Killer Ambition

41

Bailey returned with our round of martinis. We all clinked and sipped. A cold martini on a warm summer night. My besties, Bailey and Toni, and the lights of the city spread out around us like a glittering swath of sequined lace.

“I probably should’ve called Graden,” I said, taking in the nighttime view of downtown L.A. from the corner of the rooftop bar at Perch.

“Really, Rache,” Toni said. “‘Should’ makes it sound like you’d be doing it out of guilt. That ain’t right.”

“’Toine’s right,” Bailey said. She pronounced it “Twan.” “Just because you have a night off doesn’t mean you owe it to him. And besides, you’re wiped out, edgy, and pissy. You wouldn’t be able to play nice tonight. So you did him a favor.”

I couldn’t argue with one word of it.

“And you’ll notice I’m not with Drew either.”

“So I’m the only one who’s normal around here?” Toni asked.

“Relatively speaking,” I said. “Though given present company, that isn’t saying much.”

Toni waved off the remark. “How’d it go with Judge Moss?”

“How did you know?” Bailey asked.

“Black lawyer grapevine. So how’d it go?”

“She was awesome.” I filled Toni in on the latest developments.

Toni gave us a smug smile. “Told you she was good. And it doesn’t matter that she wouldn’t give you the GPS. Powers can’t afford to run anyway.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “But I never did get to see what kind of car he had. Did you?” I asked Bailey.

“You mean cars, plural. A gold two-seater custom Bentley, a black Ferrari, and a white Rolls-Royce.”

I tried to picture Ian Powers in the Rolls. “White Rolls-Royce? Somehow that doesn’t fit.”

“It’s the girlfriend’s car.”

“The Neiman Marcus brunette?” I asked.

Bailey nodded.

“No wife, no children?”

“Neither,” Bailey said.

I remembered noticing the absence of family photos. There’d just been a smattering of pictures of his girlfriend.

Toni gave us an update on her double homicide case, which seemed to be going well. All in all, it was as relaxing an evening as it could be, under the circumstances. I made myself go to bed before midnight, hoping that the morning would bring us some answers.

As it turned out, all the morning brought was an early harbinger of trouble. It came in the form of a call on my private cell phone. I’d left for work early, hoping to beat the worst of the heat. I also figured that since my mind was so wrapped around the case, I might as well obsess in my office. I was about a block from the courthouse when my cell phone played the default ringtone. Sure that it was either Dorian or Numan, I answered without looking at the number. Instead, a man with a real British accent-so I knew it wasn’t that poser-lawyer, Beldon-said, “Hello, Ms. Knight?”

Maybe I was disarmed by the accent, or just too distracted to think quickly enough to deny it, but I admitted it was.

“This is Andrew Chatham from the National Inquisitor, and I’m calling about the Hayley Antonovich case.”

The National Inquisitor? How in the hell did he get my private cell phone number?

“I don’t know how you got this number, but I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

“But my sources indicate that you may very well have suspects in custody shortly, one of whom is a very highly placed individual in the industry.”

How could this guy know that already? I quickly tried to imagine who the leak was, but there had been so many people in Ian’s house-and that didn’t even take into account nosy neighbors who might’ve seen all the police cars. I’d probably never know.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chatham-”

“Do call me Andrew, please. I expect we’ll be in touch quite a lot in the coming weeks and months. No sense standing on ceremony, is there?”

“Andrew, please don’t take this personally, but I have no intention of being in touch. Do have a nice day.”

I ended the call. We hadn’t even made an arrest and it was already starting. But the more shocking part was that the first call had been from a tabloid, not the mainstream press. I’d heard rumors that the major newspapers had taken so many financial hits, they couldn’t compete with the “pay for play” jockeys in the tabloid world. That phone call might be proof that the rumor was true. But more important, this was an early shot across the bow, warning me that if we did arrest Ian Powers, I’d be in for the three-ring circus from hell. I tromped heavily up the stairs to the courthouse as though I were being led to the guillotine. All I could do was hope that the day would pick up from there.

I stopped at the snack bar on the thirteenth floor to get a bagel and coffee. I’d been in a hurry to get to work and hadn’t wanted to wait for room service. Poor, poor me, having to “wait” for room service. I admit that sometimes I even make myself gag. I was on my way to the elevator, bagel in hand, when I bumped into Daniel Rose.

“Hey, Rachel! I’d ask what you’re up to, except I already know.”

“Dan, thank you so much. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to get you as Special Master.”

He looked gorgeous, which was par for the course. In shirtsleeves, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, he looked like an ad for Armani-except more intellectual, with his thick black hair that had just the right amount of gray at the sides and wire-rimmed glasses. And what cologne was he wearing? He smelled great.

“The chance to help out a friend…and the allure of getting the inside scoop on a hot case. It’s a tough combination to resist.”

His eyes were as warm as his smile, and as always, my heart lifted at the sight. But in the next moment I caught myself. I was with Graden now. And although nothing had happened between Daniel and me, it seemed only fair that I should let him know. I began to speak but was cut off by a highly caffeinated and excited Melia, who’d just burst out of the elevator.

“Rachel! I’m so glad I found you. You’ve had a million calls! I’ve got all the messages for you. And Eric needs to see you ASAP. Vanderhorn wants a meeting-”

“Okay, Melia. Calm down. I’m on my way.”

Daniel shook his head sympathetically. “Duty calls. Let me know if you need me…for anything.”

There was no mistaking the double entendre with the look that accompanied that line. I wish I could say it didn’t faze me. The truth was, a jolt of electricity shot all the way from my head to my toes. The ding of an elevator saved me from having to come up with a real answer.