Crash and Burn (20 page)

“That’s yours,” he said. “There’s a shake in there, too.”

Warning bells were going off in her head, but she stubbornly ignored them.

R.J. poured slime into one of her glasses and she led him into the sunroom, where she had a drop-leaf table beside Spencer’s cage.

“Get lost, jackass!”

He glanced at Spencer. “Your parrot doesn’t like me.”

Krista slipped some cashews through the mesh. “He’s a blue-and-gold macaw. They’re very intelligent birds.”

She took a seat at the table and R.J. watched her unwrap a taco. His gaze drifted to her T-shirt and something sparked in his eyes. She’d forgotten a bra.

“What is it you want?”

He smiled slyly. “Who says I want something?”

“You show up at my house at the crack of dawn and try to ply me with junk food. Clearly there’s a reason.”

“It’s eight a.m.”

“Yeah, well, I was up till four.” She picked up her taco. “You have a motive. Spit it out.”

He took a gulp and set the glass on the table. “I have a proposition for you.”

She removed the lid from her shake and poked at the chocolate. “The answer’s no.”

“You don’t even know the question yet.”

“You want me to help you on the Lily Daniels case.”

He watched her mouth as she sucked ice cream from the end of her straw. She ignored the warm flutter in her stomach and returned to the taco.

“We’d make a good team.”

“Let me be clear. No.”

“I’m offering to share my fee.”

Annoyance bubbled up. She noticed he’d said “share,” not “split.” And they both knew whatever Walker was paying him, it was more than she was making. It was a sexist business, and the fact that men got paid more to do the same work really stuck in her craw. Always had.

And R.J. got paid
much
more.

“So?” He lifted an eyebrow at her.

“So, the answer’s still no.”

“Why not?”

“What do you need me for? Last I checked, you were pretty good at finding people.”

She watched his face, searching for clues. Whatever he wanted her for might give her an idea of how she was going to find Lily. She had some competitive advantage or R.J. wouldn’t be talking to her, but unfortunately, she didn’t know what it was.

“We’re pressed for time.” He glanced at his sports watch. “I’ve got just twenty-four hours to deliver her, or my deal’s off.”

Anger festered in her chest. “When’s she taking the stand?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

So Walker had lied to her. He’d offered R.J. more time
and
more money. Why had he hired her at all? Maybe he’d been desperate to get someone—anyone—on the case while R.J. was sunning it in Hawaii.

Krista ate another glob of ice cream, but it didn’t cool her temper. Walker was a pig, and she hated that she was desperate for his business. He was the most sought-after employer in the county, and she and Scarlet had dreamed of the chance to work for him. They needed not just his money, but his referrals, and without him, they were doomed to a future of cheating spouses and deadbeat dads.

But still, she didn’t want to work with R.J. Flynn. Being burned once was enough.

“What deadline did Walker give you?” he asked now, changing tactics.

“Noon today if I want to collect a bonus.”

He laughed. “That’s four hours away.”

“Yeah, well maybe this isn’t just about money anymore.”

He looked skeptical. “What’s it about?”

“
Locating
this witness. That’s what we do.”

“You’re saying you’re worried about her?”

“Aren’t you?”

He stared at her. “Yes.”

She nodded. He’d been on the case less than a day and had the same feeling she did—something was off here.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked now.

There were a lot of things bothering her, not the least of which was her visit to Lily’s home last night.

“You checked out Lily’s house,” she said. “Did you notice anything?”

“Same stuff you noticed.”

“She goes out of town, apparently. Leaves her cat. Leaves her mail. Leaves her makeup scattered all over her bathroom and stuff on her sink—”

“Maybe she was in a hurry,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“So she forgot her toothbrush. Doesn’t mean she left against her will.”

“Most women don’t leave their birth control pills when they head out of town. And those cosmetics are top-of-the-line. You can’t just replace them at a gas station.”

R.J. shook his head. “Still doesn’t prove anything.”

She watched him carefully. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him about the reporter and give him a new clue, but Wayland’s comments weighed on her. She’d been up all night thinking about his words as she trolled the Internet searching for leads.
You think someone got to her?

Krista stirred her shake. “I dropped by the alleged murder scene last night.”

His eyebrows tipped up. “‘Alleged’?”

“I walked the alley.”

“And?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge. He didn’t even realize he was doing it—that’s how low-key he was about his perfect body. R.J. had gotten his start as a Hollywood stuntman before working as a process server—a job which attracted tough guys and paid better than acting. From there, he slid into P.I. work. It didn’t have quite the same physical requirements, but still he kept in shape, pumping iron and running marathons.

Krista’s regimen was a bit more sporadic. Some weeks she spent hours at the gym. Others she spent hours in her car.

“The motel owner’s story doesn’t add up,” she said now. “It’s physically impossible to see the alley from the lobby, unless you happen to be standing right at the door. So, why did he give the police that story? Did someone pay him?”

“It happens.”

“I know it happens. And it requires bucks. That’s why I think there’s more going on here that some low-level gangster who popped a guy for his Benz.”

R.J. lifted an eyebrow in that smug way of his and she knew—she
knew
—she was onto something. The
Times
reporter was right. There was way more to this case than met the eye. Walker knew it. DeSilva knew it. R.J. knew it. Even
she
knew it. The difference between her and everyone else was they seemed to be keeping information from her. They seemed to want to use her, then cut her out, and it pissed her off.

“It’s a good theory,” R.J. said. “I think you’re right. I also think we should partner up on this.”

She tipped her head to the side. “You really want a partner? Okay. Tell me what Walker’s paying you.”

“Three a day.”

She gritted her teeth. “And the bonus, if you bring her in by Thursday?”

He hesitated. Only an instant, but she caught it. “Ten.”

Sixteen
grand for less than three days’ work. And even that was a lie, she could tell just by looking at him. Indignation welled up in her chest.

“I’ll split it with you,” he said.

“Ha. Like you did last time?”

“This is different from last time.”

“Why, because I’m saying no? Lemme say it again, R.J. No, I don’t want to partner with you. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Scarlet was a partner. They were open with each other. They were loyal to each other. They’d do anything for each other—including
bleed.
Scarlet was trustworthy.

R.J. was too shifty, too charming, and way too unscrupulous to inspire her trust.

He shook his head. Then he took his glass to the sink and grabbed his keys. Krista followed him to the door.

“Don’t you want your veggies?”

“You keep ’em,” he said, stepping onto her stoop.

An orange pickup truck screeched up to the curb and a deliveryman hopped out. He rushed up the sidewalk, carrying a large flat shipping box.

“Krista Hart?”

“That’s me.”

The logo on his shirt said OC Deliveries, a local currier service. This would be the files from Walker’s firm, and Krista felt a surge of hope as she signed for the box. DeSilva had come through.

R.J. eyed her suspiciously, and she clutched the package to her chest as the delivery guy hustled away.

“Sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

He sauntered down the sidewalk. The orange truck peeled away, leaving a shiny a black Porsche 911 Turbo alone in front of her house. The Porsche gleamed. It had a spoiler and four beautiful tires that looked brand-spanking new.

“You’ll never make it, Hart,” he called over the roof.

“That’s my problem.”

He smiled as he slid into the car. She hoped he got butt sweat all over it and ruined the upholstery.

The Porsche growled to life. As it sped away, she glanced at her watch.

Four hours and counting. Time to get to work.

~ ~ ~

According to Lily’s file, she’d spent two full years at Sushi Go-Go before quitting last fall. In California terms, it was a respectable tenure. So Krista began her day at the Laguna Beach restaurant that offered an eclectic mix of Chinese and Japanese cuisine, served by women in knee-high boots. Krista glanced around for Amber, but she didn’t appear to have the morning dim sum shift.

“One for breakfast?”

A girl with eyelashes like Adele’s stepped out from behind the hostess stand.

Krista introduced herself and pulled out Lily’s picture, and the young woman’s face lit up.

“That’s Lily.” Her brow furrowed. “You say you’re a detective? Is she in trouble?”

“Depends if she misses her court appearance. You seen her around lately?”

“Not since she quit.”

“Anyone here she’s still close to? Maybe someone who might have heard from her recently?”

“Can’t think of anyone.”

A trio of businessmen stepped through the door, and the hostess’s attention wandered.

“What about contact info? She dropped her cell phone, evidently, so I’m trying to track down her new number.”

“Hmm… I could check. Let me seat this party first.”

She showed the businessmen to a table by the window overlooking the beach, where they had a prime view of the volleyball action. Krista glanced around. A man in running shorts was eating breakfast at the counter two stools away from a fashionably dressed woman, who was sipping tea and flipping through
Entertainment Weekly.
The restaurant smelled like soy sauce and sesame oil, and Krista had a sudden craving for pot-stickers.

When the hostess returned, she dug a purse out of a cabinet and took out her phone.

“I got a text from Lily a while back.”

“When, exactly?”

“About… let’s see… three weeks ago? She invited me out, but I couldn’t go.” She held out the phone. “You can have the number if you want.”

Krista copied it down, skimming the text message for additional clues. “Who’s Travis?”

“Her ex.”

Krista’s heart sped up. “Do you know his last name?”

The hostess’s brow furrowed as she took her phone back. “I never even met the guy. Lil just invited me to a party with them.”

A
recent
party, which meant she was still in contact with him, wherever he was. She might even be at his house.

“Do you know where he lives, maybe? L.A.? Orange County? Was the party at his place?”

The woman was staring at her, clearly getting uncomfortable.

“If Lily misses this court date, she could go to jail.”

She sighed. “The party was at someone else’s house. I didn’t get details because I had a shift that night and no one would swap with me.”

Another group of customers came in, and she darted a worried look over Krista’s shoulder.

“That’s all I know, really. I have to work now, so—”

“Call me if you hear from her.” Krista handed her a business card. “It’s important that I find her. Soon.”

~ ~ ~

Krista dialed Lily’s number from the parking lot, but the call went straight to voicemail and a robot voice told her the person she was trying to reach was unavailable. She left an urgent message for Lily, then called Mac.

“I need you to run a number for me. I need contact info, billing address, incoming and outgoing calls—a full phone dump.”

Mac didn’t respond. Almost everything she’d just requested should require a court order, or at least a badge, but she knew Mac could do it. He spoke fluent techie and could get a boatload of information simply by convincing people on the other end of the phone that he was repairing something or setting up a service. Krista rattled off the number and waited while Mac wrote it down.

“Do I at least get a ‘please’?” he asked.

“Please.” Krista pulled into traffic.

“I
do
have classes, you know. And I ditched two of them yesterday to work on this Lilykins chick.”

“I’ll double your fee,” she said.

“For that, I’ll ditch my ten o’clock, too. Hey, I’ve got something else, but you’re not going to like it. Braxton Creative just called.”

“Berle Braxton?” Krista ran a stale yellow.

“Her assistant. She wanted to pass along that Ms. Braxton got your messages, but hasn’t seen Lily in a while.”

“What’s ‘a while’ mean?”

“I don’t know. But Braxton’s in Avalon, apparently, on vacation.”

Krista chewed her lip. She’d tried the woman’s email already and received an out-of-office stating she’d be gone through Monday.

Krista glanced in her rearview mirror just as a black car swerved into her lane. Too small for a Lexus, too big for a Porsche. It looked familiar, though.

“Krista? You there?”

She slammed on the brakes and pulled into a gas station. Horns blared. The black car zipped past without even slowing. A Miata coupe.

“Krista?”

“I’m here.” She parked beside a gas pump and pulled out her phone. “Call me with that info, as soon as you get it.”

“Are you coming in today?”

“Not now,” she told him. “I’m on my way to catch a ferry.”

~ ~ ~

The town of Avalon sat nestled on Santa Catalina Island, twenty-two miles off the California coast. Of the Channel Islands, Catalina was the most populous and also the most filmed, having been used as a backdrop for
Jaws
and dozens of other movies. The island’s fame pre-dated the mechanical shark, though. It first gained national attention back in 1911 when William Wrigley bought a controlling interest and started bringing his Cubs out for spring training.