Sleepless in Las Vegas (10 page)

She inhaled a sharp breath. “No.”

“I take it she paid you in cash.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

She was glad he blocked her view of Jayne. “Two thousand.”

He shoved his face closer. “Had you ever spoken to Marta before?”

“No.”

“Ever
seen
her before? Around your home, this agency, anywhere else?”

“No, never.” Val eased back a step, needing some distance from his intensity.

“She has a Russian accent?”

How did he know? “Yes, a thick one.”

“Anything else unusual about her?”

“She…wore designer clothes, although they could have been rip-offs.” She wanted to sit down, but the last thing she wanted to give him was a psychological advantage. “Her perfume smelled like strawberries. And she wore a large diamond ring.”

He flinched, almost imperceptibly, but this close, Val caught it.

“Where did she tell you I would be?”

“At Topaz, the strip club, probably around eight or eight-thirty.”

“And you surveilled me there?”

Val nodded. “Didn’t see your truck, so I drove around the block and found it parked at the appliance store.”

A glimmer of something shone in his eyes. “Did she say how she knew I would be there?”

“Friend told her.”

“The nameless friend,” he mused darkly, his eyes searching hers. “Did you take a photo of my truck?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She hadn’t thought to bring a camera last night, but she wasn’t going to admit that. “Didn’t want anyone to see me taking pictures. Instead, I quickly checked out what items were in the back, on the front seat.”

“Why?”

“I thought if you were fooling around, I might see ladies’ things. A purse, lipstick or something.”

“What did you see?”

“A notebook. A dog bed, some chew toys.”

Outside on the street, the old tune “Thunder Road” blasted, Springsteen’s crooning, aching voice begging the girl to make it real.

As the tune faded, Drake said in a low voice, “Last night my house burned down. I believe Marta was working with someone who set it on fire.”

The silence was thick, uncomfortable as the overhead fan sliced at the air. No wonder Marta had wanted her to go back to the bar and look for him. They had probably been torching his place at that very moment, wanted to know if he was on his way home or not.

Now she understood, after she’d suggested Marta call Drake, why she’d said “I don’t have….” She didn’t have his cell phone number.

“Did you know what they were planning?” he asked.

“Of course not!” An ominous wave of emotion rose in her, filling her with anger and despair. This interrogation was becoming way more than just the possibility of losing a job.

She could end up in jail.

In the time it took to take a deep, calming breath, she was ready to charge ahead and fight for her future. One that didn’t include time behind bars.

“I was willing to stand here and answer questions,” she said to Jayne, “but if he’s going to accuse me of committing a crime, I must stand up for myself.” Not waiting for Jayne’s agreement, she turned to Drake. “Since you don’t believe me when I say I had
nothing
to do with the fire, give me a polygraph.”

He smirked. “Those aren’t cheap, sister, and
I’m
not shelling out the bucks for one.”

“Then I will!”

He rubbed his jaw, muttering something about irrational, reactionary women.

“I call you on that,” she snapped, jabbing an index finger at him, “and raise you one biased, egocentric, Neanderthal male.”

Have mercy, the man actually looked taken aback.

“Jayne,” he growled, “did you hear that?”

Her boss acknowledged the question with a nod. “Difficult not to.”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Nothing. She appears to be holding her own quite well.”

Val felt a surge of empowerment. She had never felt anything other than respect for Jayne, but at the moment, she honest to God
loved
that woman.

She met Drake’s damning gaze straight on, refusing to bow to his contempt. “What gives you the right,” she said evenly, “to accuse me of a crime I didn’t commit?”

His expression hardened, but he didn’t say a word.

“I believe,” she continued, “that in the U.S. criminal justice system, a person is presumed
innocent
until
proven
guilty. Although based on your inquisition, it seems you are so much more than just a private investigator. Why, you’re also a prosecutor, a judge
and
a jailer.”

She kept her gaze locked on his, unswayed by his big, black-hearted, disapproving self. Those gray eyes predatory like a wolf’s, all that dark stubble roughing up his face, the muscles bunching in that strong jaw.

Oh, he was bad all right.

But she’d faced bad before. Back in their shop in the French Quarter, Val had confronted several sticky-fingered thieves, once pulling her nanny’s Saturday night special on a nasty-tempered fellow who’d stuffed a fine-cut crystal decanter underneath his jacket. He had shakily given it back, and Nanny later scolded Val that she’d rather lose a decanter than a granddaughter.

The way Val had felt during that would-be theft was how she felt now. Like Drake had tried to steal her very truth. “I already admitted my wrongdoing,” she said, “to both you and Jayne. And I apologized. And I really am very sorry you lost your house.”

“I almost lost something much more important.”

To her utter astonishment, a flush crawled up his neck, disappearing into the underbrush of his five o’clock shadow. He shifted his gaze to some remote spot past her left ear and dropped his hands to his sides. She might have reveled in her ability to have won this round, that maybe her words made the man question
himself
for a change, but his reaction took the fight right out of her.

Because what he emoted was visceral, raw,
pained.
She swore she could feel his suffering across the room, as real as a searing blast of Mojave winds.

“I think we’ve all said enough on this topic,” Jayne said quietly.

The cold in Drake’s eyes had thawed, their stony color lightening to a smoky gray. The lines in his face were still hard and rugged, but his intensity had lost its edge.

“Drake did not sleep at all last night,” Jayne continued. “He was at the vet hospital with his dog, who, thank God, survived the fire. Years ago, I spent my share of late nights at vet hospitals, too. Became a ritual for me to welcome my dog home with a big pink ball. Silly, really, but my male dog loved them.”

Val’s insides twisted at the thought of what he’d gone through. No wonder he was reacting more than thinking.

“I’m glad to know your dog’s okay,” she said.

He nodded his thanks.

Jayne was watching him with a thoughtful intensity. “Drake, I realize how upset you are, but this young woman is not an arsonist. I did a thorough background check on her before she started work at Diamond Investigations, and she has no criminal background, not even a speeding ticket. Her main fault is that she has an impetuous streak, but she is incapable of such a grievous crime.”

Val had to bite back a smile.
Impetuous streak.
No one had ever said it quite like that.

“Plus,” Jayne added, her tone softening, “she survived Katrina, although her home and immediate family did not. During that horrific event, this young woman was a hero. Showed the kind of courage that few in life can claim, which says more about her character than any background check. Suffice it to say, I cannot read her mind, but I know her heart. She would never wish such losses on anyone else, much less cause them.”

Val blinked rapidly, astonished. Her boss had never before mentioned Katrina. Of course, she herself had never mentioned it, either. Outside of her cousins and best pal, Cammie, Val never talked about it. Sometimes she feared that if she looked too deeply into those shadows, they might swallow her whole.

She hadn’t been a hero, though. Heroes succeeded at their tasks. Val had failed at hers.

“Drake, I am your friend and colleague,” Jayne said, “but if you take criminal action against her, I will stand in your way.”

He met her gaze. “I will not take criminal action.”

Jayne nodded, shifted slightly in her seat. “I realize this isn’t the time to broach the next topic, but I have no choice. Events in my life are such that…” She snatched a breath. “I…must leave tomorrow, and I do not wish to close Diamond Investigations.”

“Close?” Val sank into the chair. She’d guessed right—something devastating had happened in her boss’s life.

The older woman forced a smile, which quickly dissolved. “Today both of you have been honest in this room, sometimes brutally so. Now I…must be honest, too.”

Jayne studied her hands for a moment. When she looked up, her features were tight, pinched.

“I have cancer,” she whispered.

* * *

F
OR
THE
NEXT
few moments, the three of them were like a tableau, frozen in their spots, nobody speaking. The only sound was the metronomic whoosh of the overhead fan.

Drake stared at Jayne, the news belatedly hitting him like a slow-moving shock wave.

Cancer.

He had known Jayne Diamond since launching his own private-investigator career five-plus years ago. Had worked a few high-profile cases with her, too: an intellectual-property investigation that netted a notorious counterfeiter and an undercover sting that fingered a crafty embezzler. He respected her tough, smart, sophisticated style. Liked how she faced life ramrod straight and worked rock hard.

To see her now, her handsome face etched with worry, those blue eyes clouded with fear, gutted him.

“Jayne,” he said, “what did the doctor say?”

“Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Stage four.” She stilled, holding her emotions in check. “Apparently, it has spread to my liver.”

When Val choked back a cry, Jayne held up her hand. “Please. I cannot…”

Val pursed her lips and nodded.

The older woman gestured to the other guest chair. “Drake, please sit so I may look at both of you while we discuss a few things.”

He did as told.

“I am leaving tomorrow morning for the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona. I will be staying with my brother and his family while I undergo chemotherapy and radiation treatments. They also recommended steroids.”

“And?” he asked.

“I declined. Although I like to work out, I do not wish to bulk up like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

Drake got her. The ship might be in rough waters, but the captain was still at the helm. And if she chose to find humor in the situation, then by damn, so would he.

“Or get into trouble like Lance Armstrong,” he quipped.

Jayne’s lips twitched with amusement. “I might have to give up my Tour de France medals.”

“
And
go on Oprah,” he added.

Jayne shrugged. “If it was her favorite things show, maybe.”

“I can’t believe you two are joking.” Val sniffed, touched her nose with the back of her hand.

Jayne searched the young woman’s face. “As trite as this may sound, sometimes humor truly is the best medicine.”

Val, fighting tears, nodded. “I just…don’t want…”

“Neither do I.” An uneasiness crossed Jayne’s face. “I will be gone for two weeks, possibly three. As we discussed earlier, Drake, I am Val’s mentor in her quest to earn a Nevada private investigator’s license. I have not been able to find a mentor to take my place. I met with Gary Parker this morning, but he is understaffed at his agency and does not have the time to tutor an intern.”

“Put your mentoring, and your office, on hold. Pick both up after you return,” Drake suggested.

She gave her head a shake. “As I said, I prefer to not close my office. Calls not being returned, emails unanswered, doors locked…only hurts future business.”

Good that she was talking about the future. Although he wouldn’t have expected anything less of Jayne. “You can forward calls to your cell while you’re out of state. Take your laptop and answer emails, too.”

“Jayne doesn’t have a laptop,” Val murmured, “prefers desktops.”

He shot her an I-wasn’t-talking-to-you look. “Then check email on your smartphone.”

“No smartphone, either,” Val said. “She prefers her stand-alone cell phone.”

“Maybe Jayne can speak for herself,” he muttered.

“Actually,” Jayne said, looking amused, “I think my assistant is doing a grand job.”

He was starting to feel like an interloper at a sisterhood rally.

“Jayne likes more
established
forms of communication,” Val said. “For example, she likes calls to her landline being answered by a human voice because she believes it shows professionalism. People know someone is really
in
the office, not answering their cell phone while getting a manicure or something. Just goes to show landlines are
not
an antiquated system.” She gave her boss a smile.

He cut a look at Sister Suck-up. “Whether something’s old or not isn’t the issue. We’re talking about interim solutions while Jayne’s away.”

He looked at Val’s prim black dress and its oversize lace bow and her hair—a crazy combo of black and purple—knotted into that conservative little bun on the top of her head. What was with the spinster librarian look? He expected her to put her fingers to her lips and shush him any moment.

Last night, different story. She’d worn so little there had been more flesh than cloth on display. Probably 90 percent skin, 10 percent garments. And of that ninety, he’d give a solid 30 percent to that cleavage.

He shifted in his seat and met her eyes, all big and brown and expectant.

“What?” he asked.

“Jayne just asked you a question,” she said, her voice oozy like molasses.

He glanced at Jayne, who had an expression on her face that he’d seen before. The one where it seemed she had read your every single thought. She couldn’t, of course, but the lady was definitely picking up on signals. Helped along by her cohort’s earlier admission that he had sucked on her fingers and nibbled on her arm.