Half Life (Russell's Attic Book 2) (7 page)

“Fries?”

“No, thanks,” I said.

She made a move to sit down, but I got up instead. “Let’s walk.” The crowds were making me nervous. Too many people to watch.

We headed down the paths of the beach recreation area until we found a bench that was more secluded, the beach on one side and the buzz of the tourists and shops a distant murmur from the other. Pilar sat down next to me and drew her feet up to sit cross-legged, fast food bag in her lap.

“So. Who are you, really?” she asked. “And what do you want with Denise’s daughter?”

“I really do work for Noah Warren,” I said. “What do you know about their daughter?”

She cocked her head at me, screwing up her face in the slightly over-the-top manner she applied to all of her expressions. “I believe you,” she declared after a few seconds. “You pretty much suck at lying, anyhow.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Now, what do you know about the daughter?”

She took the time to munch a few more French fries. “Not much. I didn’t even know it was her daughter at the time.”

“Who was?” Could it be that someone was admitting to having glimpsed Liliana? Only a few minutes ago I’d been resigning myself to her nonexistence.

“Denise brought her in.” Pilar licked her fingers, sucking the salt from the fries off them. “I was working late. I don’t think they knew I was going to be there.”

“They?”

“Denise and Ms. Grant.”

Grant, Grant, where had I heard that name? “Imogene Grant? The CEO?”

“Yup. I’d never even seen her up close before. They were real surprised to see me, too. Ms. Grant asked what I was doing there, and I said, well, I work here, and she asked why I was there that late, and I said I was finishing the phone accounts, because Mr. Lau would yell at me if I didn’t—only I didn’t tell her that last part—and she got all snappy and told me to go home.”

“And did you?”

She did her squished-in-face expression again. “The CEO told me to leave. What do you think I did?” The
come on, duh,
was unspoken.

“Tell me about the girl,” I said.

“She was real cute. Like, five years old, maybe? With ringlets—I was so jealous; I always wanted ringlets when I was little—it’s hair that boings! Anyway, she was all dressed up, like she’d just come from a party, but she looked awful scared for some reason. And she asked me what my name was.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, it was so cute. She was the kind of adorable that makes me want to have kids, like, right now. Anyway, she kind of pulled away from Denise and came up and said, ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ formal as you like. And I said, ‘My name’s Pilar, what’s your name?’ and she said, ‘My name is Liliana’—so cute it killed me—and then Denise pulled her back and kind of herded her away from me.”

Liliana. Noah Warren’s daughter.
Well, I’ll be damned.
She did exist. “Did you notice where they took her?”

“I was busy packing up and leaving, but it looked like they were going back to Denise’s office. And the next day was when Denise was gone and they were cleaning out her things.”

The next day? I didn’t believe in coincidences. “And they said it was medical leave?”

“‘They?’ No, uh-uh, there was a resignation letter from Denise. I filed it. It had her signature.”

Which could have been faked. “Did you know her well?”

Pilar wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Uh, not real well. I mean, we didn’t go out for drinks together or anything, if that’s what you mean. But we were friendly and stuff at work. She was just nice, you know? More than anyone else in the department, anyway; most of ’em are these frigid engineer types.”

How Checker would have squawked if he’d heard her stereotype his people that way. “Wasn’t Denise an engineer, too?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. But a lot friendlier of one. She would actually stop and talk to me at the office, that kind of thing. I really liked having her around.”

“What did you talk about? Did she confide in you?”

“No, you know, it was more like, ‘the weather’s hot today isn’t it’ and ‘did you see the Kings game last night’ and ‘thank goodness the weather’s cooled down this week.’ Small talk sort of stuff.”

“Did she ever mention her daughter?”

“Not that I remember. Or her husband—I didn’t even know she was married until everything went down at Arkacite, with the lawsuit and everything. I mean, I guess she probably had a ring, I didn’t really look, but she didn’t talk about her family.”

“How did she die?”

Pilar’s eyes popped wide, making her look startlingly like a character from one of Checker’s animes. “She’s dead?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I—her letter said she left for health reasons, but…” She slumped, letting her head hang, her hands lying still in her lap. “I’m real sorry to hear that. I liked her.”

I never knew what to say in this sort of situation. “Was she sick before she left the company?” I asked, for lack of a better question.

“No, not at all,” answered Pilar, subdued. “At least, not that I ever saw, but I guess she might’ve been and I didn’t know…she’s really dead? I wish I’d known. I would have gone to the funeral.”

We sat in awkward silence. An ocean breeze stirred the air, and shouts and laughter of the beachgoing crowds reached us faintly from the boardwalk.

“Nobody at work talks about her,” murmured Pilar. “I assumed it was ’cause of the lawsuit, you know, like she’s frowned on there now because she’s suing them—I mean, it’s her husband’s name on the suit, but I had figured he was doing it on her behalf or something if she was sick, and…I don’t know. It makes more sense now, I guess.” She hugged her arms around herself. “What does the company have to do with their daughter? I mean, if Denise…passed, shouldn’t her husband already…I mean…”

Apparently Pilar had somehow missed Warren’s very loud, very public, and very insistent allegations. “Warren insists Arkacite kidnapped her.”

Pilar’s eyes got huge again. “What! Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, they’re a soul-crushing company to work for, but
kidnapping?
Besides, why would they
want
to?”

“I don’t know,” I said again.

“I don’t even want to go back tomorrow now,” said Pilar. “If I didn’t have student loans and my car payment and rent and credit card bills, I wouldn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, either.

“You know,” said Pilar, “I could look around for you, if you like. I mean, not a whole lot—they’re always nosing after us for people leaking tech secrets, so I can’t poke around too much—but I can at least check the computer system, see if any files seem funny. I mean, if you want me to? Is there a number I can reach you at?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I fished around for a pen but didn’t have one; Pilar pulled one out of her purse and offered me a leftover napkin from her fast food dinner to write on.

“And here’s mine,” she said, scribbling her name and number on another napkin in wide, round lettering. “Just, you know. In case.”

I regarded the phone number with growing suspicion. “I don’t get it. Why offer to help me?”

She looked scandalized. “You just told me the company I work for kidnapped a little girl!”

“You pointed out Lau to me from the beginning, though,” I said. “Why get involved?” And why take the extra step to come talk to me?

Pilar’s lips pursed self-consciously. “I don’t know. Maybe ’cause I get so bored there. Or maybe ’cause I always felt bad for Mr. Warren. I really liked Denise, you know. Or maybe ’cause Mr. Lau grabbed my bottom at the copier once and now I want to get back at him. Sometimes I—”

“Wait, what? Did Lau really do that? Aren’t there laws against that or something?”

Pilar blinked at me. “Come on. You’re a woman.”

“So?”

“So, you know how it is.”

“No,” I said. “I really, really don’t.”

“Oh.” She scrunched up her face, her voice getting smaller. “I think I want to live in your world, then.”

I wasn’t sure she was right about that, but I let it pass. I thought of Mama Lorenzo again, and her fierce protection of her niece, and had a brief urge to go live on a deserted island somewhere where I didn’t have to interact with people or deal with any of the resultant complications.

C
HAPTER 7

I
’D FORGOTTEN
I’d turned my phone off. As I trudged back up the beach I reinserted the battery and hit the power button; it came on to show eight missed calls—two from numbers I didn’t recognize and six from Checker.

Shit.

I dialed Checker back right away, not bothering to check my voicemail, visions of Mama Lorenzo and her enforcers flitting through my brain.

“There you are,” said Checker. I hadn’t even heard the phone ring once. “I was getting worried.”

He
was worried? “I turned my phone off,” I said. He didn’t sound like he was dead or being tortured. “Everything all right?”

“What? Yeah, fine.” He sneezed. “Except that I’m allergic to cats. I don’t suppose I can go back to the Hole yet?”

Not a chance. “It’s still not quite sorted, but I’m on it. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, well, get on it. By which I mean thank you, you know. What did you find out at Arkacite?”

“Well, I finally found someone who’s seen Liliana.” Which meant I had a case. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy about that or not.

“You did! Who?” cried Checker.

“Pilar Velasquez. She works as a receptionist at the company.”

Checker’s voice took on the absent quality he had when he was simultaneously concentrating on his computer. “Administrative assistant, it looks like, as a temp, but she’s permanent enough that she has her own company email address. Oh, she’s a hottie,” he added, apparently having just found a picture.

“Move along, hot shot.”

“Oh, all right. Let’s see, she started at Arkacite about a year and a half before Constance Rayal left. Did you get my voicemail about Rayal, by the way?”

“It’s ‘Rayal,’” I said, correcting his pronunciation. “And no. Tell me.”

“She’s not dead.”

“What?” Why did Noah Warren keep talking like she was, then? “She’s not?”

“Nope. She’s renting a house out in Altadena.”

“Wait, then why did she leave Arkacite? Was she even sick?”

“Uh, yeah, but probably not the way you think. Right after resigning she signed herself into an inpatient psychiatric ward.”

Holy crap. “How long was she there for?”

“Only a few days. They moved her to outpatient treatment pretty fast.”

This had to be connected. “I need her psych file. Can you get it for me?”

“I can,” said Checker slowly. “I won’t.”

“Uh—why not?”

He was a moment in answering. “Because I’m not going to hack someone’s personal psychiatric records.”

“You decide to respect boundaries
now?
You?”

“Some things are private,” he said. “I’ve got lines.”

“So cross them,” I snapped. “This could be important.”

“No.”

“What the hell—why
not?”

“Cas, you aren’t going to sway me on this.”

“Stop being stupid!” My hand tightened on the phone. “You’ve got no problem breaking into arrest records, and financials, and medical information—Jesus, you get me private emails all the time. And what, a psychiatric stay is off limits?”

“Yes,” he said.

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“I’m doing you a huge goddamn favor on this Lorenzo thing, you know,” I said.

Checker sighed. “Are you really trying to guilt me into giving you someone’s private psychiatric history?”

“Yes! If that’s what it takes. I need that information!”

“Then go talk to Rayal yourself,” he said. “I’ll text you her address. Do you need anything else?” The change of subject was very loud in his voice.

“Send me Lau’s address, too. He knows something.”

“Done. Wait, he’s not going to end up a smear on the sidewalk, is he?”

“What, you’re telling me how to do my job now?” I asked snidely.

He took a deep breath. “For God’s sake, it’s
one thing
I refuse to look up for you—”

I hung up on him. He tried to ring me back, but I let it go to voicemail. I deleted the new message and the other six he’d left without listening to them.

I checked the other two voicemails. The first was Benito Lorenzo, who sounded somewhere on the border between nervous and terrified. He said he was sure my “disagreement” with Mama Lorenzo was all a misunderstanding and pleaded with me to come in and talk about it with them. I deleted it. The final message, for once, was unrelated to the rest of the mess my life had become; what sounded like a male voice said he would like to meet as soon as possible to discuss a job. He said he’d been referred by Ari Tegan, a recurring client of mine—not to mention the best forger I knew.

My thumb hovered over the callback button. I now knew Warren’s daughter existed, but it was looking less and less likely he would be able to pay me. It wouldn’t hurt to have another job pending on the off chance this one fizzled. Just in case I needed it.

Of course, this guy might be working for Mama Lorenzo and planning a setup. Benito had my number, so—

I stopped in my tracks.
Benito had my number.
Little Dino Palermo hadn’t followed a signal on my
car;
Mama Lorenzo’s people had tracked my
phone.
Checker wasn’t the only one who could trace a cell location once he had the number.

What was I, a fucking amateur? I should be dead.

Fuck.

I’d have to pick up a new phone as soon as possible. Before disabling this one, I tried calling Tegan to see if he’d referred someone to me, but the phone rang out to a generic voicemail recording. I told him to call me the instant he checked it and hung up.

Well, if this was an ambush…I tapped the phone against my palm, thinking.

I dialed back the man who’d asked to hire me and left a message suggesting a meeting at eleven that night at Grealy’s, an oyster bar—emphasis on
bar—
famous in the LA underground for…I suppose the kind term would be
discretion.
It was a dim, smoky hole-in-the-wall where they had terrible food and worse drinks, mopped the floors every month or so, and made sure everyone minded his own business or got kicked out. I loved the place.