Kiss of death

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ASHLEY TRIED TO concentrate on doing one more leg lift, but her mind wasn’t on the workout. She told Preston, “Let’s grab some juice and talk.”

He shrugged, lifting impressive shoulders. “Okay.”

He followed her into Dr. Jox’s juice bar. She ordered her usual pomegranate juice and he asked for a Redline.

“What’s that?”

“A new drink. Like Red Bull but with a bigger kick.”

Red Bull made Ashley jittery but a major jolt of caffeine didn’t seem to bother Preston. They took their drinks and went outside. Ashley hadn’t had a chance to discuss the fiasco with the dog. The workout stations were too close to each other to risk someone overhearing their conversation.

She sat at the table under the tree with the shady canopy. “I’m sorry about the other night. Ryan somehow figured out I was involved.”

“You told me that when you phoned me to return the mutt.” His clipped tone told Ashley he was angry with her.

“You’re upset with me. I’m sorry.” Ashley didn’t want him to hold this against her. She needed a friend now more than ever.

Preston chugged his Redline. “Don’t blame yourself. It was my idea. I just didn’t count on cops getting involved.”

“Cops? What are you talking about?”

“Adam Hunter’s a cop. He was here first thing yesterday morning.”

Ashley listened while Preston explained about Adam’s visit. “He agreed not to tell Whitney that you were behind her dog’s disappearance. This way she won’t blame your husband.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Yesterday had been one of the two days each week that Ashley didn’t train with Preston. When she’d been competing, she worked out for hours every day. Since her mother’s death, Ashley allowed herself time to do things she enjoyed.

“I tried your cell but kept getting voice mail. I didn’t want to leave a message in case…”

His words hung between them. She knew he intended to say: in case Ryan picked up her messages. She couldn’t help being touched by the way Preston always tried to help her.

“Do you think Adam Hunter will keep his word?” She didn’t want Ryan to find out her “girlfriend” was really a man. He had nothing to worry about, but Ryan was overly protective of her.

“I thought so. Then I saw the news this morning. I expect the police will be knocking on both our doors.”

“What?” She stared at him slack-jawed, certain she’d misunderstood him.

“Didn’t you catch the morning news?”

“No. I usually have the TV on while I’m dressing, but not today.” When she’d awakened, Ryan had left already. It had been too early for him to go to the office where he was still practicing until the new clinic opened. She wasn’t sure where he’d gone, but having him out of the house had given her the opportunity to look through the things on his desk.

In the bottom drawer she’d found a manila folder with DOMENIC CORIZ written across the top. Inside were names and telephone numbers. She couldn’t decide what they meant.

Then Ashley had dressed and hadn’t been able to find her ring. She thought she’d put it on top of her jewelry box last night, but it wasn’t there. She might have left it on the windowsill when she’d prepared dinner. She’d been so nervous about cooking her mother’s meatballs that she couldn’t remember. She’d left the house without being able to locate the ring. She was going home to hunt through the trash.

“Someone firebombed the cottage where Ryan’s ex lives.”

It took a second for what he’d said to register. “How terrible! Was anyone hurt?”

“The reporter said no one was home even though it was late at night.”

“Whitney was probably with Adam.”

“What makes you say that?”

How could she explain women’s intuition to a man? They didn’t seem to have hunches the same way women did. “Trust me. Women know these things. When they came to the house, I could tell Adam has the hots for her.”

“Whatever.” Preston tinkered with his Redline can for a moment before tossing it all the way across the patio and into the trash can. “We can expect the police to contact both of us.”

“Why? We had nothing to do with it.”

“They’ll question Whitney. She’ll tell them about her divorce and Lexi’s disappearance. The police will chase down all the leads.”

“You’re probably right,” she replied. “What are we going to say?”

“Tell the truth. They’ll find out anyway. I told Hunter. He’s bound to-”

Ashley’s cell phone erupted with the opening bars of “Proud Mary.” She rummaged in her gym bag for a moment before locating it, thinking again about her father. Was he happy? Did he ever think about her?

“Hello?”

“Ashley? This is Whitney Marshall. Is Ryan there?”

It took her a second to remember she’d used call forwarding. Whitney thought she’d reached their house. “No. He’s at his office.”

Whitney didn’t respond for a moment. “I called there, but he’s not expected in today.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.” Her quick comeback was a total lie. Why wasn’t Ryan in the office? Could he be with Domenic Coriz?

“Would you give him a message for me? We had a fire here last night. The police questioned me. I had to tell them I’m finalizing a property settlement after a divorce. They may come to talk to Ryan. Tell him it’s routine.” Whitney paused before adding, “I’m not trying to make any more trouble.”

“How’s Lexi?” Ashley had been so shocked when Preston had told her about the bombing that she’d forgotten about the dog.

“She’s fine. She was with me.”

“Good, good.” Ashley couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did the fire do much damage?”

“Yes. The cottage is completely destroyed.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashley said and she meant it. She couldn’t imagine losing everything. Misplacing her wedding ring was no big deal compared to this. “Do you have someplace to stay?” The second she asked, Ashley regretted prying and quickly added, “In case Ryan wants to reach you?”

“I’m staying in the maid’s quarters at the main house until I can make other arrangements. Have him call my cell if he needs me.”

Ashley assured Whitney that she would tell Ryan, then snapped her cell phone shut. Preston was studying her, and Ashley explained why Whitney had called.

“We’ll hear from the police for sure. There aren’t many pipe bombings around here. The cops will be all over this one.”

Preston sounded worried. She’d never seen him brood like this. He’d always been upbeat. It suddenly struck her that although she often told him about her problems, she’d rarely asked about his. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really. I just don’t like cops messing in my business.”

She sensed it was more than that. “What else has you upset? Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

He rocked back on the legs of his chair. “I was in some trouble when I was a kid. I took a neighbor’s car for a joyride. I was arrested, and I’ve hated the police ever since.”

Ashley had a feeling it was more than that. Men. Weren’t they a trip?

ADAM WAITED IN SAFFRON BLUE’S parking lot. The so-called gentlemen’s club opened at noon seven days a week and had for almost fifty years. Jared Cabral had made his money the old-fashioned way-he’d inherited it. His father, Simon Cabral, had started the strip club back in the fifties when bare breasts and naked women were taboo.

The wily old guy had managed to keep his club going even though he’d been busted at least once a month during those first years. A workaholic who didn’t seem to have a life, Simon Cabral made money hand over fist and invested it in more clubs. No one knew he had a family until he dropped dead of a heart attack just after his fiftieth birthday.

Enter Jared Cabral. He’d been eighteen when his father died. The kid had no experience with nightclubs, let alone strip clubs and their special problems. Never mind. The apple certainly didn’t fall too far from the tree. Jared stepped in and stepped up.

The kid took a year or so to acquaint himself with his inheritance. The dark, dank clubs that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and featured strippers well past their prime required major changes. He got rid of the “topless” signs and flashing neon lights. He remodeled the clubs, giving them a hip look, which included wallpapering the restrooms with Trojan Magnum XL wrappers. He also brought in younger “exotic dancers” who exuded a carnal energy that mesmerized men. The clubs boomed and you could almost hear the old man applauding from the grave.

The changes brought in a new, younger clientele who were willing to spend more money for call liquor and trendy drinks like Pimp Juice. They were also heavy tippers that kept the exotic dancers thrilled with their take home money. No doubt drugs thrived around Cabral’s clubs, but all the drug deals seemed to be conducted in the parking lot. The police had never been able to implicate Jared Cabral.

Saffron Blue was known for its back room, where it was rumored a high-stakes poker game went on every night. Acting on tips, the police raided the room a few times and found the players were betting toothpicks. Adam didn’t think it was worth the effort. There was enough crime in San Diego without trying to trap men gambling illegally, especially with all the legal gambling going on in the Indian casinos in the area.

From a homicide case he’d investigated years ago, Adam knew Jared Cabral arrived shortly after the club opened and stayed until it closed. According to his calculations, Cabral should be arriving shortly. Adam leaned back in the silver Lexus that had belonged to his uncle. He’d taken it from the garage even though it was part of the estate and still in probate.

His mind strayed to last night. Whitney came damn near being killed because of her cousin. Adam suspected the answer could be found here. Miranda had to have run through the insurance money and needed the cash stripping generated. She’d met someone or had seen something and become a liability.

Adam didn’t want Whitney to suffer for her cousin’s mistakes. She’d been through enough, he decided. A devastating divorce. Then the airhead second wife comes up with a crazy scheme to snatch the dog Whitney was crazy about.

A twinge of guilt hit him. He really should have told Whitney who had been responsible for Lexi’s disappearance. Then he assured himself that Whitney had too much on her mind to bother her with one more thing. Anyway, it was in the past, and it was the least of her problems.

He remembered the way Whitney had acted last night. She’d willingly come into his arms and allowed him to comfort her. His entire body had been tense with the urge to take her to his bed, but he knew better. She’d been too shell-shocked by the fire to know what she was doing.

Did he know what he was doing?

Adam had to be honest with himself. He wasn’t positive about anything the way he’d been before Iraq. He’d told himself to steer clear of Whitney until he was sure she was no longer entangled with her ex. Aw, hell. That was going to be damn near impossible with her living in the maid’s quarters.

How did he plan to go to bed when she was sleeping so close? Last night, he’d lain awake, imagining her naked. Her warm body and soft breasts were in his favorite T-shirt.

He sucked in air between clenched teeth. Admit it, buddy. You’re in real trouble here. How can you live in the same house and not touch her?

He ached to turn back the clock to last night. He would have hotfooted it down to the maid’s room. Peeling his well-worn T-shirt off Whitney would have revealed creamy smooth skin and full breasts. Just the thought of her naked bod sent heat through his groin.

He could almost feel Whitney pressing against him. Her warm body molding itself to his. Almost. He stopped himself. He needed to be in detective mode right now. What was the first thing drilled into raw police recruits? Detach emotionally.

Cabral whirled into the nearly empty lot in a lipstick-red Ferrari with vanity plates that read: CABRAL1. He parked in a reserved space near the entrance, then opened the door of the sports car and unwound himself from behind the wheel. Adam had to look twice to make sure the guy was Jared Cabral.

Since Adam had last seen Cabral, the man had changed his hair. He was now wearing it in a spiked mullet that added four inches to his tall, lean frame. Gone were the jeans and polo shirt that Adam remembered, replaced by camouflage pants and jacket. The number wasn’t a damn thing like what they’d worn in Iraq. This outfit was some idiot designer’s idea of desert chic.

Adam gave Cabral time to walk inside and across the lounge area to his office at the rear of the club. It was too early for the bouncer to be guarding the entrance. Adam entered and paused for a moment to allow his eyes time to adjust. It was dark inside Saffron Blue, but it wasn’t the kind of oppressive darkness Adam once associated with strip clubs. Saffron Blue was upscale all the way.

The leather banquettes surrounding the U-shaped bar were a shade lighter than the indigo-blue walls. Off to the sides of the room were alcoves with sofas and comfy chairs. Down lighting and lamps no bigger than his thumb cast a mellow glow across the room and reflected off the chrome trimming the bar and chair legs.

A waitress in a leopard-print thong and a matching something that might pass for a bra bounced up to him. Her boobs didn’t look like original equipment, but hey, who was he to criticize?

“What can I get you, hon?”

“Nothing. I’m here to see Jared.”

A mouth coated with lipstick applied with a painter’s brush formed an O. “Who shall I-”

“Don’t bother. I know my way to his office.” Adam took off across the club and noticed a surprising number of men were there despite the early hour. An exotic dancer was strutting up and down the top of the bar, jiggling her melon-sized boobs and smiling as if she’d just won the lottery.

The door to Cabral’s office was open. Adam paused, seeing Cabral seated inside, and knocked on the door.

“Wazzup?” Cabral asked. “Hunter. Adam Hunter, right?”

Adam nodded as he walked in. Cabral didn’t look the least bit wary or even surprised. Give the guy credit, he thought. It had been over three years since he’d questioned Cabral about a man who’d visited his club and was later shot to death outside his home. Thousands of men had passed through Cabral’s clubs during that time.

Adam stopped in front of Cabral’s desk. “Good memory, Cabral. How are things going?”

“Can’t complain.” He gestured toward a tall bottle of liquor on his desk. “Trying to decide if my bars should stock 10 Cane Rum. It’s made from the first press of virgin sugarcane from Trinidad.”

“I never got the virgin bit. Virgin olive oil. Extra virgin olive oil. Now virgin sugarcane.”

Cabral’s laugh broke free as if it had been chained down for years. “That’s what I liked about you. A sense of humor. Last I heard you were in Iraq and nearly bit the big weenie.”

Again, Adam was surprised, but he shouldn’t have been. With his wide blue eyes and ready smile, Jared Cabral seemed innocent. Far from it. He was a savvy businessman who played all the angles.

“Sit, sit.” Cabral gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “I didn’t mean to make a joke out of it. One of my buddies from high school bought it when an I.E.D. blew up the truck he was in.”

Adam sat in the chair. He didn’t want to discuss death, not after last night. “How’s business?”

“Couldn’t be better. We have our own Web site. We’re CampTempTation on MySpace and other sites. Brings in more new customers than my father ever could have imagined. It’s the Internet age, but nothing can replace real tits and ass.”

Adam let him rattle on about New Age beverages and promotional opportunities on the information superhighway. Cabral liked to talk but he never really told you squat about himself.

“What brings you here?” Cabral asked when he’d finished with the lecture on how the Web had changed his clubs.

“A woman who used to…dance here is missing.”

“What’s it to you? Last I heard, you’d left the force.”

“That’s true. I’m in private security now. This is a personal matter.”

Cabral steepled his fingers and gazed at Adam. “I don’t get involved with the dancers. They’re not employees. They just try out for spots in the Saturday-night show.”

Adam nodded. Cabral was clever and managed to evade taxes as well as employment issues by letting women “try out” for places in his Saturday-night revue. The tips they could earn brought out more women than Cabral could use. Certain dancers kept “trying out” night after night.

“I don’t even know most of their names. They use stage names like Candy Rapper and Sin Cerely.”

“Do you remember Miranda Marshall?”

Cabral’s face was totally expressionless. If he’d been playing poker, Cabral could have been holding a winning or losing hand and no one could have guessed which. He finally said, “Describe her.”

Whitney had told him that Miranda looked a lot like her, so Adam rattled off a quick description.

“Could be half the cuties out there on any given evening.”

Cabral sounded convincing, but Adam wasn’t sure he believed him. “Last night someone tried to kill Miranda. They firebombed her place.”

Cabral frowned. “No shit.”

“Look, I didn’t tell the investigating officer that Miranda worked here.” Adam made it sound as if he actually knew the woman. “Level with me. Tell me what you know about her. I’ll chase down the leads myself without involving the police.”

Cabral stared at him a minute as if making up his mind, then said, “She called herself Kat Nippe. Her shtick-they all have a shtick-was the little-girl bit. She would prance out dressed like a kid going to school in a convent. That gave her a lot of clothes to take off.”

“Do you have any idea if she ran into someone around here who would want to kill her?”

The telephone on Cabral’s desk rang and he picked it up. “Cabral.”

Adam waited while the club owner listened.

“Fuck no!” Cabral stared at the picture on the wall next to his desk. It was a black-and-white photograph of his father outside the original Saffron Blue. “What don’t you understand? The fuck or the no?” He slammed down the telephone and smiled at Adam.

Adam tried to return his smile but he was pretty sure he just twisted his lips. The outburst had reminded Adam of what he’d learned three years ago. Jared Cabral was a man no one in their right mind would want to cross.

“If Miranda has an enemy,” Cabral said, as if the argument on the telephone had never occurred, “I sure as hell don’t know about it. She was a pro all the way when she worked here.”

“Has she been hanging out with anyone lately?”

Cabral’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Adam. “Just how well do you know Miranda Marshall?”

Something in Cabral’s tone told Adam to level with him or Cabral would stop talking. “I’ve never met the woman. My girlfriend is her cousin. Whitney was living in Miranda’s place. She almost died last night when someone tried to kill Miranda with a firebomb loaded with shrapnel.”

Cabral shook his head. “Wish I could help, but I don’t know a damn thing. Miranda hasn’t worked at Saffron Blue in a year and a half.”