Deadly Lies Page 6

  “How about you?” Alex asked turning back toward the counter.

  “No,” he said quickly, staring hard at the girl. She placed her hands on her hips and fixed him with her best maternal “Don’t lie” look. Alex noted that the barista, no longer bored, was standing at full alert.

  “Sunday morning when I went to the dumpster to throw out some trash, I saw a bike propped up against the trees. Figured someone was trying to get rid of it. Rode it home after my shift was over. I wasn’t trying to steal it or anything.” His white face lost even more color, making his skin appear almost translucent as he grimaced.

  “Is it here?” Alex asked, equal measures of anticipation and dread mingled in his gut. Reluctantly, the kid nodded. Alex caught Jackson’s eye as the barista led them out of the shop, through the side door, and to the alley. If indeed it was Natalie’s bike, this wasn’t good news.

  Sunlight filtered through the trees at the back. The canopy of leaves created a pool of shade for the dumpster. Jackson squatted down beside the bike and read the serial number. Alex cross-referenced it against the one Natalie’s father had provided.

  “It’s a match. Looks like you’re going to have to walk home tonight,” Alex said. After a philosophical shrug that seemed to say “Easy come, easy go,” the kid wandered back inside.

  Alex dipped his head a fraction, taking in this new piece of information. There was no doubt left in his mind as to whether Natalie had been abducted. There was no way she would leave her bike back here. According to Tom, it was too important.

  With grim expressions, they searched the small wooded area behind the coffee shop for any additional sign of Natalie and found nothing. Staring at the green Dumpster, Jackson flipped open the lid and watched the flies take flight, a look of disgust crossing his broad face. Alex wrinkled his nose. The smell of rotting garbage filled the alley.

  “I wonder when it was last emptied,” Alex said, contemplating the garbage bags piled up above the Dumpster’s two-thirds marker. “I think it’s your turn.” His eyes locked with Jackson’s.

  “Didn’t I do the one over in Pioneer Square?”

  “You’re forgetting Belltown,” Alex pointed out.

  With a resigned look, Jackson scaled the side and jumped in as Alex pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a telltale snap.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jackson muttered from within the Dumpster, knee-deep in garbage. “They sure don’t show this in any of the recruitment brochures.” He lobbed another slick garbage bag over the lip of the dumpster, and it landed beside Alex with a wet thud. “I’ll never get this shit off my shoes, and the smell …”

  Alex probed through the contents of the bag with his gloved hands. Coffee grounds, food scraps, stir sticks, paper napkins. No additional signs of Natalie so far.

  “You want to trade out?”

  The stench of rotten banana peels and mildew turned his stomach. He counted his blessings that the Dumpster was in the shade. If it were basking in the full glory of the sun, the bugs and stench would be worse.

  “I wouldn’t want you cybercrime geeks to get your hands dirty.”

  The good natured barb rumbled from within the Dumpster, and Alex couldn’t suppress a grin.

  “Aw, is Princess getting dirty?”

  “Fuck off, Shannon.”

  A little more rustling from within the Dumpster before Jackson’s head popped up. His jaw was set in a grim line as he held up a black backpack. Alex felt as if he had been kneed in the guts as he dropped the sack of garbage and held his hands out.

  Jackson tossed him the bag and climbed out of the Dumpster. Alex pulled on fresh gloves and was already checking the contents by the time Jackson reached him. Novel, notebook, pens, and a small purse were in the main compartment. The wallet contained some cash and a student ID. Natalie Watson’s face smiled up at them.

  “Damn it,” Alex swore softly as he handed the ID to Jackson and searched the other compartments of the backpack.

  Alex stopped, and he sat back on his heels as he rooted through the bag. “No cell phone,” he said. Jackson crouched down beside him.

  “Do you think she still has it on her?”

  “Phone records show no outgoing calls since Saturday afternoon. We couldn’t ping it.”

  Standing up, he took another look around, his eyes slowly combing the area. Reflected sunlight winked at him from between the stairs. Stepping closer, Alex saw a discarded pop can.

  “Shit,” he said and was about to turn when he saw something else. Pushing the can aside, he pulled out a cell phone. The outside casing was cracked, and it was dead.

  “Damn,” Jackson muttered.

  Turning it over, Alex checked to see if the battery was intact. It was missing. Had Knucklehead removed it? It was a Samsung Galaxy. Same model as his. With any luck, it would still run. He popped the battery out of his phone and placed it in the one he’d found. A quick push of the power button and the splintered screen display came to life. The two detectives smiled. “Let’s hear it for hardware.”

  There was no access code on the phone, and Alex quickly scanned the list of recent numbers that had been called. He recognized Natalie’s home number right away, alongside a few that he did not. He would cross-reference them against the phone records once he got back to the station.

  On a hunch, he took a look through the directory of photographs. The most recent photo was taken on Saturday, a partial shot of a man’s face framed by shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. Well, well, who did we have here?

  “Hello, Knucklehead,” Alex said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jill perched on a stool in the restaurant bar and glanced at her watch. She was right on time, and Jamie, as usual, was running late.

  The bartender deposited a vodka martini, straight up with two olives, on the napkin in front of her. She nodded her thanks with a practiced smile that, while playful, was not too inviting. Looking down at the drink, she could feel his eyes linger on her bare shoulders. The black halter-style dress she was wearing exposed her back to the cool evening air.

  Scanning the crowded restaurant, she noted that it was busy for a Thursday night. The place oozed with the kind of old-boys’-club charm that appealed to the clusters of businessmen who lined the booths. The supercharged atmosphere may have explained why it was one of Jamie’s favorite places. The scent of power and affluence blended perfectly with the smell of prime steaks on the grill, awakening Jill’s appetite. She picked at the bowl of nuts on the bar to tide herself over as she waited.

  Two businessmen entered, settling onto stools beside her. Their conversation centered on Monday night’s 49ers game and the team’s chances of securing a spot in the playoffs. Alex was a big football fan, and sports talk was the spit that greased the wheels of the business world. She could play that game, too.

  “Their chances would be better if they had a broader offensive strategy than giving the ball to their running back. What’s his name? Frank Gore?” Jill said, snapping her fingers as his name rolled off her lips.

  The two businessmen looked over at her, obvious surprise written clearly on their faces. The younger of the two men’s lips twitched into a smile. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, with an athletic build and dark eyes. Engaging. Nice suit. He’s trouble, she thought.

  “You may have a point there, but we’ve got a killer defense this year.”

  “A great defense doesn’t win championships. But hey, what do I know?” she asked, taking a sip of her martini.

  “And you are …?” the older man asked. A smile creased the corners of his brown eyes.

  “A Seahawks fan.”

  “Oh man, I should have guessed,” the younger man groaned with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

  His cell phone went off, and as he reached to answer it, Jill glanced back over her shoulder toward the door. Still no sign of Jamie, she surmised as she drained the last of her drink. She looked around for the bartender, hoping to catch his eye, but he was busy serving patrons at the other
end of the bar. Her fingernails drummed the empty glass.

  “Someone is in trouble,” the younger man beside her said, cell phone now resting on the bar. His friend had vacated his stool, leaving him alone with Jill, and he glanced over at her with a smile.

  “Just running late,” she shrugged. Her fingers tightened on the coaster.

  “Right,” he said as if he didn’t quite believe her. He nodded toward the empty glass in front of her. “Can I buy you another while you wait?”

  Jill hesitated for a moment before tilting her head with a smile. What was the harm? He might turn out to be a fun distraction, and besides, it might needle Jamie to have another man buy her a drink. After all, he was making her wait.

  “Why not? Dirty martini—”

  “Straight up with two olives. Got it.” He winked and signaled the bartender.

  “You don’t miss much.”

  “I’m into details.” His shrug was casual, and despite herself she had to admire his easy confidence.

  With fresh drinks in front of them, Jill sat back in her barstool and tried to relax, but she was keenly aware of each second that ticked by. Jamie’s meeting must have gone late. Damn Rachel for planting the seeds of doubt. Dana’s pretty face stayed rooted in her brain.

  “Thanks.” She tipped the glass toward the man beside her in a salute.

  “My pleasure.” He sipped his bourbon and water. “I’m Brent.”

  She shook his outstretched hand and felt hers engulfed in his firm grip. “Jill.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jill.” His warm smile enlivened his dark eyes, and his low, velvety-smooth voice pleased her ear.

  Jill swirled the olives around in her drink, deliberately breaking eye contact. Oh, yes, he had charm all right. Brent looked like the kind of guy who was used to winning. Confident, but not cocky. It was a charismatic combination.

  “Whoever he is, he should know better than to keep you waiting.”

  Jill chuckled. “Yes, he certainly should. I’m not known for my patience.”

  “Who needs patience when you have so many other lovely attributes?” His look was suddenly intimate, and her defenses shot off a warning flare. He had just crossed the line. Too bad, really. Playful banter aside, this situation could turn problematic in a heartbeat. It was time to shut him down.

  Jill’s smile deepened as she leaned dangerously close to him. She concocted a look that was part conspiratorial, and part naughty. Taking her bait with a knowing grin, Brent leaned toward her, their arms almost touching on the bar. She could feel the heat from his body and the crisp, sweet scent of his cologne. Again she detected his total confidence. She looked up, and her eyes met his in an unflinching stare.

  “You’re an inventive guy, Brent. Smart, creative, observant. Right?”

  “So I’m told.”

  “The kind of guy who doesn’t miss much?”

  “True.”

  “If that’s the case, I have to wonder … Is that the best line you could come up with? Really?”

  She reached her hand across to rest casually on his arm for a moment, showing off her wedding ring to its best advantage.

  “And I have to believe that a smart guy like you would not consciously hit on a married woman. What would your mother say?”

  Brent’s laugh was good-natured. He sat back in his stool, angling his gaze to the television screen perched high at the corner of the bar. Message received. A few moments passed in silence before he turned back toward her.

  “You caught me.” He smiled, cheeks slightly pink. “Sure, I noticed the ring, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Jill straightened, swirling her olives. If she had a dime for every guy that had tried to pick her up, she’d be a rich woman. As if she wanted the attention. What was it about a woman alone in a bar that drew men like flies to honey? And a married woman … She glanced down at her ring and stilled her fingers.

  A married woman. She was married to Alex, and Alex was married to his job. While Jamie … well, he certainly hadn’t picked her up in a bar. Their long-standing flirtation had bubbled over into something more a few months ago, bringing some spark back into her life. But maybe for Jamie, it was all about the conquest. Now that he had her …

  Brent’s cell phone rang again, interrupting her thoughts. Jill watched him pick it up, check the call display, and push a button to make the ringing stop. Reaching into his pocket, he deposited some cash on the bar before glancing back at Jill. His look was keen, his voice velvety smooth as he leaned in.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Jill, I don’t think it’s your husband that you’re here to meet.”

  Jill arched her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Really?”

  “Really. See, it’s a Thursday night, not exactly a date night for a married couple, and dressed like that, I’m willing to bet that you’re not waiting for your husband.”

  “Whatever.” She waved a dismissive hand, not missing his triumphant smile.

  “My friend says that women are like parking stalls. Some are taken, some are empty, and some are handicapped. Which one are you?”

  With a quick nod to the bartender, he let his gaze linger on Jill for another moment before leaving. Jill glanced back at her empty glass, her mouth feeling suddenly dry.

  After ordering her third martini, she checked the time. Jamie was now a full forty-five minutes late. Her cheeks flushed, and she spun her watch face around her slender wrist so it could no longer mock her. Sipping her drink, she studiously avoided making eye contact with any of the bar’s patrons and worked out her next move.

  She fished the cell phone from her pocket and hit speed dial.

  One. Two. Three rings. She waited. On the sixth ring, Jamie’s voicemail picked up. The familiar voice cut through her as she was encouraged to leave a message. A message. As if. She slapped the phone down on the cardboard coaster beside her drink.

  Draining the contents of the martini glass slowly, she left the two olives for last. Had he made the date intentionally planning not to show? Or had something else come up? Something better? Or someone. Jill’s simmering anger bubbled over.

  The bartender paused in front of her. “Would you like another?”

  “No thanks,” she said hastily and climbed off the bar stool. Pulling some cash out of her wallet, she tossed it onto the bar. “But if a British guy comes in looking for me, tell him he’s too fucking late. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the bartender said, with a slanted smile and a mock salute.

  Jill stepped out into the cool night air. Glancing around at the busy street, she saw cars speed by in both directions. Pedestrians passed her as she stood on the sidewalk. She felt light-headed from downing three martinis on an empty stomach. The air felt good on her bare skin as she turned on her heel and walked the six blocks back to the hotel. Screw the taxi, screw the blisters from the stiletto heels. The walk would do her good, help blow off some steam.

  Covering the blocks quickly with her long strides, she ignored the blatant stares as she passed. The question of what to do about Jamie circled around in her head. Should she forget about him and go to bed, or should she confront him for standing her up?

  She wasn’t the type to run away, and waiting for him had gotten her nowhere this week. As she neared the hotel, she made up her mind. She was going to go find him.

  Jill drove the sleek Lexus sedan the short distance to the ZyraNet office, barely aware of the traffic or stoplights she passed along the way. A quick tour of the parking lot showed no sign of the familiar black BMW. After circling the lot twice, she gave up.

  Had there actually been a meeting, or had he lied to placate her? It was time to find out. Tires squealed as she pulled out into traffic, heading toward the freeway.

  Jamie lived in Palo Alto in an upscale condo building across from Johnson Park.

  Jill took a left onto Waverly, parking down the street from the attractive four-story building. Jamie occupied the large corner
unit on the top floor, facing the park. She turned the car off and settled into her seat, determined to wait it out.

  Time ticked by slowly and she consulted the clock, peering out the car window at the darkened windows above. No lights on at ten o’clock.

  Twenty minutes passed. Just as her resolve was about to crumble, she saw Jamie’s black BMW swoop gracefully past and enter the building’s underground parking garage.

  Jill’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched the taillights of the car disappear from view. She steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation.

  Light spilled from the condo’s windows, and she reached for the door handle. Looking up, Jill froze. Jamie stood by the couch, face angled away, toward someone else. A woman approached, winding her arms around his neck, pushing up onto her toes for a kiss. Jill stared up though the car window, instantly recognizing the woman. Dana Evans. Jill squeezed her eyes shut.

  Anger flooded through her like the tide. Her stomached roiled, and she felt nauseated. Jamie had used her. He had lied to her. Whatever game he was playing had to come to an end. She wouldn’t allow him to treat her like garbage. She deserved better.

  Looking up, Jill saw the lights in Jamie’s bedroom flick on. Unwelcome images flooded Jill’s head, a tangle of memories and projections of intertwined limbs and heat. She pressed the palms of her hands against her closed eyelids in a vain attempt to blot them out, but they refused to leave.

  She hated herself for trusting him. A bitter cold bloomed in her heart as she slammed the gearshift into drive and sped back to the freeway.

  Nobody made a fool of her and got away with it. The affair may be over, but Jamie wasn’t going to get away with ending it so easily.

  She’d go after the one thing that he cared about most.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jill crossed the main entrance of the ZyraNet building with long, purposeful strides, a coffee cup clutched in her hand. Sunglasses muted the glare of the morning sun through the glass panes. The warm marble tile floor gave off the subtle scent of lemon polish as she wedged her way through the crowd and moved to the rear of the elevator, studiously avoiding eye contact. The image of Jamie embracing Dana was still etched into her brain, and she took a sip of the strong black brew in a vain attempt to clear her head. Sleep would help more than caffeine, but there was no time for that.