Stripped (26 page)

Sitting in his wheelchair, Walker Lane, billionaire, began to cry.

Stride felt himself getting angry.

He was angry at Boni Fisso, a man he had never met. He was angry at Las Vegas for the lives it left in ruins. He felt a strange kinship with the killer in that sketch, trying to find justice for Amira in his own immoral way. He began to realize that the killer had been ahead of them all along.

This was never about Walker.

It was about Boni.

His name is Blake Wilde,” Serena told Stride. “Or at least, that’s the name he’s been using. He was one of the bodyguards at Premium Security. The guy who runs the agency, David Kamen, recognized Blake from the sketch. He’s our perp, and he’s disappeared.”

It was night, and Stride was in Walker’s private hangar at the Vancouver airport, waiting for the return of the Gulf-stream. The jet was grounded in Denver by bad weather. It was raining on the coast now, too.

“How long has he worked there?” Stride asked.

“Just about three months. Kamen claims they did a background check on Blake, and it came up clean, but his personnel file is gone. They say Blake must have lifted it. I wonder if Kamen sent it to the shredder.”

“You think they knew each other?”

“Kamen has a military background. A sharpshooter for the marines in the Gulf. But I made some calls, and the rumor is he had ties to a lot of other groups in the Middle East, including smugglers and mercenaries. If you were Blake Wilde and you wanted to make a landing in Las Vegas, wouldn’t you look up an old friend?”

“The question is why Blake came to Las Vegas,” Stride said.

“To kill people.”

“I know, but why? Why him? Why now? I suppose his address was a fake?”

“A house in Boulder City,” Serena said. “Mormon family, five kids, a beagle. They never heard of Blake Wilde.”

“How about his SSN?”

“It traces to a boy in Chicago who died at age five.”

“He had to get paid,” Stride said.

“He cashed his checks at local pawnshops. A different one each time. It cost him ten percent, but no cameras and no questions asked.”

Stride stared through the door of the hangar at the rain falling outside. “So this guy was with Karyn Westermark on Saturday afternoon?” he asked. “He was running her security?”

“Nice, huh?” Serena replied. “It explains the disguise that night. He didn’t care about hiding from us, but he didn’t want Karyn recognizing him.”

“How about Tierney Dargon?”

“Yes, Kamen says he worked with her, too. No problem getting her to open the door in Lake Las Vegas.”

Stride couldn’t believe they were this close, and it still felt like they had nothing.

“There’s got to be something more,” he said. “What about expense vouchers, something with a credit card number or a bank account?”

“Zip,” Serena said. “Everything he gave them was faked. Nice jobs, too. I called Nick Humphrey’s next-door neighbor, Harvey Washington. Call a forger to find a forger, right? He had some names for me. Other local con men. Cordy’s checking with some of his snitches on the street, too. But this guy’s smart. I’m betting he didn’t have it done locally.”

“He probably has a backup identity ready as well,” Stride said.

“We’re getting in touch with all of the people that he did security for. We’re warning them to take care in case he shows up, and we’re interviewing them to see if Blake tipped anything about his personal life while he was with them. Where he shopped, where he ate, anything that might narrow down the area for us.”

“The sketch is on TV?”

“Yeah. We’re getting calls, but nothing solid so far. What did you get from Walker Lane?”

Stride quickly reviewed his day with Walker and what Walker had told him about the connections between Amira’s death and Boni Fisso.

“Do you believe him?” Serena asked.

“It plays either way,” Stride said. “Either Walker really did kill Amira, and Boni had him worked over as punishment, or Boni took it out on both of them because Amira and Walker were trying to run away. That’s what Walker says, and I think he’s telling the truth. The man has more money than God, and he still looks afraid of Boni.”

“There’s more,” Serena said. “Boni owns Premium Security.”

Stride shook his head. Boni Fisso had his tentacles wrapped around the neck of every person in the investigation. “So that means David Kamen has already told Boni everything that’s going on.”

“Count on it,” Serena said. “I wonder if our perp, Blake Wilde, knew that the company had Boni’s fingerprints on it. Maybe that was part of the game, worming his way into one of Boni’s shadow companies.”

“I think Blake Wilde knows Boni a hell of a lot better than we do,” Stride said. He added, “We’ve got to talk to Boni. He must know what the hell is going on. This all gets back to him. Maybe to his Orient project, too.”

“Sawhill says he tried to get us in to see him,” Serena said. “He even asked his dad to call Boni. No luck. The most we can get is an interview with Boni’s lawyer.”

“Goddamn it,” Stride swore. “I’m not going to arrest the son of a bitch. I’d love to, but I can’t. He’s not a suspect in any of these murders, so why the hell won’t he talk to us? The one murder we think he
did
commit was forty years ago, and we won’t be able to touch him for that.”

“Boni keeps his hands far away from the dirt,” Serena said.

“There’s only one way in. You’ve got to talk to Claire again.”

Serena was silent for a surprisingly long time. Finally, she said, “I don’t think that will work. She won’t talk to him.”

“You said she didn’t close the door entirely. We need her help.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Serena insisted.

Stride didn’t understand. “You can talk anybody into anything. What’s the problem?”

“Claire made a pass at me,” she said.

He almost laughed. “Well, so what’s the big deal? Guys make passes at you all the time. If she gets fresh, you have my permission to deck her.” He tried to understand what he was missing, why this had knocked Serena off her feet. Finally light dawned. “Unless it was a completed pass,” he said.

“No,” she told him. Then, embarrassed: “Not really.”

“Not really? That sounds like being a little pregnant.”

“Nothing happened,” Serena insisted. Then she went on. “But I wanted it to happen. I mean, it came out of nowhere for me. I was ready to jump into bed with her. That’s what scared me. Shit, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

Stride was at a loss for words. He tried to let his brain catch up with his emotions, but he had no idea what he felt. Betrayed. Jealous. Aroused. All of those things.

“Just what are you telling me, Serena?”

He had stumbled into a conversation for which he wasn’t prepared, and the last thing he wanted to do was have it by cell phone, a thousand miles apart.

“I don’t know what I’m telling you.” Her voice was becoming part of the static. He strained to hear her. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. There’s a lot I don’t know about myself.”

“You’re making too much of this. You got caught off guard. You’re not made of ice.”

“It was easier when I was,” she said.

“So tell me this, do you love me?” he asked. He held his breath, because he was suddenly not sure what she would say.

“Yes.”

“Has Claire changed that?”

“No, no, that’s not it. But now I have to see her again.”

Stride thought about it. “You know you can use her attraction to you as a way to get her to call Boni.”

“Of course. That’s what I have to do. But I’m worried about getting in over my head,”

“The attraction is that strong?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Stride stared into the mist that hung like halos around the lights of the airport. His sense of homelessness had never been keener. He wanted to leave, start walking into the downpour, and disappear somewhere.

“Look, I can’t tell you what to do,” he said.

He was talking to air. The signal was gone, lost in the rain. For the time being, they were in different universes. He knew it was going to be a long wait and a long flight home through the dark sky.

Hello, Serena,” Claire said. “I’m glad you called.” Serena slipped past her into the one-bedroom apartment, passing through the honeysuckle fragrance of Claire’s perfume. Their eyes met.

“I’m sorry to come so late,” Serena said. “They told me at the Limelight this was your night off.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Claire said. “Just me and some chick lit.”

The lights in the apartment were dimmed, and several candles were lit, giving off a vanilla aroma. There was an indentation on the sofa and a blanket where Claire had been sitting with her book. A Tiffany lamp on the end table gave her light to read. There was a glass of white wine, half filled, on the coffee table. Soft jazz played from speakers discreetly hidden around the room.

“I love your apartment,” Serena told her. It was small but warm, with an oldfashioned feel, nothing metal or modern. The wood furniture looked antique but beautifully kept, and Serena wondered if Claire had done the restoration herself. There were collectibles everywhere, inlaid wooden boxes, glass angels, and stone animals.

“Can I get you some wine?” Claire asked.

“No, I don’t drink,” Serena said. She added deliberately, “Once I start, I can’t stop.”

“I understand. I’m sorry. How about some mineral water?”

“Sure.”

Claire disappeared into the kitchen, and Serena sat on the love seat. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. She was volunteering information, spilling secrets that gave up who she was. That was her strategy. Claire liked her. If she could balance their relationship on a high wire, close but not too close, Claire might do what she wanted. Call Boni.

But. she knew that high-wire artists sometimes took a long fall. She remembered what a divorced friend had told her about having an affair. You want to see how close you can get to the line without going across, and then one day you look back and realize the line is half a mile behind you. Serena wondered if she had made a mistake, believing she could get what she wanted from Claire and still hold on to herself.

Claire came back and offered her a champagne flute, filled with bubbling water. She had also refilled her own wineglass. Claire sat back down on the sofa and pulled her legs underneath her. She was relaxed and comfortable in her body, like a cat. She wore worn-out blue jeans and a black satin V-neck top. Her feet were bare.

“I owe you an apology,” Claire told her.

“Oh?”

“For coming on to you like I did. It’s not like me to be so forward. I must have seemed like a shark, and that’s not me.”

Serena wondered if that was true or if this was just phase two of the seduction. “You caught me unprepared, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. Blame it on my romantic imagination. I thought there was something between us.” All the time she was talking, her blue eyes never left Serena and never even seemed to blink. Her voice, too, was mellow and inviting, like warm sake that went down smooth and washed away your defenses.

The ball was in her court, Serena knew. To say something. To deny it. Instead, she danced closer to the line. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Claire didn’t look surprised. She took a sip of wine. “I’m glad.”

“But nothing will ever happen between us,” Serena added.

“No?” Claire asked, giving her a mock pout.

“No.”

“Too bad.” She studied Serena thoughtfully, drumming her wineglass idly with her fingers. “Who was she?”

“What do you mean?”

“The girl I remind you of,” Claire said with a knowing smile. “Somewhere in your past, there has to be a girl. I don’t flatter myself that I’m so stunning that straight women suddenly climb the fence when they see me.”

“Okay, yes, there was someone else,” Serena admitted. “It was a long time ago.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Serena took a breath. This was what she wanted, the chance to draw Claire into her story, build a kinship between them—but it was easy to lose track of where her strategy ended and where her own catharsis began. She had wanted to talk about Deidre to someone for years, but she never had. Not to her therapist. Not even to Jonny. She had told him a little bit, but never the whole truth.

Serena put down her champagne glass, and the words spilled out. The memories were vivid, despite twenty years in between. She told Claire about meeting Deidre, who was two years older, at a diner in Phoenix where they were both waitresses. As the abuse from her mother and the drug dealer named Blue Dog became more horrific, Deidre became her lifeline, giving her a place where she could escape. Deidre held her hand when she got the abortion, an ugly one, far too late. They had talked about going back and killing them, her mother and Blue Dog, but freedom sounded better. Escape, go, get away. The two of them ran to Vegas and lived together, working and partying. They were best friends, and eventually more than friends.

Lovers. She had found ways to rationalize it over the years or pretend it was something other than what it was, but they were lovers. Serena realized, as she was telling the story, that she wanted to feel some of that sexual power again. She wanted to be the one to arouse Claire, and she knew, watching Claire shift her limbs on the sofa, that she was turning her on. She could have this woman. She could make Claire do anything to her. She could get back anything that she wanted.

It was a heady sensation, as if she were drinking again.

Even when she told her about leaving Deidre, and the destructive cycle that led to Deidre’s death, she no longer felt close to tears, as she usually did. She was strong, because she had to be.

“That’s a lot of guilt to carry around,” Claire said, when Serena was finished. “But I forgot, you’re tough.”

“I was cruel.”

“Do you think you can make it up to Deidre by making love to me?” Claire asked. She was too smart to be fooled. “Because you can’t. I don’t want that”