Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (22 page)

She poked at the icons on Parker’s phone until something came into view and squinted at the image. It was a copy of an employment authorization card. Had all the pertinent data. Sex. Date of birth. Country, listed as Bulgaria.

She read the given and surname aloud. “Yuri Dolgorukiy Varga.”

“Yuri Dolgorukiy was the founder of Moscow,” Parker said.

“Oh yeah?” Maybe old Yuri had royal blood, she thought, studying the blurry photo of his thick black brows and bald, scarred head. The dates on the card were for the current year. Sam hadn’t said when Yuri’d had the accident that caused those scars.

“However,” Parker continued, “the middle name doesn’t follow the typical Slavic patronymic form.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

“It should be the father’s given name followed by ‘ovich’ as the suffix.”

Miranda’s brow rose in amazement at Parker’s knowledge banks. “Where’d you find this card?”

“In a locked drawer in the side of Tenbrook’s desk.”

She didn’t ask how he’d gotten into the drawer. Or how he made it look as if it hadn’t been broken into before he left. Parker knew how to cover his tracks.

“There’s more.”

She swiped to the next photo. This one was of the small, brown-haired Dashia. She looked fearful and mousey just as she had when Miranda questioned her alongside her trailer.

Her name was listed simply as Dashia Varga. Her country was also Bulgaria. Her date of birth was exactly one year after Yuri’s. Miranda would have thought she was a little older with two kids. And her husband older than that. But Yuri’s DOB put him at twenty-three. Dashia’s at twenty-two.

Yuri looked ten years older than his wife. Guess it aged you to get shot out of a cannon all the time. But there was something else that bothered her.

“Something seems off about these cards,” she said.

“Yes.” Parker tapped the phone. “Look at the next photo.”

She swiped to the next image, increased the photo size and squinted down at the corner of the back of Dashia’s card. She blinked at the form number, hoping she was misremembering her facts from her studies last year. “That number doesn’t look right.”

“Good catch. It should read I-766.”

“But it’s I-736,” Miranda said.

“A common mistake of forgers to miss the number.”

She slowly turned her head to look at him. “You think Tenbrook forged these documents?”

“I think someone did. Go to the next one.”

Her head starting to spin, she did. And got an even bigger shock.

There was a third EAD card. Layla’s pretty face stared up at her. She wasn’t smiling in this photo as she had been in all the other images Miranda had seen of the woman. She looked sad and frightened.

And then Miranda’s gaze went to the name and her heart nearly stopped. Was she seeing the characters right?
Layla Varga
. “Varga? Layla is related to Yuri?”

“So her EAD card says.”

What the heck did that mean? Was it some sort of cover up? Of what? Had she and Parker run into some kind of Eastern European crime ring?

Miranda pressed her palm against her forehead, feeling a little sick. This case was getting more bizarre by the minute.

Parker’s voice was soft in her ears. “Go to the next one.”

She glared at him. “There’s more?”

He didn’t answer so she simply did another swipe. This time the photo showed a list of names with numbers beside them. There were companies. She recognized some of the names. Big oil and tech companies headquartered in Dallas.

She thought of the crowd who’d come to watch the dress rehearsal tonight by invitation. “What are these? Tenbrook’s contributors?”

“They appear to be. Along with records of their donations.”

She moved her finger back and forth to see who gave what, feeling like she was prying into something she shouldn’t be. Most were nice chunks of change, but probably not enough to fund the operation like the one she’d seen tonight for any length of time.

Then she slid the photo down and caught sight of a huge number. She let out a low whistle. “This one’s Tenbrook’s sugar daddy.”

“So to speak. His largest contributor by far.”

“Someone without which, he wouldn’t be in business?”

“So it appears. Revenues from ticket sales are brisk but not enough the support the entire operation.”

“Not even with the other contributors?”

“Not in my opinion.”

And Parker knew how to run a profitable business. He’d been doing it for years before she met him.

She scrolled to the other side of the document and squinted at the sugar daddy’s name. “GenaPulse? I don’t recognize the company.”

“I’ve never heard of it either.”

He hadn’t had time to research it but with his family background, Parker was a walking encyclopedia of business names. “Is it some sort of front?”

“Perhaps.”

She thought of Yuri and Dashia and Layla and their doctored EAD cards. Her mind raced. “The Russian mob?”

“There’s the occasional CIA agent who uses a job with the circus as a cover. But they usually aren’t performers.”

Right. Too much limelight if you’re trying to go undetected. The mob would want the exposure even less. She was grasping at straws.

“So what are they covering up?”

“To be determined,” Parker said, his gaze steady on the road.

Miranda swiped back to Layla’s photo and her sad face. A chill went through her. A cold wind blowing up her arms that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and salute.

She’d felt the sensation before. She knew what it meant.

Whatever they were heading for, it would be no good.

A horn screeched out behind her and Miranda whirled around to glare out the back window, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Police?” Parker said easing his foot off the accelerator.

The horn blared again and Miranda saw an arm shoot out of the driver’s side window. The hand attached to the arm held a cowboy hat and was frantically waving for them to pull over.

Then she caught a glimpse of the rusty grill of the cherry red pick-up in the taillight.

Good grief. She groaned out loud. “We’ve got to pull over, Parker. It’s Sam.”

Miranda slammed the door of the rental car and stomped over to Sam as he climbed out of his ratty truck.

Her blood boiling, her hair blown back from the blast of eighteen wheelers and SUVs whizzing by, she sucked their exhaust fumes into her lungs and leered at him.

She wanted to push him into the traffic.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sam?” she barked at him. “Why did you follow us?”

He came around the grill, his lanky frame outlined in the headlights, set his hat on his head and leaned against the truck’s front fender. Arms folded he glared back at her with a look of belligerent defiance. She could see his jaw was dark and swollen where Parker had socked him.

“It’s a free country, ain’t it?” he sneered with a hard glance in Parker’s direction. “Where are you two goin’ is what I want to know.”

“You were supposed to be talking to the police.”

Sam let out a low hiss. He’d taken off his spangled vest, but he was still in his circus costume, though his makeup was nearly rubbed off by now.

He took his hat off again and ran a hand through his blond hair. “Just after the police got there and started lookin’ at Harvey’s place. I got a call. I slipped away to take it.”

Despite the dusty heat, icy fingers ran down Miranda’s back. “A call from who?”

“Layla.”

She took a step back. For a moment she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Layla?”

Sam’s expression turned sober. “She wants my help. She’s in trouble.”

That was an understatement.

Miranda looked at Parker. He shook his head just a bit.

She agreed. Wouldn’t do to tell Sam they were after the Vargas. Not yet, anyway. Her gaze shifted around to the rear window of Sam’s truck. In the headlights of the oncoming vehicles in the opposite lane, she spotted the outline of a gun rack. It wasn’t empty.

Her stomach tensed. “What’s the rifle for?”

“Like I said, Layla’s in trouble. Around these parts, a man defends a woman in trouble.”

Good Lord. That was all they needed now. A shootout at the O.K. Corral. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

His lip curled. “Please.”

Parker stepped forward. He was doing his best to appear calm, but Miranda could see he was fuming underneath the surface. “Mr. Keegan, it’s very unwise to barge into an unknown situation like a…damned cowboy.”

Sam’s green eyes blazed. “Mr. Parker,” he spat, his accent thick with sarcasm. “I know Layla and I know how to handle myself. And I don’t need your permission to do it.”

This could get ugly fast.

Miranda laid a hand on Sam’s arm to calm him down. “Sam, we don’t know what Layla’s role was in Tupper’s death. In any of this. You have to let us talk to her first.”

He pushed her away. “Why? So you can accuse her of murder?”

“So we can find out what she’s running from.”

“I don’t need you two to find that out. She’ll tell me herself. Is that where yer goin’? How’d you find out where she is?”

Again Miranda glanced over at Parker. Neither of them said anything.

“You won’t tell me? That’s just fine and dandy, since you’re supposed to be workin’ for me. Hell, I’m firing ya’ll.” He started to turn back to the truck.

Miranda grabbed his arm, her temper blazing. “Sam, are you in cahoots with the Vargas?”

He spun back around. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“The Vargas? What in the hell are you talkin’ about, Miranda?”

She grunted in frustration, saw a threatening glare in Parker’s eyes. “Where exactly are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“We can track you, Sam,” Miranda warned.

“Like a couple of damn spies?”

“No, like the PIs we are. What did you really want from us, Sam? From me? To find out who killed your friend Tupper? Or to find Layla?”

“I wanted both.”

“Then we ought to be on the same side. Where is she, Sam?”

His jaw clenched, he stared down at his hat for a long moment. She could see him thinking it over, realizing he might be in over his head. And that he truly needed their help.

His shoulders sagged as he gave in. “She’s at a hotel near Oklahoma City. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Green Valley Inn?”

Once more his eyes blazed. “How did you know that?”

“That isn’t important. What’s important is that the Vargas are headed there, too.”

He stared at her as if she were clairvoyant, shook his head. “I don’t understand why they’d be going there.”

“How well did they know Layla? Really?”

He waved his hat in the air. “Same as everybody. They hung around some. I guess Layla and Dashia talked some. It was just girl talk. You know.” He looked at Miranda hard, then at Parker. What she’d been trying to tell him finally started to sink in. “What are you thinkin’? You think Yuri planned Tupper’s murder?” His voice broke as he said it.

“We don’t know what to think.”

“We don’t know what sort of situation we’ll be going into, Sam,” Parker said quietly with an almost fatherly tone. He took a deep breath and Miranda knew his next words would be hard to get out. “But it would be wise if we went in together.”

Sam blinked hard at Parker as if he’d suddenly appeared out of thin air from behind a magician’s cape. Five or six cars zipped by.

At last he nodded slowly. “Okay. You two know your business. Guess I’m convinced of that by now.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Miranda thought.

“We’ll go together. Though I can’t believe Yuri would…” Sam’s voice trailed off. His expression told her he finally understood he might not be able to trust the people he thought were his friends.

He looked over his shoulder at the truck, set his jaw. “Do you need any fire power? I don’t expect you brought any with you on the plane.”

Miranda’s brows shot up. “What did you bring with you?”

“Just my twelve gauge and a couple of .22s.” He strolled over to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door then the glove compartment.

Miranda peeked in and saw two Taurus pistols inside the space. One with a pearl handle, the other a wood grain. Sam was locked and loaded. What in the world was he expecting to find when he got to Layla?

“What do you think?” she said to Parker.

He gave her a short nod.

She took the pearl, left him the wood grip.

“Let me lead the way,” Sam told them as he climbed back inside the pickup. “I know where the smokies are.”

“Very well.”

Without speaking Miranda and Parker got back into the sedan. This was it, she thought, as Parker waited for Sam to spin around then hit the accelerator.

As they sped off into the night, heading for the Oklahoma border, she wondered exactly who the mysterious Layla would turn out to be.

He stepped out of the shower, dried off and sank onto his bed naked.

He was bone weary. Worn out from all the terrible events happening around him. How could things have gotten so out of hand?

He didn’t have control any more. That was the problem. He never should have agreed to this plan. He never should have gone through with it. He never should have let—before he could finish the thought his cell rang.

Good God. What now? He snatched it off the nightstand. “What do you want?” he hissed in anger as he flopped back down on the mattress.

There was a pause, then the quiet familiar voice. “Have you found her?”

He scowled up at the ceiling. “Not yet. I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” The voice had a jeer in it. Just like when they were kids.

“I’m doing what I can. Leave me alone. I’ve got problems of my own.” He started to hang up.

“What about the detectives?”

He groaned inside himself, wishing he’d never mentioned them to her. But he’d had to. It proved he was taking some action. “What about them?”

“Do I have to spell it out? What progress are they making?”

“I think they’re close.” He didn’t know that but it sounded good.