by Debra Webb
Not anymore. Desmond was dead and the police were doing nothing to catch his killer. No matter that the romance part of her and Desmond’s relationship was long over, she felt suddenly alone.
“Was it the steady pay?”
She blinked, drawing herself back to the moment and away from the painful thoughts. “When I was a kid, my mom watched this one show every day. Religiously. She said that no matter what else was going on it gave her an hour of escape. So, yes, it was the regular paycheck but it was also the hope that I would give the fans of the show that same escape my mom enjoyed. It’s good for the soul.”
“Really?” He flashed her a grin. “Is that according to Lauren Marie Woods or Dr. Loveless? What about those of us who prefer other ways to escape?”
“To each his own. I’m sure you wouldn’t choose a daytime drama as an escape any more than I’d choose a firing range.”
“A firing range is a fun way to kill a couple of hours.”
“The only thing I ever got from a firing range was a sore shoulder and a headache.”
“Wait a second,” he gave her a long look while they waited for a traffic light to change. “When have you been on a firing range?”
“Growing up in Kansas involved plenty of target practice starting with a .22 rifle. I learned how to carry and fire a Glock 9 millimeter for my second movie. Directors are all about making a character believable for the audience. I’ve studied psychology relentlessly for my role on Harper Cove.”
He shifted in his seat and checked the mirrors. “You think the audience really believes you know anything about being a psychologist?”
“I hope they do. Anything less would ruin their experience with Harper Cove.”
He shook his head. “That’s pretty sad.”
Once again, his attitude was starting to annoy her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What bothers you more, that I get paid to pretend to be someone else or that people like me?”
“Neither.”
“You are so full of crap,” she replied.
“Is that a professional assessment, doctor?”
“Call it a friendly diagnosis from a girl with daddy issues.”
He pulled into the driveway and hit the button to raise the garage door. “Your old man doesn’t approve of your career choice?” he asked as he cut the engine.
She held his gaze, wondering why she felt compelled to answer such a personal question. “He does not. He also didn’t approve of the way I slipped out from under his thumb and dropped out of college.” She released her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. “I paid him back for the tuition costs, with interest, but some people cut ties forever.” She rolled her shoulders, mentally dropping the weight of her past. “I haven’t seen him since my mom died.”
“I guess we have something in common.” He closed his door and hit lock.
“Your mom died?”
He shook his head. “The dad part. Mine’s a judgmental, unforgiving—”
“But you still love him anyway,” Lauren interrupted.
Mike stared at her for a long moment before answering. “Something like that.” He unlocked the door and disarmed the security system. “Claudia should have suspect photos ready for you by now,” he said as they walked inside and he reset the system.
“Great.” No reason to be scared of mug shots. “And after that?” Inside the house, she didn’t need the thick cardigan sweater anymore, but she snuggled into it for comfort.
“One step at a time.”
It wasn’t exactly the answer she’d wanted to hear but at least it was progress. They were moving forward.
Chapter Five
While Lauren prepared lunch, Mike dove into the reports Claudia had compiled. The news was disturbing and he wasn’t looking forward to briefing Lauren. Rather than ruin her appetite, he returned to the kitchen and shared the meal with her. The pantry and fridge had been stocked while they were out so Lauren had made tasty salads. Mike wasn’t a big salad man, but he had to admit the berries and nuts gave this one just the right crunch and flavors. After they’d cleaned up, he had no choice but to give her the bad news.
He brought his laptop to the kitchen island. “Have a seat.”
When she’d settled on a stool, he sank onto the one next to her. He ignored the way his body reacted to her nearness. Truth was, she had gotten into his head like no other woman. He wanted to believe she knew the right keywords from her psych research, but after learning they shared a history of disappointed dads he wasn’t so sure it was mere guesswork. He opted to start with the photos Claudia had sent.
“Take your time and let me know if any of these people are familiar.”
Lauren tipped her head, eyeing him from over her cup of tea. “You had Claudia pull these based on the sketches.”
He nodded. “I’ve been looking into local organized crime since your car exploded. That’s the kind of move those guys make when the goal is a big statement.” He was also wondering why the police hadn’t asked her to look at similar photos the night of the murder.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with renewed worry. “You think they’re planning to make an example of me?”
“Not you. Trinity. The hit may have been a warning to the others who deliver various products for them.”
“But we still don’t know what product Desmond was delivering.”
He shrugged. “I have a few thoughts, but nothing I can confirm.” Russian syndicates were in a constant state of motion, ruthlessly developing territories and interests that increased the cash flow. Before she could ask him about his thoughts, he went to the fridge for a cola. He didn’t want to distract her or to create any doubt about the veracity of her identifications when she made them.
When Mike returned, she looked up at him. “I found the guy who shot Desmond.” When he sat down beside her, she pointed to the monitor. “This is the man. Nikoli.”
“You’re sure?” Mike asked. Her finger was aimed at a mug shot of a Krushka syndicate enforcer named Nikoli Maksimov.
She glared daggers at the screen, but the fear showed in the way she swallowed before she answered him. “This man hit Desmond, and then he shot him. Twice. The boss called him Nikoli.”
“All right.” Mike nodded. “See if the other guy is in that mix.”
He pushed back his chair, needing the distance while she looked at more pictures. Suddenly she turned her back on the screen. Her face had gone pale and her hands trembled in her lap. “That’s him. He gave the order. When I ran, he made me a hideous offer, but when I pulled the fire alarm he said he’d kill me.”
Mike fought off the urge to comfort her. “Show me.”
She pointed to Peter Kozlov. Mike closed the laptop. If she struggled this much over the faces, she’d break down at the sight of the rap sheets. She’d had a rough enough time watching through those binoculars today. As disappointed as he’d been when those two thugs showed up today, what absolutely twisted his gut was the idea that Treadwell had to have been the one who tipped them off. He was the only person Lauren called. Equally telling was the lack of media coverage. Beyond passing the information along to Kozlov, Treadwell had apparently pretended Lauren hadn’t made the call. All of which confirmed they could not go to the police at this time. There was no way to know for sure who they could trust. Mike wasn’t taking that kind of chance with her life.
He walked back to the island and leaned against it, using the expanse of granite for a little distance.
She looked directly at him, that meager four feet of sleek countertop suddenly not nearly enough. “Who are they?”
“Russian mob. Specifically the Krushka syndicate.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “Desmond was a talent agent. What business would they have with him?”
“You heard them talk about a product.”
“Yes, but I have no idea what they meant.”
“Based on what I know about these men, Kozlov in particular, going back out i
n public again before we resolve this would be far riskier than we suspected.”
“But we have names. Can’t you just take me to the police now?”
“Not if you want to live. We have names, not evidence. There’s a big difference and don’t forget, Treadwell, or someone he told, tipped these guys off about your imaginary meeting with the lawyer.”
She squeezed her hands more tightly. “What about the FBI?”
“Before we go to any branch of law enforcement,” he explained, “we need evidence to back up our accusations. Once we break cover and take that step, there’s no going back, Lauren. We have to do this right. It’s the only way I can protect you.”
Her gaze drifted back to the laptop. “These people are that bad, huh?”
He’d always believed delivering bad news was like ripping off a bandage. Do it fast and quick. No point changing that strategy now. “Kozlov worked his way up through the syndicate, earning his current post here. He has his fingers in prostitution, the drug trade, and is suspected of money laundering, car theft, and worse. Nothing sticks.”
“He’s the boss now?”
“According to the information Claudia dug up, he seems to be. Locally anyway. No one’s made a play on his territories in over a year. He has informants everywhere. I’m sure he has more than one cop on his payroll and if you went in, he’d have you killed before you could do much more than state your name.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re saying there’s nothing we can do?” When she opened her eyes once more, they glistened and he thought she might start crying, but no tears fell.
“We’ll see. No promises. Let’s talk about that night again. What exactly did Kozlov say to you?”
“He said he knew how to take care of a beautiful woman. That he’d put the world at my feet and that he was more powerful than... Desmond.” She frowned. “What are you thinking?”
This was the part he dreaded telling her the most. Mike had a bad feeling about the product Trinity had been providing. “Peter Kozlov has associates known to deal in human trafficking as well as prostitution.”
“What?” She lurched to her feet and began to pace. “Desmond wouldn’t be a part of anything like that.” She held her hands up in question. “What use did he have for prostitutes when an endless parade of young women eager to audition by casting couch marched right up to him?”
“But aren’t escorts a fairly common thing in your circles?” He’d tried to frame it nicely, but he could tell by the flicker of fire in her eyes he’d failed.
“Not my circles,” she stated. “I’m aware it happens, but paying for sex just wasn’t Desmond’s style. As I said, plenty of women threw themselves at him free of charge.”
Back to the direct method. “Lauren, based on what you saw, Kozlov knew Trinity. He knew you. That says he’s familiar with Trinity on a personal level as well as a professional one. A man with Kozlov’s reputation wouldn’t take an interest if there wasn’t something on the line.”
She stopped, rubbing her temples. “I don’t understand why Desmond would take such a risk with his reputation. He makes—made—a fortune as a talent agent. Why would he need to do something like this?”
“For some, there’s never enough. Any ideas how Trinity met Kozlov?”
“No.” She shook her head, worry etched across her brow. “We basically led separate lives under the same roof for the past two years.” She started pacing again. “It has to be drugs. Desmond didn’t use, but he would arrange things for some clients.” She made a sound of frustration. “I guess it’s possible he went to that extreme.”
Mike stifled a sigh and went back for the laptop. “Let’s follow that thread.” He pulled up a file of perps tied to the Russian drug trade, with a few of the prostitutes thrown in. “Recognize anyone?”
She didn’t. He opened another file. Knowing what was coming, he fought to soften the blow. “How about any of these faces?”
Dutifully, she looked at the screen and then frowned. “These aren’t mug shots.”
“Just click the box if the person in the photo seems familiar.”
She clicked three, scrolled some more and clicked another. “Four so far. Who are they?”
“All of those women are listed as missing.”
“Since when?”
“Six months ago to three years back. None of them are from California. Why were they familiar to you?”
“Occasionally Desmond brought home head shots and resumes of clients he was considering. I recognize three of them from the headshots. The fourth woman I saw at the office on one of my rare visits.”
“Do you recall anything else?”
“I really tried to stay out of his way.” She shook her head. “You must think I’m the biggest idiot for letting him cheat on me and dictate the terms of my career and personal life.”
“I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to keep you out of the line of fire.”
She turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to move.” She stopped at the door. “I need to do something.” She pushed her hands through her hair. “This is too unthinkable. I couldn’t have been this blind.”
“You can’t leave the house.” Not until there was a hell of a good reason to take that kind of risk.
“I got that part loud and clear. There’s an exercise room. I need to burn through this helpless feeling.”
Mike let her go, recognizing she’d hit her limit. It wasn’t much progress, aside from identifying several pretty young women who had been seen around Trinity before they’d disappeared. He emailed the names back to Claudia. Mike feared any nice memories Lauren had of her former agent and lover were about to be obliterated. Somehow, he felt really bad about being the one to make her see that ugly truth.
Lauren was bold and smart. She didn’t fit his image of a spoiled actress and she was damned talented. His old nightmares had roused him last night and he’d decided to watch a few episodes of Harper Cove. He was damned glad she hadn’t awakened and caught him.
He wished like hell he could get an accurate read on her. Too often he found himself wondering if he was looking at the actress or the woman.
Maybe he was better off not knowing.
Lauren started on the treadmill, getting her blood pumping while she watched breaking news headlines trailing across the bottom of the muted television screen. The home she’d shared with Desmond was surrounded by news crews. The police hadn’t released anything else about her. Paparazzi were claiming sightings of her all over town. She even caught a glimpse of that damned black SUV in one of the aerial views.
“Bastards,” she growled.
“That’s probably undermining the good endorphin thing,” Mike said, walking in.
He wore a dark t-shirt and loose gym shorts and if she hadn’t already been warm and sweaty from the workout, she’d be spiking a fever about now. The man took hot and tempting to an all new level. “You’d rather have music?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. I stop listening once I’m in the zone.”
“Okay.” She struggled to keep her running rhythm. “I keep watching, expecting to see something about the witness.”
“And have you?”
“No.” The treadmill hummed as the incline increased with the program she’d chosen. Her quads burned and she embraced the affirmation of being alive.
Across the room at the multi-function machine, Mike set his weight load and then positioned himself for the bench press. Catching herself sneaking glances at him, enamored by the bunch and flex of his arms, she had to make a concentrated effort to return her gaze to the television.
“Sometimes it’s easier if you stop thinking about it,” he said.
“Huh?” Could he tell she was practically drooling over his body? Somewhere in the back of her mind she understood that it was a defense mechanism—a way to escape the awful reality of her life right now. Good grief, couldn’t she think of a better way than
ogling her protector?
“The woman from the office that night has you worried, right?”
“I don’t understand why she would have told the police a different story, but it’s not just her. I keep trying to figure out what I missed.” She would figure this out. Desmond might have kept her in the dark, but she didn’t have to stay there. She had been right there in his life while he did whatever the hell it was he’d done. She felt an obligation to help uncover it.
It was apparently arm day for Mike, because he moved to triceps dips while she entered her cool down phase on the treadmill. She doubled her efforts not to stare at him. The man really was... gorgeous. She groaned and forced her attention back on the screen just as her face popped up in upper right hand corner. She watched as the same bulletin was repeated about her being wanted for questioning, blah, blah, blah. Frustrated, she turned it off.
“Do you want music?” The quiet she’d enjoyed when she’d been in here alone seemed too loud now that he’d joined her.
“You already asked me,” Mike replied. “Just find something if you need it.”
She blotted the sweat from her neck as she tuned the radio to a pop station and turned it up just enough to block the sound of his breathing. “This place is nicely equipped,” she said, moving to the Pilates reformer. She felt his gaze on her as she began the first of a leg series and felt marginally better she wasn’t the only one ogling today.
“Yep,” he agreed, shifting his gaze away from her.
“I always feel like a ballerina when—” She froze mid-motion, her leg in the middle of a full arc. “That’s it.” She sat up as quickly as possible. “The woman from the office was a ballerina. Sort of. Vanya... Vanya Something. Desmond probably never told me her last name.”
Mike gave up on his triceps and walked over to sit next to her. “What else?”
“I accused him of cheating again when he told me he was working with her as a teacher.”
