Chapter Fifteen

Sunday, 9:00 p.m.

Hank sat in a booth in the main dining area of Geneva, sipping coffee, his posture one of relaxation. He bore no hint of the uptight police chief I’d visited in his office. In a pale blue sport shirt with tanned arms showing, he looked more like a movie producer who lived up the beach in Malibu. His neat black hair gleamed under the overhead lights.

I’d looked for Toby when I arrived. I wanted him to see me, to realize that his threat to tell Hank about the recording was hollow at best. Should I tell Hank about it? I’d been debating that since Friday’s phone call. I edged closer to the table, knowing he might not like my presence, but he wasn’t going to make a scene in public.

His head jerked toward me as I approached, deep blue eyes widening when he saw me.

“May I join you?” I offered a bright smile, the one I practiced to convince recalcitrant interview subjects to spill all.

He inhaled sharply, and I waited for a smile but his face remained set. “Do I have a choice?” His voice carried a distinct bite. He glanced around as he gestured toward the seat across from him. “Don’t try to tell me this is a coincidence.”

“I needed to return your jacket and I knew you wouldn’t want me doing it at the station, so I decided on neutral surroundings.” I placed the garment on the seat beside him before sliding into the booth. “I’ll only stay a few minutes. I won’t compromise your damn principles. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You’ll be my guest, but only for coffee.”

I knew why he was looking around. Even as a reporter, I’d been recognized when we went out and it irritated him. At the time, I’d been caught up in the excitement of newfound celebrity. Every time someone noticed me or knew my name, it was like winning a prize. Tonight the restaurant buzzed with activity, but no one looked our way. This was a crowd used to famous faces, even possible killers.

He studied me, but I saw none of the fleeting desire I witnessed on Monday. I’d pulled my hair back and swept it up out of my face and dressed in a simple, sleeveless Donna Karan dress that clung to my curves in all the right places. The light beige hue gave luster to my golden arms and the low cut front displayed a hint of cleavage—hopefully to give his male senses a jolt.

If he felt anything, it didn’t register on his stony face. He disliked being manipulated and that was exactly what I was doing. My motives were two-fold. I wanted Toby to think I wasn’t afraid of his threat, and I was curious about being followed.

After my discussion with Brad, I started checking my rearview mirror more often and being aware of cars and people around me. As I drove my mother to San Diego, I kept an eye out. Several times in different places, I could have sworn I saw the same green car.

Hank signaled for the waitress and after ordering coffee for me and a refill for himself, a tense silence settled between us. I tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. I kept glancing at his strong folded hands and the muscular forearms covered with a fine coat of black hair. I wanted to touch him, run my hand along his arm, but I knew I couldn’t.

For a few minutes he kept his gaze fixed on the door as though he wanted to escape, his face a sculpture chiseled in granite. “What was so important that you had to follow me?” he finally asked.

“I didn’t follow you,” I protested, but his question was so direct, I had to look away. He knew me well enough to know when I was lying.

“Uh-huh. How did you know where I was?”

“A little birdie told me you normally have dinner here on Sunday.”

He grunted. “What’s on your mind?”

I licked my dry lips before continuing. I should have asked for a glass of water. “I wanted to return your jacket, but there is something else...”

“Naturally.” His smile was hard, fixed.

“I’m not asking for a favor. I want to know if you have people following me.”

“What?” He drew up so quickly, I knew the question was a surprise. “Why would we follow you?”

“To make certain I don’t skip off to Mexico? Meet a hit man for a payoff? I don’t know.”

Before he could reply, the waitress returned with a silver coffee pot and white china cup for me. She filled both our cups and left a tray with cream and sugar. I sipped at the strong, hot brew, watching him ladle sugar into his. I suppressed the urge to tease him about it.

After stirring it thoroughly he took a sip and glanced at me, shaking his head. “You know I don’t feel right discussing the case, Kimberly. I have officers handling the investigation if that’s why you wanted to talk to me. Maybe you should ask them.”

“Would they be honest?” Too late, I realized what I’d done. I’d made it seem like I came to him because I knew he might tell me. As a favor. “Hank, don’t take that wrong.”

His gaze over the top of his cup was accusing. “Of course not. You just happened to follow me here to find out if my men are following you. Sounds like you want information.”

I sighed unhappily. “Can you blame me? Hank, this whole thing is surreal. Being followed seems like part of the procedure.”

Hank lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “You’ve reported on murder cases. You know the process.”

My eyes flicked around the restaurant and I spotted Toby in the bar. He looked in our direction. He knew I was here! With Hank. Even if Mr. Hard Ass wouldn’t tell me about the tail, knowing Toby had seen us made it worth the effort.

I turned back to Hank. “If he was killed with the bat, my fingerprints were on it, but...”

He put down his cup and shot me an angry look. “Please, Kimberly. This is not a topic I can discuss. Tell me the real reason for your visit. Do you think we have someone following you? Why? It doesn’t make sense. If we had evidence, we’d pick you up. You’d never get bail on a murder charge.”

The reality of what he was saying chilled me. If I was arrested, I was going to jail and staying there. My gaze slid around the familiar restaurant as though it might be the last time I was free to enjoy such luxuries.

“Hank, you must know my arguments with Rick didn’t mean anything. We’d broken up and he kept bothering me about getting his stuff back.” I stopped. That didn’t sound good.

“I know how you are when you get angry,” he said in a tight voice. “Breaking things.”

“I’ve never broken anything of yours.”

“You broke a plate once. For a second I thought you were going to toss it at my head.”

I started to protest, but he grinned, bringing a touch of softness to his blue eyes. I smiled back, pleased at his change in direction.

“It was my plate.” I pounded it on a counter in frustration during an argument, though I did consider launching it at his head. The past swirled around me. For an instant our eyes locked, and a crazy knot of awareness tugged at my midsection.

His eyes pierced me with a blue-flamed gaze that warmed me all over. We made up that fierce quarrel right there in the kitchen, making feverish love on the counter with the broken plate on the floor beside us. Part of me wanted to reach for his hand, to squeeze it, to see if he remembered.

The moment passed as quickly as it surfaced. He broke the connection, lowering his glance as though he wanted to forget our past. An uncomfortable silence enveloped us, smothering any fire that might have blazed.

The waitress reappeared, carrying a check in one hand and the coffee pot in the other. She put the check on the table. “More coffee, Chief Patterson? Miss delaGarza?”

Hank winced at her use of my name. I could imagine what he was thinking. What would his mayor say about our having coffee? He put a credit card on the plate with the check.

“You should go,” he urged after she retreated.

I balled my hands into fists and pressed them together on the table. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“If you have something to say, come to the office tomorrow. It doesn’t seem right for me to socialize with a murder suspect.”

Murder suspect.

The words echoed between us. Would he care if the killer was following me? Maybe, but he’d turn the matter over to his men who wouldn’t believe me. They would think I was using it as an excuse to get suspicion transferred away from me.

And what about Toby’s recording? Would Hank listen to charges of blackmail or demand to hear it or give it to Torres—the final chink in the chain that would march me directly to jail?

“Murder suspect,” I repeated through gritted teeth. “Do you have any other suspects, Chief?”

He stared down at his coffee as though he wanted to climb into it.

I leaned toward him, not wanting to trigger the sort of scene he loathed. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to arrest the thief who killed Rick when he tried to sell the jewelry that was probably the motive. Then yesterday as I explained this to my brother, I realized, how could you, when your crack detectives didn’t even ask me about the jewelry?”

Hank’s head jerked up and his shocked eyes met mine. “Jewelry?”

For the first time since the whole debacle started, I felt like I had the upper hand. “Rolex watch? Gold chains? Diamond cuff links? There was close to a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry and a gun inside those boxes I returned to Rick. I have no idea how you’re going to track down the contents when I’m the one who packed them, so I’m the only person who knows if anything is missing. Neither detective has asked me to list what was in the boxes even though I told them that was why I visited Rick that night.”

He sat very still, staring straight ahead as he digested the information. His jaw clenched and I could see a muscle snapping on one side.

I rose, feeling every bit the Queen. “Don’t forget your jacket. The list is in the pocket.” I stomped out of the dining area, shooting an angry glance at Toby on my way through the bar.

Ignoring customers, he hurried toward me. We reached the front door at the same time. With a pleasant smile, he held it open. “I didn’t know you knew the police chief.”

“We’re old friends.”

He drew a deep breath. “I wasn’t giving him anything tonight. I want...”

I knew what he wanted. Money. The room behind us was noisy and I shifted toward him. “Meet me at the end of Mira Loma pier Tuesday evening and we’ll talk about it.”

“I work until six.”

“Seven then. I want to hear the damn thing.”

“Sure, it’s on my phone.” He tapped his pocket.

“There better not be copies.”

“No, and we can erase it after…” His smile was hesitant. He was still playing the adoring fan.

“Damn right we will.” I turned and marched away.

Outside the restaurant I handed my ticket to the valet. I had given him a twenty earlier to keep my car nearby. I climbed into it and turned south on the Pacific Coast Highway. Despite Hank’s coolness, the trip had been useful. Police now had a list of jewelry so they could search for it, and I knew Hank’s officers weren’t following me. So who was?

Damn, I hadn’t checked my rearview mirror. Two cars were directly behind me, and another was on my left. Farther back, a car turned onto PCH. Had someone been waiting for me to leave?

I slowed, allowing the car beside me to move ahead. The others behind me became frustrated with my pace and also passed. The car I’d seen pull into traffic remained in the mirror. That driver must have slowed because he was no closer to me than when I first saw him.

Stepping on the gas pedal, I tried to put distance between us, but the car matched my speed. I remained in the right lane until we approached Sunset Boulevard. With only the suspicious car behind me, I yanked the steering wheel hard to make a sudden left across two lanes. I didn’t think it was legal to make a left turn against the turn light, but I did. I swung onto Sunset and watched as the other car made the same illegal turn.

“What’s a good crime movie without a car chase,” I whispered and stepped on the gas. My heart thudded, but I kept my mind clear. This far west, Sunset was a winding ribbon through residential areas, rising and plunging through a series of canyons.

I checked the mirror. Only one set of headlights shone behind me. If I was in my Mercedes I’d have more confidence, but I drove the rental Jaguar. Approaching a twisting stretch, I slowed, waiting for the car to pass. It hung back, remaining behind me. On the next hill, as I came down onto a straightaway, I gunned the car, zooming up the next hill. Steve McQueen at his Bullitt best.

The persistent lights stayed on my tail.

Fear clawed at me and my fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard they began to hurt. I whizzed around a sharp turn at a fast clip and the other car stayed with me. We climbed another hill, gaining speed and at the top I maneuvered through a quick set of turns, surprised at my own skill.

I blew through a yellow light and he followed through the red. What the hell?

Maybe it was time to lose him. I leaned over the wheel like Mario Andretti in an Indy 500. The car fishtailed and tires shrieked as I jerked left onto the next side street. The tail car made the same turn. Damn!

I was taking a major chance since I had no idea where this street led. It climbed a canyon and narrowed to two lanes, flanked on either side by gravel strips. As I whipped around a turn, my wheels hit gravel and the car swerved. Trees and bushes filled my vision.

“Oh, shit!”

I fought to get the wheel under control and then I was back on pavement. This was crazy. I couldn’t even grab my cell and call for help. Another bad move and I’d go over the side and end up submerged in someone’s swimming pool.

My lights flashed on a sign showing a hair pin turn coming. I gripped the wheel, bracing myself. Leaning into the turn as though my body controlled the car, I waited until it slid easily around the bend before pressing my foot on the gas pedal. I pushed forward enough so that the other car would have to do the same as it neared the curve. Behind me it spun crazily on the road, headlights wobbling.

I held my breath, hoping…

Then it came up the road, engine roaring. As it passed under a street light, I could make out its shape—a dark SUV, not a gray or green sedan.

Buzzing around another turn, I spotted a dead-end sign straight ahead while the road itself swung down to the left. Twin sets of lights struck me at once, one coming from the dead end street, the other from the street on the left. Inspiration hit me and I flipped off my lights and proceeded up the dead end street. The car from that street turned down the hill while the other car drove straight in the direction of my pursuer.

Driving into the dead end street far enough to get out of view, I made a U-turn and turned off my car. My breath came in shallow gasps while I waited, hoping he would follow the tail lights of the other car. Seconds passed and then the lights of the SUV approached. What if he saw me? Even as I considered confronting him, the car swung by and turned left, going down the hill.

A big whoosh of air escaped me and I squeezed my trembling fingers. I’d lost him.

****

I didn’t feel safe until I double bolted the door in my hotel room and gave the place a quick search. I debated calling Brad to come stay with me, but I feared he might overreact to the chase or my invitation.

Police needed to know, so I called Callahan.

“Detective, this is Kimberly delaGarza. Someone’s following me.”

“Really?” His voice dripped with skepticism.

“I was at Geneva on PCH and a car followed me onto Sunset. I tried to get away, but it stayed with me.”

“You don’t think it was a coincidence?”

My words spilled out—like my speedy driving. “I made several illegal turns, went through a yellow light and it went through the red. I know you’re not following me...I mean, Hank told me...” Oops.

“Hank? As in Chief Patterson?”

“I ran into him. I told him I thought I was being followed...”

“Do you think he’d give away how we’re conducting our investigation?”

“You are following me?” A tiny sliver of relief surged through my veins.

“Miss delaGarza, what do you want me to do? Follow you to see who is following you?”

“Could you? I mean, what if it’s the killer?” I found myself repeating Brad’s theory, but as I spoke, I realized how silly it seemed. Hell, I sounded lame even to myself. I’d let myself get caught up in Brad’s fears, watching for non-existent pursuit cars. Gray sedans? Green cars? Dark SUVs?

“Miss delaGarza, is someone overtly threatening you?”

“Overtly?” I thought of the hate mail I’d received, but I didn’t know if it contained threats. I put the whole pile of letters through the shredder in the hotel business center without reading them. “I don’t know.”

“This sounds like a coincidence.”

“Do you think I’m making this up?”

He paused. “I think you may be overwrought. Wells’ girlfriend says she thinks she’s in danger...”

I gulped. “The Bimbo is being followed?”

“That’s not what I said, and that’s not what I called her.”

His casual tone was getting to me. “I’m not an overwrought teenybopper, and I’m not making this up. You know what? Forget I called.” I hung up.

No way was I going to be placed in the same category as Barbie the Bimbo.