Читать книгу Hotshot P.i. - B.J. Daniels - Страница 11

Ignoring the overdressed stranger on the dock, Jake Hawkins loaded the cooler full of groceries into his twenty-five-foot fishing boat, then reached for his tackle box and new rod and reel resting at the woman’s high-heeled feet. He noted with no small amount of satisfaction that she’d finally gotten the message. Beneath the huge hat, she pursed her thin, lipstick-red lips and stripped off the large designer sunglasses to give him the full effect of her icy baby blues. The look she gave him shot off more sparks than all the diamonds weighing down her body.

He smiled to himself. From the moment he’d found her waiting for him on the dock beside his boat, there hadn’t been anything about Mrs. Randolph L. Conners that he liked—from her wealthy smugness to her condescending certainty that he was about to go to work for her. And he especially didn’t appreciate being bothered on his day off. It was Monday and he was going fishing for a few days. And nothing was going to keep that from happening.

“Like I said, I don’t baby-sit heiresses,” he repeated as he turned away from the Galveston skyline to take a whiff of the gulf breeze. “Especially heiresses who have just murdered their boyfriends.” The gulf shimmered in the morning sun, beckoning him. He couldn’t wait to hear his twin 150-horsepower engines rumbling as he crossed the water, the wind in his face.

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Hawkins,” Mrs. Conners said, enunciating each word carefully. “I’m not hiring you to baby-sit. I’m hiring you to see that my niece is exonerated.”

Jake pushed back his Houston Astros cap and laughed. She wasn’t hiring him at all. He didn’t have the time or the inclination. Not even the money could entice him right now. Not when he had a well-deserved fishing trip planned. “You need a good lawyer, not a private investigator. But I can give you a few names—”

“I already have the best lawyers money can buy,” she said, sounding pained that she had to explain everything to him. “I need someone with your…talents.”

He prided himself on what he called his hunches, and right now one was riding up his spine like a centipede wearing spiked heels. While his hunches were seldom wrong, he hoped this one was; he had a bad feeling that somehow he was going to end up working for this woman.

“My talents?” he repeated, also hoping he was wrong about where she was headed. He shook his head as if he didn’t get it.

Exasperation gave her a pinched look that reminded him of one of those mean little hairless dogs. “I want you to prove my niece’s innocence, Mr. Hawkins. Whatever you have to do. Whatever it costs. My niece will not be convicted of murder.”

Jake jumped from the boat to the dock with a thud. “If you think you can hire me to tamper with evidence…” He found himself looming over her, his blood pressure up and running.

She tilted her head back ever so slightly until he could see her eyes shaded beneath the hat. If she felt even a little bit intimidated, it didn’t show; her gaze glittered with brittle-hard certainty. “You misunderstood my intentions.”

“Like hell I misunderstood,” Jake said, locking his gaze on the woman. “If your niece is guilty, then she deserves to do time. And from what you’ve told me—”

“You are wrong, Mr. Hawkins,” she said, her voice as hard and gritty as gravel. “My niece is a Talbott. A Talbott does not go to prison.”

Talbott? He felt a jolt of recognition shoot through him. He squinted at her, telling himself Talbott was a fairly common name. Not that it mattered, he reminded himself; he wasn’t going to take this case. But still he couldn’t shake off the rotten feeling tap-dancing at the back of his head.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Hawkins?”

He understood perfectly. The niece was an embarrassment and too good for prison. He couldn’t believe the gall of this woman. And now she wanted someone to go in and clean up the mess. At any price. Well, she’d picked the wrong man. “Like I said, I can’t help you. It’s my day off and I’m going fishing.”

Jake flung his duffel bag into the boat, hoping Mrs. Randolph L. Conners would take the hint. But he wasn’t averse to throwing her into the gulf if he had to.

She squared her shoulders, straightening her expensive suit. “I’m sure after you’ve given it some thought you’ll change your mind, Mr. Hawkins.”

He pointed to the shore. “Don’t count on it.”

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

Fighting to control his temper, Jake watched her walk away. He hated having someone raise his blood pressure, especially this early in the morning and on his day off.

As he went to untie the boat, he noticed the envelope on the bow, underneath the cellular phone the woman had surreptitiously left to hold it down in the light sea breeze. The envelope was creamy white; the address engraved. He slipped it from under the phone, not surprised to find his name hand-printed on the clean white surface or the paper smelling of her expensive perfume.

He figured the envelope would be full of old family money, but it felt a little too light. Maybe she’d written him a check. Jake ripped open the envelope, planning to do the same with the check.

But it didn’t contain a voucher of any kind. Nor were there any crisp large bills inside. Instead, there was a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. On the sheet were printed the words: Deer Lodge. September 30. 9:00 a.m.

At the bottom was her neatly signed signature: Kiki Talbott Conners.

Kiki Talbott. He should have known. With a curse, Jake crumpled the paper and threw it into the water, feeling his plans crumple with it. The phone began to ring. He looked out across the gulf, suddenly reminded of a photograph that used to sit on the mantel of his family’s Flathead Lake lodge in Montana. Memories flooded him. Bittersweet memories that he’d spent ten years trying to forget. He picked up the phone.

“I’ve left you a ticket and triple your normal first week’s salary at the airport,” Kiki informed him in her nononsense tone. “Your flight leaves in less than two hours. You’ll have to hurry.”

“And where exactly is it you think I’m going?” Jake asked, anger making his words as hard as stones.

“Montana. You can buy anything you need when you get there,” she continued. “Of course, I will reimburse you for all expenses.”

“Montana?”Jake swore and pushed back his baseball cap, dread making his body ache as if he had a bad case of flu. “I think you’d better tell me just which niece of yours we’re talking about.” He held his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sea gulls squawked overhead; the gulf breeze tickled the sandy blond hair curling at his neck.

“Clancy Jones. Her mother was a Talbott. Her father was—”

Jake let out an oath. “I know who her parents were, for hell’s sake. And I know who she is! You don’t seriously believe that I’m going to help her?”

Kiki’s tone was coldly calm. “Mr. Hawkins, you’re very good at what you do. One of the best. That’s why I’ve hired you. That’s why you’re going to do whatever you have to do to get my niece exonerated—in spite of your…former connections with her.”

Jake walked over to his duffel bag and, cradling the phone against his shoulder, dug through his clothing. “Lady, the only reason you’re hiring me is because you have something to hold over my head, and you damn well know it.”

Jake thought he heard a hint of emotion in her voice when she finally spoke. “Please understand, I will do whatever I have to do to protect my niece. Including helping you on September 30. Or hurting you. And believe me, I’m in a very good position to do either.”

Jake carefully lifted the.38 nestled in its worn shoulder holster from the duffel bag. He wondered if Kiki had any idea what kind of man she’d just hired. Or how big a mistake she’d just made.

“How do I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?” he asked, glad she wasn’t still on the dock, afraid of what he might have done.

She let out a long, impatient sigh. “I’m a Talbott, Mr. Hawkins. Please don’t confuse us with the Joneses. Our word is our bond.”

“Right.”

“One more thing, Mr. Hawkins,” she said, dropping her voice. “Because of your less-than-amiable association with my niece, I might offer you a tip as to how to best handle her—”

“Look, Kiki,” Jake said as he snugged the.38 to his ribs. “I have a little tip for you. You can force me to take this job, although it’s not the smartest thing you ever did. And you can force me to take your money and waste my time trying to find evidence that your niece isn’t guilty of murder. But you can’t tell me how to do my job.”

“Now, Mr. Hawkins—”

“The truth is, Kiki, you can only buy so much with your kind of blackmail. And you’ve already bought more than you can handle.”