“Is it all right if I call you?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
The valet brought my car. Luke waved as I drove away. As I turned to go down the ramp, I glanced back. Luke was watching me, his cell phone up to his ear.
I pulled out onto Maple and crept along with the traffic. I couldn’t help wondering why Luke had given me the low-down about what went on in the Fashion District. Was he trying to impress me? Or was it something else?
And what was the deal about finding me a Sinful handbag? If he could pull that off, yeah, okay, that would impress me.
I’d have to talk to Marcie about it. This was definitely a best friend conversation.
Hearing about the spotters and inspectors, the illegal sweatshops, and the international merchants from Luke didn’t do much to endear me to the place, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from buying purses there for the parties Marcie and I threw, and it sure as heck wouldn’t keep me from looking for Ed.
I decided that I’d continue my search in my car. I could cover more ground, quicker. And who knows? Maybe Tiffany had decided to do the same thing and that’s how she spotted Ed.
I covered the Fashion District. The blocks were short, the traffic slow, so I had time to check out the pedestrians on the sidewalks. Big trucks created major slowdowns as they double-parked to unload boxes. Men with handcarts moved merchandise from store to store. Lots of action on the streets. No Ed.
The Textile District adjoined the Fashion District so I cruised the area from Maple to San Julian and Eighth to Olympic. The signs on stores advertised fabrics for all sort of occasions: prom, bridal, bridesmaids. Hundreds of bolts of fabric sat on display in front of the dozens of stores. Shops carried everything from novelty fabrics to silks to upholstery. Lots of colors and textures. No Ed.
A block away I hit the Flower District. Merchants displayed their wares outdoors here, too. The sidewalks outside the shops were lined with cut flowers, potted plants, dried and silk arrangements. Some places featured funeral wreaths and crosses like you see at the cemetery, which kind of creeped me out. Still, no Ed.
I made another pass through the Fashion District—I’d leave the toy and jewelry districts for tomorrow—and caught the 10 freeway west. My cell phone rang.
I jumped in my seat and my heart did a little flip-flop.
Was it Luke calling? Already? He said he’d call. And if he called now, this quickly after I’d seen him, that meant—
Crap.
What it really meant was that I was thinking too much about Luke and not enough about Ty.
Not good.
I glanced at the caller I.D. screen and saw Evelyn’s name. I let it go to voicemail. Yeah, okay, I know that sounds bad, but I couldn’t deal with her just then. Besides, if she really had an emergency, she’d call back.
Traffic moved along at a steady pace as I approached the transition to the northbound 405 freeway that would take me home. But instead, I stayed on the 10 and headed for the ocean.
Luke popped into my mind. I pushed him out. He came back again.
I was supposed to be thinking about Ty, my official boyfriend, not some guy I’d just met yesterday. Yeah, okay, so he was a really hot-looking guy who seemed interested in me. Ty was a really hot guy who was definitely interested in me.
Luke wanted me to stay out of the Fashion District because he thought I wasn’t safe there alone.
Ty still hadn’t asked me about finding Tiffany’s body in the trunk of Ada’s Mercedes.
Luke had walked me back to my car.
Ty was still in London.
Luke promised to get me a Sinful handbag.
Ty didn’t know I wanted one.
I exited the freeway and took the surface streets to Pacific Coast Highway and headed north through Malibu. Luke and Ty kept flashing in my brain, first one, then the other.
I glanced out the window at the sun sparkling on the blue waters of the Pacific, waiting for it to soothe my thoughts. It didn’t, because I noticed a black SUV in my rearview mirror that was hanging on my back bumper.
I hated tailgaters—I tailgated myself, occasionally, but this was different. I couldn’t even see the guy’s headlights in my rearview mirror, he was that close. The windshield had been tinted so I couldn’t see inside clearly.
Jack Bishop popped into my head. He drove a black Land Rover and he’d followed Evelyn and me the other day—I still didn’t know how he managed that. Maybe this was his new way of getting my attention.
Well, I’d just show him.
I hooked my Bluetooth on my ear and punched in Jack’s number. He answered right away.
“Funny. Very funny,” I said. “Now get off my ass.”
“Can’t think of another place I’d rather be,” Jack said. “But what are you talking about?”
I got a weird feeling.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Riverside,” he said.
Riverside was inland about sixty miles.
I got a weird feeling.
“What’s up?” Jack asked.
“Some guy is—”
The SUV bumped me from behind. My car lurched forward. I yanked the Bluetooth off my ear and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.
He hit me again. My car veered right but I held it on the road.
The SUV cut around me on the left and hung beside me, door handle to door handle. I glanced over. The guy’s passenger side window rolled down.
Kirk Keegan was behind the wheel.
“Hi, Haley,” he called.
“Get away from me, you crazy—”
Kirk speeded up and cut in front of me, then hit the brakes. I slammed on my brakes. He hit the gas again and cut left, then fell back beside me again. Other cars on the road scattered. Kirk tucked in behind me. I stomped the accelerator to get away but he did the same. He swerved to my right side, then banged his big SUV against my Honda.
My car darted left into oncoming traffic. Kirk followed. He held his SUV against the side of my car, pushing me farther left toward the shoulder, trying to run me off the road. And here, along this stretch of the PCH, that meant taking a header over the cliff and into the ocean.
An RV lumbered toward me. I was in the wrong lane, facing the wrong way. Kirk nudged me left again.
I hit the brakes, then cut right. My front fender tagged Kirk’s back bumper. He spun. The back end of the SUV went around. Tires squealed and smoked. The SUV flipped over the guardrail and disappeared over the side of the road, out of sight. I screamed, hit the brakes, and slid to a stop on the shoulder. I ran across the highway.
At the bottom of the cliff, the waves of the Pacific crashed over the jagged brown rocks. I spotted Kirk’s SUV upside down in the water, the current dragging it out to sea.
“Isn’t this just the best thing ever?” Christy declared as I walked into the breakroom.
I had no clue what she was talking about.
Nor did I care.
“Look! See? We’re doing sooo great!”
Christy channeled Vanna White and rushed to the customer satisfaction chart on the wall. She pointed to the big thermometer as if I’d just asked to buy a vowel.
“Isn’t it fantastic! We’re out of beach towel range! We’ve shot completely through the toaster category! We’re hovering at the very top of the digital camera prize range!” Christy bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. “We’re almost to flat screens!”
“Great,” I muttered.
Under other circumstances, I might have worked up some enthusiasm for the store’s sudden burst of excellent customer service, but tonight I couldn’t. Not after what I’d been through.
I punched in, stowed my purse in my locker at the rear of the breakroom, then saw my name written on the white board.
I was late again. You’d think having a detective from the Los Angeles Police Department call in for you and explain that you’d be late for work because you’d been in a car accident would be an acceptable excuse for be
ing late.
Apparently, it wasn’t good enough for Holt’s.
I erased my name and went to the stock room.
Of course, surviving a car accident would have also been a good excuse to stay home. But I didn’t want to be alone. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it either—not even Marcie—and I sure as heck didn’t intend to call my parents. That left coming to work.
The Mount Everest of blue jeans awaited me, just as I’d left them at the end of my shift yesterday. It was okay, though. I wanted to stay busy.
At least I had a choice, unlike those women in the sweatshops.
I started tagging jeans, determined to ignore what I’d been through on PCH this afternoon, determined I wouldn’t let my boiling emotions get the best of me.
I wasn’t about to give Kirk Keegan the satisfaction—even posthumously.
All kinds of emergency vehicles had shown up. Police, fire department, ambulance, tow trucks, search and rescue, divers. A helicopter. News vans. Dozens of drivers who’d witnessed the whole thing. Campers from down the beach. The old couple in the RV told the story to anyone who would listen—and lots of people did.
I’d called Detective Shuman and told him what had happened. He offered to come to the scene. I let him.
Jack Bishop called a dozen times before I got back to my car and my cell phone. He told me not to mention that I knew the driver. I took his advice.
The investigating officers’ preliminary work determined it was a case of road rage gone bad. I let them believe it.
When they gave me the go-ahead to leave the scene, a couple dozen men were still trying to figure out how to drag Kirk’s SUV out of the water and up the cliff to the road. I didn’t want to be there when that happened.
I walked away from the whole thing unscathed—except for my damaged car and my rattled nerves.
“Haley?” someone called.
I looked up from the pair of men’s blue jeans I was tagging at the work table and saw Grace standing in the stock room doorway.
“There’s this really hot-looking guy out here who wants to talk to you,” she said.
It’s not like I know so many hot-looking guys that I’d wonder who was here to see me. Jack, for sure.
Grace disappeared out the door and Jack walked in, only—oh my God, it wasn’t Jack.
Luke strode into the stock room looking concerned and worried, and hotter than Jack had ever looked. He pulled me into his arms and held me close.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked.
I leaned back a little and gazed into those gorgeous green eyes. My emotions raced, along with my heartbeat.
“Yeah, I—I think so,” I said, but the words came out in a raspy whisper. I wasn’t okay at all. I gulped down my emotions. “How did you know?”
“It’s all over the news,” Luke said. “I recognized your car and license plate number from this morning at the Fashion District. I was scared to death for you.”
“How did you know to find me here?” I asked.
“You told me where you worked.”
“I did?”
Luke touched his finger to my chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m—I’m…”
I burst out crying. Luke pulled me against his chest and held me.
CHAPTER 23
My banged up but thankfully drivable Honda got me to the Fashion District a little later than usual the next day. I wish I could say it was because of a wild night of lovemaking with a totally hot guy, but all Luke did was take me home, walk me to my door, and leave.
It was bad to think about sleeping with Luke when I already had an official boyfriend—I knew that—but I was really upset last night and Luke showed up in the right place at the right time.
That was more than I could say for Ty.
To be fair, Ty might have at least said the right thing if he knew Kirk Keegan had tried to kill me yesterday. I still hadn’t called him. Since I didn’t know what he intended to talk to me about when he got home, I wasn’t about to tell him anything.
I walked along Los Angeles Street, peering in shops, stores, and alleys, and at pedestrians on the sidewalk, hoping I’d spot Ed Buckley somewhere. I glanced up at the tall buildings, the open windows. I couldn’t shake the idea that I was being watched, followed, especially since that’s exactly what Kirk Keegan must have been doing.
Not that I wanted him dead, of course, but knowing that Kirk couldn’t hurt me, or threaten me or anyone I knew ever again was a relief. He was out of my life for good, finally.
I figured Detective Shuman would call to let me know that Kirk’s SUV and his body had been recovered, but I hadn’t heard from him yet. Maybe he thought I’d rather not know all of the gory details. Maybe he was right.
I stopped on the corner of Los Angeles and Pico, and realized I’d been so caught up in my thoughts, I hadn’t been looking for Ed.
Jeez, I’ve got to get better at this.
I turned around and headed up Los Angeles Street once again. I forced my thoughts onto the mental image of Ed Buckley and studied every face that passed me by.
That lasted for about half a block.
Luke’s face jumped into my thoughts.
It was kind of weird that he’d spotted my car on the news broadcast, recognized the make, model, and license plate number. But I was glad he had. I needed somebody last night.
A man with a goatee walked past me. My heart jumped. Ed had a goatee.
Oh my God, he’d walked right past me and I’d barely noticed him.
I swung around and followed him until he disappeared into a shop. He turned my way as he stepped through the doorway and I realized it wasn’t Ed.
I kept walking.
“Okay, people, gather around,” Shannon called, as I tucked my time card in its slot. “As you can all see, we’re kicking butt in this contest.”
A cheer went up from the dozen or so employees gathered around me in the breakroom, ready to start our shift.
“We’ve reached flat screen range!” Christy yelled. “I knew we could do it!”
Another big cheer went up.
“Okay, people,” Shannon said. “We’ve only got a couple of days left on this contest. That means we have to keep up the good customer service. I don’t want any screw-ups this late in the—”
Shannon stopped and turned to me. “What are you doing in here?”
Everybody else turned, too.
“You’re supposed to be in the stock room tagging blue jeans,” Shannon barked.
All the other employees glanced at each other, then glared at me again.
Jeez, what did I do?
“Fine,” I said. I channeled my mom, put my nose in the air, and left the breakroom.
I wasn’t fine, of course, and by the time I got to the work table covered with a zillion pairs of blue jeans in the deserted stock room, I was starting to boil.
My morning had been crappy—beyond crappy, really. I hadn’t found Ed Buckley in the Fashion District. I’d walked and walked and walked but hadn’t seen him.
I hadn’t seen Luke, either. For the past two days I’d run into him down there nearly every time I turned a corner, then the one time I really wanted to see him, where was he?
He hadn’t called, either. He’d come all the way to the store last night to see if I was okay, he’d listened to me cry, he’d made me feel better—but he couldn’t call the next day? Jeez, it wasn’t like we’d slept together or anything.
And where was my supposed official boyfriend in all of this? He’d called me the other day with some cryptic line about wanting to talk. So why didn’t he call me so we could talk?
My cell phone in my back pocket vibrated. I whipped it out, mentally daring it to be either Ty or Luke calling, ready to blast them with what I thought of them.
It was Evelyn.
Crap. I’d forgotten to call her back.
“Haley, I’ve had a change of heart,” Evelyn said when I answered. “I’ve decide
d not to go to that party after all.”
Okay, that really ticked me off. I’d gone to a lot of time and effort to put together the right look for her—dress, shoes, bag, jewelry—and everything was fabulous. And now she wasn’t going?
“Why not?” I asked.
“I’m just not up to it,” she said softly.
Had it been anybody else, I would have blasted them.
“Just put everything back in the bags with the receipts,” I said. “I’ll return it to the stores for you.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said.
“No problem,” I said, and we hung up.
But it was a problem. A major problem. Another one to throw on the heap of other problems I was dealing with.
Shannon burst through the stock room door.
“You’re not supposed to be on your cell phone,” she shouted. “You’re supposed to be tagging jeans. The sale is almost here, and you’d better get them finished. And don’t come out of this stock room until you’re done.”
She stomped away.
Fuming, I stared down at my phone. Maybe I would call Marcie right now. Maybe I’d call Ty, too, and Luke, and every other person I knew on the planet.
I was in no mood.
The Sinful bag popped into my head. Usually thoughts of handbags soothed me, but the record label’s party was only days away and I still didn’t have a Sinful. Luke had promised he’d get one for me. But would he? Could he? Since he hadn’t called me all day, I didn’t know.
The stock room door swung open again. I looked up, expecting to see Shannon, ready to blast her, and saw that it was Sandy.
“There’s this really hot guy outside who wants to talk to you,” she said, giving me the universal you’re-so-lucky smile, and disappeared again.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Luke. Luke was here. He hadn’t been in the Fashion District this morning, and he hadn’t called because he intended to come see me in person.
My heart raced. How was my hair? Did I have time to put on lipstick? Where was a Tic Tac when I needed one?
The stock room door swung open. Doug walked in.
Doug? Doug? What was Doug doing here?
Dorothy Howell Page 20
