Spying in High Heels (28 page)

"Me too." He looked around himself as if still not believing he was here.

I admit, I was having a hard time believing it too. But, I tried to remind myself why I'd come here.

"Richard, I need to know about your wife."

He looked down at his hands, avoiding eye contact. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her, Maddie. I never meant to hurt you."

"You mean, you never meant for me to find out?"

"No. I… we're separated." He sighed, still not quite looking at me. "I've been living in the condo, and she's got her life in Orange County. I just haven't filed for divorce yet because I don't want some lawyer of hers nosing through my assets right now."

I bit my lip. Did I believe him? I wasn't sure. "And what about the roadster?"

"God, how do you know about…" He trailed off, his eyes meeting mine. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair so it stood up in little tufts. I guess hair gel wasn't standard prison issue. "Look, I bought Amy the roadster to put her off for a while. She wanted to file now, but I couldn't risk it. Her lawyer would have wanted detailed accounts of every penny that ever went through my hands. With everything going on with Greenway… well, I didn't think that would be a good idea right now."

"So she's after your money?" The Cinderella theory was looking better.

"No. No, Amy's not like that. She's not about money."

Yeah right.

He shook his head. "The roadster was my idea."

"Richard, did Amy know you were seeing me?"

He looked guiltily from side to side, his eyes looking everywhere but at mine. "No. I didn't tell her."

Which didn't mean she didn't find out on her own. And go completely postal over it. I wondered what Richard would think of Cinderella if she were the killer. Would he file for divorce then? Take back the roadster? Because it was kind of bothering me that he was defending her even as he talked about how they were separated. What did he mean Cinderella wasn't into money? Who wasn't into money?

I truly intended to continue grilling him about his possibly homicidal wife. I meant to be the unemotional fact finder, on a mission to nail her itty bitty butt to the wall. But the more I thought about perfect Cinderella and her perfect Z3, the more that other-woman insecurity got to me. I'd like to blame it on hormones that while I meant to ask, "Do you think your wife's capable of murder?" something entirely different popped out of my mouth instead.

"Are you still in love with her?" I bit my lip, loath to admit just how much his answer meant.

"No. God, no. Do you really think I would do that to you, Maddie?" His blue eyes searched mine as he reached across the table and took one of my hands in his. He began to draw little circles on the inside of my wrist with his thumb as his eyes pleaded with me. "I swear, pumpkin, you're the only woman in my life."

I'll admit, I was starting to waver. He really did look sincere. "What about the condom wrapper on your desk?"

"What?" To his credit he looked genuinely confused.

"I searched through your office and found a used condom wrapper wedged beneath the calendar on your desk."

Richard's jaw dropped open, shocked that I'd have the audacity to search through his office.

I raised both eyebrows in a challenge, daring him to say something about it now. Go ahead, punk, make my day.

"I don't know anything about that."

"You didn't have sex with your wife at work?"

"No." He shook his head, scrunching his nose like the idea really was repulsive. "Look, I know you have every reason not to believe me after what I've put you through, but I promise you, I don't know. Pumpkin, there hasn't been anyone but you. I swear it. Please, believe me. I need you."

I need you. Not I love you, I've missed you. I need you.

And I realized he really did need me. He was up shit creek and I was the only one in the world who might lend a paddle.

Only—did I need him? I looked at the man across from me. He didn't seem like a Ken doll now. He'd been stripped of his shiny veneer and I was getting a glimpse of the man inside. The man who might have taken me years of fancy dates to the Hollywood

Bowl to uncover in any other circumstances. And I had a sinking feeling that under the lawyer veneer, there wasn't much left.

I'd spent the last week desperately wanting to find Richard. Thinking that if Richard was here, then suddenly I wouldn't be going through this whole possible pregnancy thing alone. That if I saw that pink line and freaked out, at least I'd have Richard to fall back on. Only I had the idea now, as I sat here looking at the man I'd spent the last five months of my life with, that even if he tried, Richard might not be strong enough to catch me. Instead of falling back on him, would I be the one holding the both of us up?

Suddenly all I wanted to do was let him have it. To scream and yell and take out all my frustrations on the man who was single-handedly ruining my life. I wanted to let loose and have a crying, girly breakdown to end all breakdowns right here in the prison visiting room.

He was still waiting for me to say something. "I need you to believe me." He lifted my hand to his lips and gently kissed the back of my knuckles. "Please, pumpkin, you're all I have."

Ugh. If I ever contemplated getting involved with a man again, I made a mental note to shoot myself first.

"Fine. I believe you." Maybe.

Richard did a little half smile, his hand still covering mine. "Thanks, pumpkin. I knew I could count on you."

I walked out with an odd feeling in my stomach. Hollow. Nauseating. Painful. I think it was that damn pride again.

After my brush with prison life, I stopped in at a Taco Bell and ordered a big greasy plate of nachos, smothered in gooey cheese and jalapenos. Comfort food. I ate the entire thing before going back to my apartment.

I tried not to think about my conversation with Richard as I pulled up to my studio. The awful thing was, I really kind of did believe him. I didn't think Richard was capable of leading a double life, and I could see him buying Cinderella off with a car only too well. In fact, when I'd wanted him to come with me to my cousin Shannon's confirmation last month, he'd put me off with a sparkly pair of 24-karat earrings. His story fit with his MO. Which left me where? With a boyfriend? Without? I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure it was about me anymore. I glanced down at my belly. I made a mental note to go out and buy a new pregnancy test in the morning.

I slowly trudged up the stairs, so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice anything was wrong until I reached the top step.

And saw my front door gaping open.

Cold fear prickled up my spine, my feet freezing in place. Maybe it was just Dana. Maybe she'd had a fight with Sasha and had come over looking for a shoulder to cry on. Maybe Ramirez was back. Maybe he'd just let himself in.

Only I didn't see a black SUV or Dana's tan Saturn on the street.

I slowly crept forward, one step at a time, my ears pricked for any sound. All I heard was the slight hum of my neighbor's TV and the street traffic from Venice. Gingerly I pushed the front door open on its hinges.

"Hello? Dana?"

I stifled a gasp when I saw my apartment. It looked like the Big One had hit. Every cupboard was open, the meager contents of my kitchen in a broken pile on the tile floor. My futon was on its side, cushions tossed across the room. My pens were scattered across the floor, mingling with shoes, clothes and makeup into one big mess.

Fearing the worst, I took a few steps toward my drawing table. I sucked in a quick breath, biting back tears. Someone had taken a big black marker and written across my Strawberry Shortcake shoe design, "Back off bitch."

The words swam before my eyes and I felt dizzy. I was still staring at the ruined designs, realizing I had to start all over on the damn thing now, when I heard a noise behind me.

I spun around.

But not quickly enough. Before I could see what had pricked my ears, I felt an explosion behind my temple. Then the drawing table, the ruined designs, and the entire mess that was my life faded and everything went black.

Chapter Nineteen

Slowly I blinked one eye open. Then the other. My vision was fuzzy but as I continued the painful practice of blinking, objects slowly came into focus. One emerald slingback. The purple People Eater across the room. My pens, lipstick, purse. Slowly the room materialized in front of me. I moved my head and felt carpet beneath my cheek. What was I doing on the floor? I slowly sat up, putting one hand to my head as a jackhammer began to pound at my temple.

Then it all came back to me. My open front door, the ruined designs. The whack on the head. I looked wildly around for a sign of my attacker. None.

I grabbed my purse where it had fallen beside me and quickly dialed 911. I stood up shakily and half ran, half fell out the front door with one slingback on, down the stairs to my Jeep, where I locked myself in until I heard the police sirens approaching.

Two uniformed cops were the first to arrive. It only took them a couple minutes, but it was long enough for me to work myself up into a state of unhinged hysteria. I was crying and babbling and I'm not entirely sure the bump on the head hadn't knocked what little sanity I had left right out of my brain. One called for an ambulance and pretty soon my block was full of flashing sirens. I was impressed. Usually we didn't get this kind of law enforcement turnout unless there was a gang shooting.

The police officers searched my apartment and, predictably, found no one. The paramedic gave me a pack of ice and wrapped me in one of those ugly green blankets even though it was nearing ninety outside. He said I was in shock. I didn't disagree.

By the time the black SUV pulled up to my building, I'm happy to say I almost had myself under control again. My breathing had slowed to a near normal pace, the nice officer had retrieved a pair of fuzzy pink slippers from my closet and my nose had almost stopped running. Almost.

I sniffed as Ramirez got out of the car, his poker face in place. He was wearing those worn-in-the-right-spots jeans again with a navy T-shirt that highlighted his dedication to the gym. I hugged the green blanket around me to keep from throwing myself into his arms.

Ramirez sat down beside me on the steps, blowing out a long breath as if I'd just tried his last nerve. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

He reached his hand to the back of my head and carefully felt the lump. His hands were warm and gentle and I resisted the urge to lean in to his touch.

"That's quite a lump."

"Thanks."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "That wasn't exactly a compliment."

I bit my lip. "Right."

His hand moved lower, caressing the back of my neck. I think I let out a little happy groan.

"So what happened?" he asked.

I drew a shaky breath and proceeded to relive what were quite possibly the scariest moments of my entire life. Something about the idea of being attacked in my own home, a place I'd always associated with coziness and safety, shook me harder than a 7.2. When I finished my eyes were getting watery again and I was sniffling like crazy.

Ramirez stared at me, his hand still gently kneading my neck.

"Just say it," I said.

One eyebrow quirked. "Say what?"

"I know you're dying to say, 'I told you so.' To tell me that I should have listened to you and left this whole thing alone. That I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm only going to get myself hurt. Just say it. I know you'll feel better if you do, so just get it over with, and—"

Ramirez silenced me with his finger on my lips.

I froze. His touch soft. The look in his eyes dark. Oh god,, was he going to kiss me? Here?
Now
?

But he didn't. Instead he said, "Just promise me you'll leave it alone now."

I swallowed hard as Ramirez brushed his fingertips over my lips before drawing them back into his lap. I was trying really hard not to think inappropriate thoughts.

"But isn't the fact that someone broke in proof that Richard's innocent?" I protested. "That the real killer is out there somewhere?" I was aware I sounded frighteningly like OJ.

Ramirez just shook his head. "No, Maddie, it proves you've pissed someone off. And I'm frankly not surprised. You go nosing into people's private lives and someone's bound to get upset."

I hated to admit he had a point. Any one of the loony Los Angelinos I'd encountered in the last week could have found out where I lived. I wasn't exactly the world's best undercover agent.

"I don't want to hear your name on the police scanner anymore. Promise me you'll leave it alone?"

I nodded meekly. Even though I was crossing my fingers under the green blanket.

"Good." He paused. "The medic says you might have a slight concussion. You shouldn't be alone." His dark eyes met mine. "Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?"

I gulped. The smoky look in his eyes hung in the air between us. I'd like to attribute it to the shock that my mind instantly began undressing Ramirez right there on my front steps.

I swallowed hard. "I'll, um, I'll call Dana."

I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes too, but it was so quick I might have imagined it.

"Good." Ramirez got up and spoke to the uniformed officer who'd first encountered me. The uniform did a lot of wild hand gestures, pointing at me, then miming hysteria. Great. Now Ramirez was really going to think I was girly. One bump on the head and I turned into Sybil.

I pulled my cell out of my purse and dialed Dana's number, praying she picked up. She did, and I quickly explained the situation. She said she'd be right there and I hung up.

Ten minutes later her tan Saturn screeched to a halt behind the black and whites, and Mod Squad Girl came running at me. She was wearing the go-go boots and a bright pink and lime green dress that just barely covered her derriere. Especially since she was running full tilt toward me. I saw two of the uniformed officers staring after her, their tongues dragging on the asphalt as they caught the rear view.