Chapter Twenty-Eight
Saffi stared coolly at Dimple Kapoor, who flashed her a smirk too quick for anyone else to catch. If it weren’t for the fact that they were in a police station, Saffi might’ve throttled her. She wouldn’t be happy for long. Saffi would make sure of that.
“Here I am,” Dimple announced, as though she was doing her a favor just by being there.
“A returned call would’ve sufficed.”
“But you know how much I prefer talking face-to-face,” Dimple said.
So she’d come here to gloat. For what, Saffi still wasn’t sure yet.
“Where did you disappear to?” Saffi asked, leaning against the only free wall in the precinct.
Several hours after the party and Saffi had caught no sight of Dimple until now. Her dress was a beacon, bright enough to be seen from space. The most lethargic cops moved around her without complaint. A few even stopped to stare, blinking rapidly as though to make sure they weren’t dreaming.
“It got hectic, so I left,” Dimple replied. “Can you blame me?”
“After what you did to Shyla Patel? Yes, I think I can.”
That wiped the manufactured emotions from her face. “That shouldn’t have happened,” Dimple said somberly.
It was the closest thing to a confession Saffi had ever gotten. And it sounded like Dimple meant it. Then again, what would Saffi know? Dimple could say the sky was falling and sound entirely sincere about it.
The problem was that this time, Saffi wanted desperately to believe her.
“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to abandon you,” Dimple said. “But I’m here now, aren’t I? I am as committed to this investigation as you are.”
“Hard not to be in your case.” Saffi gave her a once-over. She was in the same clothes she’d worn to the party, but she seemed more disheveled than usual, hair frizzing up as though she’d been wearing a hat. Whatever she’d been doing between the party and now, it couldn’t be good.
She drummed her fingers impatiently against her biceps. A phone ringing cut through the background hum of the police station. The night shift meant everything was unusually somber, so odd sounds were especially disarming.
They were taking forever to get Olsen here. Even Dimple had already finished up whatever the hell she’d been doing. This was one of the rare occasions that being a private investigator felt completely useless. They had no legal jurisdiction, so there was nothing to do but wait.
“Don’t make that face,” Dimple said. Saffi could tell by her tone alone that she was amused.
“What face?” Saffi muttered.
“Like you’re about to give up when this is the most fun either of us has ever had.”
Saffi turned to glare at her, blood boiling. “If you think this is enough to make me give up—”
“That’s better,” Dimple interrupted, her smile much softer than Saffi had thought it could get.
Dangerous games.
The actress shifted, her dress moving with her, and something caught Saffi’s attention.
Her hand darted out without thinking. Dimple’s burning touch circled her wrist, but it was too late.
Saffi already had a vise grip on the cylindrical object in Dimple’s pocket.
Something else bumped against her knuckles—the lighter.
“Let go,” Dimple said, voice firm. Was that a touch of panic Saffi detected in her tone?
“You first,” she replied.
Their bodies were angled in such a way onlookers wouldn’t be able to tell anything was amiss. Dimple smelled like honey and burnt plastic. When neither of them relented, Saffi raised her eyebrows. Dimple’s grip on her wrist was tight enough to bruise bone.
Then, all of a sudden, Dimple relaxed her hold. Saffi didn’t trust it for one second, but this was her chance. She retracted her hand from Dimple’s pocket as quickly as she could. The actress was just as fast. Both of their hands clamped around the plastic vial, but Saffi tugged it up to the light.
Empty. Although, she had a feeling it hadn’t always been. Probably sensing that she’d lost, Dimple swore under her breath. Saffi twisted her wrist and freed the plastic cylinder from her grasp.
“You should’ve gotten rid of this like you did the rest of your disguise,” Saffi said.
As though subconsciously, Dimple smoothed out her hair. Before she could reach for it again, Saffi tucked the vial away into the inner pocket of her suit jacket. She would look into it later.
It was then that a clamor of noise erupted from the front of the precinct.
They whipped around and Saffi caught glimpses through the window of paparazzi camped outside.
They seemed to know better than dare to enter, but their lenses watched carefully.
Dimple, also seeming to notice this, turned her back to the window.
Saffi stepped in front of her to further obscure the view.
“I don’t know who tipped them off, but I have half a mind to arrest them,” an officer mumbled as he shut the blinds.
Just then, the front door burst open, bringing in overlapping shouts and the sound of several camera shutters.
Saffi watched as three separate officers dragged in an erratic Hector Olsen.
He kicked and bit and threw himself around, attempting to break free.
That would explain why it had taken so long to transport him.
Saffi studied the man closer, unsurprised to find that his movements were still erratic. She aimed a pointed look at Dimple over her shoulder, who only shrugged in response.
Olsen sharpened the second he noticed Dimple. “It was her—that bitch! She did this to me!”
He lunged forward, but the officers’ hold on him was unrelenting.
Dimple stepped closer to Saffi, seemingly shocked, but excessively so, clearly playing it up for the others present.
The brightness about her, though, spoke volumes.
Getting a front row seat to this show had to be at least part of the reason why she’d decided to make an appearance.
“You’re saying she broke that girl’s nose?” a bored police officer asked, rolling his eyes.
Dimple stiffened.
“She made me do it—!” Olsen tried again.
“Yeah, yeah,” the officer said, helping the other officers shove Olsen into a holding room. “Save it for your lawyers, man.”
As the officers moved him out of the way, Saffi watched as Andino and Taylor returned, summoned by the chaos. Andino had a scowl painted on and made a face at Saffi that she read as: Can you believe this? Taylor, however, was studying Dimple with a frown.
Saffi opened her mouth to greet them, but sirens cut her off. Three officers ran past them, which she tracked with her eyes.
“What’s going on?” she asked out loud, not expecting an answer.
An officer must’ve heard. “House fire in Beverly Hills,” he called over his shoulder.
It took a moment for the location of the fire to click in Saffi’s mind.
That and the fact that it was a fire. Saffi glanced over at Dimple, who looked a little too smug for her own good.
She thought of the red lighter always tucked into the actress’s pocket.
Of the mysterious vial stashed in her own.
And of the lingering smell of burnt plastic.
She had a feeling she knew exactly where Dimple Kapoor had run off to.