Authors: Karen E. Olson

Pretty In Ink (23 page)

BOOK: Pretty In Ink

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“Hey, I’m just along for the ride,” Jeff said as he tossed his cigarette down and ground it with the heel of his cowboy boot.

“We wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you,” I hissed.

“Isn’t this sweet? A lover’s quarrel.” DeBurra chuckled.

All the muscles in my body tensed up, and I glared at him.

“You’ve got no reason to be angry with me,” DeBurra said. “But I have all the reason to be angry with you. Maybe if you’d stuck around in the hospital and answered my questions, all of this”—he indicated the apartment house—“never would’ve happened.”

“So it’s my fault I got shot at?” I barked.

“Brett, calm down,” Jeff said softly.

I shot him a look. Easy for him to say.

“You’d better listen to your boyfriend,” DeBurra said. “It’s going to be a long night.”

At that moment I realized I wasn’t going home. I wasn’t going to sleep in my comfy bed. I wasn’t going to be able to relax.

I was going to be stuck with DeBurra and Jeff Coleman all night.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, although my gumption was gone.

DeBurra noticed. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” He herded us out of the pool area, and now we could see the police cruisers and cops milling around.

“Who was it?” I asked. “Who was shooting?”

DeBurra took a deep breath. “He got out the balcony. Someone downstairs said he saw a guy jumping from balcony to balcony and took off.”

“But what about that last shot? The apartment couldn’t have been empty then.”

Jeff’s nudge was too late. I’d spoken too soon.

DeBurra stopped and stared me down. “What do you mean?”

It was time to tell the truth. “We saw it,” I said. “That’s why we ran out to the front courtyard. We saw her drop to the ground and take off. But I don’t know where she went.”

“She?”

“It was Charlotte. Charlotte Sampson. But after she ran off, we heard another shot from up there. So she couldn’t have been alone.”

DeBurra rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and nodded, but he didn’t volunteer any information. All he said was, “If you’d talked to me earlier, maybe we could’ve found her.”

“I really haven’t known where she’s been hiding,” I insisted, then added, “At least we know she’s not sick.”

Sister Mary Eucharista would’ve said that was like making lemonade out of lemons, or something like that. My brain wasn’t working right at the moment.

They put Jeff and me into two different cruisers. He gave me a wink as they escorted him to a car a few feet away.

I fell asleep.

In the interrogation room.

On a stiff, metal chair with my head down on my arms on a stiff, metal table.

I dreamed of Red Rock and my bed, and the soft whirr of a tattoo machine was my white noise.

I’d been at police headquarters for about three hours, interrogated by none other than Detective Frank DeBurra, going over and over and over ad nauseum everything that had happened that day.

Except I left out my first visit to Trevor’s. I didn’t want to get Kyle in trouble, and did it really matter that I’d been there twice? Sure, DeBurra would string me up if he knew, but I kept to pertinent information, like what had happened at that condo this morning and getting shot at with Jeff.

I hadn’t seen Jeff since I’d gotten here.

I hadn’t seen Tim, either.

I wondered whether he was still at the hospital with sexy Dr. Bixby.

A thud jolted me out of my dreams and ramblings. I looked up.

“Why are you keeping me here?” I asked Frank DeBurra, who’d slammed the door. “I’ve answered all your questions. Can’t I go home now?”

He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile; it had an edge to it. An edge that told me not to push it.

I sighed.

“What else do you want to know?” I asked, defeated, laying my head back down on my arms and staring up at him with one eye.

“Do you know where Ace van Nes is?”

My head popped up and I took my elbows off the table. “Ace?”

“Yes, Ace van Nes. I believe he works for you.”

“He’s at the shop,” I said. “I talked to him there earlier.”

“He’s not there now. And Miss Hendricks was not helpful.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I could just imagine what Bitsy had to say to Detective Frank DeBurra.

“You’re with Homeland Security; don’t you know where everyone is at all times?” I asked, my exhaustion turning into sarcasm.

He sighed dramatically. “That’s what Miss Hendricks said, too. Do you have employee training in how to respond to a police officer’s questions?”

“How did you guess?”

“Where is Mr. van Nes?”

“Maybe he’s home.” Ace lived in a condo that he sublet from some guy in a band over in Summerlin. “Don’t you have his phone number? Why don’t you just call him?” I asked.

“You really need to start cooperating.”

I stood up and faced him. “I’ve answered all your questions. I’ve sat here for hours allowing myself to be interrogated by you. I have cooperated thoroughly. Do I need a lawyer?” I paused. “And it’s not my fault my brother had a relationship with your fiancée, so you better get over that, too.”

As if on cue, the door opened, and Tim walked in.

DeBurra jumped back, startled. “Oh, Kavanaugh, it’s you.”

Tim looked from DeBurra to me and back to DeBurra again. “Don’t you think you’ve got enough now? She’s tired. I don’t know how much more you think you’re going to get.”

I wanted to know where he’d been the whole time I’d been in this little room. But at least he was here now, trying to rescue me from the clutches of Inspector Clouseau. I turned a smile on him, but he wasn’t paying attention to me.

DeBurra looked like he was trying to figure out just what to say, how he was going to justify the past three hours. I’d given him everything he wanted in the first hour.

DeBurra licked his lips, then pursed them together as if he were weighing a life-or-death situation. His eyes settled on me in a very unsettling way. Finally, he spoke.

“Your employee Ace van Nes? He’s been dating Charlotte Sampson.”

Even the cops knew. Why was I the last to know?

But he wasn’t waiting for me. He kept going.

“And late today, thirty thousand dollars was deposited in Ace van Nes’s bank account.”

Chapter 38

I
couldn’t breathe. Thirty thousand dollars? Ace? He could barely break a thousand on one of those paintings every couple months. And while he made a good living in my shop, he didn’t make that kind of money.

Then I had a flashback. Charlotte was wearing a backpack when she’d jumped off that balcony. She’d been in Trevor’s apartment. Where there was about fifty thousand dollars hidden in Trevor’s boots.

But I hadn’t told DeBurra I’d been there earlier. They didn’t know I knew about the money in the boots.

I’d already been at the station house for three hours. If I suddenly came clean, I was looking at an all-nighter.

But if I didn’t tell them and they found out later that I knew, I’d be in deep crap. DeBurra I could handle, but I wasn’t so sure about Tim.

I sighed. “I was at Trevor McKay’s earlier today.”

They looked at me like I had three heads.

“We know that, Brett,” Tim said softly.

I shook my head. “No, I was there earlier, with Kyle Albrecht. MissTique. He had a key; we went over there to see if Charlotte was there. She wasn’t, but we found money. A lot of money. In Trevor’s boots. In the bedroom.” I paused for a second. “Actually, Kyle found the money. But we left it there. We didn’t take any of it.”

DeBurra looked like he was going to explode.

I waited for it.

He did not disappoint.

“Did you go back there for the money?” he asked, his face just inches from mine. I could smell burger and onions on his breath.

“No.”

“Why did you go back, then?”

I did not go for the money. But Jeff Coleman did. I couldn’t rat him out, though, because he’d helped me, what with lending me his car and not getting too upset—at least outwardly—when the tires got slashed on my watch.

“I wanted to make sure Charlotte hadn’t gone there after we’d left,” I said, hoping he’d believe me. “I’ve been worried about her all day. She could’ve gotten sick in that condo. She wasn’t decontaminated like the rest of us.” I hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick.

He stood up straight and stepped back, studying my face. I willed myself to stare back even though I wanted to look away, put my head back down on the table, and go to sleep again.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was just seconds, he nodded. “Okay. But you have to tell me everything about that visit to the apartment.”

Tim nodded at me, urging me to continue.

I sighed. I knew I’d be stuck here if I told. I might as well just suck it up and tell him everything as quickly as I could. Maybe I could go home and get a couple hours sleep at some point.

Since he already knew about Bitsy rescuing me from the hospital—that conversation lasted much longer than I’d liked—I started with Jeff Coleman’s car and going to Chez Tango and meeting up with Kyle. It didn’t take me long to run through what had happened.

When I was done, I hoped that would be the end of it.

Then DeBurra held up his hand.

“Okay, so you borrowed Coleman’s car. Where is it now?”

Oops. Left that part out.

“When I brought Kyle back to the club, I went in to use the phone, and when I came back out, the tires were slashed. So it was towed to a garage.”

“All the tires were slashed?”

I nodded.

“Did you find that unusual?” He was baiting me.

I took it. “Yes. I did find that unusual, Detective.” The sarcasm dripped off my words. “I figured someone didn’t want me poking around.”

“And then when you went back to Trevor McKay’s place, you got shot at. You’d just been there and the tires were slashed. Is there a connection?”

“How should I know? You’re the detective. Is there a connection?” I had stood up and was shaking with anger and exhaustion. I was one breath away from tears. There it was. The one breath. And there were the waterworks.

My whole body heaved with sobs, but I didn’t take my eyes off DeBurra’s face. It unnerved him. He began to shift from foot to foot; his eyes skipped over to the door as if willing someone to save him.

And that’s exactly what Tim did by speaking up at just that very moment.

“I think that’s enough,” he told DeBurra sternly. “I’m taking her home. If you want to ask her more questions in the morning, I can bring her back. But she needs some sleep.” He put his arm around me, which only made me cry harder. I couldn’t stop once I’d started.

Which is why DeBurra let us leave.

I went into the ladies’ room and managed to calm down a little, throwing some cold water on my face and running wet hands through my hair. It was a little spikier that way, slicked back over my ears, which were still naked. I fingered them absently, wondering whether I should leave them that way for a while. No. I’d find replacements in my jewelry box at home.

When I emerged, not feeling totally refreshed but at least no longer sobbing, Tim and I went out to his Jeep in the parking lot without saying anything to each other. I was tired of talking, anyway.

The desert air was still, and it had cooled a bit. If I figured right, it was about eight.

“What about Jeff Coleman? Is he still in there?” I asked, cocking my head toward the building as we climbed into the Jeep.

“DeBurra took his statement and let him go after about an hour.”

“That’s good.”

“I had a little chat with him. You know, Brett, he’s not a bad guy. Why don’t you like him?”

I was glad the sun was going down, so my face was in a shadow. I felt the blush crawl up my neck as I remembered Jeff grabbing me and covering me with his body when the gunshots rang out.

I shrugged. “Yeah, he’s not so bad after all, I guess.”

“He thinks pretty highly of you.”

Really? I was too tired to think about it.

“Do you think Ace is involved in whatever it is Charlotte’s up to?” Tim asked. “Off the record.”

“No. And until I saw her today jumping off that balcony, I didn’t really want to think she was doing anything wrong, either. But now I’m not so sure.”

“Did you do a background check on her when you hired her?”

I stared at him. “No. Should I have? She’s just a trainee.”

“Brett, you should background check everyone you hire, even a trainee.”

Something about his tone made me pause. “You know something, don’t you?”

He kept his eyes on the road, flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“What is it, Tim? What’s in her background?”

“I can’t say.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who said this was all off the record. So you didn’t really tell me, okay?”

The Jeep slowed to a stop at a light on the Strip. The Venetian was just to our left in all its Renaissance Italy glory. It looked exactly like the Doge’s Palace, with a sign for Madame Tussauds wax museum stuck like a postage stamp at the end of a ramp. I stared at it for a long second before whispering, “Tim? Please tell me about Charlotte.”

The light changed and he gunned the accelerator, causing the Jeep to lurch forward.

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

He waited until we were sitting at the next light.

“Metro Homeland Security’s been watching Charlotte Sampson since last year.”

Chapter 39

I
tried to wrap my head around what Tim was saying, but the fatigue was too much.

“What do you mean, they’ve been watching her? What do they think? She’s some sort of terrorist?”

When Tim didn’t answer, I continued.

BOOK: Pretty In Ink

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