20. Black Moment
TWENTY
BLACK MOMENT
Ian
“You’re on your own, Kincaid.” From over the phone, Jules’ unapologetic voice stabs at my already pounding headache.
“What do you mean, I’m on my own?” I kick my office chair, making it spin out from behind my desk. “ You’re the one who told me about the private eye.” Squatting down, I run through all the desk drawers one more time, just in case I missed my spare key the first go ’round.
“Chicks before dicks.”
My hand pauses mid file flick. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes. I’m serious.” She heaves a deep breath like somehow she’s annoyed with me . “Listen, I already told you, Trish got to the ranch safe and sound. She’s out back with Cookie now.”
I slam the desk drawer shut and stomp toward the kitchen. “Your cow?”
“Yes. Operation Emotional Support Animal is a go.”
“Jesus.” I need new friends. Or a drink. Or at the very least some ibuprofen.
Turning the corner, I pause to scan my normally pristine and orderly kitchen, which at the moment looks like a bomb went off in it.
Drawers open, pots and pans on the floor, papers and utensils everywhere.
I put Jules on speaker and drop the phone on the island.
“You know what?” With both hands I rip out the junk drawer where my spare key fob was supposed to be and dump everything out on the floor.
Still no fob. “I’ll head to the ranch as soon as I find my spare key. I’ll talk to Trish then.”
“Um, yeah, about that.”
I dump the next drawer as well. No fob.
“You won’t find it.”
I pause with my hands on the third drawer. “Why not?”
“Trish mentioned she needs to messenger two keys back to you. So I’m pretty sure she took your spare, too.”
“Are you serious? I have a work meeting tomorrow morning.”
Jules chuckles. “Have you ever heard of Uber?”
Suddenly exhausted, I fall back against the remaining cabinets and rub both hands down my face like I can somehow erase what Jules just said. But I can’t.
I wonder how long it will take the dealership to get new keys made.
“Plus, you’re not on the list.”
“What list?” Maybe if I paid extra they could rush?—
“The security list for entrance onto the property.”
My nostrils flare as I shoot a death glare at my phone, lying so innocuously on the marble counter.
“What do you mean I’m not on the list?” I snatch up the phone, barking into the receiver.
“Why the hell am I not on the list, Starr?” Any semblance of calm I’ve been clinging to dissipates as my face heats and blood pressure rises. “I was on the list before.”
“Yeah, well, that was before Trish. After Trish, I had to take you off the list.”
She’s talking to me as though I’m a small child, and it’s a good thing she isn’t in front of me, because I’d probably try and strangle her.
Taking a deep breath in through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, I try again with Jules. “Put me back on the list.”
She tsks. “No can do, Kincaid. Like I said, you’re on your own.”
It’s a wonder the screen doesn’t crack from how hard I’m gripping the phone.
“Hey, but on the bright side, you’ll be back on the list for the wedding. So there’s that.” Jules’ placating is just as frustrating as her bullshitting.
“Okay, fine.” I take a deep breath, trying to focus.
The ranch is the best place for Trish. Holt has security already stationed there for the wedding.
My nostrils flare. And apparently there is a short list of who can and can’t come onto the property.
Plus, Trish said herself she would stay for the wedding.
The wedding. Just days away but feels like forever. That means I have until then to figure this out. Find a solution. To deal with it.
I nod to myself. First things first, I need more information. “Tell me the name of the private eye who came to Trish’s trailer.”
Jules sighs. “Ian, you know I can’t do that.”
“Yes. You can.”
“Dude—”
“You’ll do it because at this point, what does it matter? Trish already knows you told me about him anyway.”
“Well yeah, but?—”
“And you’ll do it because if you want any part of the EVAs for the new Bartolomeo installation you’ll cough up the PI’s name. Now .” I sound so much like my father it should make me sick, but I just don’t give a damn anymore.
When Jules finally talks, gone is the levity I’m used to, her voice hard and low. “Don’t even think of messing with my job, Kincaid. That ain’t right.”
“All’s fair in love and war, Starr.”
“Love, huh?” I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. “Yeah, guess love does make you do crazy shit.” Thankfully she doesn’t sound as murderous.
“Name?”
“Fine. But if she asks, I told you the name before. I don’t feel like getting in trouble for the same thing twice.”
“Scout’s honor.”
That gets a small laugh. “Gary Ranos. If the private detective badge he showed me was legit, he works out of Georgia.”
“Thanks, Jules.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
“Jules?” Trish’s voice, soft and lilting, washes over me through the phone.
“In here, Shortstack!” Jules doesn’t bother to pull the phone away from her mouth when she yells. “See you at the wedding,” she whispers to me, then hangs up.
I need a good five minutes of steady breathing, breathing I learned from Dr. Brown in case I started panicking due to my claustrophobia. Turns out it works well when you’re heartbroken and frustrated too.
Twelve hours later, after a sleepless night, a tow ride to the dealership, and the purchase of a new virtual private network, I’m deep in puzzle-solving mode while waiting for my new keys.
Not wanting to use my government-issued laptop to search for information on a felony or a private eye, I’d registered the VPN to a throwaway email account so I could search via my personal cell phone. Just in case Big Brother is watching.
I may be paranoid, but better paranoid than to direct law enforcement my, or worse, Trish’s way.
So far I know that Trish isn’t a felon. At least not yet. So that’s good.
She simply has a warrant out for her arrest in relation to a felony theft. After an additional bit of searching, I found that for theft to be considered a felony the stolen items have to be worth more than a certain amount.
Now, I was only in her trailer that one time, and true, I wasn’t in the best mindset, but it wasn’t like it was bedazzled in diamonds. It doesn’t sit right, thinking of Trish as a thief.
I’ve also made a call to Gary Ranos. Turns out he is a private detective out of Georgia. He’s willing to talk just as soon as the wire transfer I sent him clears. Makes me wonder how ethical the guy is if he’s willing to reveal confidential information as long as the price is right.
“It’ll be just a few more minutes, Mr. Kincaid.” I look up at the dealership receptionist, Dale, who pokes his head into the waiting area. “Can I get you more coffee?” He nods at the empty mug at my side.
It’s surprisingly good coffee. But as my leg is already bouncing a mile a minute, I think I better cool it with the caffeine. “I’m good, but thanks.”
My phone, still in my hand, rings, and with my coffee jitters I nearly drop it. “Hello?”
“The money cleared.” Gary Ranos’ voice comes through distant, as though it’s a bad connection.
I stand, nodding. “Good.” Not wanting to be overheard, I make my way to the front doors of the dealership. “Tell me who hired you.”
“Chad Mitchell.”
I push back on the glass doors, a wave of afternoon heat hitting me, Houston seemingly forgetting that it’s fall. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“He’s the son of Judge Randall Mitchell, the one who accused Patricia Anne Garrett LaRue of stealing.”
A judge. Great.
“Mitchell hired me to find Patty and ask her to return to Georgia with me.”
It takes me a second to realize Patty is Trish. “Not to help arrest her?”
“No, sir.” Between Ranos’ muffled voice and a loud smack, I realize he’s chewing. “He specifically told me to keep the police out of it.”
I think back on everything Jules told me about the encounter she had with the private decretive the night Gary Ranos came knocking on Trish’s door. “Then why did you mention the police when you went to the trailer?”
“Well, ah, truthfully…” Ranos clears his throat. “You see, in my experience women are more likely to comply when the authorities are mentioned.”
In other words, he thought he could frighten a single woman all alone into doing what he wanted. I take a breath but let the curse words bubbling up my throat settle back down. Focus .
“Did Mitchell tell you why he wanted Trish to come back to Georgia if it isn’t to arrest her?”
“Nope.” Ranos takes another bite. “Didn’t even tell me about the warrant.” Swallow. “I found that out myself when I did a simple background check on her before setting out to find her.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the pain helping to keep my annoyance at bay. “What did he say when you told him you’d found her?”
“He was pleased.” Smacking followed by a belch. “But then pissed when I said she’d disappeared again.”
Mentally I cross my fingers. “Have you found her since she moved?”
“Nope, but I figure she’s still in the Houston area.
That clunker truck of hers doesn’t look like it’ll make it out of town.
” Chewing. “That’s how I found her the first time.
Apparently, it was her grandfather’s truck.
Doesn’t look like she can make herself get rid of it.
” He snorts. “Sentimentality always gets you caught in the end.”
I want to both punch Ranos and hug Trish. It’s an interesting war of emotion.
“But what with the Wests’ security team following Julie Starr and her friends around,” Ranos continues, “I haven’t been able to get close or find out where she’s crashing.” Swallow.
That pulls me up short. Holt’s having the girls tailed by his security team, huh? I bet Jules would love that little piece of information.
“How thorough is this background check of yours?”
“The best.” The slurping of liquid through a straw has me moving my phone from my ear. “But it’ll cost you.”