Chapter Eight

Inside the Glass Palace, Angie mingled with many guests from different strata. Solid-looking politicians rubbed shoulders with cowboys, rock musicians and divas dripping with diamonds. The attendance had to be over three hundred, and she doubted that most of them had come for the stated purpose of celebrating the sixtieth birthday of Nolan Zapata. They were here to enjoy the Glass Palace and maybe to curry favor with Nick Lorenzo. People didn’t seem to care that he was a criminal who was about to sink to a new low in depravity with his human trafficking operation.

With her background and the constant deceptions that were the foundation of her life, Angie couldn’t claim righteous indignation. Most definitely, she didn’t think she was better than anyone else. But she hated to see Lorenzo get away with his crimes.

Rudy and Carlos joined her almost as soon as she entered. Rudy’s somber outfit of black suit with black shirt and tie didn’t disguise the blush of excitement that colored his cheeks. If Angie had to guess, she’d say this was the first time the kid had been invited to a grown-up event. Carlos was blasé, unflappable. He snagged a champagne glass from a passing waiter and handed it to her.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” she said. Her thoughts immediately went to Julian and his sobriety. Functioning in environments like this without an alcohol buffer had to be difficult. “I don’t suppose one glass will hurt.”

“I’d like to hear your opinion,” Carlos said. “This sparkling rosé comes from a winery on the western slope that I’m considering for an investment.”

“Investment?”

“I might buy the place,” he said with casual ease, suggesting that the purchase of a vineyard was no big deal.

She had to revise her opinion of Carlos. When he picked her up at the motel, she’d thought he was a low-level gofer which was terrible and inaccurate stereotyping on her part. I need to be smarter. She should have realized that he had status when he took a seat at the table with Zapata, Valentino and Julian. Finding out more about him would be wise, starting with learning his last name.

After a sip of bubbly, she wrinkled her nose. “It tickles my tongue, and it’s kind of sweet and yummy. I’d say you should go for it. All you need is a name for the label. Maybe your family name.”

“Zapata? No.” He shook his head. “My familia has a history of controversy, even though we’re now farmers and businessmen, like my uncle.”

She should have known, should have done more research. Carlos was related to Nolan Zapata, and their familia had ties to a cartel from Colombia. She definitely needed to pay more attention to Carlos—a guy who tended to fade into the woodwork. “Whatever you call your wine, I’m sure it’ll be a winner.”

Rudy leaned close to her ear. “Who’s the chick in the red dress you came in with?”

“Tamara Rigby, the woman who runs the hotel operations.”

“No way,” he said. “That mousy little worker bee is the lady in red?”

“Why don’t you tell her you like the dress? I’m sure she’d appreciate the compliment.” And Angie wouldn’t mind time alone with Carlos. She turned to him. “How long have you been working for Lorenzo?”

“Ever since I graduated from college. My uncle wanted me to be an accountant like him, but I’m into real estate and investment. Colorado is a good place to buy and sell property.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I’ve never seen anything like this house. Tell me about it.”

As he described the layout and special features, they glided across polished marble floors toward a long table where a five-tier cake from Valentino’s bakery stood waiting to be cut. This dining area had an open ceiling that was three stories high. On the second level, she spotted Tamara leaning against the clear acrylic half wall on the balcony. From the way she gestured and tossed her head, Angie could see that the lady in red was enjoying herself. On the third floor above her was Nick Lorenzo, looking down like an evil gargoyle.

She pointed him out to Carlos. “What’s up there?”

“An art gallery,” he said. “Behind the wall of art is the private area. That’s where you find the bedrooms, bathrooms and offices.”

Lorenzo’s office was her targeted destination. After skillful hacking on her computer, she’d studied blueprints and also learned that there was a way to approach the office without being seen on any of the surveillance cameras. She dropped a comment that might be used as an excuse if she got caught sneaking around on the third floor. “I’d love to see the art.”

“Not without an invite. Lorenzo is protective of his favorite treasures.”

“The house is huge. Does anybody else live here?” In her dossier for the case, Angie had learned that Lorenzo had been divorced for years but stayed close to his three adult children. “Maybe his kids?”

“They have their own houses and condos,” Carlos said. “The only other person living here right now is Marion.”

“A girlfriend?” Angie had very little info on Lorenzo’s mistresses. The women seemed to drift into and out of his life like waves on a shore.

“She’s an artist and actually acquired some of the masterpieces hanging on his upstairs walls, but I don’t expect to see her around much longer. She’s getting to that age, if you know what I mean.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Lorenzo liked his women young. She looked up to the third floor where he’d been standing. He was gone, which meant it was time for her to get busy.

She couldn’t politely detach from Carlos who directed her toward a maroon sofa where his uncle sat like a king waiting for the peasants to come forward and kiss his ring. Nolan Zapata twirled a flute of champagne between his bejeweled fingers. The only other time she’d seen him was that first casual meeting, and Angie was impressed with how well Zapata cleaned up. His thick black hair was combed back from his forehead, and he was so clean-shaven that his jaw gleamed like marble. He wore a silver brocade jacket with tuxedo trousers. Graciously, he rose to greet her.

“Congratulations on your birthday,” she said.

“Thank you for the gift. I assume you’re part of the group from Nick’s who chipped in to buy me that trim little motorboat.”

“That would be a rational assumption.” She had not contributed. “Have you had a chance to look over my suggestions on how we can change the off-track betting operation?”

“No talk of business tonight,” he said. “I’ll look at your numbers on Saturday of next week as we agreed.”

She knew her first ten days would be successful. With help from the forensic accounting department at the FBI, she had perfected a computer program that upped the profits. All she really had to do was install the new algorithms and let them run.

“Carlos has been showing me around,” she said. “I didn’t realize that you two were related. Is your whole family from Denver?”

“We come from a small town in New Mexico by the name of Ojos Caliente.”

“Hot eyes,” she translated.

He lowered himself onto the sofa and patted the space beside him, indicating that she should sit. His hard-edged gaze sliced through her like a blade. “I heard you were taking riding lessons from Waylon,” he said.

“I thought learning about horses would help me with the off-track betting. I’m not really fond of barnyard animals.”

“Racehorses aren’t like the old gray mare in the barn,” he said. “Those animals are Thoroughbreds, worth more than most people.”

Spoken like a man who was about to embark on a human trafficking scheme. She suspected Zapata knew all about the attack on Waylon, and she carefully eased into the topic. “Poor Waylon got into a scuffle the other day,”

“Who was he fighting with?”

“I have no idea.” She lied easily. “Julian said he’d take care of it.”

“And I’m sure he will,” Zapata said.

Digging for information, she asked, “How many of the employees at Nick’s report to you?”

“A few.” He brushed off her question.

“What about security men and women?”

“Excuse me, Angie.”

Abruptly, he stood, which indicated that their conversation was over. Uncle Nolan wasn’t anywhere near as chatty as Carlos. She’d only known him for a few days but was fairly sure that she had the rough outline of his profile figured out. Zapata wasn’t a friendly boss, beloved by his employees. More like a stern, angry father, he laid down ironclad rules and meted out harsh punishment for failure. Her best bet was to keep her distance and stay on his good side.

She worked her way across the first floor toward the staircase. On the second floor, she saw that Leif Farnsworth had joined Tamara. The gang of adoring Bronco fans who always seemed to be following him were getting in the way of his conversation with the lady in red.

Angie ascended a staircase that followed a twisting acrylic path similar to the disappearing stairs in an Escher lithograph. With all this glass and plastic, she felt like she was wandering in circles. On the third floor where she’d seen Lorenzo looking down, there were fewer people. To her right, she saw the artwork. To her left, there was a subtle door that blended into the decor. She knew that plain entrance would lead to the bedrooms and offices.

Though she could have used her ornate hair decoration to pick the locks, she’d rather not if it wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t. The handle turned easily in her grasp, and she slipped inside a well-lit corridor with doors on either side. According to her blueprints, there weren’t supposed to be surveillance cameras down this hallway, but she didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. As long as she didn’t break into a room, she could claim that she’d been looking for a bathroom.

At the end of the hallway, the door was opened a crack. Angie pushed the door with her shoulder and entered an opulent bedroom. This might be a good time to back out, but she’d come this far. She saw a small desk with a laptop that might be Lorenzo’s private computer. The information she needed might be on that very hard drive...or not.

Angie cleared her throat. “Hello? Is anybody here?”

She heard a rustling on the far side of the room. A floor-to-ceiling window slid open and a woman stepped inside. As she stared at Angie, she didn’t seem frightened, merely curious.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew someday we’d be back together.”

“Marigold. It’s you.”

In that moment, everything changed.

JULIAN CREPT DOWN the hallway to the bedroom at the end. He hadn’t intended to spy on Angie, but he was curious about why she moved through the crowd at the party, avoiding conversation and ignoring the lavish buffet. Her attention focused on the staircase leading to the third floor. When she ducked into the door to the private quarters, he followed. Finally, he might be able to figure out what kind of game she was playing.

From the first time he gazed into her dark, beautiful eyes, he’d suspected that she had some kind of secret agenda. With all her criminal connections and computer training, she might be part of an extortion or money laundering scheme. He doubted that she knew about the possibility of human trafficking; smuggling and transportation weren’t in her wheelhouse. When she entered Lorenzo’s bedroom, he moved close to the door so he could overhear what Angie was saying. The other woman in the room had to be Marion, Lorenzo’s long-term mistress. No matter how many others came and went, Lorenzo kept contact with her. Marion was special to him.

Why did the two women keep saying “Marigold”? One of them was crying.

From behind his back, he heard the door to the corridor click and open. He pivoted and saw Lorenzo. The boss wasn’t going to be happy about having Angie break into his private quarters. She could get fired...or worse. Julian had a better chance of survival. He was also annoyed by the way Lorenzo had ignored his calls and texts.

Before Lorenzo could speak, Julian confronted him. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past couple of days.”

“Congratulations,” Lorenzo said with an expansive gesture that displayed the tailored cut of his burgundy jacket. “You’ve caught up with me.”

“Waylon was assaulted. I reviewed the feed from the surveillance cameras and saw his attacker sneaking around outside the barn, the garage and the bunkhouse.”

“So what?” Lorenzo dusted his manicured hands as through he was disposing of the problem. “Waylon must have gotten protective about the barn and tried to chase the intruder away. The old cowboy isn’t as tough as he used to be.”

“I’d tend to agree with you.” It was never smart to directly contradict the boss. “I’d almost decided this was nothing to worry about, but then I saw the guy here at your house, mingling with your guests as though he had every right to be here.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like what he’d heard. “You’re mistaken.”

“Not likely. This guy has a distinctive scar on his forehead. When I approached him, he took off running.”

“Did he get away from you?”

“He went into the national forest.” The slimeball had planned his escape from the start. After crashing through the trees, Julian and Leif had discovered a stack of branches that had probably been used to hide a dirt bike or an ATV. There were also tire tracks. The final touch was the baseball cap he’d been wearing. Julian took the cap with a Nick’s Burlesque logo from his pocket. “He left this behind.”

Lorenzo snatched the cap, stared at the logo and threw it on the floor. “Son of a bitch.”

“The guy is bad news,” Julian said. “The way I figure, he’s working for you or working for your enemies.”

“He was so stupid that he got picked up by the cameras. Then he called attention to himself by getting into a brawl. How can this jackass be working for me?” Agitated, he raked his fingers through his silver hair. “I don’t recognize him.”

It had long been Julian’s opinion that Lorenzo wasn’t an effective manager. His success was based on two factors. Number one: he had a nose for sniffing out talented employees and didn’t mind paying them what they were worth. Number two: he frequently came up with decent ideas for improvements.

However, when it came to the day-to-day grind of running the operation, Lorenzo checked out. As soon as he’d put Julian in charge of Nick’s, he’d stepped aside. If he was, in fact, starting up a human trafficking operation, Lorenzo would pass the major responsibility to somebody else, probably Zapata.

“He might be a new employee,” Julian said. “You can’t be expected to know everybody who works for you.”

“True.” Lorenzo paced down the corridor and back. “I’ll talk to Nolan. He keeps track of new hires.”

“Is there some new project you’re working on?”

“Don’t worry about it, Professor.”

Julian pressed his point. “The guy with the scar was creeping around by the barn. Anything going on out there? Was he looking for something?”

“Hell if I know.”

Julian shifted gears. “He also threatened one of the performers at the Burlesque.”

“Which one?”

“Calamity Jane.”

“The cowgirl with the whips and knives?” He barked a laugh. “She can handle a threat.”

“If there’s a new project at Nick’s, I need to know.” Changing direction again, Julian used an aggressive tone. “You’ve got to tell me so I can be prepared.”

They faced off. Julian wasn’t going to back down. If Lorenzo was going to jump into the dark, cruel world of trafficking and slavery, Julian couldn’t stand by and let it happen. There were steps to be taken.

“Next week,” Lorenzo said. “Zapata will fill you in.”

Or kick me out.

The bedroom door swept open and Marion stepped through. Her ice-blue outfit sparkled with crystals, and her wavy blond hair cascaded down her back. She gave Lorenzo a peck on the cheek and then wiped off the imprint of her lipstick.

“Nice to see you, Julian.” She smiled at him then turned back to Lorenzo. “We need to get downstairs. It’s time to cut the cake.”

“They can wait.” His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her close against him.

“But it’s time. I don’t want Zapata to feel like we’re disrespecting him on his birthday. He might get hungry and bite my head off.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Lorenzo said. “By the way, Julian, nice job on the motorboat birthday present.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Julian followed them down the corridor. With every step, he tried to think of a reason to go into the bedroom and check on Angie. Leaving her here alone worried him. Not only did he want to be sure she got away safely but he was also curious about her connection.

At the door leaving the corridor, the lovely Marion turned to him. “I’ve forgotten my phone. Would you go back to the bedroom and get it for me?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks so much. We’ll see you downstairs.”

She’d given him an excuse to check on Angie, and Julian grabbed the opportunity with both hands. He rushed into the bedroom, looked around, checked the walk-in closet and peeked into the attached bathroom. Angie was nowhere in sight.

He knew the blueprints for this house. There were no other exits from the bedroom...but there was a balcony. He opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside into a cool evening breeze. Angie crouched on the floor beside the acrylic wall that stretched the length of the balcony. Her face was buried in her hands. Her shoulders trembled with silent sobs.