Chapter 15
Zane
“This is a very nice watch,” the jeweler said, though he probably said that all his customers. “This model is very rare. I’ll have to order the crystal from the factory.”
I nodded. “I understand. I notice the band also has two stains. What about replacing that?”
He rubbed his thumb gently over the face of the watch. “I wouldn’t recommend that. It is much more valuable if the band is original.”
“I was told this is a replica.” I used the polite term for fake.
“I don’t think so.” He produced a magnifier and examined the face for a few seconds.
“Eight ticks per second. This is a Rolex movement.” Then out came a small tool and he disconnected the band from the watch, and smiled.
“Confirmation. This case has the serial number engraved under the band as they did in those days. This Rolex is authentic and very valuable.”
I nearly choked when he quoted me a ridiculous value for the watch. “Okay. Let’s leave the band and replace the crystal.”
“As you wish,” he said, filling out a paper receipt for the watch. With zero smart watches in sight, he didn’t seem the type who appreciated computers.
“How long will this take?”
“Not long. I can ask the factory to air freight the crystal and I’ll have the timepiece couriered to you as soon as I finish.”
“That would be great.” I handed over my credit card.
I’d just gotten back in my car when Winston called. “Hey, man, I don’t know if it’s good news or bad, but Frank the weasel has a big hole in his timeline.”
I knew there was something off with him. “Tell me.”
“The situation is weird. His time card showed only a half-hour lunch for him, and the manager backed him up at first. But get this, when I flashed my creds and trotted out the Martha Stewart line, he folded like a wet paper bag.”
Winston liked to remind his interview subjects that Martha Stewart had originally been charged with insider trading, but hadn’t been convicted or even brought to trial on that.
Instead, she was tried and sent to prison for lying to the FBI during her interview.
Lying about anything to the FBI was a felony.
“And the answer is?” I prodded.
“Your friend Frank took a two-hour lunch yesterday, not a half hour. Plenty long enough to get back home and break into Peyton’s place.”
“Fuck. I knew that guy was lying.”
“It doesn’t prove he did it, but lying about his lunch break gives us some leverage when we talk to him again.
And why did the manager not have a problem with his time card only showing a half-hour break?
I tell you, this stinks like Frank is back to his burglary ways and his manager is getting a cut. ”
“Yeah, it could be. Jordy dug up that he was suspected in some other burglaries, but those charges were dropped because he was at work at the time.”
“I told you the manager was fishy.”
“I call dibs on worse cop when we talk to the weasel again.” I wanted to be the one pressing him.
“Fine by me,” he noted.
Instead of good cop, bad cop, we ran a heavy interrogation as bad cop, worse cop.
I was relieved that Frank was now back to being our leading suspect for the burglary, which meant I could relax about Peyton, and of course, she could relax as well.
I needed to call her later with the weird good news.
As I pulled out onto the road, another call came in. It was Pete Brennan.
“Hey, man. How’s it feel to be a free man again?” I added as much levity to my voice as I could. We all knew he’d been through hell and back while he was held by those Syrian assholes.
“Good, until I saw Xavier yesterday. Duke doesn’t believe me, and neither does Grace. She told me to go see a therapist—a fucking therapist. You believe that?”
I had to tread lightly here because his friend Xavier Belson had been lost on a mission, KIA. “Nothing wrong with seeing a guy who looks like Xavier.”
“I tell you, It was him.”
I figured I had maybe one chance at this. “Pete, I saw the after-action report. Xavier didn’t make it back.”
“You too? I tell you, he’s running some covert op. He’s here in LA. I saw him.”
Trying the same thing a second time would not help the situation, so I went a different direction. “An op? What kind?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Copy that. Let me know if I can help.”
When we hung up, I sighed with yet another problem hanging over me. I had my own issues and wasn’t equipped to provide the help Pete obviously needed.
Peyton
My hands shook as I cupped them under the water of the faucet. After the fourth rinse, I finally cleared the puke taste out of my mouth. Determined to be stronger, I stood up straight and cleared my head with several deep breaths.
He wanted to prey on my fear. That’s why he’d sent the note. To feel strong, he needed me to act weak. Well, fuck that.
I was smart enough to be afraid of him, but I was determined not to let my fear become desperation.
“Beg me to spare you. Beg for your life, like Cassandra did,” he’d demanded in Atlanta.
It had made me even more determined not to give in, not to break. I’d beaten him once in Atlanta, and I would do it again and escape. I would leave LA, and I would survive. I would not give in or give up and feed his ego.
In the mirror, I noticed a few strands of hair on my left side had been unlucky enough to get some barf caught in them.
The restroom door opened suddenly. “My God,” Marci croaked. “What happened?”
The smell of vomit in the small space made it impossible to lie about puking my guts out, but I couldn’t possibly tell anyone it had been the flowers and that awful note that made me upchuck.
“I really shouldn’t have had the leftover tuna casserole this morning.
” I leaned over to rinse the ends of my hair.
“Maybe you should go home and rest.” Marci remained in the doorway.
I needed an escape plan first, and being here among people was safe for the time being, especially with Terry in the office. The monster wouldn’t dare show himself here. “Nah, I feel better now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll consider it if things go bad again. Besides, I’m staying with March for a night or two, and I don’t have a key.”
“Oh yeah.” She grimaced. “You poor thing. Grace told me what happened. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine how violated you must feel after someone broke into your home.”
Shaking my head, I worked on the ends of my hair. “I don’t recommend it.” Having my escape money stolen the day before I needed it sure rated as a ten on the violation scale. Hair ends rinsed, I straightened and moved to the paper towel dispenser.
Grace appeared behind Marci. Catching my eye, she smiled. “I saw those flowers. They’re lovely.”
“I put them in a vase for you,” Marci clarified, as she moved out of the way for Grace. “You’ll need to add water.”
“Thanks,” I answered, drying my hair with some paper towels.
Grace walked in and immediately wrinkled her nose. “Upset stomach?”
“Food poisoning,” Marci answered for me. “Leftover tuna casserole.”
“Do you want to take the rest of the day?”
Marci spoke up again. “She said not yet.”
Grace cocked her head. “It’s up to you. I’ll call you an Uber whenever you want.”
I threw the paper away. “Thanks. I think I’m okay for now.” I inched toward the door.
“Are you in or out?” Grace asked Marci, who was still holding the door open.
I shouldered by Terry who’d followed Grace—bodyguard in the extreme.
Ten minutes later, I sat at my desk, with those damned flowers in a vase off to the side.
I hadn’t done them the honor of giving them water.
Screw the Strangler. Screw his flowers. I would have tossed them in the trash if I could have without being questioned about it. No, I would have torched them.
Marci had a can of hairspray in her desk. I would have tried the movie trick of making a flamethrower out of hairspray and a lighter—screw the smoke. That’s what they deserved.
Turning away from them, I started scribbling on my notepad, working out my plan for leaving LA. First, I needed money. I’d scratched out asking Grace, March, or anyone here. That would involve too many questions.
It was probably damn Frankie who stole my money. I thought about going home while he was at work and breaking into his condo to get my money back. But that reduced me to his level, and there were a dozen ways it could go horribly wrong.
Did Frankie have an alarm?
I had no idea. I also couldn’t be sure it was him.
If I had another week, no doubt March and Winston knew ways to pressure Frankie to give it back, or maybe they would just pick his lock and steal it themselves. I wasn’t interested in knowing their methods, only the outcome.
Marci looked my way, and I smiled, giving her a thumbs-up.
The gesture worked to keep her in her seat so I could continue my planning.
I pulled in a deep breath, and it took me a minute to blink back the tears that threatened.
Leaving meant leaving Grace, Terry, and the rest of the Hawk crew, Marci, Paul, and yes, March—the man who’d made me question my no-men rule.
I sniffled. What would have happened between us if the Strangler hadn’t found me?
I swallowed hard. Now I’d never know. God, this was difficult.
I’d formed attachments here. One particular man would be harder to leave than all the rest. The bonds would be painful to sever, but running was the only way to stay alive.
Terry looked my way, and I gave him my best smile.
How had I been stupid enough to let March get under my skin like this? No men was a rule for a reason, dammit. I’d let my defenses slip for one minute, and now I was paying the price. That damned kiss. Even now, I got tingly all over when I thought of it.
I considered going back to the ladies’ room to have a good cry, but decided that would have to wait. Time was precious, and the Strangler could be outside right now, counting down the hours until I had to leave the safety of this crowd.