Private Dicks (3 page)

“Nah. I can walk, it’s not too far.”

Standing up, Rhodes extended his hand. Carlos stared at it
for a second before shaking it and then Wash’s.

“We’ll let you know when we find something, okay?” Wash said
and Carlos nodded.

“Thanks.” The boy scooted out of the booth and stood
awkwardly, staring at the floor. “The cops think he ran away—you guys don’t, do
you?”

“No,” Rhodes told him honestly. Unfortunately, Carlos’
brother most likely hadn’t run away.

Carlos’ head came up. “Thanks. Let me know as soon as you
find him, ’kay?”

“Of course,” Wash promised and Rhodes nodded in agreement.

They watched the skinny kid leave.

“Shit,” muttered Rhodes.

Wash stared at the picture in his hand. “Total pedophile
bait,” he sighed, his face serious and tired for a few moments before his
expression lightened. “Tell me—what license do we need
pro bono
work for
again?”

With a growl, Rhodes cuffed his partner on the back of the
head. “Shut the fuck up.”

They didn’t get much done on Miguel’s case that morning.
Once they got back to the office, a steady trickle of clients kept them busy
until almost one. It meant paying work that didn’t involve bail jumpers, which
was a good thing, Rhodes reminded himself, especially considering the “
pro
bono
” case they’d be spending the majority of their time on for a while.

Despite this fact, the skinny woman sitting across his desk
was still annoying the hell out of him.

“No,” he said for the fifteenth time.

“Why not?” she whined. “I told you I can pay.”

Forcing his jaw to relax enough so he could answer her, he
said with exaggerated patience, “We’re not jumping your ex’s new girlfriend.”

“But the bitch moved in with him! We just broke up three
weeks ago!”

Rhodes’ eyes flicked to the door of his tiny office,
desperate for Wash to pop in and free him from this interminable discussion.
For once, his partner didn’t burst in with some crisis or another. He sighed.
“I don’t care. We don’t beat people up for no reason—even if you offer to pay.”

“No
reason
?” The woman’s voice sharpened to an outraged
high squeak and Rhodes winced. His lack of sleep had given him a headache and
this person was not helping. “The whoring slut is screwing my Tony!”

He eyed the woman. “Why aren’t you pissed at Tony then?” he
asked, not even trying to hide his exasperation anymore.

She stared at him as if he were an idiot. “I love Tony.”

“Whatever.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “You’re
wasting your time here. We don’t do beat-downs.”

The woman didn’t budge from her chair. “Is there anyone you
could recommend then?”

Rhodes almost laughed at that. “No—no recommendation. My
advice is to give up on Tony and find a different guy. Leave this new
girlfriend alone or you’ll find yourself doing some jail time.”

She scowled. “But—”

“No.” His phone beeped and Rhodes pulled it out of his
pocket with utter relief.

“Huh,” he grunted, reading the text message. “Excuse me,
please,” he told the woman across from him, who reluctantly stood up. He
ushered her out of his office and almost shoved her out of the reception area.
Wash’s office door was open, so Rhodes stuck his head in.

Wash glanced away from his computer screen. “What’s up?”

“Gomez wants to meet us at Crawley’s in,” he checked his
watch, “half an hour.”

“Better get moving then,” Wash said, pushing back his chair.
He stood, stretching his arms above his head.

Rhodes stared, fascinated by the ripple of muscles beneath
Wash’s shirt. “What?” he grunted, realizing that Wash was grinning at him.

“Wakey, wakey,” Wash teased. “That lack of sleep is catching
up with you, Rhodie.”

Flushing, Rhodes wondered if Wash would think it was so
funny if he knew what had kept his partner from sleeping once he was in bed
last night. “Hurry up,” he growled, stomping toward the main door to hide his
red face.

“You look like shit,” Gomez greeted Rhodes as he led the way
toward her booth. She was tucked into one corner and Rhodes swung into the
other side.

“Thanks,” he told her. “Looking pretty rough yourself. You
get any sleep last night?”

Wash slid in next to Rhodes. “This whole coffee-time-with-a-cop
thing still feels weird to me.” Wash gave a pretend shudder and then grinned.
“How’s it hanging, Melie?”

“Shitty,” she answered. “And your partner is a cop, you
moron.”

“Ex-cop,” Rhodes corrected.

Gomez scowled. “That was bullshit. That shooting was totally
justified.”

“Not according to the official report,” Rhodes said.
“Apparently, I had a ‘history of emotional instability that affected my
judgment on multiple occasions’.”

“Bullshit,” Gomez growled again. “You just pissed off the
wrong people. You sucked at kissing ass—you still do.”

“Bullshit or not, the result’s the same.” As the waitress
poured his coffee, Rhodes kept his eyes on the flow and swirl of the dark
liquid. He nodded his thanks as she pulled the pot away to fill Wash’s cup.

“Besides,” Wash chimed in, “I got a kickass partner out of
that very bullshit. The PD’s stupidity was my gain.” Toasting Rhodes with his
cup, he took a sip.

Amelia glared at him. “Fuck, Washington, don’t you ever
think about anyone except yourself?”

“Fuck, Gomez,” Wash mimicked. “Are you always such a bitch?”

Rhodes tuned them out, leaning back against the booth,
concentrating on the bitter taste of each swallow of coffee. Despite the
caffeine, his eyelids drooped.

“Rhodes!” Gomez barked.

He raised a sleepy eyebrow at her.

“How is it that you were about to take Cal’s head off last
night after one bitchy comment but you spend every day with this guy and
haven’t killed him yet?” she demanded.

At the mention of Callum, Rhodes frowned. “Your partner’s an
asshole.”

Gomez’s eyebrows shot up. “And yours isn’t?”

“Sure,” Rhodes admitted absently, staring at his coffee.
“But Wash is
my
asshole.”

As Wash choked and sputtered with laughter, Rhodes felt his
face warm and shook his head. “You know what I mean,” he muttered, glancing at
Gomez, who looked as if she didn’t know whether to be amused or pissed.

“Enough about our respective assholes,” Rhodes grumbled.
“Why’d you drag us down here, Gomez?”

With a final glare at Wash, who smirked back, Amelia
explained, “It’s about my kidnapping case.”

“Thought that was a homicide case now,” Rhodes commented
mildly.

She shrugged. It was her turn to stare at her coffee. “Yeah,
that’s the problem. They’re pulling me off. Everyone figures she was secretly
seeing the guy and tried to break it off, so he went nuts—shot her, then killed
himself.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Wash said. “You don’t think that’s how
it went down?”

Frowning at her coffee, she explained, “It just doesn’t
feel
right, you know?” Gomez looked up at the two men. “This girl, Mia, she kept a
diary. Fifteen years old, had a crush on a boy at school but was too shy to
even say a word to the kid. Her science fair project was second at State—she
still had it set up in her room. She played basketball and was the coach’s
assistant at the Thirty-Sixth Street youth center. This wasn’t a wild girl.”

“The smart ones get caught up with the wrong guys too,” Wash
reminded her but Gomez shook her head.

“How’d she even meet this guy? He—this Troy Sanderson—was a
forty-six-year-old investment banker from Ohio, for fuck’s sake! Mia lived in a
two-bedroom apartment with her grandmother and two sisters thirteen miles away
from the loft where this guy was staying. How’d he find her?”

“You’re thinking he was watching her? Waited for his
opportunity then snatched the girl?” Rhodes asked.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. Gomez put down her coffee cup
and dragged both hands through her hair. “I’ve been looking for this girl for
over a week and no one saw anyone hanging around her house or school or the
youth center. You’d think the investment banker would’ve stuck out in that
neighborhood.”

“Youth center?” Rhodes repeated, belatedly making the
connection. His lack of sleep was really putting him off his game. “Where’s the
grandma’s apartment?”

“Thirty-second and Stout.”

“Six blocks from Carlos.” Wash said, glancing at him
sharply. “You think there’s a connection?”

Looking back and forth between the two men, Gomez asked,
“Connection?”

Rhodes took a sip of his cooling coffee to give his brain
time to process the possibility. “We’re looking into another disappearance—a
fourteen-year-old boy,” he finally explained to Gomez. “His…family hired us.
Cops think he’s a runner but the brother doesn’t agree. Same deal as your
girl—good kid, smart, no real reason to take off.”

With a skeptical grunt, Gomez sat back in the booth. “You
think my guy grabbed them both? Where’s your kid then?”

Before she even finished speaking, Wash was shaking his
head. “A boy
and
a girl? Most of these kiddie-raping freaks have a
preference.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty implausible but…” Rhodes twitched his
shoulders, not liking the situation. “Two kids, a year apart in age, go to the
same youth center, snatched from the same neighborhood—your girl go to G.W.?”
When Gomez nodded, Rhodes added, “Same school. This seem like a pretty fucking
big coincidence to you two?”

“This whole thing is messed up,” Wash stated. “What was this
guy from—what’d you say? Ohio?—doing here anyway?”

Gomez shrugged. “Talked to the guy who owns the loft where
it went down. Said Sanderson was a friend of a friend, was in town for business
and needed a place to stay. This loft unit hadn’t sold yet, so the owner let
Sanderson use it. The building owner is some developer, converted a bunch of
old warehouses into lofts, a dance club, stuff like that.”

Pulling his small notebook from his pocket, Rhodes asked,
“What’s this developer’s name?”

“Barry Ness.”

His head coming up at her tone, Rhodes looked at the
detective. “You didn’t like him.”

She shrugged, shook her head and then shrugged again.

Wash laughed. “Maybe, no, maybe?”

After shooting a glower his way, Gomez turned to Rhodes and
told him, “Didn’t like him but I’m not sure why. Probably he’s just a rich
asshole and it has nothing to do with the case.”

“Good to know though,” Rhodes said thoughtfully.

“Not to ask a stupid question—” Wash began.

“When has that ever stopped you?” Gomez smirked at him.

Ignoring her interruption, he continued, “But why did you
want to meet with us?”

“I didn’t.” When both men looked at her curiously, she
clarified, “I wanted to meet with Rhodes.”

“Whatever.” Wash rolled his eyes. “Why did you want to meet
with
Rhodes
then?”

Shifting a little awkwardly, she admitted, “It’s pretty
clear cut. Everything indicates that Sanderson shot the girl and then himself.
Since the official investigation is pretty much closed, I was hoping you could
continue it more…
unofficially
.”

“Why, Melie!” Wash gasped, his eyes wide with pretend
horror. “Are you actually going against orders?”

“No,” she snapped, before dropping her eyes for a guilty
second. “I wasn’t actually ordered
not
to ask you guys to look into
things.”

Wash snorted. “Sounds like semantics to me.”

“Fuck you, Washington.”

“You wish.” It was his turn to smirk at Gomez.

“Enough.” Both Wash’s and Amelia’s heads turned at Rhodes’
command. “Bring us copies of the files on your girl and Miguel Herrero and
we’ll see what we can do.”

“I’ll send them over. Thank you.” Gomez directed her words
at Rhodes, shooting Wash an annoyed sideways glance.

Rhodes shrugged and started to slide out of the booth but
Wash was in the way. He gave Wash’s shoulder a light shove to get him moving.
“Don’t thank us ’til we find something.”

With Rhodes driving, they made it to George Washington High
School in time for the final bell. Instead of trying to talk their way through
security, they haunted the teachers’ parking lot and waited for their
interviewee to come to them.

The teachers began trickling out forty-five minutes later.
Wash approached a woman heading for her minivan.

“Ms. Johnson?” he guessed.

“No,” she told him, pointing to another teacher digging
through her bag as she wove her way through the cars. “Over there. In the blue
dress.”

Rhodes fell back as Wash approached the woman. Two big guys
hurrying toward her could be a little intimidating. He followed Wash more
slowly, meeting up with the pair as Wash was introducing them both.

Ms. Johnson eyed the two of them suspiciously. “Who exactly
are you?” she asked. Rhodes could tell by looking at her that he’d wasted his
time trying to appear less threatening. This woman was scared of nothing.

“We’re private investigators. The Herrero family hired us to
look into the disappearance of Miguel Herrero.” Wash offered his business card
as he flashed his best grin but Ms. Johnson’s expression didn’t relax. Rhodes
wanted to laugh as his partner’s smile dimmed a little. Wash wasn’t used to
people being immune to his pretty-boy charm.

“There’s not much I can help you with,” she said. “As I told
the police, he was in my homeroom class first thing in the morning on Monday
and in my algebra class seventh period. Everything seemed normal.”

Wash nodded. “Any reports of strangers hanging around?
Anyone unusual try to talk to Miguel?”

“You’d have to check with Chuck Austin about that—he’s the
principal. He gets the security reports.”

“What about Miguel’s friends? Who did he hang around with?”

Her mouth tightened. “I can’t give you any students’ names,”
she told Wash sharply. After a few seconds, she sighed and admitted, “Although
there really aren’t any to give. Miguel is shy, very quiet. As far as I could
tell, he kept to himself. Now please excuse me—I need to go.”