Find Me, page 18
“Not yet.” Her forehead pinched in a frown. “Have you talked to Leif today?”
“He’s sad. The Broncos lost.” If that was the worst thing that happened today, he’d throw a parade. He wasn’t sure how to work around to the topic of princesses and runaway girls.
“Are you a football fan?” Angie asked.
“Not really, but I went to every single game in high school.”
“Cool,” Angie said. “Were you a cheerleader?”
“Nothing like that. I played flute in the marching band.”
“Were you ever a prom queen? Or one of the princesses?”
“No way.”
Julian noticed a difference in her. When she tossed her head and her brown hair bounced, he guessed that she was using a new shampoo or something. And she was wearing eye makeup. “Did you want to be a princess?”
“That’s a childish fantasy. Not something I encourage or condone.” She returned to studying her computer check-in. “Should I notify you when these gentlemen check in?”
He nodded. Earlier, when he’d made the reservations, he’d told her that the two agents were relatives, and he wanted to show them a good time. Not much of a cover story, but it was enough to assuage curiosity for a day.
As he and Angie strolled away from the front desk, he looked down at her. “Nice job in directing the conversation.”
“I’ve got a couple of tricks I can teach you. Normal people like Tamara might feel threatened if directly confronted. But if you ask a few pointed questions—stuff about family or high school or where they grew up—they’ll be happy to talk about themselves. Tamara is not our princess.”
He held open the front door to Nick’s Burlesque. “Maybe we’ll find her in here. We’re not open for another half hour, but a lot of the performers get here early.”
As it turned out, nobody but the bartender was in the performance area, and he was busy prepping the booze, mixers and garnishes. Julian licked his lips. At one time, his favorite stress reliever had been whiskey. With the house lights on, the metallic wallpaper seemed tawdry. The three-foot-tall stage and runway looked plain and dull, except for the three shiny silver poles placed strategically so most of the audience had a view.
Angie hopped onto the runway, grasped one of the poles, braced her other hand on her hip and strutted in a circle around it. “Did I ever tell you that I was a stripper?”
“You might have mentioned it.” His gaze riveted to her slender form as she held the pole and leaned backward until the tip of her ponytail touched the runway. Adrenaline gushed through his veins. His heart beat hard and fast.
She glided her hands down her body, and then she raised them quickly, tearing the black-and-white poncho over her head. She removed her platform shoes carefully so she wouldn’t accidentally fire the weapon hidden inside. Waving to the bartender, she called out, “Gimme some background music.”
“You got it, Angie.” He touched a couple of buttons near the front of the bar, and the space was filled with a throbbing drumbeat.
“I’ve come down here once or twice to work out. It’s great exercise.” She hooked her leg around the pole. “Watch this.”
He couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to.
Chapter Twenty
Julian was no stranger to strip clubs and burlesque. Right here at Nick’s, he’d watched and auditioned acts that ranged from a magician with disappearing clothes to a contortionist whose joints twisted like a strangely seductive pretzel. Some of these women had magnificent bodies, but none turned him on the way Angie did. Completely covered in a sleeveless black turtleneck tucked into black skinny jeans, she was sexier than a nude chorus line of high-kicking dancers.
He was her audience, and she focused her dark-eyed gaze on him. The rest of the world faded away. Matching the tempo of the heavy drumbeat, she reached high on the pole and pulled herself up with her well-toned arms while her legs coiled and flexed. She slithered higher, swung in a loop and went upside down with her legs spread.
From behind his shoulder, he heard catcalls from other performers who had responded to the beating of the drum. They applauded Angie as she slid to the floor in a split. She climbed again and supported herself in a plank position. No doubt this was good exercise, but the only workout he was considering involved the two of them, naked in his bed.
She wrapped up her pole dance with a front flip, opened her arms to welcome applause and made a sarcastic curtsy. Gathering her poncho and shoes, she jumped down from the stage. “Once you learn these moves, you never forget.”
Lola—the performer with the operatic voice—clarified her statement. “Most people have the muscle memory but haven’t kept up the strength.”
“Better exercise than a spin class.” Angie called out a thank-you to the bartender and turned to the four performers. Dressed in street clothes, they could have passed as soccer moms with attitude. “We wanted to talk to you ladies, and I think Jane’s dressing room is comfortable.”
Julian knew she was taking them to a place where there were no cameras and no microphones. He was content to follow along. After watching her pole dance, it was going to take a while for him to regain his composure.
Lola closed the door and took charge. In spite of her angelic voice, she was a hard-edged leader. “What’s the deal, Julian? Something’s going on, and we need to know what it is.”
An agile gymnastic dancer started a series of stretches and asked, “I don’t get it, Lola. Why do you think there’s a problem?”
“Take a look around,” Lola said. “Julian doesn’t usually come down here for a pep talk. Jane and Cara are still staying on the concierge level, being protected. And I saw a bad guy in the audience—someone I used to know when I worked in Denver.”
“Who’s that?” Julian asked.
“He calls himself El Jefe, and he belongs to the Fifteen gang. He’s deep into the sex trade. While I was onstage, he blew a kiss.” She shuddered. “Guys like him make me sick.”
“I’ll check the tapes,” Julian promised. Weeks ago, he’d sent surveillance tapes of El Jefe having dinner with Lorenzo.
“You’ll know him right away. He’s got the MMXV tattoo on the back of his right hand,” Lola added.
“Lola’s right,” Angie said. “We’ve got a problem, and we need your help. We’re trying to find a runaway girl who is in danger.”
He was surprised that she’d chosen to tell the straightforward truth. He watched the four women for their reactions. Lola hardly ever betrayed emotion. The gymnast was more childlike and open. The ballad singer teared up, which didn’t mean anything because she wept over every little thing. In his opinion, the most likely princess was Felicity the belly dancer, who had two kids of her own.
Julian directed his comments to her. “Felicity, you might have noticed this girl. She’s eight or nine, has brown hair and likes to draw.”
“Why do you think I’d notice?”
“The girl said she was helped by a princess. That’s why I thought of you.”
She preened. “Do you think I look like a princess?”
“Sure,” he said. “And you have other kids, so you’d be sympathetic.”
“Not to a runaway,” Felicity said. “If I caught a kid running away from home, I’d turn her around and take her back where she belongs.”
Angie added, “The girl’s name is Gigi.”
Nothing but blank looks from the four women. Not a princess among them. After telling them to call if they saw Gigi or if El Jefe appeared again, he escorted Angie from the Burlesque. In addition to debugging the rooms for Shanahan and Hemming, he needed to run through surveillance and make identifications on any other members of the Fifteen. He was running out of time.
As they strolled across the three-story lobby on the way to the elevators, Angie tilted her head up and spoke quietly so none of the mics could pick up her words. “There has to be a reason why El Jefe is hanging around.”
“To coordinate the start of the operation.” The Fifteen must be more involved than the cartel that Damien worked for. He thought of the shoot-out in the bakery. Infighting among powerful criminal gangs was a problem.
His private office was one of the safe places at Nick’s. In this space, no one could listen in or watch them. He paced while he talked.
“We need more intel. Obviously, we can’t strike up a conversation with El Jefe or any of his minions. Zapata probably has the most detailed information, but he’s not likely to let anything slip.”
“Especially not to me,” she said. “Being at Valentino’s when Damien was killed must have put me on his enemies’ list.”
“I’ve never gotten a warm, fuzzy vibe from Zapata.” The only person who was close enough to Julian and might share information was Lorenzo. “I’ll put in a call to Nick.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“We need to find out if the timing has changed. Tonight, a combined task force from the FBI and CBI will swoop down and pick up the major players. They’ll be caught red-handed and charged. If the schedule is different, the traffickers will get off scot-free.”
She stepped in front of him, halting his aimless route. “I hate that you’re going to talk to Lorenzo, but I get it.”
“I need to have my video guy, Gordon, debug the rooms for Shanahan and Hemming. I hate to leave this in his hands, but I don’t have time to do it myself. I’ve got to trust him while I look at surveillance tapes.”
“And I’ll leave you to it.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Call me if anything turns up.”
AFTER AN HOUR staring at tapes and trying to track the movements of El Jefe, Julian was relieved to have a phone call from Waylon asking him to come out to the barn. “I got something here y’all might want to see.”
“Okay.” He turned away from the screens. “Did you get the order to leave the barn with three new guys later?”
“You betcha I did. The Baker himself told me.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Before he escaped the dimly lit room full of surveillance screens, Gordon stepped inside. “I have those rooms debugged and clean.”
“Did either of my uncles check in yet.”
“Not that I know of.” Gordon dropped the extra key cards on the desk beside Julian. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“After tonight, it’ll all be clear.”
If they survived the bust tonight. Hemming told Angie he’d be here at two, and it was already twelve minutes past the hour. He put through an encrypted call to Shanahan, who answered abruptly.
“Julian, I just checked in at the desk. We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another call came through from Tamara informing him of his uncles’ arrival.
The person Julian hadn’t heard from was Nick Lorenzo, who he’d called twice. He didn’t like the way this was going down.
As he approached the barn, Waylon sauntered out to meet him. This area outside the barn wasn’t bugged and didn’t have camera surveillance, which meant it was one of the more secure places at Nick’s. Julian asked, “What’s up?”
“Yesterday I figured out that the real reason for Angie’s riding lesson was to search for that little girl. Am I right?”
“How did you know about the girl?”
“I hear things now and then. Could be that little Cara told me.” He shrugged. “I think that’s it. Cara said something about her imaginary friend. I didn’t know it was so important to find her.”
Julian was irritated, mad at himself for not trusting the old cowboy with these secrets and hiding the truth from Waylon. “Do you know where she is?”
“No, sir, I sure don’t. But I did. A couple of days ago, I could have taken you to her and introduced you. Not that the girl ever told me her name.” He took off his hat and pushed his hair back from the accordion-pleated wrinkles on his forehead. “I’m real doggoned sorry I didn’t speak up. Wasn’t trying to trick you. Nothing like that.”
“I believe you.” Waylon’s motives were innocent enough. He didn’t want the little girl to get in trouble. “Tell me what happened.”
“This here kid was hanging out in the barn. She’d dragged a blanket and pillow from the bunkhouse and made herself comfy in one of the horse stalls.”
“That matches the story Cara told me.”
“This little girl feeds me a sob story about how she got stuck here and her mama was coming to pick her up real soon. The mama, she said, was a princess.”
Julian winced. Little Gigi wove a complicated web. “You let her stay.”
“I didn’t see the harm. Next morning when I checked in, she was gone. And she’d done a fine job of tidying up after herself. Heck, I wouldn’t know she’d been here, except she left these drawings behind.”
He handed over a few sheets of notepaper. The sketches weren’t bad for a nine-year-old. Julian could tell that one was supposed to be Cara. Another was a standard version of a princess in a ball gown. There were also sketches of a horse, a dog and a barn. Each was signed in the right corner with a double initial: G. G.
“There’s more writing on the back,” Waylon said.
Julian turned over the sheets. The Cara sketch was labeled with her name. The dog was Pookie. And the princess was Marigold. “I’ll be damned,” Julian muttered.
He took out his phone to call Angie, but before she answered, he disconnected. Two of Valentino’s dark blue vans raced toward the barn. He and Waylon jumped out of the way just in time. The door on the driver’s side was flung open. Zapata lurched out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Frustrated that there wasn’t more she could do, Angie flopped into one of the chairs at the table in Jane’s suite on the concierge level. Jane placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her and said, “You might as well relax. Fidgeting won’t make the time go faster.”
“I’m worried that Julian is going to get into trouble.”
“It’s like that when you’re falling in love. Worry doesn’t change anything. Trust and it will turn out fine.”
“I hope so.”
Though a change in schedule seemed unlikely, Angie feared a surprise switch. The trafficking operation would go into action before they were ready, and the witnesses would disappear. Julian’s years of undercover intelligence gathering would be wasted as well as her own efforts. Lorenzo would—once again—evade criminal charges and continue living a charmed life in his Glass Palace.
She’d talked to Marigold and told her to come over here. Maybe she was asking her friend to jump from the frying pan into the fire, but if Marigold was at her side, Angie could protect her. As she raised the mug to her lips, she heard her ringtone. The caller ID showed that Julian was calling, but he hung up before she could answer. Not a good sign. “I wonder what that was about.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Jane said, “but I’m guessing that you and Julian have something going on.”
“You could say that. He’s my boyfriend.”
“And something more.” Jane cocked her head to one side. “I think you two are partners. Are you a cop?”
It was the second time she’d been asked that question in as many days. She must be losing her touch at maintaining an undercover identity. Since Marigold already suspected that Angie was in law enforcement, there didn’t seem to be much point in further denial. Still, she put her index finger across her lips and pointed to Cara who was sprawled on the bed with a coloring book. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Tell me all about you and Julian. I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend.”
“We hit it off.”
“When you’re done with your work at Nick’s, are you going to leave him with a broken heart?”
“That’s not my intention.” What about me? What about my heart?
“I hate to see him get hurt. He’s a good man.”
Cara had been coloring the same square of blue for the past several minutes. Clearly, she was listening to the grown-up conversation. Angie said, “It’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“My work can take me all over the country. Julian is based in Colorado, and this is where he’s going to stay. If we make a commitment, one of us will have to leave our career, and I’m pretty sure that he’d want me to quit. That doesn’t work for me. I’m not ready to settle down.”
Jane nodded slowly. “Have you talked to him about this?”
“There’s no need to talk or discuss. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am.” Even more frustrated, she bounced to her feet, unable to sit quietly and allow fate to take its course. “We’re very much alike, Julian and I. It’s like we think with the same brain.”
She heard the unmistakable snap of gunfire and ran to the window that gave a view of the barn. Cara had gotten there first and was staring. She saw the vans from Valentino’s and armed men ducking for cover. They were under attack, and she was certain that Julian was in the middle of the assault.
She ran into the fourth floor lobby where Muscleman Matt sat at the concierge desk. “Go,” she snapped at him. “Julian is in trouble by the barn.”
“I’m on it. I’ll get the others.”
Her phone rang. The call was coming from Julian.
She answered in a flash. “What’s going on?”
“A disagreement between Zapata and El Jefe.”
“I sent Matt and the other concierge troops to the barn.”
“Shanahan is here. He has more agents on the way. We can handle this.”
