn’t. He seemed amused by her, but not in a condescending way.

  “I wo
nder if you know what your reputation is,” he said.

  “It’s solid. We worked hard to earn it.”

  “I mean you personally.”

  She glanced at Joe in time to see the hint of a smile on his lips. She leaned back, crossed her legs and lifted her brows. “You’re going to tell me, I assume.”

  “Smart,” Doc said. “The logic skills of a man. Not afraid to use your body as a weapon, physically and sexually.”

  “I don’t prostitute to get information.”

  “Didn’t mean it that way. I meant you’re not opposed to using your cleavage as a distraction. Some men are stupid enough to fall for that.”

  Joe laughed. Choked. Took a swallow of tea. Over the rim of his glass he met Arianna’s steely gaze.

  Doc eyed Joe. “Who are you, exactly? I haven’t seen your name as part of the firm.”

  “LAPD. Robbery-Homicide division.”

  Doc raised his glass in a toast. “Last I checked, cops and P.I.s don’t exactly collaborate.”

  “We’re proving it’s a myth,” Arianna said, realizing she wasn’t offended by his description of her. It was the truth, after all. Although the “logic skills of a man” part could’ve been considered an insult. “Joe and I partnered up on an investigation. A personal one.”

  Over lunch Arianna and Joe shared the details of the case. Doc asked good questions then, as they finished, he said, “I’d look at the woman again.”

  “Mary Beth?” Arianna asked.

  “Both of you thought there was something off with her.”

  “Yes, but then we found out it was because she was having an affair with my father.”

  “Maybe that’s not all there was to it. Your mother said she told you everything she knew. Zamora won’t tell you anything else. Joe’s father’s notes might not ever be deciphered. Mary Beth is the only one left.”

  “We’ll talk it over. So—” she set her silverware on her empty plate “—are you ready to work out of an office? Have people know your name? Come out of the shadows and into the light?”

  He actually smiled. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

  “We offer great benefits. A steady income. Bonuses.”

  “We’d have to talk about money. I’m not taking a cut. In fact, I figure you’d owe me a signing bonus for what I’d be bringing to your firm.”

  “Everything’s negotiable.”

  “All right. I’ll get back to you.”

  When? she wanted to ask, but knew she couldn’t push him. Actually, he was a lot like Sam, which is probably why she liked him right away. “You’ve got my number,” she said.

  He nodded then stood. “I’ll be interested in knowing how your personal case comes out.”

  “I’m only sharing that with ARC employees,” she said sweetly.

  He laughed and shook her hand.

  “Not averse to female bosses, are you, Doc?” she asked.

  “Averse to bosses in general, Arianna. But I could probably work with you okay. See you.” He included Joe in his farewells then was gone.

  “That was entertaining,” Joe said.

  Arianna felt better than she had in days. “Yes, it was.”

  “Do you think he’ll work for you?”

  “If we can meet his demands, yes.”

  “Will you meet them?

  “We’d be crazy not to.”

  He folded his napkin and set it beside his plate. “So, if I were interested in working for ARC, would you hire me?”

  His tone was casual, but his expression wasn’t. “You’ve got what it takes,” she said. “But I think you like being a cop too much to leave.”

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “Would I hire you? I’d be crazy not to.” She stood, ending the discussion. The thought of them working together was way too appealing. “Let’s go home.”

  Fifteen

  On Sunday morning Joe set down rules for the day—all play, no work. They couldn’t go to see Mary Beth Horvath until Monday, anyway, but he also wanted a day without examining, discussing and agonizing over their fathers. Just one day. By tomorrow the investigation would probably have run its course. Either they’d have the truth or they’d have to learn to live with never knowing the truth.

  So, today was critical. Arianna was becoming as obsessed as he’d been when he was dealing with his parents’ illnesses, his broken engagement, then his mother’s death and a case he couldn’t solve, no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t want Arianna to reach the point of burnout that he had. She needed to find the balance he’d only recently found again himself.

  “A day of play,” she said as they sipped coffee and read the Sunday paper in his bed. “What will we do?”

  He smiled at her look of bewilderment. “You say that like you have no idea what a day off means.”

  “I know what it means. I just don’t do it much. Not an entire day.”

  She looked beautiful, as she always did first thing in the morning, without makeup, her hair mussed, and wearing one of his shirts.

  “We go out someplace nice for brunch,” he said. “We see if the Jackie Chan marathon you missed last week is still running. Or we drive down to San Diego and go to the zoo or Sea World. We play, Arianna. We have fun.”

  She set her coffee mug on the nightstand then faced him, sitting cross-legged. “You have tickets to a Lakers game. I saw them tucked into your bedroom mirror the first night I was here. You took them down, but I saw they were for today.”

  He folded up the sports section and slipped it under the classified ads. “Four of us went in on two season tickets years ago.”

  “So you go to every fourth game?”

  “It doesn’t work out that neatly, but that’s the theory.”

  “Did you give your tickets for today away?”

  She was in an interrogation mode. Her gaze never wavered. Her tone of voice was matter-of-fact. He knew exactly where her line of questioning was headed.

  “I haven’t given the tickets away yet, but I won’t have any problem finding someone who wants them,” he said then leaned against the headboard and waited.

  “I’d like to go.”

  No surprise there. “Why?”

  “I’ve never been to a game.”

  “Do you follow basketball?”

  “I read the sports section. I know the players’ names. Why weren’t you going to tell me about the tickets?” She didn’t pause long enough to let him answer. “Do you see Jane there?”

  Finally, the question he’d been waiting for. “Occasionally. It’s her job to be there. But we haven’t spoken.” He had nothing to say to his former fiancée.

  “Have you taken dates to games before?”

  “Yes.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Jealousy? It was hard to believe. She would be the one to make other women jealous.

  “But not this season, which has barely started. I’ve only taken a buddy,” he said, intrigued by her businesslike demeanor. She’d told him once that she’d never even considered marriage. Did she hold men at bay by keeping control of her feelings as well as the relationship? He could see how that could easily happen, except she had yielded to him at times during the past couple of weeks, so maybe he was off-base about that. “Do you really want to go?”

  “I do.”

  He liked that she didn’t play any games with him. She didn’t act coy, but was direct. “Okay.”

  “There’s time for brunch first, though, right?”

  He managed to get her flat on the mattress and under him with a couple of quick maneuvers. She had the expertise to have prevented him from gaining dominance, so he took it as acceptance that she was in the position she was in.

  “We have time for lots of things first,” he said.

  She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “A marathon?”

  “Tonight,” he said against her lips. It would probably be their last night together in his house. He would give her a reason to come back�
��provided what they learned about their fathers wasn’t too much for them to overcome.

  Joe watched Arianna disappear into the crowd at Staples Center, home of the L.A. Lakers. Knowing how long the line was for the women’s restroom, he leaned his shoulders against a nearby wall and got comfortable, a boot propped against the wall and a beer in hand.

  He’d enjoyed watching her not only take in the game but become a part of it. She shouted every sports cliché known to man, making particular reference to one referee’s apparent visual and intellectual handicaps, then she looked at Joe and grinned, her eyes sparkling.

  He’d been wrong. She knew how to have fun.

  “Joe?”

  He turned toward the voice, but he already knew who it was. Jane. She looked different. She’d cut her blond hair short and wasn’t wearing her glasses. She wore a Lakers-purple pantsuit on her petite body. He towered over her, a thought that confused him. She hadn’t seemed short when he’d been with her.

  He wondered at his lack of reaction to seeing her now. Nothing. He felt nothing.

  “Enjoying the game?” she asked.

  “Too close for comfort.”

  She smiled. “They’ll come back in the second half. How have you been?”

  He hoped Arianna would be delayed a while longer. Introducing her to Jane would likely take the fun out of the play day. “I’m well. You?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I see you brought a date.”

  Yeah, so? he wanted to say. Instead he said nothing.

  “You look happy, Joe.”

  “I am.” He hadn’t realized how happy until she pointed it out. At some point during the week his insomnia had disappeared and his stomach settled down to banked coals instead of a roaring fire. He could remember his mother as she was before the cancer. And his father before the Alzheimer’s had claimed his mind. Joe was feeling very good about all of it.

  “So, you’re over us,” she said.

  “Long ago.”

  She winced a little at that. “Good. I wouldn’t have made you happy, you know. Not for long. I was naive about what it’s like being married to a cop. I thought loving you would be enough. But your mother set me straight about that.”

  He came to attention. “My mother? When was that?”