He eyed her and the nine-inch knife. “Because you’ll kill me then.”
“I saved your life, idiot. I should have let them have you,” she said, disgusted.
“You need me.” He smirked.
She glanced down the alley in both directions, then looked back at Touchy. He was backing toward the shadows. “Not anymore.” She started walking.
“Hey, gimme my goods.”
“Drop dead.” Darcy didn’t break stride.
“Her name is Cleo,” he finally said.
Darcy stopped, casting a look back over her shoulder. “Say again?”
“Cleo Patra.”
She frowned. “That can’t be real.”
His gaze shot nervously to the ends of the alley and he took a couple steps. “No, it’s a stage name, no one uses real names down here. Change your name, hide your past, you dig?”
Darcy knew that probably better than this Cleo woman. “Except you. Anthony Degas Feeley, from Reno.” His small eyes rounded. “The Vegas police have a warrant out for you, you know.”
He sneered. “So what else is new? Gimme my stuff.”
Darcy kept the stiletto, but held out the other junk. It would have tipped a boat, it was so heavy. He moved toward her and she pulled it back. “Describe her.”
“Tall, big tits. African. She was twenty-five or so when she split.”
Darcy dropped the gear and hurried to the entrance of the alley.
“Hey what about my reward?”
“You have your life, Touchy. I’d say we’re even.”
“Bitch.”
“That’s queen bitch.” She faced him. He was gathering up his piles of metal. She pitched the roll of bills at him and he snatched it up like a hungry dog.
“Steer me wrong, Touchy, and I’ll send the cops after you.”
“Lady, are you stupid? The cops ain’t got shit on those guys. You’re stepping into some dangerous shit. If you wanna die, keep looking for Cleo.” He darted into the shadows and for a breath, Darcy watched him slither along the side of the building, then disappear. A real rat.
Not wanting to encounter the men in black again, she left the alley and moved down the street, weaving between people and checking behind herself for the hired creeps. Her heart pounded like a hammer, her senses alert for anyone moving toward her, but prostitutes and drunks shifted past as if she didn’t exist.
It took her a half hour to get far enough away that she could hail a cab, and when she did, she gave the guy an extra ten to make a couple turns around the block before heading toward her hotel.
On the first pass, she spotted the goons in black just coming out of the Match Lite, looking bloody and pissed, and she scrunched down in the seat for a couple blocks. Then on the second pass, she eased up, looking behind.
“Driver, slow down and pull over.” As he did, Darcy hunched on the seat, looking out the rear window. The goons were gone. Yet before she faced front, a man stepped under the single bulb that lit the front door of the bar. Her heart slammed to her stomach. Jack? He was paying a man, or handing him something. When he looked up to scan the street, Darcy was certain it was him.
Black hat, bomber jacket, long legs. Yeah, that was him.
She sank into the seat, ignoring the cab driver’s curious glances in the rearview mirror. “Drive on, please. And thank you.”
Just because Jack was here didn’t mean that he was tailing her. He was a bounty hunter. He was always after a jumper.
Her thoughts shifted to her one solid lead.
Cleo Patra.
In Las Vegas. Sin city. She couldn’t take Charlie with her. It wasn’t a place for a child by any means, and she wasn’t putting her son in danger for anything. Those men were willing to kill Touchy to keep him from talking to anyone, and since she’d been meeting Touchy to find out about a woman who’d become a surrogate twenty years ago, the weak link was suddenly a viable connection to the egg mining.
And more dangerous than any of the Cassandras expected.
They’d found Touchy after she’d placed the ad and spoken to him. Had they bugged his phone? Seen the ad? Been watching all this time? It was pretty obvious that they understood the ad enough to go after Touchy. He was a link to this Cleo woman.
Darcy was part of that chain now, and though no one knew her name, the number in the paper was her “rescue” cell number. Although it was unlisted, with some smart computer hacking, it could be traced.
This was a little more danger than she’d bargained for. Way more.
But she had to go to Vegas, and the safest place for Charlie was away from it all.
When Darcy arrived at home she was still scared, still looking over her shoulder for the boys in black. She did a complete check of her house, locking windows, and had her cell number changed. It didn’t feel like enough, and she wondered when she wouldn’t have to behave like a fleeing convict all the time. She sent another e-mail to the Cassandras, telling them the little she’d learned and that the source, Touchy Feeley, was not reliable. She’d have to find Cleo Patra to prove it and would go looking in a couple days. She also warned them about the danger that was nearly on her doorstep and was possibly coming to theirs.
She was tempted to confess her past right then, but the roadblocks weren’t cleared away yet. She was still a parental kidnapper and involving them directly would expose them to aiding and abetting charges. She couldn’t do that to them. Kayla, who knew the most, probably could guess how she was feeling. But she wasn’t ready to talk openly about it with the Cassandras, no matter how much she wanted their support right now.
Besides, all her theories about Maurice were just that, theories. She was hoping that document expert Loni Marks would shine some favorable light on the papers she’d taken from Maurice’s safe. If she didn’t, Darcy was really going to need the Cassandras’ help. Because if Jack had seen her and Charlie on TV, there was a chance that Maurice might have, too. Her son would need more protection than just herself, and although Maurice wouldn’t know Charlie by sight—he’d been an infant when she left—Athena Academy and Rainy’s name might clue him in.
After a long workday, Darcy sat in Loni Marks’s lab in the basement of her home, sipping vanilla coffee as Loni examined the papers. For Loni to confirm anything, she’d needed the original documents, and Marianna Vasquez had agreed without hesitation. Darcy had given her a post-office box to mail the papers to, and Marianna hadn’t questioned its location. Darcy had, after all, portrayed herself as a freelance writer.
As Darcy watched Loni work, she was fascinated by the woman’s methods. Not only was she a handwriting expert who could detect forgeries with ease, she was equipped to test ink and paper and could tell how many people had handled the paper and if different pens were used. Darcy was more than impressed.
Loni was certified by the American Board of Forensic Document Examiners and had worked for the U.S. Treasury Department, Secret Service for ten years, spotting bogus currency. Retired and at the disposal of police departments from Comanche to Las Vegas, Loni was called in on anything from counterfeit and forged documents to ones charred beyond recognition.
She must be more than just a yoga partner, Darcy thought, smiling. Loni was doing this on her own time as a favor to Megan.
Darcy was grateful for the help and had offered to pay her. Loni told her to put away her money, and reminded her that the private sector could rarely afford her services. Darcy accepted the kindness and shut up.
Right now, Loni was hunched over a microscope. Darcy estimated her age at around fifty, only because her hair was pure silver, a contrast to her face, barely wrinkled around the eyes, her complexion smooth. Documents of her achievements lined the walls, and while she dressed very hip, she had a no-nonsense, business-first manner that marked her as a highly sought-after professional.
And she made great coffee.
Around Loni on several different tables were workstations with tubes, chemicals and equipment Darcy wasn’t going to try to u
nderstand.
“Tell me what you want to know, Piper.”
“I need to know if that signature is real. Compared to the older ones, it looks the same to me.”
“And the canceled bank draft?”
That was the draft Porche had given Maurice at the time she’d disappeared. Marianna had sent it, and Darcy needed to know if Fairchild had really signed it. “Well I’m not certain, but I think it’s fake, too.”
“Can I ask your interest in this?” Loni looked up, her gray-blue eyes penetrating.
“I’d rather not say right now. It’s a hunch, and I don’t want attention if it’s nothing.”
“Understandable.” She went back to the pages under the microscope. She made notes, not saying a word, then went to another table, putting the paper under what looked like a copier. Darcy guessed that it wasn’t.
“This paper is at least five years old, and I have five different sets of fingerprints.”
“Can you find out whose?”
“Not here, but I can make a transfer of each set, if that would help.”
Darcy didn’t know how it would. Maurice, as far as she knew, had no prints on file. Perhaps Porche might have, since she was handling large amounts of money. But getting a comparison would be impossible since Darcy didn’t want to get that close to the police.
“That would be good.” She’d at least have them.
Loni put the paper through another set of tests, and machines spit out analyses, one after another. It took a while, and she admired the woman’s patience.
Finally Loni returned to her desk, and Darcy poured her fresh coffee as she sat close.
“This is a real document, and this signature is authentic.” She tapped Maurice’s and had compared it to an old note Darcy had found in her date book. Five years ago, it had arrived with flowers, a diamond bracelet encircling one of the roses. It had been an apology from Maurice for speaking rudely to her, and at the time, Darcy had still had hope for their marriage.
She’d sold the bracelet for the down payment on her house.
“What about the other signature, Ms. Fairchild’s?”
Loni looked over the rim of her half glasses and Darcy held her breath. “It’s real.”
Her shoulders sank.
“However…” Loni slid the bank draft for nearly twenty million across the desk. “This one is not.”
Darcy stared at the draft, her heart pinging inside her chest. She lifted her gaze to Loni’s, took a breath, then swallowed. “And the ones for the storage units, the business closures?”
“Forgeries. Good ones, done by an expert, I imagine, but forgeries.”
Darcy sank into the chair, not smiling, her mind ticking off her next steps.
Then Loni said, “This is grand larceny, bank fraud, fraudulent identification, fraudulent commercial securities and electronic-funds transfer fraud. Aside from the forgery of a legal document, and I can think of about two other charges to add.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted to hers. “Good. But it’s murder I’m trying to prove.”
Loni’s eyebrows shot up. “You need to give this to the police and the FBI.”
“Oh, believe me, when I have enough, I will.”
“You have enough now, Piper.”
Darcy shook her head. “This person has money and power, Loni. He could buy his way out of this.”
Loni tipped her head, her silver hair gleaming in the soft light. “You don’t have much faith in the justice system, do you?”
Darcy stared back, indecision clawing at her dignity. “No, I don’t. I was an abused wife, Loni, and I begged for help, from the police, from family and people who I’d thought were my friends. But no one would help me. The cops wouldn’t even come to the house when I called because my husband had more influence and if he didn’t, he had close ties to those who did. He’s a somebody, I’m a nobody.”
Loni removed her specs, and picked up her coffee. “I can sympathize. I’ve seen it happen. It’s a crime to ignore the call for help.”
“This man—” she pointed to the papers, unwilling to reveal that it was her husband’s signature Loni had been examining “—is the same. A power broker. Someone who thinks he can get away with anything because he’s got money and prestige.”
“Well, then, I will tell you another piece of information.”
Darcy waited, almost breathless.
“This bank draft was signed by Maurice Steele. However, he was nervous when he signed it.”
“Nervous?”
Loni inclined her head, and they stood and moved to the copierlike thing. Loni switched on the light and motioned for Darcy to have a look. “See the jerky edges of the T and L? That tells me he signed it but his hand was shaking. Now if it’s from illness—”
“He’s as fit as a twenty-year-old.”
“Then he was nervous. And the same hesitation is found here and here.” She pointed to Porche Fairchild’s signature.
“Did he write it?”
“That was the other thing I was going to tell you. Yes, he did. The witness signature I can’t be certain of without anything to compare, but I would go so far as to say yes, he signed that, too. The similarities are just too close. And this is my specialty, by the way.”
“Would you document all this for me?”
Loni hesitated.
“This could lead to murder charges, Loni,” Darcy pleaded. “Porche Fairchild was missing before that check was signed.”
“How long?”
“At least a week.”
“Have they found her?”
“No, and no one is looking. Except me.” Darcy waited.
Loni finally nodded, and Darcy thought her knees would give out, she was so relieved.
“All right. I will.”
“Thank you.”
“But you have to promise me one thing,” Loni said before Darcy could work up real excitement. “That you’ll turn all this over to the police and won’t go after this man yourself.”
“I have no intention of confronting him.”
“Good. Because with a jail threat like this coming, he could quite possibly try to kill you to keep you quiet.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
The only thing Darcy had on her side right now was time, and that Maurice didn’t know where she was.
Chapter 10
D arcy had one more appointment when Kel showed up, looking so fine in brown leather slacks and a long, butternut-colored jacket. As slick as you please he walked up and kissed her lightly.
Though she’d kissed him once before, she felt he was being awfully presumptuous.
“Where have you been, love?”
In the storeroom, Darcy kept putting away the new stock of tints. “I had some business to take care of, nothing big,” she said, checking her invoice. “What have you been doing?”
“Oh, taking pictures, eating hot salsa and wanting to see you. You are about the busiest woman I’ve ever met.”
“Know a lot of slackers, do you?”
He smiled, inching closer. “Can I talk you out of work for a bit?”
She made a little sound, half want, half denial. “I have customers.”
Regardless, he slid his warm arm around her waist, not caring about the clipboard and pen, and dipped his head to kiss her more thoroughly. The clipboard sagged in her grip as his hands slid up her back.
The man knew how to kiss. A movie kiss.
Yet Darcy pushed him back. “Someone will see.”
He grinned. “And this matters?”
“Charlie does, and this is my business.”
He stepped back, rubbing his mouth and looking chagrined. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You shouldn’t be so irresistible then.”
How was she supposed get ticked at that?
“I had a bit of a chat with Charles.”
It was cute that he called her son by his given name. “What about?”
“Oh, the usual guy stuff, worms living even after you cut
them in half, motorcycles and that you’re headed to Vegas.”
She hesitated in putting away a box, then finished, wishing Charlie hadn’t taken to Kel quite so readily. “Yes, I am. Just a quick trip.” She hoped.
“And you’re taking Charles? Seems like the last place you’d take a child.”
She wasn’t taking her son, but before she could answer, Meg knocked. She was grinning when she peered around the door. “Your next appointment is here.”
There was something about the way she said it that put Darcy on alert.
“I’m ready.” She set the clipboard down and she and Kel left the storeroom. Kel kissed her, spoke to Charlie, who was playing in the little pop-up tent Kel had bought him, then went to the door.
Darcy stopped short when she saw Jack Turner standing close. By the look on his face, he’d seen Kel kiss her.
Great.
Kel stopped in front of Jack and the two men stared. Jack had a “bull in the pen” look, and Darcy waited for one of them to paw the ground and charge. Kel glanced her way, winked, then left.
Jack came to her, stopping within inches, his gaze hard and piercing, though his voice was low. “You kiss all your male clients?”
“No, just the really good-looking ones.”
His look said he didn’t know whether to be pissed or pleased.
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you here for a trim or did you come in just to interrogate me in front of everyone?”
Jack let out a long breath, scraping his hand over his shaggy hair. He glanced at the clients, who were all too interested in their conversation. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” she said, nodding to the shampoo center.
As she washed his hair, he kept his eyes closed, his hands to himself, not saying a word. When she was done, Charlie realized Jack was there and shrieked his name so loud they both winced. Jack tossed her the towel and bent, his arms open to catch the flying toddler diving for his knees.
Charlie wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and Jack looked almost honored. “How you doing, sport?”
Charlie gave him a big smile. “Great. I got a tent.” He twisted to point.
“You do?” He glanced at Piper, then with Charlie in his arms, walked over to inspect the tent. Squatting, Jack gave it a good shake. “Seems solid. You having fun in there?”
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