Not until tonight.
Looking back, she couldn’t honestly say she really saw or felt those things. Sometimes she wondered if it had just been a way to be closer to her nanny, the two of them sharing something special. Hindsight could sure give a person twenty-twenty vision.
But still, what happened earlier in the bar had seemed like an impression. She had definitely heard an older man’s voice when she held Drake’s phone, but thinking back, she remembered an older couple sitting at a table behind them, and Val had overheard him expressing his love for his lady friend. And those pulsations from the phone? No-brainer. The phone was on vibrate.
A horn honked, jerking Val out of her reverie. Sheepishly, she realized the light had turned green.
Another honk.
“Hold your britches, bubba,” she muttered, stepping on the gas and turning down Charleston Boulevard.
Time to call Marta with a final update. After a quick check to verify no cops were around—Nevada might have legalized prostitution and gambling, but drivers could get hefty fines for handheld cell phones—she punched in Marta’s number.
“It done?” No hello.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I left him in the parking lot at Dino’s.”
“When?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes ago.”
“So that be...quarter to ten.”
“Sounds about right.”
“He go inside Dino’s? Or to Topaz?”
Who cares where he went afterward? “I don’t know,” she said absently. “Listen, Marta, I have something to tell you.”
This next part was going to be tough for her client to hear, even if she had been anticipating it.
“The honey trap,” she said gently, “confirmed your intuitions, Marta.”
Silence. No tears. No rants. Just...silence. Poor girl. Probably numb with hurt.
“What is this intoshuns?” Marta snapped.
Her tone took Val by surprise. “Intuitions...uh, they’re your suspicions. Inklings. Doubts.”
“Too many words. I ask for information, not words.”
Like one wasn’t the other. “He kissed me.” Well, almost, but close enough. “He cheats. So don’t marry the man.” So much for the sensitive approach.
After a beat, Marta muttered. “He like that.”
He like that. What was that supposed to mean? He likes fooling around with women he doesn’t know?
Val felt an ugly zap of the green monster.
Oh, no. She refused to get jealous over the guy. This had been a job, one she had been paid well to do. Didn’t matter what he liked or didn’t like, he was a notch in Val’s investigative career belt, nothing more.
“I’ll send you a report when I get home,” she said tightly.
“No report. This between you and me.”
“Fine.” Like she wanted to rehash all the smarmy details anyway.
“I want you go back to bar.”
“When pigs fly.”
“What?”
“I fulfilled the job request, Marta. The work is done. Completed. Finis.”
“So many words again.”
“Then let me give you just one. No. I am not going back to that bar.”
“Please, Val,” she said, her mood shifting from cold to needy. “I must know if he still there.”
“What does it matter? He kissed me!” Kinda. “That’s what you wanted to know!”
“Yes, kiss. Good. Still...must know if he—”
“Call the bar and ask.”
“No. Want you to—”
“Call his cell, then.”
“I don’t have— Why not you go? It your job! Val, please—”
“Job is over. Terminated. Wrapped up.” She tried to think of even more words, but those would do. “Goodbye.”
She ended the call and tossed the phone onto the seat next to her, then frowned. Why hadn’t Marta cared about that kiss?
Hardly the reaction of a woman whose heart had been broken. She had been teary talking about her suspected philandering fiancé in the office this afternoon, but the only thing Marta seemed upset about tonight—besides Val’s vocabulary—was her not going back to check on Drake’s whereabouts.
Something else bothered Val about that conversation. Couldn’t put her finger on it...something Marta had said. Or didn’t finish saying. When Val told her to call Drake’s cell, she had said something like I don’t have...
She didn’t have what?
The nerve to call him?
The time to make such a call?
Val’s stomach growled. Spying one of her favorite fast-food pit stops, Aloha Kitchen, she decided to pull over. Time to put the crazy case behind her. Maybe she didn’t understand the conclusion, maybe she never would, but some things were best left in the shadows.
* * *
DRAKE DROVE HIS pickup along Las Vegas Boulevard. Warm breezes rushed through his open driver’s window, almost drying the sweat on his skin. Far off, a siren wailed, peppered with a variety of horn blasts. Ambulance and a fire engine? Maybe a police unit or two thrown in for good measure.
At a red light, he glanced at his phone, which he always set on his thigh when he drove, and checked the time. A few minutes after ten. He’d be home in twenty minutes, fifteen if traffic picked up. He’d piled plenty of food into Hearsay’s bowl, so his dog wouldn’t be hungry. After a short walk around the block, Drake would be in bed by eleven. If he was lucky and fell asleep right away, he’d get three hours before his early-morning surveillance.
Hadn’t been that lucky lately, though. At least he put his insomnia to good use. Was halfway through Michael Connelly’s The Lincoln Lawyer, which made him wish he had someone to drive him around while he caught up on his paperwork and made calls. Not a partner, just a grunt with a driver’s license.
He hadn’t seen Brax’s Porsche or Yuri’s Benz when he’d walked through the Topaz lot, not a big surprise as Sally said she typically saw the cars in the wee hours. He hadn’t been in the mood to go inside Topaz. Same shift, same nonanswers. Nothing
