subject.
Stuckey sighed. Explaining their friendship was always difficult.
Luke sat back, one arm stretched along the seat. His eyes hadn’t lost a shred of hard silver suspicion as he stared at her. “Are you a licensed P.I.?” he asked her.
She was irritated to feel her cheeks grow red. “No. Are you?”
He nodded.
“I’d like to see your license,” she said, making no secret of her own suspicion.
He arched a brow and produced his wallet, opening it before handing it over. She stared at the insert, then glared back at him. “That’s a fishing license.”
He shrugged, not about to comply any further.
“He’s the real deal,” Stuckey said quietly, obviously getting irritated himself.
“Well, you might have said something,” she said, staring accusingly at Luke.
“Just what do you do, Miss Marin?” he asked. “Since you’re not a model.”
She had never said she was, but even so, she resented his implication that she wasn’t—something—enough to be a model.
“I’m a psychologist and an artist,” she said.
“Oh. I see.” The words were polite—and cutting.
“A sketch artist,” Stuckey put in for her. “Chloe has been of tremendous help to the department as a sketch artist. And as a psychologist, she’s helped lots of survivors—of crime, abuse, you name it—learn to cope again.”
“So you were there to sketch … models?” he asked. His tone made her teeth grate.
She decided to let Stuckey take that one.
“There’s still a lot of concern regarding Colleen Rodriguez’s disappearance. Victoria is with the Bryson Agency, and Chloe and Victoria are friends, so it was easy enough to arrange to plant Chloe there. She’s trying to see if she can discover anything in a casual way, working out of the mansion. And except for tonight, you’re being careful—right?” he said sternly, staring at her.
“I see,” Luke said, though his expression conveyed that he obviously didn’t. “Degrees in psychology—and … art?—make you qualified to investigate a woman’s disappearance and possible murder?”
“Tony told you, I know Victoria, so it’s easy for me to fit in. If anyone can learn anything about what goes on inside the agency, it’s me.” She stopped speaking. She had met Colleen, casually, and had liked her very much. This was personal for her. And she was the best person for the job. She and Vickie had been best friends ever since the event that had shattered their lives, along with Brad’s and Jared’s. Even the fact that they all traveled for both work and pleasure, and might not see each other for months at a time, didn’t change anything. When they were home, they were thick as thieves.
She thought about telling Luke that her uncle had handled more criminal investigations than he would see in ten lifetimes, and that Uncle Leo valued her opinion and had actually asked her to keep an eye out and tell him anything she learned.
But she didn’t have a chance to respond further before Stuckey’s cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, grinned, then turned to Chloe. “Yes, she’s here. I’ll tell her.” He hung up and said, “That was Victoria. When she couldn’t get you and the guard said he’d seen you heading for the beach, she figured I might have seen you.”
“Has she seen Rene?” Luke asked.
“She won’t show up again tonight. Not after someone chased her,” Chloe said, looking at him accusingly.
“Where will she go?” Luke asked her.
Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be telling you, Chloe thought. She still didn’t feel comfortable with his explanation, even if Stuckey had bought it.
“Luke, maybe you want to explain why the Gonzalezes are so concerned about their daughter,” Stuckey suggested.
Did he want to explain? she wondered. Certainly not to her. She could see that. But she could also see that he respected both Stuckey’s position and Stuckey himself, and because of that he would fill her in.
“Did you know that Colleen and Rene were longtime best friends?” he asked. “Since childhood. And their parents were friends, too.”
Chloe was silent. She didn’t think Victoria or any of the other models knew that. The girls had probably downplayed the strength of their friendship, afraid that it might hurt their individual chances of getting work if the powers that be thought they were unwilling to work separately or that jealousy would lead to trouble in the house.
“Octavio Gonzalez, Rene’s father, came to me after they couldn’t get hold of their daughter,” Luke explained. “She wouldn’t even answer her cell. They’re worried that whatever happened to Colleen Rodriguez was happening to her, too—that maybe someone was targeting her, forming a relationship with her so he could lure her away, presumably to kill her. The thing is, Colleen was over twenty-one, and her purse and passport were gone, which makes it look like she took off on her own. The authorities found nothing that suggested foul play. But Colleen’s parents are sure their daughter would never have just taken off without letting them know. So now Octavio is going crazy. The man is sure that something happened to Colleen, and he’s afraid his daughter is about to meet the same fate. The agency is no help—but then, they don’t have to be. Rene is twenty-two. They don’t have to force her to talk to her parents if she doesn’t want to. Even so, Octavio is convinced that the agency is dirty.”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t,” Chloe told him.
He leaned forward. “Is that because you’ve been doing some work for them? Or because your friend Victoria is such a success there?”
She would have stood up and gotten right in his face—if Stuckey hadn’t been blocking her in. He had no right to accuse her that way.
She clamped down hard on her teeth, realizing that she was going on the defensive, when she herself had been there to spy on whatever was going on. Colleen had been like a beautiful puppy, full of life and energy and eager anticipation. She had loved Miami and loved her parents and friends. There had been no reason for her to just up and disappear. Chloe hadn’t needed to hear that from Luke Cane, or whoever he really was.
Chloe lowered her eyes, dismayed with herself. His name was Luke Cane—Stuckey had told her so. He was a legitimate private investigator—even if he had shown her a fishing license. They had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot, but it had been a long night, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted it to go on any longer.
“I’ll do what I can to get Rene to speak with you,” she said. “Tony, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the mansion. Vickie is probably ready to go home.”
Luke reached across the table and touched her arm. She started, looking at his hand. It was large, with long fingers—maybe he should have been a guitarist or a pianist. His nails were clipped short, and they were clean. His palm felt callused; she imagined that when he wasn’t investigating someone, he indulged in some kind of manual labor. Building things, maybe. They
