As they stepped across the asphalt, the smell of oil and chassis grease greeted them, accompanied by deep male shouts and the high-pitched screech of lug nuts being tighten with an air gun.
Miranda peeked inside one of the bays and saw a guy in a greasy uniform balancing a tire on a car suspended over his head. Another uniformed guy stood at a bench along the far wall, pecking at a computer.
Neither of them looked like the guy in Holloway’s sketch.
The guy under the car lifted his gun again.
Before the noise started, Miranda called out, “Excuse me, sir.”
He turned, caught sight of her and Wesson, and grinned widely. He turned off the air gun machine and sauntered over to them. “What can I do for you ladies?”
He had a bright white Hollywood smile and blond surfer hair that he had pulled back in a ponytail that went halfway down his back. Under the bland gray uniform Miranda spotted a toned body, but she didn’t see any tattoos.
His name tag said, “Denver.”
No need to fool around. She got straight to the point. “Does Axel Cage work here?”
The smile turned skeptical. “Who wants to know?”
Same question the neighbor lady had asked. People sure were cautious around here.
She turned to Wesson and let out a girlish giggle that was way out of her comfort zone. “I guess he has a lot of girls asking for him, doesn’t he?”
The mechanic eyed her up and down. “Maybe.”
The guy from the counter stepped over. “What’s going on, Denver?”
“These ladies are asking for an Axel Cage, Ethan. You know him?”
The second guy was taller but just as muscle-bound. His head was covered in short brown curls and he wore a thick wide chevron mustache that probably made him look older than he was.
Casually Ethan raised an arm and leaned it on the car’s bumper, which was at his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Axel worked here a long time ago.”
“How long?” Miranda asked, still trying to sound girly.
“Maybe seven, eight years ago.”
That fit with what Olivia had told them.
Miranda forced another pout. “That long ago? He told me he worked here now. He said to look him up.”
Playing along, Wesson took off her sunglasses and wagged a finger at her. “I told you not to believe a guy you met in a bar.”
Denver, the first guy, lit up at the sight of Wesson’s gorgeous face, and his shiny white smile reappeared. “Was Axel going to do some work for you? Maybe one of us could help you ladies out.”
Miranda could imagine the type of work he had in mind. But these guys had to have more information on their possible suspect.
She shifted her weight. “Well, he said he would look over my ride, but I really wanted to see him. Are you sure he hasn’t been back here?”
“Not that I know of.”
Wesson put up her hands. “Well, that’s it. You’ll have to give up on him.”
Miranda tried to look as if she might cry. “You don’t happen to have Axel’s address, do you?” She batted her eyes at the taller guy with the curls named Ethan.
Looking uncomfortable, he scratched his chin. “I couldn’t give you that.” He glanced at his coworker. “But I can tell you where he used to hang out.”
“Really? Could you?”
Denver shook his head. Apparently he knew the spot his coworker was talking about. “I don’t think you should tell them that, Ethan.”
Wesson took a step toward the guy. “Why not?”
“It’s a pretty rough place.”
“But my friend needs to know,” she said, sounding sexy as hell.
Denver melted like snow on the Rockies in springtime. “Okay.”
Ethan raised his hands. “No guarantees you’ll find him there.”
Miranda nodded. “Sure, we understand. What’s the place?”
Ethan glanced at Denver, still hesitating. Then he said the name. “The Wet Guillotine.”
“The what?” Wesson breathed.
“It’s a biker bar over on Culver.” Denver pointed in the direction of the street.
Miranda blinked and glanced at Wesson.
She couldn’t tell if she recognized the place.
Wide-eyed, she turned back to Ethan and resume her girly girl act. “Really? Do you think he’s there?”
Ethan shrugged. “I seem to remember Axel went there several times a week. Don’t know if he still does. Like I said, no guarantees.”
“Sure. But he could be there.” She hoped.
Denver smiled even wider. “Like I said, it’s a pretty rough place. I’d be happy to escort you ladies if you’re going there tonight.”
She was sure he would. But since these two dudes couldn’t tell them any more, it was time to vamoose.
“Oh, thanks.” Miranda began to back away. “That’s so nice of you. But we’re not sure what we’ll do.” She turned around.
Denver took a step toward Wesson. “If you’d like me to look at your car, I can do that for you.”
She shook her head and let out a half-giggle. “That’s okay.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Miranda forced a very fake smile.
Ethan and Denver both took another step toward them.
This was getting dicey. And she had no idea what Parker might do at the sight of these hungry wolves on the prowl.
“Oh, I just remembered I have a manicure appointment.” Wesson said, suddenly sounding not so girly.
She took Miranda by the arm, and they hurried away as fast as they could go without running.
Miranda dared a glance over her shoulder and let out a sigh of relief that the mechanics weren’t following.
Instead they stood there, looking like they were wondering what was wrong with their game.
Chapter Twenty
Her face flushed, Miranda climbed into the Navigator and let out an excited breath. “Got it.”
Parker’s brow rose with suspicion. “What precisely did you get?”
She was right. He hadn’t cared for watching his wife flirt with two muscle-bound grease monkeys. But Parker wouldn’t have blown their cover.
She grinned at him. “A place where Axel used to hang out, according to the guy in there who used to know him.”
Parker’s expression turned to satisfaction. “Excellent work.”
Her stomach rippled at the compliment, especially in front of the other two. “Wesson did great, too.”
“Where is this place?” Holloway wanted to know.
“It’s called The Wet Guillotine.” Miranda punched the name into her phone. It didn’t take long for the website to come up. “And it’s just a few miles away.”
She held out the phone to Parker.
His brow rose. “The Wet Guillotine?”
“What kind of a place is it?” Holloway asked with just as much wariness.
Wasn’t it obvious from its name? “The kind of place a guy like Axel Cage would hang out,” she told him as Parker punched the address into the GPS.
Wesson was bouncing up and down in her seat. “Let’s go.”
“Very well.”
Parker turned down the side street and headed away from the auto repair shop. After a few more turns they emerged onto a large tree-lined highway. They were going northeast, toward a better part of town. There were large, more upscale office buildings here, as well as a museum and a park.
Miranda had to blink as they passed an arched entrance. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes, if you think it’s a movie studio,” Wesson said from the backseat.
Holloway read the sign out loud. “Thunderclap Studios. Hmm.”
No big deal to her. Miranda recalled something Olivia said. “Did Axel really want to get into the movies?”
Wesson shrugged. “I remember he once bragged he was an undiscovered talent. He said one day he’d come into his own. I don’t know if he was talking about movies or not.”
Hmm. “Maybe he d
id get some sort of job at the studio. Maybe that’s why he left the auto repair place.”
“Could be.”
For all they knew, he could have gone to Cape Canaveral and tried to become an astronaut.
Parker made a turn onto another side street off the main road and pulled into the bar’s parking lot. Not a lot of customers now. It was just past five. Half a dozen cars and a few motorcycles were parked alongside the neighboring building.
Miranda studied the squarish red brick structure, the beer logos on the window, the sign in blood red letters. The Wet Guillotine. An intentionally creepy place.
But she’d been in creepy dives before.
They were on a hill, and the side street they’d come from dipped downward into a residential area. She watched a tough looking guy in leather with a thick beard and a bandana over his head plod up the sidewalk and make his way to the entrance.
“Do you think Axel’s in there now, Steele?” Wesson asked.
“Hard to tell. It’s kind of early to go drinking.”
Holloway let out a huff. “What are we going to do? We can’t go in there and sit around until nightfall hoping this guy might show up.”
True.
“We can come back later when the place is busier,” Parker suggested.
Miranda looked down at her blue blazer and white top. They might have gone casual today, but they were still too dressed up. “No matter when we do it, we can’t go in there dressed like accountants.” She turned around to Wesson. “Do you know of a place where we can get some appropriate duds?”
She blinked, surprised at the question. She looked even more surprised when the answer came to her.
“La Brea Fashions. It’s back where we came from.”
Chapter Twenty-One
So they headed back toward Weho to go shopping.
On the way Wesson called Olivia, and Parker called Mrs. Halifax, the principal, to update them without really telling either of them what they were up to.
By the time they’d fought their way through the traffic and found a parking spot, the sun had gone down, but the trendy leather shop on North La Brea Avenue was still open. An hour and a half later, they had selected their outfits for the evening and were looking cool.
“All we need are chains and knives,” Miranda murmured to Parker as they stuffed their packages into the back of the Navigator.
He didn’t smile. “That’s not a bad idea.”
They rode around for a bit until Parker found an out-of-the-way pawn shop. Inside, they looked over the selection in the cases. The laws were strict in this state, and they didn’t have time to wait for weapons permits, but they picked up a couple of switch blades and short daggers. Those would have to do for tonight’s soiree.
Miranda decided to take Parker up on his nap idea, so they headed back to the hotel and caught an hour and a half of shut-eye before getting dressed and heading out.
In the lobby they stopped at a convenience shop for energy drinks. As they stood sipping them at a small table in their new attire, Miranda couldn’t help smiling at the looks they got from the upscale passersby.
She couldn’t decide whose black leather jacket she liked best.
Hers had zippers up the sleeves and big silver buttons along the V-neck collar. Holloway had chosen a classic racer with a band collar that suited his lanky frame. Wesson was eye-popping in a curve-hugging jacket with a square neckline and a wide front zipper she’d pulled halfway down.
But in Miranda’s opinion, Parker stole the show.
His sexy dark hair was slicked back, except for the unruly wisp that liked to fall over his forehead. In his double-breasted rider of full grain leather, his powerful, muscular body was heart-stopping.
Not only was he even more mouth-wateringly gorgeous than usual, he looked dangerous.
Tight jeans, boots and belts completed the outfits. Along with a black-and-white zebra print top for her, and a leopard skin one for Wesson, both of which the diva detective had picked out.
Looking like a foursome not to be messed with, they finished their drinks, and headed out the entrance. When they climbed into the rental again, they were more than ready to take on whatever they’d find at The Wet Guillotine.
It took another forty-five minutes to reach their destination, and when they turned into the side street alongside the bar, it was just after ten-thirty.
This time, the place was hopping. There was no room in the lot. They would have to park down the street and hike up the hill.
As Parker hunted a spot, Miranda craned her neck to study the row of cycles now crowding the lot and thought of the night she’d gone street racing with a gang leader back in Atlanta.
Just then her cell buzzed. It was Becker.
She read through his text.
“What is it?” Wesson wanted to know.
“Becker got a little more on Imogen’s papa. About ten years ago, Axel Cage did six months in the Los Angeles County Jail for armed robbery.”
She let out a huff. “Livvy didn’t tell me that.”
There was an attachment. “He sent a mug shot taken when Axel was arrested.”
Miranda opened it and took in the punky features of a guy in his early twenties. Medium stubble beard. Intense hazel eyes. His hair was dark brown, as Olivia had said. It fell in waves to his shoulders. His square face was cocked to the side in a surly expression. He was good-looking.
Parker pulled into a spot about half a block down from the bar. “Let me see that.”
She handed the phone to him.
“No distinguishing marks.”
“Other than the bat tattoos, which aren’t in the photo.”
Wesson sat forward. “Let me see.”
Parker passed the phone to her, and she and Holloway took in the image.
Holloway handed the phone back to Miranda. “At least we have a better idea of who we’re looking for.”
“There is that.” Maybe it would help.
But Imogen Wesson had been missing over thirty hours now, and it was hard to keep her hopes up, even if they found Axel.
It didn’t do any good to brood over it. They had to keep trying. She reached for her door handle.
“C’mon. Let’s get in there and see if we can hunt down this creep.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inside the seedy establishment, they found a smoky, crowded room reverberating with loud Lynyrd Skynyrd music. The walls were littered with the typical neon beer and whisky signs, plus several fake blades covered with fake blood along with a few plastic severed heads with their mouths gaping open as if in a scream.
How else would you decorate a place with this name?
Miranda scanned the tables. Tough-looking clientele sat crowded around them. Lots of hair. Lots of tattoos. Nose rings in abundance. Leather and chains in more abundance, along with jeans and T-shirts embossed with motorcycles, wings, and skulls.
In their new duds, she and her team fit right in.
To the left stood a bar where several large burly patrons sat on stools with their backs to the main area.
In a corner beyond the bar was a pool table. A couple of rough-looking guys were drinking beer and having a game. Neither of them looked like the mug shot of Axel or the dude in Holloway’s sketch.
Miranda spotted an empty table in the corner. She leaned over to Parker. “Why don’t you and Holloway take the bar while Wesson and I go sit over there.”
He drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”
He didn’t like leaving her side in a place like this.
“We can take care of ourselves. If anybody bothers you, we’ll come to your rescue.”
He narrowed his eyes at her bad joke, but he had to agree it was better for him and Holloway to look over the beefy patrons at the bar.
“You can count on the reverse of that,” he said darkly as he gave Holloway a nod, and the pair crossed the room.
Miranda led Wesson to the corner, and they wedged into a little round table. A
waitress came by, and they ordered drinks.
Miranda had a root beer and Wesson got a ginger ale.
“Like, is that it?” said the wide-eyed brunette with a tasteful bloody guillotine logo on her T-shirt.
“You have a problem with that?” Miranda asked.
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.”
They had all agreed to no alcohol to keep their heads clear, but now she wondered if they were going to look conspicuous.
After a different waitress delivered the bland drinks, Wesson took a sip and leaned in close. “I don’t see anyone in here who looks like that mug shot Becker sent. Or Holloway’s drawing.”
“I don’t either,” she groaned.
As the music changed to Led Zeppelin, Miranda scanned the tables again.
She watched a large tattooed man with bushy hair who was laughing at something the thin blond across from him had just said. At another table, a hefty woman in a black T-shirt with a large white spider web stretched across her breasts slurped from a big beer mug. A dark table in another corner held a guy with spiky hair dyed yellow who was singing along with the music.
For a moment Miranda thought someone had given him two big black eyes. Then she realized they were tattoos.
She looked over at Wesson and saw she was sulking. Miranda felt for her.
“I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”
Grimacing, Wesson ran her fingers over her bottle. “I guess I should be used to worrying about my baby sister by now.”
Miranda thought of how much she worried over Mackenzie. “Some people have that affect on you.”
“Yeah.” Wesson stared down at her ginger ale as if she were wishing it was vodka.
Miranda felt like she could use a stiff one, too. “It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
“How could it be? You were on the other side of the country.”
Wesson shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“About Livvy and me. How it was growing up in Napa Valley on our parents’ vineyard.”
Miranda could see Wesson wanted to talk. Hoping she wouldn’t regret asking, she said, “What do you mean?”
The Stolen Girl Page 9
