Sense of Deception (16 page)

Candice made a subtle motion with her chin and I eased backward away from DeLaria to the door, holding it open for her as she backed out of the room too. Once we were safely in the car again and Candice had started it up, I said, “What the hell was that about?”

“What do you mean?” she said casually.

“Candice, I love you,” I began, “but if you ever shoot at an unarmed man in my presence again, I may have to quit you.” Seeing her behave like that had seriously unsettled me. She'd turned into someone else up there, and I didn't want any part of it.

Candice chuckled warmly before reaching behind her to pull out her gun and hand it to me. “Check the clip, Sundance,” she said.

Frowning at her, I took the gun and stared at the clip, which was filled with odd-looking bullets. Popping one out, I examined it. It felt lighter than normal and nothing like the hollow points Candice typically shot with. “What the hell are these?”

“Blanks. I keep a clip of them when I really need to get info out of someone. They're super effective without all the mess.”

I sagged in my seat. “Oh, thank God! For a minute there I thought you'd done lost your mind.”

Candice nodded absently. “It was a good thing I had the blank clip,” she said. “Stacey was this really sweet kid before Rico got hold of her. That fucker murdered who she could've been. And I'm sure there're many more girls out there like her working for that asshole.”

“You weren't kidding about the offer from her dad, were you?”

Candice fiddled with the radio and refused to answer the question, which I was actually thankful for. I knew enough disturbing things. I sure didn't need to add another to the list.

We got to Rounders and headed inside. As it happened, I was a little hungry, so Candice and I got a table and settled in to peruse the menu and subtly observe the employees. Midway through my perusal Candice cleared her throat to get my attention. Pulling my gaze away from a bacon/mango/chestnut pesto concoction, I looked up and saw her motioning with her chin toward the kitchen staff, visible behind a counter at the back of the narrow restaurant. A guy had just joined the crew, probably in his mid to late thirties, a little taller than Rico had been during the short time I'd seen him standing.

Height. Check.

Brown hair. Check.

Goatee. Check.

Looked a bit like Ethan Hawke. Check and check.

“Wayne!” I called, waving to him, all friendly-like.

His head turned and he eyed me with interest, and a few of the other guys nudged him and I could see them ask, “Who's that?”

Wayne kept his gaze on me and shrugged off the other guys,
moseying out from around the counter and wiping his hands on his white apron. He approached with the practiced steps of a guy who's used to convincing girls to go home with him. He had no interest in life beyond conquering his next piece of ass. I hated guys like Wayne. And I'm a little ashamed to admit that I'd dated more than my fair share of them before I'd met Dutch. Right before he got to our table, I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to the powers that be that I was lucky enough to share my bed with the real deal, and not some poser like Wayne.

Still, I kept my smile wide and my eyes blinky and Wayne closed in with a dipped chin and a slight grin. “Hey, baby,” he said, like we were old friends. “Where you been?”

I giggled. He had no idea who I was, but he was playing it like he recognized me from some tryst we'd had and was pleased I'd stopped by. “Oh, here, there, you know,” I said, patting the seat next to me.

Wayne sat down and tipped an imaginary hat at Candice. “Who's your friend?” he said, that interest sparking fresh volts as he took in Candice's gorgeous face.

She extended a hand. “Candy,” she said, with a hint of a Southern accent. Casting me a sideways glance, she added, “Sundance, you didn't tell me Wayne was so hot.”

Wayne chuckled and sat back in the chair, full of confidence. I knew he figured there was no way he wasn't getting lucky tonight. “Oh, shush,” I said to her. “I told you he looked like Ethan Hawke!”

Wayne nodded, as if he got that particular comparison a lot. “I get that a lot,” he said. (See?)

Candice reached over and fiddled with her purse for a moment and I said, “So, Wayne, I was wondering if you could settle a bet Candy and I have going on.”

“A bet?” he said, his eyes glinting with mild curiosity. Then he laughed as if he already knew what we'd bet on. “Commando, baby, don't you remember?”

I laughed wickedly and shoved at his shoulder. “No, not that! Something much juicier.”

Wayne wrapped an arm across my shoulders. I bore it mostly because of what I was about to say next. “What's the bet, baby?” he asked.

I smiled really wide at Candice. She was enjoying this too. “Well,” I said, turning back to whisper softly to Wayne. “I bet my friend Candy that she'd need two shots to take your balls off, and she swears that the gun she has trained on your crotch right now would only require one bullet.”

Wayne stared at me, his eyes getting bigger by the moment as my smile became less forced and more sinister. And then he leaned carefully back and eyed the napkin-wrapped bundle in Candice's right hand. There was no mistaking from his angle what it was. “What the hell is this?” he said, lifting his arm away from me.

“Relax,” I told him. When he looked like he was about to bolt out of the chair, I put a hand on his arm and said, “I mean it, Wayne. Candy has a hair trigger. Just ask your buddy Rico.”

Sweat coated Wayne's forehead and he looked around the restaurant to see if anyone else was paying attention to us. Nobody was. Even the kitchen crew had lost interest. “Listen,” he said, his voice quavering, “I never made you any promises, baby. I mean, I'm sorry if you wanted something more, but I'm not the settling-down kind of guy.”

I made a face and waved a hand at him. “Dude, first off, eww. Second off . . .
eww
! We didn't sleep together and you'd never have a chance with me or with my BFF over there anyway.”

She nodded congenially. “That's true,” she said.

“Then what the hell?” he whispered.

“We need some intel,” I said. “The sooner you tell us what we want to know, the sooner Candy puts her gun away and you get back to slinging pizzas for nine bucks an hour.”

Wayne wiped his brow. “I don't know anything!” he whispered harshly.

“Oh, but we believe that you do,” I countered. “Now, let's test you for honesty. Did you ever know a woman named Skylar Miller?”

Wayne's eyes blinked furiously. “Sky? What the hell she got to do with this?”

“So you did know her,” I said.

“Duh,” he said. “She was my ex.”

My brows arched. “She was?”

“Yeah, man. Only woman I ever loved, if you gotta know. They don't make 'em better than Sky.”

“What happened between the two of you?” I asked, my intuition buzzing a little.

He shrugged. “She wanted to get her kid back, and her social worker told her the odds were better if she ditched me, 'cause I had a record.”

“Really?” I said. Wayne nodded. My eyes narrowed. “Did you hold a grudge against her, Wayne? For dumping you?”

“Grudge? Naw, man. Well, maybe a little in the beginning, but when you saw her with the kid, well, you sorta got it, you know? Nobody was ever gonna be more important to her than Noah, and even I knew I wasn't ever gonna be a good influence for him, so it sucked for a while but whatev. Plenty of bitches still left in the pond.”

Candice and I traded looks. Hers asked me if I suspected Wayne as the killer. Mine said that I didn't think his energy was trying to
hide anything, but I couldn't be sure. Then Candice said, “Rico told us that you heard somebody at county brag about killing Noah.”

Wayne pulled his head back a little, surprised by her statement. “Bragged about killing Noah?” he repeated. And then he seemed to understand. “Naw, man, it wasn't like that. It was just some guy from the holding cells where they put all the new prisoners together—you know, like ten of us to one big cell until they can process us through?”

Candice and I both nodded, and Wayne continued. “Anyway, I had a homey in there with me, and he asked me about Sky, 'cause he'd heard she was on trial and he knew we'd gone together. I guess this other guy was listening, because he starts to butt in, you know, like it's his business too, or something, and says that he was glad she was getting what was coming to her. That pissed me the hell off, you know? So I got into it with him, and he said that she'd disrespected him in front of the kid, and he made sure she got what was coming to her. I popped him and started asking him what he meant by that and then the COs pulled me off him before I could get anything else outta him. We were separated after that and I was processed to another section of the prison. Never saw him again.”

“When was this?” Candice asked.

Wayne stared down at his hands. “About eight years ago. Right after the jury found Sky guilty.”

“Why didn't you go to the police with what this guy said to you?” I demanded. Candice shot me a warning look because my voice had risen a little, and I cleared my throat as two people at a nearby table glanced our way.

Wayne said, “I
did
go to them. I told my parole officer that there was a guy in lockup the cops needed to look at, and he got me in touch with this detective at APD. When I told him what'd happened in lockup, you know what he said to me?”

“What?” Candice and I both asked.

“He wanted to know where
I
was the night Noah was killed.” Wayne shook his head in disgust. “Asshole. If I'd pushed it, he would've gotten me on conspiracy 'cause of my history with Sky.”

I felt white-hot anger burn into the center of my chest, positive that Wayne had spoken to Ray Dioli, that lazy, smug son of a bitch. (I was gonna owe my swear jar another five spot by the end of the day.)

“He really told you that?” Candice asked Wayne.

Wayne shrugged. “Something like that. He said he didn't need me coming around after the verdict was announced to try to make trouble for the case.”

“What was the name of the inmate?” I asked, thinking I'd take the issue up with Dioli later.

Wayne shook his head. “I don't know his real name. He told everybody to call him Slip.”

“Slip?” I said. “What the hell kind of a nickname is that?”

“He said he got it from being able to slip in and out of a house without being seen. The guy was in for B and E, so I guess he wasn't as slippery as he thought.”

Candice lifted the hand covered by the napkin above the tabletop and as Wayne jumped, she removed the napkin to reveal nothing more dangerous than an elegant Montblanc pen. Casually she then reached inside her purse for a small notebook and made herself a note. Wayne stared at her hand for a long time before he shook his head, got up, and muttered, “Bitches.”

I smiled and waved daintily at him. “Thanks for all your help, Wayne. Tell Rico we appreciate his help too.”

He glared at me and said, “Y'all might not want to eat here. You never know what could fall into your food.”

My smile widened. “We had no intention of eating here, honey. Now off you go.”

Wayne looked like he didn't much like being dismissed, but then a guy in a short-sleeved dress shirt and khakis came out from the back and glared hard when he saw Wayne out from behind the counter. Our delightful host walked stiffly away and Candice and I wasted no time leaving a five-dollar tip for the waitress who'd brought us waters. Before we headed out, Candice paused to whisper something to the manager, he said something softly back to her, and she smiled and motioned for us to leave.

“Did you rat him out?” I asked as we walked to the car.

“Nah,” she said. “I just asked the manager for his last name. It's Babson.”

“What a corny last name for a poser,” I said.

“Word,” she agreed.

I looked a little sadly at Rounders as we drove away. I'd lied to Wayne. I'd have eaten there. The pizza had smelled amazeballs, and I mean, a pizza with mango plus bacon plus chestnut pesto plus my add-on of extra bacon? Srsly.

“Where to now?” I asked Candice with a sigh.

“Well, judging by the way you're drooling out the window at the restaurant we just left, I thought I'd take you for something to eat before we head back to the office, so I can try to find out who Wayne's cellmate was that was spouting off about Skylar getting what she deserved.”

“How're you gonna do that?”

Candice stopped at the red and half turned to me as she answered, “I've got a new database that allows me to search for someone using their nickname. I've never had to use it until now.”

“It's freaky how many resources you have.”

She turned back to the wheel as the light flicked to green. “Stick with me, kid, and you may learn a trick or two.”

We ate lunch at a place called the Steeping Room—an absolute favorite of mine, which is odd given the fact that it pretty much serves nothing but healthy (wonderfully flavorful) food. By the time we left, I was feeling full, happy, and antioxidanted.

After another short drive, Candice pulled into a slot in the parking garage next to our building, and I waddled after her while she headed to the front doors of our office. As it happens, this was quite fortunate, because it allowed me to see Rico DeLaria spring from the alley next to our building, intent on stabbing Candice with a very big knife.
“Candice!”
I screamed.

Her response was poetry in motion. Without even flinching, she dropped down into a crouch, spun, and thrust her leg out at the same time, striking Rico midcalf. There was a sickening popping sound and he stumbled. Trying hard to stay erect, he grimaced through the pain but didn't recover himself enough before Candice vaulted up from her crouched position to karate kick him square in the chest. He shot backward, straight off his feet, with an “Oomph!” and landed flat on his back with an awful-sounding smack. My BFF then stomped on the hand holding the knife before dropping to one knee right on top of him, causing yet another series of cracking sounds from DeLaria's ribs. Candice finished her dance by jamming her palm into his nose. No crunching sound this time because DeLaria's nose was already broken.