Present Tense (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 2) (12 page)

Wilky nodded. "I also knew Parker was up in Dallas 'cause he mentioned it to me a few days ago. But if I'd known you'd wind up where you did, I never would've gotten you involved. You've gotta believe that, darlin'."

"And what about L.A.?" Parker said. "How did you know she wouldn't get hurt during the intercept?"

"Scaffe promised me she wouldn't."

I set my cup down. "So he knew about me?"

"Just that you were a woman and you were green. Nothing more than that. Then the plane crash happened and everything went haywire and Scaffe and his men got on a private jet, headed out here, and started looking for Rider."

"With the help of your tracker," Parker said.

Wilky spread his hands. "They didn't know if Rider was alive, but the transmitter was putting off a signal and it was moving, so they had to assume he was."

"And what did
you
do?"

"Called Elmo and holed up here until you sicced the feds on me. Which, I might add, was not a very friendly thing to do. How long have we known each other?"

"Don't try to turn this around on me, Wilky."

He raised his hands. "You're right, you're right, I apologize."

"You're gonna do more than apologize," Parker said. "I want to know who Scaffe's client is."

Wilky's brows went up. "What makes you think I know that?"

"Because I'm guessing that private jet they flew out on belonged to her, and I'm pretty sure you're only telling us part of the story."

"Now, come on, Parker, I've invited you into my house. Why would I withhold—"

"I
know
you, Wilky. You never get involved in anything without full disclosure—no matter who's making the request—and I'm betting you've parlayed your involvement in this fiasco into a neat little payoff. Threats or no threats, if you're gonna risk even a sliver of your reputation it has to be worth your while. Scaffe offered you a cut of the diamonds, didn't he?"

Wilky stiffened. "What kind of man do you take me for?"

"Exactly the kind of man you are. You didn't build this house on bail bond business alone—no mid-level bondsman makes that kind of cash—so like any good businessman you've learned to diversify, and I'm betting some of that diversification isn't legal. Which is why Scaffe thought it was safe to approach you in the first place."

Wilky's gaze snapped toward his bodyguard. "Elmo, escort these two out of here. I'm going back to bed."

Elmo started forward but Parker rose to block him. "I like you, Mo, I always have, so please don't make me hurt a friend."

Elmo hesitated. "You think you can?"

"I can sure as hell try." Parker looked at Wilky. "You'd better call him off, because I'm not leaving here until you give me that information. A man is about to die because of you. And I won't hesitate to tell the feds about your involvement."

Wilky looked amused. "Like you could prove anything."

Parker turned to me. "Show it to him."

I reached into my shirt pocket and produced my cell phone, showing him the screen. The view featured a flashing red light and the words
STREAMING IN PROGRESS
.

Wilky frowned. "What the hell is that?"

"It's us," I told him. "Everything we say is being uploaded to an Internet broadcast site that'll go live in two hours unless we take it down."

"And if you don't cooperate," Parker said, "the FBI and the local papers'll get an invite to tune in, and once you're facing criminal charges, that reputation you're so concerned about will be shot all to hell." He smiled. "But I'm sure Elmo'll be happy to visit you at HFDC. Won't you, Mo?"

"As long as I'm on the outside looking in."

Wilky did a slow burn, then waved Elmo off and sank onto his chair. "Goddamn Internet'll be the death of all of us."

"Only those who can't keep up," I said.
 

Wilky sighed. "I had a hard enough time figuring out how to use the coffee machine."

"Just tell us who Scaffe's client is," Parker said. "And everything you know about her."

Wilky sighed again, deeper and harder this time. "Elmo, go get my laptop."

Wilky's laptop (if you could call it that, it was so damn big) was several years old and still running Windows XP. I had been dating Ethan when the thing was new.
 

He pried open the lid, connected to a secure wireless server, and logged onto a database for
WILKINSON BAIL BONDS
.

He said, "You know me better than I thought you did, Parker. I don't make a deal unless I've got every scrap of information I can find about the people I'm in business with—and the people
they're
in business with, too. I consider it a matter of survival."

I couldn't speak for Parker, but I didn't really give a damn why he did what he did. Once again, I just wanted him to get on with it.
 

In my mind's eye, I saw Ethan strapped to a chair in some dark room, as Scaffe and his friends took turns beating him. I wasn't sure why I was so concerned—he
had,
after all, lied and manipulated and conned me from the very beginning—but, despite my occasional violent outbursts, my transformation from clueless college girl to cold-hearted bitch was far from complete. And as much as Ethan Rider now disgusted me, I certainly didn't want to see him dead.

At the rate Wilky was going, however, a week would pass before we got out of this kitchen.

"We don't need a running commentary," Parker said, echoing my thoughts. "Time's wasting. Just call up the information already."

Wilky shot him a look. "You don't have to get testy about it, son."

"I'll say this again. A man's life is at stake. So save the indignation and chit-chat for another time, or I'll yank that dinosaur tank you call a computer out of your slimy little hands and find what I need myself."

I wasn't sure why
Parker
was so concerned about Ethan. But beneath the stubborn bravado, he was at heart a moral man with very strict ideas about right and wrong. And killing someone for profit was wrong, even if that someone called your girlfriend by a pet name that should be banned from his vocabulary.

I also think that, until yesterday, he'd held a certain amount of admiration for Wilky. But that was clearly gone now.

Have I mentioned how much I loved Parker?
 

The fact that he embraced that love and returned it—even got jealous because of it—made me feel like the luckiest person on the planet.

Still does.

Wilky said, "Just hang onto your britches, boy, I can only move so fast."

Then he hit a few keys on the laptop and waited for the screen to switch over to an alphabetical menu. He scrolled down to
B
, punched enter, then waited again until a list of clients and business associates filled the screen.

He clicked on the initials
O.B.
and a file opened, featuring a black and white photograph of a semi-attractive woman in her mid-to-late thirties. One who hadn't quite gotten to the age of needing plastic surgery, but had gone forward with it anyway.

This
was the woman Ethan had picked up and seduced in that Hollywood bar, and I was sure she'd been quite taken by the six-pack abs and those beautiful brown eyes.

Until he betrayed her like he betrayed everyone.

Parker was staring at the screen. "Olivia Brandon? Timberlake-Brandon Productions?"

"You know her?" I asked.

"I know
of
her. She runs a production company out in Los Angeles. They shot a pilot here in Houston a few years ago and some of the deputies I worked with did freelance security for them."

"She's also the daughter of Tommy Brandon," Wilky told us. "One of the most successful producer-directors currently working."

"Okay," I said. "So how does that help us find Ethan?"

Parker turned to me. "Judging by the sight of that limousine, she flew out here with Scaffe and his crew. And if Rider did half the number on her that he did on you, I'd bet she wouldn't mind being in the room when they interrogate him."

"So what are we looking for? A hotel room?"

Parker shook his head. "Not private enough. And hotels have security cameras. They'd want some place more isolated, like a house, and very few neighbors."

I looked at Wilky. "Do you know if she owns any property here?"

"Just what she brought with her. That little jet they came in."

"How do we know they didn't already take him back to L.A.?" I said.

Parker shook his head. "He was picked up in Houston, so they'll have to assume he's got the jewels close by. They won't go anywhere until they're sure."

"But they could still have him on the jet."

"You're right. They could."

"Or what about Ashwood Studios?" Elmo said.

We all looked at him. He had put the weapon down when he went to get the laptop, but was again standing by the kitchen doorway.

Wilky lifted his brows. "What about it?"

"It's an old sound stage near Midtown. It hasn't been active since the recession, but Tommy Brandon bought it a few months ago with plans to get it up and running again."

Parker, Wilky and I exchanged a look and Parker said, "Have you seen this place before?"

Elmo nodded. "It's less than a mile from my apartment. I drive by it every day."

"Is it isolated?"

"Isolated enough. There's a pretty big parking lot surrounded by trees and the sound stage is at the back of the property. And the way they got it set up with all the sound proofing and stuff, you make noise in there, nobody'll hear you."

"And you're sure Tommy Brandon owns it?" Wilky asked. "There's nothing in my files."

"I'm sure. I saw it on the news right after the sale went through."

"If Tommy owns it," Parker said, "his daughter knows about it, and I'd bet that's where they took Rider."

"But what if you're wrong?" I asked. "What if they
did
take him to the jet?"

"They could have, but I'd put my money on the studio."

"So would I," Wilky said. "The jet's parked at Eastman and there's always security and maintenance people poking around out there."

Parker got to his feet. "That's it, then. We go to Ashwood Studios and hope we're right."

"We?" Wilky said.

"All of us. You, Elmo, me and Kelsey."

Now Wilky stood up. "Hold on just a minute, son. What do you need me for?"

"Because I don't trust you anymore, Wilky. I figure you'd happily make a quick phone call to keep your share of those diamonds."

"Now why would I go and do that? You already got me hog-tied with your damn Internet streaming whatchacallit."

"Doesn't matter. I want you with us, just the same." He turned. "You okay with that Elmo?"

Elmo grinned. "Hell, yeah. I'm all in."

Elmo had been right. The place was isolated. If anything, he had downplayed it a bit.

We drove there in the Rover, me at the wheel, Elmo on the seat next to me, Parker babysitting a sulking Wilky in back.

Midtown was a predominantly Asian area just north of the University of Houston that had been undergoing revitalization, including renovation of parks and buildings and the reconstruction of streets. The streets we were on, however, had not yet made the list, and I'd had to steer around several potholes to reach our destination.

I couldn't be certain what Elmo's angle was, or how devoted he was to his employer, but Parker trusted him, and as he gave me directions, he seemed like a nice enough guy. He was again carrying the automatic weapon and had returned the Glocks he'd taken from Parker and me when he first stopped us in the driveway of Wilky's house.

I pulled to the curb near the Ashwood Studios lot, which took up half the block, but was set back in, away from the road. There was a wrought-iron gate out front that looked in need of repair, an empty guard booth with cracked glass, and enough trees surrounding the place (probably brought in by the original owners for privacy), to serve as a stark reminder of what I'd been through yesterday.
 

There was a defaced sign out front. Someone had spray-painted a red
s
over the
h
in
Ashwood
. This was no doubt in reference to the half dozen porno flicks that were shot there shortly before it closed its doors. This tidbit of information had come from Elmo, who, for reasons I couldn't grasp, seemed quite proud of the fact that he lived only a few blocks north.

It was just past five a.m. but was still dark out, and despite Wilky's coffee I was starting to feel the effects of no sleep and that pinball trip through the trees. I felt sluggish, achy, and half alert, kept upright only by a slender thread of adrenalin that wasn't likely to last much longer.

I cut the engine. "I don't know. This place looks pretty dead. What if we're too late—or they were never here?"

"We'll just have to take that chance," Parker said. "Are you ready for this?"

"Why do you ask? You afraid I'm too green?"

Wilky's remarks were lingering like a bad cold. He wasn't wrong about my inexperience, but I hadn't enjoyed hearing it. It was just another reminder of the mistakes I'd made and how much I had to learn.

"That's not what I'm saying. But you've been through a lot and you look tired. And that jerk's life isn't worth you getting hurt."

"I'm not waiting in this car, if that's what you're suggesting."

Parker was wise enough to know when to back off. Those shower buddy privileges could disappear right quick.

"Fair enough," he said. "Those trees should give us plenty of cover. Let's head for the rear of the place. Maybe we can get a better look from there."

"Works for me," Elmo said, then cracked open his door.

But before we got out, Parker took his cuffs from his back pocket and slapped one of Wilky's wrist.

"What the hell you doin', son?"

Parker hooked the other cuff around the handle of Wilky's door and snapped it shut. "Making sure you stay put. I don't want to be stumbling all over you, and I sure as hell don't want you loose."

"And to think I used to consider you a friend."