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I have to pee and can’t wait, so I follow Lelani into the elevator and up to her apartment.
“Thanks,” I say, dashing to the powder room like Bane is on my trail. Even her bathroom is perfect. The hotel soap in the dish is untouched and I feel guilty marring its perfect flower print finish, but there are no other options. She probably throws the whole thing away after one use because it’s not pristine anymore. I inhale the gorgeous delicate fragrance of iris and jasmine. Subtle, charming, and oozing class. Pretty much Lelani in soap form.
She’s fiddling with something as I exit the bathroom, but hastily shoves it in a drawer when I emerge.
“Thank you for your driving tonight, it would have been bad if we’d been unmasked together.”
I frown. “Or at all.”
“Well yes, of course, but if we split up from now on, there’s less chance that someone can’t carry on the case.”
Wow, the chase really spooked her. Not like I blame her. My knees still feel like Jell-O.
“Well at least we learned about a timeline,” I say, watching her peel off her outer black jacket. My own Kevlar vest hangs from my arm because I never knew how toasty bulletproof was. It should be the newest fall trend. Useful and warm.
“Yes, we’ll set up a plan to monitor their cargo move,” she muses, reaching down to remove her shoes next.
I blink. “Wait, shouldn’t we hand this information to Ryan so he can use it?”
“Wouldn’t the new location of their stash be much more important information? Dates can change, what if everyone shows up on Ryan’s information and nothing happens?” Lelani replies, clearly not looking for input.
I’m looking for other information, Lelani had said. I squint at her, Lawrence’s suspicions rattling around in my head. What information specifically? I mean, I guess her logic makes sense, but we have good intel. We have two dates. Something’s happening this week on Thanksgiving and then something on Christmas Eve. If they’re using the holidays as a diversion, there’s little chance they’d reschedule, right?
She’s watching me like a predator at the moment and a ripple of something unpleasant churns in my stomach. I know that if I push my luck and disagree, she’ll eat me alive so I don’t. “Okay,” I agree with a shrug, willing it to look effortless. “You’re the boss. We’ll make a plan for Thursday.” I toss my bag over my shoulder.
It seems to mollify her, and she steps away from the kitchen island to usher me to the door. I almost miss it—the little feather that floats to the floor as she steps back. In fact, if her apartment had been any less neat and clean, I would have. Instead, my eyes track as the tiniest puff of purple feather drifts down. Now, if it were my house, finding a feather would mean jack squat. I have feathers and sequins in bags under my sewing table. But here . . . Lelani isn’t the feather or sequin type.
Looking closer, I note the iridescent remnants of another purple feather on her pants. Under her leather belt.
My stomach drops out like there’s no bottom. I’m on a roller coaster, headed down into a dark tunnel. I’m grabbing the kitchen countertop like it’s a life preserver in the middle of a hurricane.
“Are you okay?” she asks, totally calm. Unaware of what I’ve figured out. But it all makes sense. And my grounding force—story—clicks into place.
The roller coaster car bursts through the proverbial tunnel in into the sunlight. My stomach finds my body again.
“Just tired,” I manage. “Still shaken up from the car chase.”
“Yes, me too,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Going to go cozy up with a nice book.”
My guess is The Art of War. “Well, enjoy!” I try to make my voice come out naturally cheery, but she narrows her eyes at me. I give a small wave and head to the door. “I have a ton of work to do for the office. Which you know since you were in the meeting. And let my dog out.”
“Ah yes, I’ll look forward to reviewing your storyboards after Thanksgiving,” she says, this time in a more normal manner.
“Sounds great.” I give a thumbs up, knowing it’s over the top, but I can’t help it. I’ve never been a good actress. So, I help myself right out the door, and make a show of getting on the elevator, getting in my car, and driving off in the direction I live.
Only.
My superhero sleuth instincts tell me my suspicion is spot on. Lelani is the one doctoring the scenes to frame me, and my comic. Not Rideout. Now, I just need proof. And the way she’d casually thrown out sitting down with a book says to me that she’s up to something. Lelani reads, sure. But I would guess she’d be a scholar about it—focused and intentional—I really don’t see her as the rom-com-and-tea before bed type.
I circle my car around the block and park in a lot that faces the garage opening. Then I text Lawrence that something’s come up and that he’ll have to take Trog out to potty. I only have to wait ten minutes for the gate to lift and the same sedan we’d used to emerge. The driver wears large dark sunglasses, but I recognize Lelani. Point one for the home team, but what on earth could she be up to? If she planted the feather boas, and called the police already, surely she’s not headed back to the house? It’ll be swarming with cops.
I follow at a distance, and then after a bit drop back because indeed—we are headed back to the same neighborhood and I don’t need to follow her every move. She gasses it through a yellow light that stops me. By the time I reach the neighborhood, it’s awash in police lights and news crews.
I turn around quickly, but I also see no sign of Lelani’s car. Why would she come back here?
I drive up the block, and then think. She definitely got off the freeway, headed somewhere nearby. My brain dredges up a snippet of conversation from before the shit hit the fan earlier, and . . . did one guy say he was going back to the warehouse to make calls?
Is Lelani so devoted to helping Ryan that she’s staying up all night and following every single lead? Maybe I’ve misjudged her. Maybe I too could be working harder to get him information that’s useful. The names of everyone in the room tonight would probably earn him something.
Taking the long way around to avoid any parked police, I head to the warehouse several blocks away. Like a lizard with two giant closed eyes, Al’s sits slumbering in the moonlight haze. No, wait. There is the barest hint of light coming from beneath the main door on the warehouse side. And Yahtzee, the sedan is parked just down the street, along with two others.
In fact, I’m about to get out and walk around to make sure she’s okay when two figures step into the greenish light of the spotlight on the side of the warehouse. But not enough light to identify them from where I’m at. Fumbling with the bag on the passenger seat, I extract the night vision goggles. It’s almost too bright when I put them on, but one of the figures is indeed Lelani. Two more people stand in the shadows of the warehouse, and from the way they carry themselves, I label them as some sort of security detail. Leaving the goggles in place, and feeling entirely dorky instead of cool-spy, I clamp the headphones over my ears, and point the laser microphone at the street near them.
“—for meeting me, Steve,” Lelani says.
Her companion, the illustrious Pookie I presume, mutters something that sounds like “You’re late.”
“I had trouble finding parking,” Lelani lies. She has balls, I’ll give it to her. “I did bring the sample, but I want information in exchange.”
So, she is still working the Golden Arrow case, and freaking meeting with the distributor to do it. But how did she get to Steve? Wasn’t his identity the one we wanted to provide for Ryan’s plea deal? Why not tell me we’d accomplished our goal?
“We’ll verify the sample first and then—”
“I don’t think so.” Her voice brokers no argument. “You and I both know that several of the compounds change when they are ingested. You are having trouble finding the original formula, and I’m willing to provide this small sample for testing. But if you come any closer or try to swindle me, I will simply eat it and with it goes your very last chance of reproducing the Mad Hatter’s work.” She holds up something in her hand that looks an awful lot like a gel-cap. Though I can’t see color from here, an educated guess says that it’s red and yellow powder on the inside.
Thor’s Hammer, what? How did she get those pills?
“We could just kill you,” Steve says, and it’s so matter of fact, my teeth clack together. Am I about to witness Lelani getting murdered for the sake of information?
“Then you would get one little pill instead of the stash I told you about.”
Steve seems a man of reason, so he motions to her. “Make your demands, we’ll see what you get.”
“I want to know your chemist’s name and location.”
Steve snorts. “I don’t know that.”
Lelani is so calm, so cool. “Then find someone important who does know it. Secondly, I want to see the payment in cash before I hand over the location of the stash. I will bring a GPS transponder, and will make the switch once I count the money.”
“Two hundred fifty thousand—”
“We agreed on five hundred thousand, you absolute piece of shit.”
Steve makes an ‘I surrender’ motion. “Oh right, my mistake. Faulty recollection.”
My eyes are bugging out of my head. Lelani is going to sell drugs for five-hundred thousand dollars and the name of the chemist? Well, no wonder she’s conducting this business by herself.
“You get me the name, I’ll set up the drop point.”
“That’s worth more than my job,” Steve says, and for the first time he sounds whiny instead of macho.
“You ask your boss how much it’s worth to stop having people die in ways that bring media attention. My informant at the police station says they’re already trying to link the drugs in Tahoe to the ones here. You’re being sloppy.”
There’s a stunned silence in which I picture the little glowing picture of Steve blinking. “How did you—”
“Like I said, you’re getting sloppy. Look, it’s not my business. I just want my money, and I want access to your chemist.”
“What if I go to our contact at the police and tell them who you really are?”
Lelani gives a throaty laugh. It’s a real laugh, like she’s enjoying this. “Steve, I told you who is responsible for the unfortunate incidents your people have been having. She’s an imposter, and my eye is on a bigger prize. You can tell the police anything you want, but if you implicate me, I will kill you. Do not underestimate me.”
Steve nods. “Alright, we’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll give you 24 hours,” Lelani says, and she turns to walk to her car. Steve waits a moment before turning and walking into the warehouse, followed by the security detail.
I’m so stunned I don’t move for minutes. Hours, maybe.
If I wanted proof, there it was.
No wonder the drug dealers showed up at my house saying they knew who I was. Lelani was playing double agent—Golden Arrow and villain. She’d told them who I was and where to find me. She’d framed me, and sold me as a copy-cat. This is some serious shit, and I’m in over my head. We need a team meeting, stat.