Читать книгу Dangerously Attractive - Jenna Ryan - Страница 10

Wheeling and dealing. That’s what it came down to in the end. She could be part of the investigation—officially Federal Agent Rick Maguire’s investigation—so long as she gave him her full cooperation.

Vanessa had been a cop long enough to know how the city wheels turned, how deals were struck. How Terence Palmer’s mind worked.

So she propped her eyes open, drank four cups of coffee, shoved all thoughts of hot kisses and Rick Maguire’s sexy mouth from her head and went through both her closet and her armoire again. Twice. The surprise came near the end of her second search.

“One little black dress missing,” she informed Rick the next day. They’d hooked up in Captain Palmer’s office. The unfortunate captain was at a meeting with the mayor. “It’s an older dress, that’s why I didn’t miss it at first.”

Rick made a note on his handheld PC. “Can you describe it?”

“Black jersey, clingy, with a deep V-neck. It’s a mini.” At his slanted look, a smile blossomed. “They’re fair to wear until you’re thirty-five. I’m twenty-nine.”

He glanced at her legs, clad in stonewashed denim today, but said nothing.

He continued to enter far more information than she’d offered. Patient by nature, she perched a hip on the captain’s desk. She wore a sleeveless white T with a black vest to cover her shoulder holster. Swinging a booted foot, she waited, stopped herself from fantasizing twice and finally nudged his leg. “I don’t know what you’re putting in there, but I haven’t said half that much since I got here.”

“I’m running a comparison.”

“Which suggests that my friends had stuff stolen from their closets, too. Same sort of thing?”

He finished his input and closed the file. “I only have one comp so far. Deirdre Morton itemized her clothes and supplemented the list with photos.”

“You’re joking.”

“She even had a catalog system for socks and underwear.”

“Lingerie.” When his brows came together, she grinned. “Women wear lingerie, Rick. Men and children have underwear. What was missing?”

“A red spandex dress—also a mini—with about fifty zippers on it.”

“Sounds appropriately slutty.” But she had to wonder why the killer had taken that particular item. “What was Deirdre wearing when they found her?”

Rick hit more keys and handed her the PC.

He hadn’t spared her. The photo of Deirdre in death had been taken at the scene. There was blood pooled on the ground and pieces of trash scattered around her head. She lay facedown, her white-blond hair askew and a long purple dress twisted around her body.

Blanking her reaction, Vanessa returned the computer. “She liked long flowy things in college. I think she pictured herself as a sophisticated Parisian model.”

“From sophisticated model to zippered spandex.”

“We all have our moods, but thankfully most of us change with the times. I’m told people walked around San Francisco wearing bathrobes and sandals in the late sixties.”

When he set his eyes on hers, Vanessa felt a faint blush warm her cheeks. God help her, she’d need to do something about that if they were going to work together.

“Have you changed since college, Vanessa?”

She worked on the blush. “More than you can imagine, and that’s all I’m saying right now. It’s after noon. Bobby Valley’s associate said he only shows up at the spa for a few hours a day.”

“A spa on Haight Street.” Rick’s eyes glinted with humor. “Should be an interesting meeting.”

Vanessa preceded him through the noisy bullpen and down the stairs to the street. Willpower kept her eyes off his mouth and her mind on their goal. They had to start somewhere, and one of the people she and the victims all had in common was a man named Robert Valley. He’d been a self-defense instructor when they’d gone to Berkeley. Now, he claimed to own and operate a day spa in Haight-Ashbury.

Settled in Rick’s car, Vanessa flipped through her notes. “Mary’s Massage Parlor is now the Robert Valley Spa and Wellness Center. I can’t see displaying a sign like that on Haight Street.”

Rick glanced over. “What was he like?”

“Buff,” she decided after a moment. “But only at first glance. He was flabby around the middle. I remember thinking that was odd for a self-defense master. And he smelled like fried chicken. It put me off.” At his skeptical look, she moved a shoulder. “I like the smell of clean, okay? It’s a quirk.”

Rick smelled better than clean, she thought. His hair, his skin, his clothes…Resolute, she set her mind back on Bobby Valley.

“What else do I remember about him? He’d be in his early forties now, I guess.”

“Forty-seven.”

“So he was thirty-seven when we went to college? Bit of a pervert, then.”

“Did he hit on you?”

“He hit on all of us every chance he got, but me least of all. I think he knew he grossed me out. Plus I had a boyfriend.”

“David Matthew Dunlop.”

Indignation swelled. “Do I have any private life left?”

“Where Berkeley’s concerned, no. You did three years of college, had one boyfriend for two of those years. Graduation day arrived, you left for Rotterdam where your mother lived, Dunlop moved to San Jose. You never got back together. More the fool David D.”

Vanessa had her teeth bared until his last remark. It mollified her enough that she conceded, “He didn’t like my choice of careers. I was supposed to take a cue from my mother and go into law. She died that summer while we were cruising down the Rhine. When I got home, I enrolled at the police academy. David stayed in San Jose, college became a fond memory—and we’re way off topic, here. David didn’t murder anyone. Bobby Valley’s another story.”

“Did any of your friends go out with Valley?”

“Deirdre and Sylvia Porter did. More than once. Captain Palmer’s searching for Sylvia.”

“So are we.”

Vanessa couldn’t stop the feline smile. “That’ll scare the hell out of her.”

“Didn’t like her, huh?”

“She tried to steal my boyfriend.”

“Sounds bitchy.”

“You could say. Even Deirdre never stooped that low.”

“Was this David guy a jock?”

“You made jock sound like jerk. He was into sports, yes, but we were talking about Bobby.”

When Rick cast her a half-lidded look, Vanessa found herself wanting to reach over and erase the crease that had formed between his eyes.

Very bad idea, her brain warned. Hands off; focus on; no more kissing.

She released a breath, willed the car’s AC to cool her suddenly warm skin. “Okay, so Bobby Valley was a minor perv who dated two of the five girls in our group. Back then, he taught self-defense courses off-campus. Now he owns a spa. A highly questionable one, I’m thinking. He…”

“Were there ever more than five?”

“Excuse me?”

“In your group.”

“Ah, well, lots of girls came and went, but only the five of us were there from start to finish. Which appears to be relevant for reasons I still can’t fathom. As far as I’m aware, we had Bobby and one professor in common.”

“That’s it, just the two men? Your old boyfriend doesn’t factor into this?”

“Dave’s not a murderer, so yes, just the two men. Unless you count our male classmates, which I suppose we’ll have to.”

“We’ve checked out a long list of those classmates, Vanessa. So far there’s nothing to implicate any of them. The investigation’s ongoing by the department.”

“There you go then.” She hesitated. “As for other factors, you might want to add Orrin O’Malley to the list.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He’s Sandy Lewis’s cousin and currently the deputy mayor of San Francisco.”

“Ah, right. I met him briefly. He’s a dork.”

“That’s today, Rick. In college, Orry was considered a troublemaker. At the very least, he was unconventional.” She gestured at a parking spot. “Bobby’s place is two blocks from here. I’d arm my vehicle if I were you.”

The heat slapped her as she stepped out. Pictures of Bobby Valley and now Orrin O’Malley swam in her head. She’d forgotten about Orry O. Then again, she’d forgotten a lot of things about college, things she’d rather not remember, but would with clarity by the time this investigation ended.

Resisting an urge to tug at her top, Vanessa adjusted her sunglasses and waited for Rick to lock up and join her.

“I’ve always liked Haight-Ashbury,” she confessed, doing a circle on the sidewalk. “It’s got a unique vibe.”

“I remember it.”

She lifted the glasses. “You know San Francisco?”

“Lived here as a teenager. You don’t want the details.”

That’s what he thought. But a loud squeal issuing through an open door prevented her from asking. There were shouts punctuated by pockets of silence. It depended on which entranceway they passed.

Across the street, boards had been nailed across the ground floor windows of a derelict building. Two floors above, Vanessa spied a bedsheet hanging next to several foil-covered panes.

“That place could use a search.”

Rick let his gaze rise. “If your search comes up empty, check out the neighboring apartments. The obvious one might be a red herring.”

“My but you’re a clever Fed.” She tickled his shoulder. “Were you a clever teen as well?”

“Ask Billy.”

“Who?”

“A wise old man, my mentor in a way.”

The smell of sweat, sex and dying flowers wafted out of the next doorway. Vanessa grinned. “Says Haight Street spa to me.”

A woman in a muumuu watched them as they entered. Goldfish swam in dirty faux stone ponds. Water dribbled into them along algae-green walls. The potted plants near the door were thriving. The ones farther inside had turned a sickly shade of yellow. The carpet was red, the front desk covered with smears, and the woman behind it reeked of dollar store perfume.

“You’d be the cops, then.”

“Good spot.” A series of thumps and groans issued from a room to Vanessa’s left. “Sounds like your massages get kind of rough.”

The woman didn’t bat an eyelash, merely shrugged a massive shoulder and leaned on the smudged counter. “You want Bobby, he’s in his office. Down there.” She pointed away from the noisy room. “Knock before you go in.”

“You were awfully quiet back there,” Vanessa remarked as they left.

Rick scratched his throat. “I think I recognize her. She used to own the place.”

Vanessa peered around his arm. “That’s Mary?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Really. I pictured more of a Mae West character. You know, very voluptuous and sexy.” She halted so abruptly that Rick bumped in to her. “Wait a minute. You recognize her?” Vanessa’s gaze went from Rick to Mary and back. “Seriously?”

“Adolescence, hormones, cheap sex.” Setting his hands on her shoulders, Rick pivoted her and pushed. “This is about you and your friends, not me.”

She knocked and at the same time tried to envision a much younger, though undoubtedly still kick-ass sexy, Rick being led into one of the establishment’s back rooms.

“Come,” a man’s voice said.

Vanessa spotted Bobby instantly. It would have been hard to miss five feet nine inches of overtoasted man, wearing bright orange shorts and a yellow T. Even loose, the shirt failed to conceal the paunch around his midsection.

“Mr. Fitness,” she said under her breath, then smiled. “Vanessa Connor, Bobby. Do you remember me?”

“You, yes. Him, no.”

“Agent Maguire,” Rick obliged in a pleasant tone. “FBI.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened. He left them standing and took a seat behind his desk. “This is about the dead women, isn’t it?”

His fingers jiggled to an unheard beat. Vanessa held her smile. “We have some questions.”

“Like was I in contact with any of them before they died?”

“Uh-huh, like that.” He still smelled of chicken. Was that possible all these years later? “Were you?” she prompted when he didn’t respond.

He flicked a glance at Rick. “No.”

“Try again,” Rick suggested softly.

His fingers jiggled faster. “Okay, yes, I saw Deirdre, but only her, no one else.” A muscle twitched beside his left eye. Rubbing it, he added, “And Sandy. Once. Six months ago. She was visiting Deirdre.”

Vanessa wasn’t surprised the two women had kept in touch. She was very surprised that Deirdre had maintained contact with Bobby. “Where did you see them?” she asked.

“Dee has—had a place in Malibu. She used it a lot. Her uncle the senator was pushing her to sell. He wanted her to plant herself in Chicago. He didn’t care for her lifestyle.”

Rick strolled to the window, gazed down into a narrow alley. “How involved were you with Ms. Morton?”

“We were friends.” At Rick’s over-the-shoulder look, Bobby added a terse, “Sometimes we slept together.”

Yuck, was all Vanessa could think. Aloud, she said, “What about Sylvia Porter?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“Sure about that?” Rick asked, but this time Bobby held firm.

“The last time I saw snotty Sylvia was at her graduation. She ditched her cap and gown and me along with them.”

“You were involved with her?” Vanessa watched his twitching left eye go crazy. “Not just dating but actually involved with?”

“She came on to me.”

Now he sounded downright belligerent. Vanessa kept her tone neutral. “No need to defend, Bobby. Sylvia wasn’t a minor. Do you have any idea where she is now?”

“No. Look, I didn’t kill her if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It isn’t.” Rick leaned on the window frame. “But if you have information, like whether she’s alive or dead, now would be the time to mention it.”

Bobby scowled. He looked like a petulant child, except for his double chin. “I’ve told you what I know. Now if that’s all, I have work to do.”

“Not quite all, Bobby.” Vanessa took up a position across from Rick. “We have a few more questions. Unless you’d rather come downtown.”

Bobby recognized the trap. He returned her stare. “I have nothing to hide. Ask your questions.”

Thirty minutes later—and Vanessa suspected Rick had dragged it out longer than necessary—they were back on the street, free from the smells of chicken and rotting flowers. She shuddered off a strong sensation of decay and dropped her sunglasses into place.

Rick ran a finger along her arm. “Bit of a telling shiver there, Vanessa.”

“He used to touch us,” she revealed. “You know, position our hands and correct our stances. It didn’t seem so creepy back then, but at the moment I think I’d rather be lowered into a pit of spiders than let him get within five feet of me.”

“He’s hiding something.”

“I agree. I’m just not sure it involves any of the victims—although he did lie about seeing Deirdre.”

“I’d say Mr. Valley rates a thorough investigation.”

“By you or me?”

“I’ll do it. I’m used to being immersed in slime.”

“So am I, but you can have this one with my blessing.” And sincere sympathy.

The sun beat down on Vanessa’s head and shoulders. She tipped her face toward it. A streetcar clanged in the distance. A horn blasted nearby. A gorgeous man walked beside her. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Wanna take a stroll along the pier?”

“Is there an Armenian food stall there?”

“No, but there’s a great twisty pretzel stand. They have fifty different kinds of mustard.” She paused, then glanced across the street. “Did you ever see The Thomas Crown Affair?”

“I might have. What’s the story line?”

“There was this wealthy man, main character, who was leading a double life as a thief. He only stole for the challenge but—well, that’s not the point. I was looking at Bobby, and it suddenly occurred to me that if you stripped off those ridiculous shorts—gross thought—and the canary-yellow T, dressed him in normal clothes and gave him a purpose, he’d look a lot like the guy in that movie. Lead character played in the original by one Steve McQueen.”

Questioning Bobby turned out to be the highlight of Vanessa’s day. When she returned to the station, she discovered that the central air had broken down. Later, two leads dried up, concerning an investigation she’d been working on for six weeks.

An informant she’d come to rely on overdosed and had to have his heart restarted by paramedics, and Captain Palmer was barking at everyone in sight, including Geri who had nothing to do with anything. By the time she reached Vanessa’s desk, her face was flushed and her eyes snapping.

“Ungrateful man.” She batted damp strands of streaked blond hair from her cheeks. “I spend half the night going through dusty, old boxes for him, and he tells me to back off and leave the investigation to the pros.” She slapped a bundle of leather bound books onto Vanessa’s desk. “My college journals. I used to live in these things. I was thinking investigative reporter back then, so they’re packed with details. Mostly irrelevant, I imagine, but as one of the wannabes there could be a lead or two inside.”

Guilt rippled through Vanessa’s system. She’d known Geri well in college but had never pushed to make her one of the group.

“Now I feel like slime,” she murmured.

Misunderstanding her, Geri plucked at the string-tied stack. “Anyone would in this heat. So how’s it going? I know you’re holding up, but is that a brave front or the truth?”

She wouldn’t acknowledge the fear, Vanessa promised herself. She’d take all the necessary precautions, but no actual fear would sneak past her guard—or her lips.

“I’m good. I watched an old movie last night, then slept like the dead.” So much for her lips. She flicked her wrist. “You know what I mean.”

“You slept,” Geri repeated. “You also ate—I hope—then used your treadmill until your leg muscles went numb. But scary is scary, Vanessa, and there’s a loony wandering around, one who’s armed with a multitude of weapons.”

“Not helping me here, Geri.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just weird. While I was going through my journals, I kept having these ridiculous mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m glad I wasn’t one of the group at Berkeley, but on the other, and even though three of the women in that group are dead, I still wish I’d belonged. I mean, really, how messed up is that?”

“You felt left out. Resentment dies hard, right? It’s a normal human reaction.”

Her friend exhaled. “I guess. But I have to tell you, Van, I had a lot of pent up hostility at college. I don’t feel as bad about your friends as I probably should.”

“Only human.” Vanessa wheeled back from her computer. “You say you went through your journals. Do you have any idea who might have taken hostility to a whole new level?”

“Not a clue, and believe me, I was looking, and thinking. Hard.” Her gaze wandered to the captain’s office. “No red-hot bodyguard today?”

“Mmm, he’s in an empty office, doing FBI stuff.” Vanessa closed her current file and drew the bundle of books forward. “I appreciate the effort, even if Palmer doesn’t. He’s been like a bear with a thorn all day. The mayor’s riding his butt about something. And Rick’s not making his life any easier by wanting to question Orrin O’Malley.”

“Agent Maguire wants to talk to Orry-O-Speedwagon?” Sarcasm thickened Geri’s tone. “I wonder why?”

“Orry’s past is an open book, Ger. He did some drugs, joined a few radical groups, took part in even more radical protests, but most of it was for the greater good. And hey, a drug thing followed by a successful rehab only makes him sympathetic. One might even say heroic.”

“I know the spiel. I also remember Orry. He wouldn’t hurt flies in college. All life is sacred, right? But he shot at and would have killed a man two years ago in Sausalito.”

“A mugger came at him with a knife.”

“And Orry just happened to be packing a gun? Come on, that’s not the guy we knew in college. I’d give him a good grilling if I were the FBI. Then I’d move on to the faculty. How many professors did you guys have in common?”

Vanessa fanned her face with an envelope. “Only Willis Reed, the English-Lit prof. I asked you about him the other day. He’s on the list below Bobby and above Orry.”

Geri drew a circle on the top journal. “So give me the scoop. Is he sexy?”

Vanessa smiled. “Should I play dumb, or are you in a hurry?”

“No and yes. Okay, I know the question’s shallow and irrelevant, but I sense you’re tired of shoptalk, especially from me, so let’s go off on a tangent. I think your Fed bodyguard has a fantastic butt.”

“Noticed it.”

“Did you notice the flip side, as well?”

“You have a one track mind that lives below the waistband, Counselor Kruger.” A moment’s hesitation, then she admitted, “Of course I noticed.”

“Uh-oh.” Geri’s smile froze, and Vanessa winced. “Standing behind me, right?”

It wasn’t Geri who answered, but Rick who bent over her chair and placed his mouth next to her ear. “The flip side of what, Vanessa?”

She tapped his head with the envelope. “I don’t talk to eavesdroppers.” But her cheeks were hot, and it had nothing to do with the malfunctioning AC. “Geri brought us some reading material.”

“I like to write,” her friend explained. “Long nights at college, a girl and her pen…” With a helpless look at Vanessa, she asked, “Do you, uh, work out, Agent Maguire?”

“Rick. I prefer to run.” He took the envelope from Vanessa, turned it over.

“Vanessa runs.” Geri settled a hip on the desk. “I bounce. Trampoline. It’s easier. I started when my husband and I split up six months ago. Thankfully, I’m almost divorced.”

Rick’s smile was distracted. “Like two-thirds of the North American population.”

“What stat sheets do you read?” However, when his arms came around her neck, the next words died in Vanessa’s throat. Even Geri looked somewhat disconcerted. “Uh, Rick…?”

“Where did this come from?”

“What come from?” All Vanessa could see was a white blur. She clamped her hands onto his wrists. “Stop shaking the paper, and I might be able to answer you.”

Geri leaned in. “What is it?”

Rick held the sheet steady. When Vanessa’s eyes focused, the bold, black words leaped out at her.

NO DEATH CAN BE UNDONE.

NOT THE ONE THAT MATTERS,

AND NOT YOURS.