Private Investigations Read online

  7

  JOE LAY BACK, caught in that state between sleep and wakefulness, taking more comfort than he probably should in the warm, female body curving against his. Early evening sunlight filtered through the white sheers at the window. No balcony this time. He’d made doubly sure of that when he’d called Gloria to reserve a room. If she’d been puzzled by his request, she didn’t indicate. Her hands-off approach was exactly the reason he’d hired her. His mother’s wanting to run his personal life was enough to handle. He enjoyed that Gloria stuck to strictly professional, although she wasn’t above shocking him with an occasional off-color joke.

  Ripley shifted beside him. Joe lazily turned his head, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she carefully, very slowly slid away from him and off the bed. In one sweep, her T-shirt covered her delectable back. But her round bottom was all his to covet as she gathered her shorts and her duffel and made her way toward the bathroom.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Ripley nearly hit the ceiling, she jumped so high. She turned to face him. “Must you do that?”

  “Do what?” he asked, quirking a brow.

  “Scare the daylights out of me every chance you get?”

  His grin widened. “Every chance I get.”

  She murmured something under her breath then closed the bathroom door after herself. Joe lay there listening to her taking a shower and tried like hell not to let the afternoon’s events completely occupy his thoughts. But it was impossible. Not when he was even now contemplating crawling into the shower with her. If he were convinced she hadn’t locked the bathroom door, he’d have made the effort. But though he’d coaxed a sexual openness from her, he was beginning to suspect that a more emotional connection with Ripley would take a little time and a great deal more effort. Call him dumb, but when she’d turned her back and gone silent on him moments after their third mind-blowing bout of sex, he’d considered that an emotional wall.

  He pulled the pillow she’d used across his face and breathed in her scent. He detected a bit of chlorine from their dip in the pool earlier, but beneath that lay the peachy scent he was coming to associate solely with her.

  He told himself he was a sorry bastard and forced himself to put the pillow on the other side of the bed, just in time to find her staring at him from the bathroom door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, the brush she was using on her wet hair hovering above her head.

  “Trying to smother myself. Why? You have a problem with that?”

  A quirk of her lips indicated she was about to smile. Good. That was good. At least he hadn’t totally spooked her.

  He ran his hand over his face. “What is it about women that they always go into this silent, contemplative mode after sex?”

  Ripley gaped at him, the brush again in her hair, where it stayed as she apparently tried to find a response to fit the emotions drifting across her pretty face. “What is it about men that they have to lump every woman they’ve ever slept with together after sex?” She walked into the bathroom, and a moment later he heard a hair dryer switch on.

  “Shit,” Joe murmured, throwing the sheet off. He supposed he deserved that. Had she compared him to anyone else, especially after they’d just had sex, he’d have been injured, too.

  He pulled on a pair of jeans he always kept stashed in the trunk of his car to change into when he found himself going straight from work to a more casual event. Then he stepped, barefoot, to the door of the bathroom. He leaned against the jamb and watched her declare war on all that glorious auburn hair.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She notched up the speed of the dryer. “Huh?” She shook her head. “I can’t hear you.”

  He pulled the hand holding the dryer away from her ear and yelled, “I said I’m sorry.”

  She made a face at him. “You can say that again.”

  He grimaced and crossed his arms, watching her until she nearly fried her hair to a crisp. Finally, she had to shut the damn thing off. Not that she acknowledged him as she slipped the pistol into the holder. Instead she turned and went to battle with the unruly curls surrounding her face.

  “Do you plan on talking to me ever again?”

  She shrugged almost petulantly, and he felt his grin beg for a return. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Joe swiped the brush from her hand. He moved to stand next to her and began brushing his hair.

  She snatched the brush back, but even the irritated reaction was better than none at all. “You’ve probably got dandruff or something.”

  “Considering that all my stuff is at the other hotel, I figure you getting my dandruff is the least you can do for me.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She tried to pass him, but he blocked the door. She rolled her eyes then stared at him. He realized she’d exchanged her T-shirt and shorts for a clingy red dress that hugged her in all the right places and made him wonder what she did or didn’t have on underneath the short skirt.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, twirling an errant curl around his index finger.

  She avidly watched the movement, then licked her lips. “Out.”

  He chuckled. “I guessed that. Where?”

  She ducked under his arm and away from him. He turned and followed her into the room. She sat on the bed and rifled through her duffel bag, pulling out first one strappy sandal, then a second. Another pair of shoes that would torture her feet.

  “I thought I’d go back to the pawnshop. I never did get to see what Nicole was doing in there earlier.”

  “They’re closed.”

  She glanced at him. “They’re open till eight.” She smiled. “Nice try, though.”

  He shrugged, did up his jeans, then reached for the polo shirt he always kept with the jeans. Her movements as she laced up the sandals slowed, and he knew she watched him as he pulled the cotton over his head, then tucked it into the waist of his jeans. It was comforting that she felt the same way about him as he did about her. Basically he wanted to jump back into that bed and continue where they’d left off.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  She pushed from the bed, tested the sandals, then grabbed her purse. He grimaced as she worked to fit her 9mm into the small clutch purse that obviously carried very little, the gun a huge, obvious bulge inside the black leather. “Is that such a good idea? Um, you wouldn’t want that thing to accidentally go off or anything.”

  She smiled at him and breezed on by. “Don’t worry. If it goes off, and you get hit, it’ll be completely on purpose.” She opened the door and leaned against it. “So are you coming, or what?”

  RIPLEY STOOD at the dusty counter of the pawnshop, her gaze flicking every now and again to the grimy window and the empty street beyond. Dusk had fallen, painting the shabbier part of town with edge-smoothing hazy purples and yellows, covering the smaller scars and lending a mystical, almost sentimental quality to some of the larger ones.

  She glanced at Joe, who was gawking at men’s watches at a counter behind her. “It’s a Rolex,” she heard him a mutter. “A real one.”

  “That it is, my man. You want a closer look?” a voice from the back said.

  Ripley shifted restlessly from foot to foot as the owner she’d met on her previous visit came out and made his way toward Joe instead of her. She drummed her fingertips on the scratched glass countertop and waited. It took far longer than it should have, considering they’d come here for information, not to shop for high-end timepieces. She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, about to say something, when Joe turned, something other than a watch in his hand.

  She crossed to stand in front of him, staring at the ornately decorated box he held. Measuring about nine by four by four, the exterior was covered in plush red velvet, semiprecious jewels secured like upholstery pins in a pretty pattern along the sides and top. He popped open the lid.

  “Is this it?” Ripley asked, looking at what lay inside. “Is this what Nicole sold?”

&nbs
p; The guy behind the counter crossed his arms. “Along with the other two-bit pieces of silverware you saw yesterday. Nobody wants silverware with someone else’s initials on it. I haven’t had time to inventory and appraise this stuff yet, so what you see is exactly the way she left it.”

  Ripley fingered a necklace that looked suspiciously like large diamonds mounted in gold, then pulled it out. She wasn’t a pro at this, not yet, but she found it odd that Nicole had chosen the pawnshop for loot of this sort. Wouldn’t a jeweler be more appropriate?

  “Oh they’re real, all right,” the owner pointed out. “One hundred percent, top of the line zirc.”

  Cubic zirconia.

  Ripley’s cheeks went hot. “Oh.”

  Joe handed her the box and turned toward the owner to barter the price of the lot. Ripley absently stepped to where she’d been standing before, glancing through the box’s contents. There were several pieces nestled inside the red velvet, each piece prettier than the one before it. She hadn’t been aware they made such quality knockoffs. She glanced through the window, realizing that she and Joe were clearly outlined in the bright interior light. A cab pulled to a stop at the opposite curb, and the back door opened. Ripley stepped nearer the window as a woman’s leg appeared, then the rest of her.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Nicole’s sister.

  Gripping the box, she started for the door, then stopped, her gaze colliding with Clarise Bennett’s. Thank God she was here. Now that Ripley had recovered the goods Nicole had filched and could report on having seen Nicole in the flesh, maybe she’d get paid.

  But rather than head toward her, as was expected, seeing as she’d hired her to do a job a couple days ago, Clarise scrambled into the cab, and the car screeched away from the curb.

  “Oh, boy.”

  Ripley rushed outside, saw the cab turn the first corner, then hurried inside to find Joe still haggling with the pawnshop owner over the price of the box. “Come on!”

  She grabbed his arm and tried to tow him toward the door. “Hurry!”

  “Hey. You’re not going anywhere until you cough up the box or the money,” the owner said.

  Joe took a handful of bills out of his back pocket and slapped them on the counter, nearly missing it as Ripley dragged him toward the door, then through it. “Keep pulling on me like that, and you’ll turn around to find yourself holding an arm with nothing attached.”

  Ripley glanced at him. “At least it would be moving faster than you are. Come on, Pruitt, get the lead out.”

  Finally they were in his car and with a jolt and a roll they were taking the same corner as the cab. Joe stared at her. “Do you have any idea how much I had to pay that guy in there?”

  “Never mind that,” she said. “My client is…” She stared down each of the streets they passed. “There! Back up, back up! Turn there.”

  “Your client?”

  She nodded emphatically, clutching the box in her hands for dear life.

  Joe sighed next to her, jammed on the brakes, slammed the car into reverse then made the turn. “Don’t tell me. She’s running from you, too?”

  She spared him an exasperated glance. “Save the gibes for later, will you? We have to catch her.”

  “And what do we do when we do?”

  She blinked at him, her plans not having gone that far. “Why, ask her why she’s running from me, of course.”

  “And get the money I just dropped on that worthless piece of crap you’re holding.”

  Ripley glanced at the item in question. She ran her fingers over the top of it, then opened the lid again. Why would Clarise Bennett go through all this trouble to find a boxful of costume jewelry? And what did the FBI—allowing that they were, indeed, FBI—want with it?

  “I don’t like this.” Joe muttered the words she was thinking. “Something smells very fishy. And it has nothing to do with the Mississippi looming ahead.”

  Ripley snapped her gaze up to find that they were, indeed, near the Mississippi. The cab made a quick right.

  “Hurry! Don’t lose her!”

  He cursed under his breath, then made the turn. Ripley blinked and stared at the giant glass pyramid they were nearing, the sun’s last rays reflecting off the structure like it was some sort of mystical aberration nestled between the banks of the Mississippi and the city’s modern skyline. “God, she’s going to the Pyramid.”

  “A little late to take in the Egyptian exhibit, don’t you think?” Joe asked quietly.

  “Public place. Nelson told me they always head for a public place. Much easier to get lost in a sea of other people.” She scanned the stairs leading to the front entrance as Joe followed the taxi up the drive. The ground-level exit doors on the side of the Pyramid Arena opened, and people began spilling out.

  “Who in the hell is Nelson?” Joe asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You just said Nelson told you they always head for a public place.”

  She snapped the box closed and waved her hand. “Nelson Polk. He’s, um, he’s a friend.” Now was not the time or the place to go into detail about who Polk was and why he had given her advice. “The cab’s stopped.”

  But, unfortunately, they weren’t anywhere near it. Ripley was on the edge of her seat as Joe maneuvered around a stopped vehicle, then another, trying to catch up to the taxi while Ripley glued her gaze to the woman hurrying from the back. She tucked the curious box under the passenger seat then reached for her door handle. She glanced at what she was wearing. Figures. One of the few times she decided to wear heels and a dress, and she had to chase someone. Not that it mattered. She was in shorts and a T-shirt earlier and tripped over her own feet.

  She only wished she knew why the woman who had hired her was running from her.

  Joe pulled into the spot the taxi just vacated, and Ripley hit the pavement, running after Clarise with all the speed her four-inch heels would allow her. Which, it turned out, wasn’t very fast at all. She bumped into one person then another, exiting the building, as she made her way to the door Clarise had disappeared into. Puffing for air, she glanced back to find Joe arguing with a guard. She rushed headlong into someone and nearly knocked the other woman right to the ground.

  “Sorry, excuse me,” she said, continuing her maze-like route for the entrance that only seemed to get farther away.

  She finally reached the door and tried to duck inside. A guard caught her by the arm. “The Pyramid is closing,” he said, staring at her.

  Ripley caught her balance, staring at him in breathless exasperation. “I left my purse inside,” she offered by way of explanation. “Please. It will only take a second. I know right where I left it.”

  The excuse was working. Well, at least until he caught a glimpse of the bag she was trying to hide behind her back.

  He grinned at her. “Nice try, lady. Look, you’re just going to have to hold it until you get home. I can’t let you in.”

  Ripley ridiculously felt like stomping her feet and throwing a tantrum. Clarise had gone in there not two minutes ago and didn’t appear to have a problem. Why was she being singled out?

  “Problem?” Joe appeared at her elbow, eyeing the guard who still held her arm.

  The guard released her. “No entrance.”

  Ripley watched Joe’s chest puff out, even though the guard had at least a hundred pounds on him. She grasped his arm and smiled at the guard. “Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to wait until we get to the restaurant to use the rest room, won’t I, pooh bear?”

  Joe cocked a brow at her. Pooh bear? Okay, it had been the best she could do at the moment. She tugged on his arm, pulling him to the side before they got trampled by the exiting hordes. Either that or shot by the guard. She looked at Hulk Hogan and wondered if he was carrying. He had stepped into the shadows to allow a larger exit, so she couldn’t tell.

  “Are you sure you saw her going inside?” Joe asked, his chest still puffed out.

  Ripley smiled at him, unable to suppress the urge to sm
ooth her hand down that magnificent chest barreled in prime confrontation mode just for her. “Positive.”

  He glanced at her fingers, that dark energy she’d seen so much of that afternoon looming large as life in his blue, blue eyes. “So, um, what do we do now?”

  She dropped her hand to her purse and straightened it. “I guess we wait for Clarise to either come out or get kicked out.”

  “Some plan.”

  “You got a better one?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  She stood back and scanned the morphing crowd. Now she knew why people eluding capture or being tracked targeted such gatherings. There were so many people, colors and sizes seemed to blend together, making it difficult to spot a relative much less a woman she’d seen only once. Well, aside from the glimpse outside the pawnshop. And then she hadn’t noticed anything more than that Clarise had been wearing a black dress. She squinted at the horizon where the sun had slipped silently down and twisted her lips. This wasn’t looking very good. She glanced in the direction of the access road, and her eyes widened.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “What? What is it?” Joe asked, trying to follow her line of vision. “Did you spot her?”

  She swallowed. “That guard you were talking to when you parked—what did he say?”

  “That he’d have me towed if I left the car there. Why?”

  She pointed at a tow truck pulling away from the curb. “I think he just made good on his threat.”

  Joe stared, then sprung into action, sprinting after the departing truck with the speed of a man who ran regularly. Not that he could have caught up with the vehicle in any case. The battered truck towing his car had gotten the jump on him.

  Ripley slipped a pad and pen from her purse, careful not to disturb the gun, and copied the number on the side of the truck. She used to think towing operators put their contact information there for advertising purposes. Now she suspected it was for moments like these.

  She stuffed the pad into her purse and pretended an intense interest in her shoes as Joe dragged himself back to stand next to her.

  “They towed my car,” he said unnecessarily.