CHAPTER 20

“Detective Harman,” I called, rushing to him. “Why was Carla arrested? You know she’s not a hooker!”

“Hold on a minute,” he said, leveling brown eyes at me. “Your friend was in that gang of hookers they just hauled out?”

“Like you didn’t know!”

“I didn’t.” The lines around his mouth and eyes creased in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“Um…” I didn’t want to admit my appearance was due to visions of a psychic prostitute. I turned and looked at Klaire. “That woman in the car told me—”

I was saved from further stammering when Klaire cut her engine and climbed out of the Jaguar.

A smile played at the corners of Harman’s mouth. “Ms. Voyante. Imagine seeing you here. Thought you were out of the business.”

“You know I am,” she said.

“Hard to believe it when you show up at an escort service.”

Escort service? Damn it. But I didn’t want to stand around while Harman and Klaire caught up on old times.

I glared at Harman. “What about Carla Ruben?”

“Look, if she was up in the front with the officers removing the women, I didn’t see her. I came in the back with a couple of guys to secure the files and computers. Why don’t you tell me why she was here? For that matter,” he said, his gaze flicking from me to Klaire, “why don’t you both explain why you are here,”

The sun was heating up the pavement. Sweat trickled between my breasts and I could see beads forming on Harman’s forehead. I fanned myself, and Harman took the hint.

“Why don’t we step inside where it’s cooler, and you two can tell me all about it.”

* * * *

Inside the chilled reception area, misleading photos of attractive young women in conservative attire lined the walls above swanky furniture upholstered in plush taupe-and-brown fabric. The photos looked more like employee-of-the-month shots than girl-for-a-night rental ads.

I perched on a side chair, Harman sank into a big arm chair, and Klaire chose a love seat. I told him about George, the private eye.

“So,” I said, “when George told Carla about this place, she came to look for Jade. She asked me to go with her, but I couldn’t leave the track that early. Klaire was kind enough to give me a ride over.”

Harman snorted. “That’s Klaire, the milk of human kindness.” Still, the gleam in his eyes was friendly as he glanced at Klaire. “What’s the real story? You have a vision?”

“As a matter of fact, Rick, I did,” she said.

Huh, first name basis. Since Harman was in Vice, they probably had a long history. I stared at her as she lounged on the love seat looking perfectly relaxed. All traces of the breathy, soothsayer voice had vanished. Still, she had the Voodoo priestess beads in her hair and all those strange rings on her fingers.

Harman turned to Klaire, his expression thoughtful. “You know anything about another young woman? One that might have disappeared?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t.”

I leaned forward. “You mean another girl is missing? Like Jade?”

“That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” he said. “A gal who was working out of this place went missing a few days ago.”

“Is it…” I began.

He held up a hand. “It’s not the girl who died on Hallandale. And I only mention this new case to show you how dangerous any involvement is. Understand me, Ms. Latrelle?”

I let out a breath and settled back in my chair. “Sure, okay. But what about Carla? You know she doesn’t belong in jail with those other women. Can you do something to help her?”

“I’ll make a call for you,” he said.

“And I already called Matisse,” Klaire told Harman. Glancing at me, she said, “Before I got out of the car. He’s my lawyer. He’s on his way to the station.”

“Then we’ll get it sorted out,” Harman said. “I’m sorry Ms. Ruben got mixed up in this. But this is what happens when you people try to play detective. Listen up,” he said with a harder edge to his voice. “Stay out of trouble and let us do our job.”

Tough voice, but his concern seemed genuine enough, so I nodded. As I stood, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I pressed my hand against the chair arm for support.

A uniformed officer appeared in the hallway. If he was surprised to see Klaire and me, he didn’t show it. “Detective Harman, those file drawers you found—and the two computers? We got ’em stowed in the van out back. Is that about it?”

“Yeah, we’re done, and these ladies are leaving.”

As Klaire and I moved to the door, Harman pulled a phone from his suit jacket. He’d better be making that call about Carla.

When I stepped outside, the acrid odor of tar rose from the blacktop. The palm trees shimmered in the heat, and thoughts percolated in my head.

Klaire’s vision had been spot on. No denying it. Harman had even asked her if she knew anything about another missing girl, as if maybe the police consulted her, like I’d heard they sometimes did with psychics. And he apparently had been in the back of the place with the files and computers. Maybe he hadn’t seen Carla.

* * * *

By the time Klaire drove me around the traffic circle in Hollywood, the sun had shifted to the western horizon. Traffic was building and a train just finishing its crawl across Hollywood Boulevard had worsened the congestion even more.

Outside the car, store front windows enticed shoppers with decorative artwork, lingerie, and paintings. The canvasses on display seemed lit from within by vivid blues, greens, and aqua colors. The lingerie favored hot pink, cream, and black satin.

At a stoplight, a woman who had to be at least seventy crossed the street. She wore a scoop-necked top, a snake-print mini-skirt, and fringed, black desert-boots. No one paid her any mind. Hard to tell the housewives from the hookers in South Florida.

Glancing at Klaire’s hands grasping the steering wheel, I studied the carved rings. A scorpion, a fish, a lion, a goat, and other astrological signs. Maybe they helped her read her customers?

“I’d go with you into the station,” she said, “but I’ve got clients coming. Okay if I just drop you off there?”

“Sure,” I said.

The light changed, and Klaire eased the car forward. “Carla is fine,” she said. “I’d know if she wasn’t.”

My cell went off before I could reply with a smart comment.

Carla’s voice. “Nikki, it’s me.”

“Are you okay? I saw them put you in that police van. I—”

“You were there?”

I explained the whats and whys of my presence at the scene. “I’m on my way to the police station now.”

“Don’t bother,” Carla said. “We’re just leaving. Detective Harman…Rick…made some calls. He got me released. He’s driving me back to the hotel now. Thank your friend Klaire for that lawyer, but I didn’t need him.”

This had moved fast. Harman must have switched on the magic police lights in his car and whisked himself to the station to rescue Carla. Hell, they all fell for her.

“Nikki,” she said, “why don’t you come to the Diplomat and have a drink with me?

Thank God she was okay. But I had to get back to the barn and told her so.

“How about later?” I asked.

We made arrangements and disconnected.

Klaire smiled at me. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s fine, right?”

“For now.”