Spying in High Heels (31 page)

I was so completely wrapped up in my own total genius at suspecting Jasmine that I didn't even hear it until it was too late.

The sound of a gun cocking.

I froze, pen hovering over the Post-it, hoping maybe it was just my overactive imagination.

"Bravo, Sherlock."

Nope. My imagination didn't say that.

Quickly I spun around to find myself looking straight down the barrel of a .22. I willed myself not to pee in my pants as I raised my eyes to see… Althea?

Huh?

"Althea, what are you doing here?" Which in hindsight was an abysmally stupid question, considering that the gun leveled at my head pretty well explained what she was doing here.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you? Nosey bitch." Gone was the meek frump. In her place, a crazed pair of hazel eyes blazed behind her thick lenses. The gun in her hand was surprisingly steady, the confidence in her stance unnerving.

I swallowed the sudden lump of fear in my throat. The realization of my own error hit me with the force of a low-heeled loafer in the gut. I should have known Jasmine couldn't pull off a scheme like this. Jasmine had the brain of a turnip. Althea, on the other hand, I now realized was smarter than I'd given her credit for.

"This isn't Jasmine's file, is it?" I asked, pointing to the blank page on the screen. "It's yours. You're the one who took the money. And," I added, amazed at how level my voice sounded, even as my legs had turned into Jell-O, "you're the one who broke into my apartment."

Althea smiled a slow smile, her lips drawing back to bare a set of slightly crooked teeth. "And here I'd figured you for just another blond bimbo in heels."

I looked down at the gun aimed for my chest and swallowed. "Is that the gun that killed Greenway?" I asked.

Althea smiled again-. Only it didn't reach to her wild eyes, still leveled at me with a barely contained energy. "Greenway was an egotistical idiot," she spat out.

"Is that why you killed him?" Okay, I was asking more out of fear of being killed than curiosity. Honestly, I couldn't care less what Crazy Lady with Gun thought about Greenway. What I cared about was stalling for time until the cleaning crew came by.

"He deserved to die. Any man who makes love to a woman like he did and then leaves her deserves to die."

"Greenway had an affair with you?" I think my voice betrayed my disbelief. I was having a hard time picturing Althea in a leopard-print thong.

Althea narrowed her eyes, her unplucked brows drawing together. "What, you don't think Greenway would be interested in someone like me? You think he's too good for me? Who would ever love dowdy little Althea?" Her voice was rising, growing into a shrill screech. I took a step backward, coming up against Jasmine's desk chair.

"No, no. I-I'm sure you were just his type."

Althea let out a short bark of laughter. "Of course I was his type. I had a pulse. The man thought that just because he had a penis, women should fall at his feet. That he could charm the pants off anything. One night I forgot my purse and came back to the office after everyone had gone. Devon was here, in Mr. Howe's office. He asked me to come in and help him get into Richard's system. I said I shouldn't do it. Then he told me how clever I was. How I was much too smart to be a junior clerk. How pretty I was, how sweet. I gave him the code and he seduced me, right there on Mr. Howe's desk."

I cringed. That explained the condom wrapper.

Althea's eyes were growing wider as she talked, glazing over and not blinking, like someone with a high fever. Only the gun stayed steadily pointed at me. I took another step back, sliding my hand into my purse, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Lipstick, cash, tampon. Shit.

"When we got dressed I asked when I would see him again," Althea continued, a faraway look in her eyes. "And do you know what he did?"

I was afraid to answer. I shook my head.

Althea leaned in closer, and I could smell the Pert Plus on her frizzy hair. "He laughed. He said he didn't need me anymore, and he laughed at me. Do you know what it's like to have the person you love laugh at you?"

I shook my head again, my fingers clenching around a long sharp object. My nail file!

"So I got even. I found out what he and Mr. Howe were up to and tipped off a clerk at the Securities and Exchange. I drained Devon's accounts. I strangled his perfect, thin model of a wife. And," she said, her eyes snapping back to mine as she wrapped the fingers of both hands around the trigger, "I killed him. But not right away. I made him beg first. Plead on his hands and knees for his life. And you know what I did then?"

I shook my head, wrapping my fingers around the nail file.

She leaned in, her voice low. "I laughed."

I thought I was going to be sick. She had become seriously unglued. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner. Anyone who paired checked cardigans with corduroy skirts had to be touched. And this chick was way beyond touched. Her mouth smiled while her eyes held a dull, open stare, as if she was actually seeing Greenway beg in front of her.

Then a realization hit me as I stared into her vacant eyes. "I led you right to him."

Althea smiled. "Thanks for that. I figured he was still in town but it wasn't until you came waltzing in here that I knew he was at the Moonlight. The conceited ass actually thought I wanted to sleep with him again. He actually thought he was going to get laid. I played along. I dressed up in painful heels and a tight little skirt." Her eyes took on that hollow look again. "And then I shot him. Twice."

I looked down at the .22. "With Richard's gun?"

She nodded. "I found it in his desk while he was in court last week. It seemed the easiest way to kill two birds with one stone. I wasn't about to share my hard-earned cash with a philandering jerk like Mr. Howe. And don't pretend otherwise, 'cause I know he was married."

I shrugged. Okay, so maybe I'd give her that point. "So, what now?" I hesitated to ask.

All traces of a smile left her face. "Now I get rid of the last loose end, drive to LAX and disappear with twenty million in retirement. I think it almost compensates for having slept with Greenway."

I swallowed hard as she leveled the gun at me. I heard blood pounding in my ears, not at all enjoying being called a loose end. My fingers tightened around the nail file in my purse. I took a deep breath as Althea leveled the gun at me.

"Good-bye," she whispered.

If I waited another second, I knew I'd be sleeping in the Dumpster. I ducked my head down and lunged at her, nail file first, cringing as I felt it jab into her flesh.

I heard her scream as the gun went off, a shot hitting Jasmine's computer monitor with a shattering crash. I felt warm liquid ooze over my hand and I think I screamed too.

Only when I looked down, it wasn't red but clear. I looked up at Althea. One side of her chest was all wet. And smaller than the other.

"You bitch! You busted my implant!" she yelled.

Mental forehead smack. Althea had implants? Were mine the smallest boobs in L.A.?

Althea stood there, the gun dangling from her hand as she deflated on one side. I decided running was a good plan now. I turned and bolted across the small reception room. I almost made it to the doors, when I heard the crack of the gun and frosted glass shattered in front of me. I dove for the carpet and I heard another crack as fire seared through my arm. I clasped my hand to the pain and this time my fingers did come up red.

Yep, I was definitely going to be sick.

I lost one of Dana's stilettos as I crawled on my knees behind a potted palm. I heard three more shots embed themselves in the tastefully papered walls of Dewy, Cheatum and Howe. Then I heard a sound that was music to my ears—the clicking of an empty chamber.

"Shit!" Althea screamed. She was out of bullets.

I jumped up and made a run for the elevator. Only I didn't get far. My feet crunched on the shattered glass of the front doors as I felt myself being jerked backwards by my hair. I spun around, trying to remember anything from that Tae Bo class Dana had dragged me to last year. Lunge, spin, punch? Or was it spin, punch, lunge? Crap. If only I'd been paying more attention to the moves and less to the teacher's sculpted buns. Instead, I flailed with kicks, screams, and slaps. I was fighting so girly, but I didn't care.

Althea easily wrestled me to the ground. Man, she was strong for a woman. Under all those dowdy clothes she'd been hiding a bodybuilder's physique.

I sunk my nails into her skin, digging until I heard her scream. But she didn't stop. Her hands circled my throat and I began to see stars. I wildly grasped around on the floor for anything to smack her with. The room started to go fuzzy; all I could see were

Althea's eyes, crazed and intent on me. Her glasses must have been knocked off somewhere along the way. Her bushy eyebrows drew together, her lips curled back in a creepy smile that belonged in a Wes Craven movie. I felt like crying that my last vision would be of unplucked eyebrows and frizzy hair. It just wasn't fair.

And then my hands came up against something. The fallen stiletto. I reached my fingers out as far as they would stretch, wrapping my hand around the shoe. The room was fading from my vision, my lungs gasping for air as I wiggled beneath Althea's bulk. I channeled all the strength I had left into my arm as I swung Dana's hooker footware in the direction of Althea's neck.

I heard a scream. In all honesty, I think it might have been mine. As her hands left my throat I blinked, sucking in welcome breaths of air. I looked down. Althea had fallen off of me. The side of her neck was covered in gooey red Karo syrup. The stiletto heel was sticking out at an odd angle and Althea's eyes looked kind of glazed over. Her mouth made gurgling sounds.

This time I'm sure the scream came from me.

I was still screaming when Ramirez burst through the shattered front doors, a handful of uniformed officers right behind him. One of them started doing mouth to mouth on Althea and yelling for paramedics. They came, attaching tubes and masks to her prone form, while one cop after another arrived, talking loudly into their radios. It was all so surreal and I couldn't tear my gaze from the pool of red forming around Althea's body.

At some point I stopped screaming and realized Ramirez was holding me. Close. Tight. His arms wrapped around me. He whispered into my hair. "Are you okay?"

I gulped. Was I?

"I, I think she shot me. Is she…" I trailed off, willing myself to take a deep breath before I screamed again.

"No. She's alive. For now." Ramirez pulled away, inspecting my left arm, where the fire had dulled into an aching pain like a bikini wax that wouldn't stop. "It looks like a flesh wound," he said, carefully pulling my torn shirt away. He flagged down a paramedic from the group huddled around Althea, who confirmed Ramirez's diagnosis. He said I needed stitches and Ramirez packed me into his SUV and took me to the emergency room.

Three hours later my arm looked like it belonged to a Zombie and my neck was the same color as the Purple People Eater. I could cover that with wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, but there still wasn't much I could do about my eye. Ramirez drove me to the police station, where I gave a statement in triplicate, amidst barely concealed laughter as I relayed how I'd popped Althea's saline implant. By the time we were finished, the adrenaline high of the attack had worn off and left me crashing into a new low. The only thing holding me up was Ramirez, who hadn't left my side the whole night.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon when Ramirez finally drove me back to my studio. As he parked in the drive and shut off the engine, I voiced a thought that had been nagging at the back of my mind ever since I saw Althea wielding Richard's gun.

"If Althea was the one who took the twenty million, where did Jasmine get the money for all the Botox and Prada?"

Ramirez cocked his head as if he didn't quite get the Prada reference, but answered anyway. "They're still processing Jasmine's computer, but from what they've found so far, someone who went by the user-name of Sexyjas was working at a cybersex chatting site."

Mental forehead slap. Livelovelyladies.com.

"She was having cybersex at work?"

"The way the site works is that men log on and pay $3.99 a minute to chat with these women over the Internet. The technologically evolved 900 number."

I rolled my eyes, doubting evolution had much to do with it.

"Apparently," Ramirez went on, "Sexyjas had logged over a thousand hours in the last few months."

I mentally did the math. $3.99 times a thousand equaled… a whole lotta Prada. I made a mental note to become more computer savvy.

"So," Ramirez said, turning in his seat to face me. "You've had quite a night." He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Go ahead," he said softly. "Say it."

"Huh?"

He smiled. "I know you're dying to say, 'I told you so.'"

I couldn't help it. I smiled back. "I told you so."

He grinned until that dimple flashed in his cheek. And then he leaned over the console and kissed me. Softly, gently. His lips moved over mine as if he were afraid he might break me. And the way I felt, he just might. I melted right there into his leather seats.

He pulled away and I think I kind of fell toward him.

"Do you want me to come up?" he asked, his eyes as dark and dangerous as the panther tattooed on his arm.

Yes, yes, yes! I took a deep breath. "No." My god, was I as crazy as Althea? What did I mean "no"?

The disappointment was clear in his eyes this time. "Right. It's been a long night. I'm sure you're tired."

Right. Tired. What I was, was confused. I'd finally found the answers to Greenway's murder, but I realized with a sinking feeling, they didn't provide me with any answers about my own mixed-up life.

Ramirez walked me to my door, then kissed me gently on the top of my head. His eyes held mine and there was no mistaking the thoughts running though his mind. I felt my resolve weaken. "Rain check," he whispered. Then he got back into his SUV and left.