Nobody But You Read online

  Stemple jumped a mile when Al flicked on the lamp next to the recliner. “Shit, man, you fucking scared me to death.” He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, and then Al saw his eyes widen. “Well lookie-loo,” he said. “If it isn’t a dead man walking.”

  Al bit back a smile. Stemple might be an idiot about a lot of things, but he’d been a big help faking Al’s death. If it weren’t for Stemple, there wouldn’t have been a body for the cops to find after the office exploded—or the remains of a body, anyway. Absent teeth, of course, which was kind of grisly when you thought about it, so Al tried not to linger on the point.

  Stemple had also pulled the strings to get Al’s fake name in order. Al had no idea who’d done the work, but one day Charles Lafontaine had been a twinkle in Al’s eye. The next day, Lafontaine had a Social Security card, a passport, and a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Anything was possible if you were willing to pay.

  And pay Al had. It had cost a small fortune, but at the time, he’d been more than willing to dole out the money. Hell, it was only a fraction of what Al was going to be pocketing. Too bad Al had lost his cut to Jacey, and Lafontaine’s bank account in the Caymans still held a zero balance.

  Of course, if the state of this apartment was any indication, Stemple had snorted his share and his bank account was still empty, too. Idiot. If he’d put the money in T-bills, he could be sitting pretty.

  “You get tired of living the high life on some island? Decide to come back and slum with us?”

  “There was a little glitch in my plans,” Al admitted. “Your fence never showed.”

  Stemple held up his hands and backed away, his eyes drifting toward Al’s waist. “Hey, man, not my fault. You wanted me to hook you up and I did. I’m not the guy’s father.”

  “Chill out,” Al said, realizing his hand was in his suit pocket. He took a deep breath, shifting his hand a little. If Stemple thought he had a gun, all the better. They’d known each other for years, but that didn’t mean they trusted each other. Their’s had been a relationship based on convenience—and cash.

  “I’m not here because of that,” Al said. At the time, he’d been furious. Now he had bigger problems. “But while I was there, Reggie made me.”

  “Fuck me,” Stemple said.

  “No, fuck me. If Reggie had caught me back then, you really would be talking to a dead man. But I managed to avoid him.”

  “They musta known the explosion was fake.”

  Al nodded. The scheme had been one of those fortuitous things—a situation dropped in his lap that had been too good to pass up. In retrospect, of course, he should have passed with gusto, because in addition to being perfect, the plan was also obvious—at least to Joey Malone. Al had assumed Joey would figure things out; he’d just hoped he’d be out of the country when Joey did.

  It had started when his boss had died. Al hadn’t been working on any of Joey’s cases, but he was around the office enough to know that something big was brewing. The cops had made Joey for a diamond heist, but they didn’t have the evidence to indict, and they sure as hell hadn’t found the missing jewels. They never would, either, because Joey had entrusted them to his attorney and a cool million in ice was stashed in the safe hidden in Melvin’s floor.

  When Melvin had up and kicked the bucket with a heart attack no one saw coming, Al had decided to help himself.

  For a price, Stemple had been more than willing to help his roomie. Hell, for a price Stemple would do anything. And they’d managed to pull the whole thing together in just under two days. The plan had been perfect—until the fence hadn’t shown up, Joey’s thugs had found Al in the hotel, and Al had hooked up with Jude.

  “So what the fuck are you doing here now? If Malone’s onto you, you should’ve stayed out of the country. Made a phone call, man. I coulda found you a fence in Mexico or Grand Cayman or wherever the hell you landed.”

  “I landed in a shitty little apartment outside Tijuana because I didn’t have enough money to get to my island,” Reggie said.

  “No shit?” Stemple asked. He took a slug from an open can of beer that had been sitting on the coffee table for God knew how long. “How’d you manage to blow through a mil so fast?”

  “I didn’t have the million,” Al said, his words level. “After Reggie made me, I hooked up with a girl. Figured I could hide in her bed until Reggie quit snooping around.”

  “A million’s a hell of a fee for a high-class hooker.”

  “You’re just a laugh riot, Brad, you know that?”

  Stemple just smiled and took another slug of warm beer. Al grimaced, wondering not for the first time how he’d managed to stomach living with the guy. It was a wonder he hadn’t caught some bizarre disease.

  “Seriously,” Stemple said. “What happened?”

  “I hid the stuff in her car. She wanted to go to some hoity-toity place for dinner and I got the idea.” He grimaced. “A damn good idea, too. Hide the diamonds. Sneak out at night. Steal her car, and head out across the border.”

  “So what happened?”

  Al’s stomach twisted. “The bitch ran out on me.”

  Stemple laughed. Not exactly the sympathy Al had hoped for. “What’s the matter, man? You losing your touch?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is she’s gone, and she has my diamonds.”

  “Bummer.”

  Al stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, you could say that.” He looked Stemple in the eye. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

  “Whatever you need, buddy. You know that.”

  Al could practically see the dollar signs flashing above Stemple’s head. “She gave me a fake name. I called the hotel from San Diego and no Jude Wilde was registered for the conference. I want you to go down there, poke around, and see if you can figure out her real name. Then get me an address. I need to find that car. And if the diamonds aren’t still in it, I may need you to have a little chat with her.”

  Stemple frowned as he crushed the beer can and tossed it into a corner. It landed with a metallic clank against the other cans piled there. “She got curly red hair?”

  It was Al’s turn to frown. “How the hell did you know that?”

  A broad smile cut across Stemple’s face, revealing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. “Shit, man. I’m good even when I’m not trying.” He spread his hands wide. “Jacey Wilder,” he said. “The bitch’s name is Jacey Wilder.”

  Chapter 5

  I should’ve listened to my gut. No matter how much a dame gets under your skin, that’s the first commandment, and I blew it. I sinned against every truth I know about this crazy business and I took Mallory into the lion’s den with me.

  We headed for the back room, ignoring the saps eyeballing Mallory’s gams as we moved through the joint. The back room at Big Sal’s ain’t no place for a lady under normal circumstances. But Mallory wouldn’t sit still for being left behind and I didn’t want her to have to take any lip from the mugs at the counter. Even I have my moments of being a gentleman.

  But as soon as we pushed through the door, I knew I should’ve put a tight lid on etiquette and left her at the counter with a cup of joe and a promise I’d be back soon.

  She stopped short, right behind me, her eyes heading straight for the body on the floor, just like I knew they would. Her hand fluttered at her neck, the only indication that Mallory’s ice-cold veneer had started to melt.

  “Is he dead?”

  Considering the hole in his head, the answer to that question wasn’t too tricky. No doubt about it, somebody had zotzed Big Sal.

  “If he ain’t,” I said, “he’s gonna have one hell of a headache come morning.”

  Dead.

  David’s fingers paused above the keys. So far, he’d written two sentences and they both sucked. The story was in his head, but he couldn’t get it out onto the paper. The line between his brain and his fingers was too filled with thoughts of Jacey and her dead boyfriend.

>   Damn.

  He’d tracked down a dead man, and now he couldn’t get Jacey out of his head. Not to mention her perplexed, forlorn expression. Poor kid. When he’d gone to her apartment, she’d probably assumed she’d be back in Al’s arms by dinnertime.

  And even though he might sympathize with old Al for getting wrapped up with a marriage-minded female, David couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. She might be a pain in the butt, but he had to admit he liked her. Basically, she’d grown on him. And she deserved a hell of a lot better than a barbequed boyfriend.

  He flicked off the power to his IBM Selectric, giving in to the fact that he wasn’t going to be writing any prize-winning pages today. A damn shame. Usually the buzz of the classic IBM machine inspired him. Hell, about the only way he could be more inspired would be to bang out his books on an old Royal with a crooked e. Right now, apparently, inspiration was taking a holiday.

  With a groan, he levered himself out of the chair and wandered into his kitchen. A quick inventory of his cabinets revealed that he had all the makings for a chocolate torte, bread pudding, or bananas Foster. Dinner-appropriate food, however, was conspicuously absent.

  He checked his watch. Almost nine. If he hurried, he could get to the Peking Duck before the kitchen closed. He’d have to order takeout, but that was okay. Heck, maybe he should even get enough for Jacey. After all, he’d dropped some pretty bad news on her today. The least he could do was deliver dinner and offer her a lift home.

  He told himself he just wanted to be a gentleman, but a little voice whispered that he wanted to see Jacey again. He ignored it. He had enough little voices in his head without adding another. He was just going to feed her, drive her, console her. That was it. Then his conscience would be clear and he could come home and work on his book and life would be back to normal. Just the way he liked it.

  Finally with a plan, he headed out, maneuvering the Studillac through the residential streets until he hit the freeway and cruised to Santa Monica. The owner knew him, and as soon as David said he was getting food to go for two, Ling lit up and started shouting directions to the kitchen. David had no idea what she was talking about, but she’d never steered him wrong where food was concerned, so he just kicked back, listened to the sizzle of the kitchen as he sipped his green tea, and waited for his order.

  About ten minutes later, she plunked a fully stuffed paper shopping bag on the table in front of him. He caught the pungent odor of garlic and his mouth started to water.

  “I said takeout for two,” he said, peeling back the lid of one of the little triangular boxes. “This is enough to feed a small town.”

  “You said is for a woman,” she countered. “You want to impress her, yes?”

  David sighed. Ling had moved to the States three years ago with her daughter. Jenny had married a year later, and now Ling had more or less adopted all her customers.

  “She’s a client, Ling,” he said, having something of a déjà vu moment. “Not a girlfriend.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ling didn’t seem to believe him and he made a mental note to bring Aunt Millie here for dinner one day. She and Ling would definitely get along.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was trudging along the Promenade carrying a mountain of food, and looking for a studio resale shop. He paused in front of Gaucho Grill, one of his absolute favorite restaurants, and surveyed the area, feeling something like a fool standing there holding a bag as dozens of people passed him. One overly generous business type even tossed in a quarter. David made a mental note to get a haircut.

  He couldn’t see much across the street to the north because of the newsstand, but when he turned in the opposite direction, he caught a glimpse of a neon sign for OUT OF THE CLOSET. Considering he was looking for a resale clothing shop, that one seemed worth a try.

  As he got closer and saw the movie posters in the window, he knew he’d guessed right. Balancing the sack on his hip, he pulled open the door and stepped inside, triggering the electronic buzz of a security system.

  He slid the bag onto the checkout counter—a glass case filled with costume jewelry, beaded purses, and similar girly things—and looked around the empty store for Jacey.

  No one.

  He frowned, wondering if he’d picked the wrong store after all. Then Jacey’s voice filtered in from somewhere at the back. “Let me know if you need any help. I’ll be right out.”

  The place definitely had a movie theme going. An awesome mural filled the space behind the case—a strip of film curling through the sky, each frame a scene from a classic movie. David wasn’t really a movie guy, but he had to admit the mural was perfect for the little shop that was jam-packed with rounders of clothes left over from movie and television shoots. He picked an item at random and looked at the tag—Meg Ryan, Kate & Leopold. He shrugged. Chick flick.

  A rustling of clothes caught his attention, and then Jacey appeared, squeezing between two rounders. David swallowed. If he’d almost fainted seeing her in those cropped pants, he was damn near close to having a heart attack now. The drowned rat of a woman who’d knocked on his door didn’t look so drowned anymore. Instead, she looked like a Hollywood sex kitten.

  With a full skirt, her blood-red dress hung to just above her ankles. Nothing provocative in theory, but she was wearing matching stiletto-heeled, open-toe sandals that, David had to admit, looked damn sexy. Not only that, but while the skirt might be concealing, the rest of the dress wasn’t. Made out of the same silky material, the front seemed to be nothing more than two swatches of material that rode up from the tight waist, covering her breasts, revealing miles of cleavage, and tying around her neck. He couldn’t actually see behind her, but he was pretty sure her back was bare.

  “Wow,” he said, then wished he could take it back. That was the second time he’d said that today. The woman was going to get a complex.

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “David. Oh. Hi.”

  So much for an enthusiastic welcome. “I never realized June Cleaver could look so hot.”

  “June Cleaver?” Her eyes widened. “You really think I’m June Cleaver?”

  “Hell yes. Or I did.” He swept an arm up and down, indicating her outfit. “Of course, Wally and the Beav would’ve had a heart attack seeing Mom decked out like that.”

  The blush deepened, and she grabbed a denim jacket off the nearest rack and shoved her arms into it, pulling it tight across her chest. Not exactly provocative, but she still looked damn cute.

  “I think fur would be more appropriate,” he said.

  She blinked. “What?”

  He glanced at the jacket.

  “Oh. Right.” She buttoned it up, her cheeks still flaming. “Since Gregory can’t pay much, he offered to let me have one outfit. I’m, uh, going to pick something more practical, but I thought this would be fun to try on.”

  “Why not pick that?”

  “The jacket?”

  “The dress,” he said. “You look great.”

  “I do?” She licked her lips. “I mean, thank you. But it’s not exactly my style.”

  “Maybe it should be.”

  “Who are you? The fashion editor at Vogue?”

  He chuckled. “Just a guy. And believe me, that dress is definitely you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m me. And I think I should know what’s me and what’s not me.”

  “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” he said, even though he knew he should just drop it. The woman drove him nuts, but she also amused the hell out of him.

  Apparently, Jacey wasn’t amused, not if the glare she shot him was any indication. “So why are you here?”

  He nodded toward the box. “I come bearing food. And a lift home. You’ve had a hell of a day. I thought it would be nice.”

  She stared at the sack. “You brought me food?”

  “Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, I brought us both food. I thought we could find a table outside somewhere.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Surprise laced her voice.
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  “I’m not a complete jerk.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. It’s just…” She trailed off, then looked him in the eye. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, accepting her unspoken truce.

  Her skirt brushed his leg as she moved past him to peer over the rim of the sack. “What have we got?”

  “Chinese,” he said. “Is that okay?” He loved Chinese food and hoped like hell she didn’t hate the stuff.

  “Are you kidding? That’s great.” She looked around the empty store. “But I don’t close up until eleven. I’d hate for it to get cold.”

  He started pulling little Chinese food cartons out of the bag. “So let’s just eat here.”

  “Here?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like the place is jumping with customers.”

  She cocked her head. “It has been slow. I think there’s something going on at UCLA today.”

  “And you do have to eat…”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me.” She nodded toward the display window. “I saw some quilts in a basket over there if you want to find something we can use as a picnic blanket.” She started walking toward the back of the store.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To change.” She held the skirt out with one hand. “Maybe if you’d brought filet mignon and champagne, but for Chinese, I think pants are more appropriate.”

  He let his gaze rake over her, feeling a rush of masculine pride at the way she shivered under his appraisal. “Believe me, sweetheart, that dress is more than appropriate.”

  Her lips pressed together and pink tinged her cheeks again. That’s one thing he loved about redheads—they blushed so easily. After a second, she shook her head. “Nope. Dress-up time is over. I’m changing back into my own clothes, and later I’ll pick out something to keep.”

  “You should keep that dress,” he said.

  “And you should go find us a picnic blanket.” Her voice was stern, but he saw her eyes dance before she disappeared into the back of the store.