by Misa Ramirez
He was by my side in a flash, standing behind me as I opened the box. “Empty?”
I turned and saw all his bare-chested glory. I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “Um, yeah. Empty.” I averted my eyes. “Why would there be empty boxes stacked here?” We went through a few more. Empty, each and every one, but shelved as if they were full of tubs of nutritional supplements.
Bending over, I peered between the shelves, leaning in to reach for the wall. Only it wasn’t a wall, it was—“A door.”
I pulled my head out from between the shelves, straightened up, and turned to find a smoldering, almost pained expression on Jack’s face, his gaze directed at my backside. Ay, caramba. Not now. If I couldn’t let my mind wander there, neither could he. We’d have plenty of time for that later.
I stood and snapped my fingers. “Callaghan. Focus.”
He blinked, his eyes still dark and seductive, but his attention back where it should be. “A door.” Then, as if a lightbulb turned on, he repeated, “A door?”
“Ayúdame,” I said, slipping into Spanish. His curiosity bypassed his desire, because he grabbed the end of the shelf and slid it back enough that we could fit behind it.
The whole time, that niggling feeling kept tapping in the recesses of my mind. I could hear Jennifer’s voice telling me something…something important. Pero, what was it? Manny’s voice came next. “Just wait. It’ll come to you. Remember your hypothesis.”
One of my hypotheses was that Larry Madrino had some jealous, unrequited love going on for Jennifer, but that just didn’t feel right. Manny’s voice popped into my head again. “‘Doesn’t feel right’ isn’t enough. Hard and cold facts, that’s what you need.”
“It’s unlocked,” Jack said, and just like that, Manny’s voice was gone.
We stepped inside. There were no windows, so I closed the door behind me and ran my hand along the wall. Finally, I found it and flipped it up.
Ceiling-mounted fluorescent lights flickered on and the room was suddenly blazing with brightness.
Jack and I stared at the long, rectangular table, the buckets, the tubing, and the glass jars in the center of the room. “Is it a meth lab?” I asked when I found my voice again. It had to be. Why else would all these chemicals and supplies be here? I could see the headline now:
Rural Sacramento Nudist Resort Front for Crystal Meth Lab
Jack’s jaw pulsed as he walked around the science lab setup.
I read the names of the chemicals. Benzyl Alcohol and Benzyl Benzoate, whatever that was. Grapeseed oil. Beakers and needles. And testosterone cypionate.
After a minute, he turned to face me, the color draining from his face. “Shit.”
“What?” What could a chemist make with testosterone cypion—“Holy Mary Mother of God,” I said. “It’s not meth, is it? Someone’s making steroids.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I grabbed Jack by the arm, an idea crashing into my head. “The drug scandal with the Royals a few years ago.”
Jack’s expression was grim. “What about it?”
My heart raced. We were close to the answer, I could feel it. “Players were suspended.”
“Right. Lance Koning and Mike Javorski.”
Those names. My breath caught in my throat. “Twenty-three and fifty-one.”
He tilted his head, studying me.
Lines criss-crossed in my head, making me dizzy. “I saw those jerseys at Jennifer’s house.” Numbers 23 and 51. The trophies she’d had tucked away in her box. The gladiator from the party spun into my head. Number 11, Christof.
Jennifer’s words floated back to me. “She majored in chemistry,” I told Jack.
He leaned against the table, cupping his hand to his chin, crossing one leg over the other. He was one part sexy cowboy, one part brainy journalist. “Who?” he asked.
“Jennifer Wallace.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me.”
His brows lifted.
“I know,” I said. “Not your stereotypical cheerleader.”
“And you think—”
My skin tingled with the thrill of discovery. What if Jennifer hadn’t been an innocent in all of this? “It’s possible. If Jennifer used this place to make some sort of super-steroid, she could have sold it to the players.”
“Okay. But how would she distribute it?” Jack asked. “It’s not easy to run a drug operation.”
In my mind’s eyes, I saw Steve’s training room. He’d had tubs of protein powder in his cupboard. I gasped. I’d thought Larry had something to do with this, but…
“Through the trainer.” I shoved the glasses up the bridge of my nose. “That has to be it. She made it and Steve Madrino distributed it.” I gestured in the direction of Cuerpo y Alma. “And what a perfect cover. Who would ever suspect a chem lab here?”
We both turned toward the main room of the storage building. “So the stuff in the tubs isn’t protein powder; it’s a steroid powder,” he said.
A charge zipped through me. “It has to be.”
“One question, Cruz.” Jack held the door open and I skirted past him, still limping, back into the main area. “Who killed her?”
I didn’t know who killed her because I didn’t know why she was killed. It was un problema. “The letters to the dancers,” I muttered. “Who would have access to the ball boy to deliver them?”
“The players, the other dancers, the fans—”
“Not really, though.” I whirled around to face him, flipping my ponytails behind my shoulders. “They sort of had access, but not really. Not all the time. Only one person has constant access—” Something else Jennifer had said hit me. “¡Dios mío!”
“What?”
But before I had a chance to tell him my theory, the door to the storage building banged open and there, in the darkened doorway, a backlit glow around him, stood a very angry matador.
Chapter Thirty
Holy mackerel. The plot thickened. I moved toward the matador. But I stopped as Jack’s hand grabbed the low waistband of my skirt and held on tight.
The man ran his fingers over the brim of his sequined hat and stomped his booted foot. The hard muscles of his legs pulsed below his black satin underwear.
A scream rose in my throat, but the laugh that surfaced battled it. I fought the conflicting urges by sucking in a deep breath and twirling one ponytail. “Is that you, Larry?” I asked, making my voice playful and innocent.
He stepped across the threshold, flashlight in hand, whipping the black, red-lined cape around himself. The door slammed behind him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“How did you know?”
“The owner’s going around asking everyone if they’ve seen a spicy schoolgirl. The second I heard the name Lola,” he hissed, “I knew it was you. What are you doing here?”
I braced myself, rooting my feet to the ground. Only my left ankle wobbled and I hissed in a pained breath. Under normal circumstances, I could take down a grown man, but right now I was only operating at a brown-belt level.
I snuck a glance at Jack. He met my gaze and a silent laser of understanding shot between us. He had my back. Literally.
“The truth, Larry?”
“Of course.”
“I’m trying to find out who killed Jennifer.”
He stared at me.
“You were the boyfriend Selma told me about, right?” I asked.
His lower lip quivered under his beaded eye mask. “We were in love, you know,” Larry said. The tortured expression on his face eased my nerves. Manny might need proof, but my instincts were telling me that Larry hadn’t killed Jennifer. “She tried to get out, but—”
“What do you mean, get out?” Jack asked, his hand still on my lower ba
ck. “Get out of what?”
He flung his arms around. “This. This stuff. This…mess. It’s worse than a gang. Once you’re in, you’re in. I accepted her for who she was. I didn’t care about her ex-husband. About this place.” He gestured to the back room Jack and I had just come from. “About that.”
“So she wasn’t working alone?” Jack asked.
I sucked in a breath, hating to kick a man when he was down. I did it anyway, in the name of truth. “Your brother?”
But Larry recoiled. “Steve can be an idiot,” he said, “but he’s no mastermind criminal. No.” He glanced behind him at the closed door, as if whoever he was about to rat out was standing on the other side, ready to burst through and take him down.
He ripped off his hat, the skin of his bald head glinting in the indirect beam of the flashlight. A few lines in my head miraculously straightened out, something else Jennifer had said to me pinging to the forefront of my mind.
“Dios mío,” I muttered for the second time, the gladiator floating to my head again, followed by the drawer of atomizers in Jennifer’s un-lived-in apartment.
Jack moved his hand, on high alert. “What?” he asked, and just as I was about to tell him who I thought might have been Jennifer’s partner-in-crime, the door behind Larry swung open and I found myself staring into the eyes of a killer.
Chapter Thirty-One
Victoria Wolfe’s silhouette darkened the doorway, the details of her police/vamp costume suddenly ironic. Officer of the law. Right. “Well, well, well,” she said, all breathy and harsh. “Guess the party’s moved down here.”
“Seriously?” Jack hissed in my ear.
I nodded as Larry whipped around at the sound of her voice.
“Victoria,” he said, low and menacing, as if he were challenging a bull with a taunting, “¡Andele, toro!”
“Larry.” She tsked, then drew the gun from her thigh holster. I peered at it in the dark. It wasn’t a prop for her costume. Hijo de su madre. It was a freaking semiautomatic.
Damn, she’d waltzed right into the party with a loaded weapon. The woman had huevos.
“You should have left well enough alone,” she said to Larry.
His fists bunched the fabric of his matador cape. “You killed her. I loved her, and you killed her.”
Victoria stood tall, staring him down. “She had a choice, Larry. We had a good system; you know we did.”
“She would have kept your secrets—”
Victoria shook her head and let out a low, contemptuous laugh. “She didn’t, you fool. You’re here. That means she told you.”
A shiver danced over my spine. Victoria hadn’t known for sure that Larry knew until this moment.
“Why’d you hire me?” I asked, stepping forward as if I could protect Larry.
“My husband,” she answered, adding with a snicker, “marriage is about compromise. He was insistent. I knew Manny Camacho was good, but I thought you,” she said, pointing her finger at me, “might be too green to actually figure things out. Now I have to clean up another mess.”
I’d been listening to everything she’d said, but my brain suddenly hiccupped. Victoria had wiggled her fingers in a flirty, familiar wave to the gladiator. Number 11 from the Royals. Christof. She knew him. Like really knew him.
And just like that, another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Victoria did break her own rules by fraternizing with the players!
The facts were still muddy in my head, but slowly, they were coming into focus. The apartment in Natomas didn’t look lived in because it wasn’t lived in. Not by Jennifer, anyway, who had her cottage here at Cuerpo y Alma. But it had been used. By Victoria.
“Those pictures and the jerseys at the Natomas apartment,” I said. “They weren’t Jennifer’s, were they?”
“Of course they weren’t,” Larry snapped. “She owned that place for the tax write-off, but she never used it.”
Of course! “They were yours,” I said to Victoria. “Your love nest?”
“We had a deal,” Victoria said. “She helped me. I helped her. She had loans to pay off. It was a good arrangement until she went and fell in love. Pft.” She held her gun steady. Impressive, especially given her three-inch high heels.
I might not have a gun, but I’d shot plenty. Target practice was one of Manny’s steadfast rules. Knowing everything about being a P.I. was one of mine. Getting a better look at Victoria’s gun, I saw that it was probably a Ruger 380.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Not again. Jack and I had been in this situation before, only it had been at a marina and he’d been shot. Now, his smoky blue eyes narrowed as he listened to the story unfold. I wouldn’t let him get hurt again.
“Who else is involved?” I asked, stalling for time. Had it been Steve we’d seen hauling boxes out of the building? I’d thought it was Craig, but maybe I was wrong. If it was Steve, and he came back, surely he’d help us. Larry was his brother, after all.
“I’m not a fool, Lola. Why do you think I showed up when I did that day you were snooping around the training room? Not coincidence, I assure you. I’ve had a close eye on you since day one. I’m certainly not going to tell you anything that could incriminate me—”
“So you’re not going to kill us?” Relief flowed out of Larry.
“Of course I’m going to kill you. Like I said, I’m no fool. I’m cautious. That was Jennifer’s problem. She couldn’t help getting involved with you, Larry. Couldn’t help bringing you here even though I told her not to.”
I felt the brush of Jack’s fingers against mine. I snuck a glance at him but couldn’t read his face. He clenched his jaw, his lips drawn tight. He was either ready to go down with me in a blaze of glory, or he was thinking, not for the first time, that getting involved with me was muy bad for his health.
If only we had telepathy so I knew what he was thinking and he knew about my plan.
Which at the moment didn’t actually exist.
Not that kicking Victoria in the sternum, thereby dislodging the gun from her grip and sending her teeth chattering, was much of a plan. But it was the best I could come up with. I had some experience attacking people with guns, and it was never pretty. I was a kung fu fighter, but a strong high kick was no match for a shooting bullet. Didn’t matter. I had to try.
A shadow moving outside the window caught my eye. Victoria was ranting at Larry and didn’t seem to notice the slight notch of my chin. But Jack did. His gaze flickered, just barely, and I knew he’d seen it, too. Victoria’s accomplice, come back to get more of the goods?
“Manny will figure this out,” I said, hoping my plan would prevent the worst from happening until he did.
Victoria just threw back her head and laughed. “Not after I’m done with him, he won’t. A little role-play during sex goes a long way.” She gave me a good once-over, then scrutinized cowboy Jack. “You two won’t have a chance to experience that firsthand, I’m sorry to say.”
Oh no. Somos amantes, I thought. We were lovers—one time counted, ¿de veras? Heat rose from my heart to behind my eyes. I wanted to role-play with Jack. I wanted to do everything with him. I flipped my ponytails back, pushed my fake glasses up my nose, and squared my shoulders.
Victoria Wolfe was going down. Punto.
“Trust me,” she said. “Manny Camacho will be eating out of the palm of my hand before the night is through.”
I shook my head. I didn’t believe Manny could fall that easily. He was an honorable man. I couldn’t imagine he’d compromise a case or the truth…even for a good lay.
I moved forward. “Not another step,” Victoria snapped.
Manny’s rules echoed in my mind. The first rule of private investigation is self-preservation. You can’t help anyone if you’re injured, arrested, or dead.
I’
d decided that the second rule was to preserve the lives of the ones you loved. Namely, Jack Callaghan. I had a feeling that Sarah, the escape artist, would continue to be a thorn in our sides, but I wasn’t going to let her ruin another minute of my potential life with the man I sort of…almost…might very soon…love. I had to trust him—just like I wanted him to trust me.
I thought back to my first meeting with Victoria. Did she know about my black belt? For the life of me, I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t think it had been mentioned. There’d been a lot of talk about my curves and physique, but not much about my skill set as a detective.
I stood even with Larry. He was frozen, his mouth open, his eyes glistening. I had a feeling that Victoria’s words had hit home with him. He’d never get to role-play—or do anything—with Jennifer again. The idea had taken hold. He trembled, ready to go into a tailspin.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Larry?”
Victoria heaved out a put-upon sigh, as if Larry’s anguish was seriously cramping her style. “Please,” she said. “It’s not like you would have lived happily ever after. I know you couldn’t stand this place, but it was where Jennifer belonged.”
“I-I was learning to like it,” he said, his lower lip quivering.
She quirked a sardonic smile at his matador getup. “Is that why you came tonight? To fit into her world? Since you can’t have her anymore?”
Dios mío, did the woman have no shame? ¡Qué bruja!
Larry’s entire body suddenly trembled. I stared at him as his pasty skin took on a tinged red hue, creeping up his legs, his torso, his neck, and concentrating on his cheeks.
“Okay there, Larry, just relax,” Victoria said, patting the air with her empty hand. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
But Larry was too far gone. I took a step to the left as his foot scraped against the ground. Ay caramba. He wasn’t the matador after all. He was the bull.
Before I could high-kick the gun out of Victoria’s hand, he charged.
