Against the Night (10 page)

“Maybe, but they didn’t find her cell phone, and according to this, no calls were made from her number after she went missing. No new credit card charges, either.”

“Not good. If she’d just left town, she’d have taken her phone and cards and probably still be using them.”

Johnnie glanced down. “Had eighteen hundred dollars in her savings account. None of it’s been withdrawn. Nothing useful on the email she posted from the office where she works.”

“Listen, you need to talk to Carla Meeks,” Rick said. “She’s the detective assigned to Rachael’s case. Maybe she can think of something that isn’t in the file.”

Amy had mentioned her. Johnnie knew her a little too well. He had broken his long-standing, no-cop-dating rule and hooked up with the good-looking lieutenant a couple of times, but they hadn’t clicked as far as he was concerned. Unfortunately Carla hadn’t felt the same way and she was beyond pissed when he stopped calling.

“I plan to,” was all he said. He also wanted to talk to Kenny Reason, the DJ down at Rembrandt’s. But it wasn’t worth the department’s time if it turned out to be nothing. “You run across anything, let me know, will you?”

Rick nodded. “Same goes.”

Johnnie shuffled the file pages back together and stood up from his chair. “Keep an eye on Bennett. The guy’s giving roofies to the girls he brings to his house.”

“Shit.”

Johnnie held up the pages as he started for the door. “Thanks, Rick.”

“Good luck with it.”

Johnnie left the department and headed to the downtown station on First Street that housed the missing persons unit, though he wasn’t looking forward to his encounter with Carla Meeks, and he wasn’t counting on getting much help from her, either.

Amy sat stiffly in the beauty chair at the Studio Salon, her head stuck under a dryer, hot air burning her scalp. After yesterday, she still felt a little out of sorts, but the last remnants of the roofie Bennett had given her had finally worn off and she was ready for her shift this afternoon.

She touched one of the curlers beneath the hood. When her hair finally dried, she’d have a head full of ringlets—bouncy little curls the beautician said would look “just darling.” The curls wouldn’t be permanent, thank God.

But she hadn’t wanted her natural blond hair dyed and she didn’t need it cut. Getting it curled was all she could think of as an excuse to talk to Sherry Mullins, Rachael’s former beautician.

It wasn’t until yesterday that she’d come up with the idea of questioning her sister’s hairdresser, not until yesterday’s fiasco with the pseudo movie producer. When that near-disaster had provided a clue—a lead, the police called it—she started trying to think outside the box, think who might have information about Rachael aside from the people who worked with her or were patrons of the club.

The timer went off, ringing a little bell. The dryer shut down and Sherry came over to get her. “Come on, let’s see how you look.”

Like an idiot, she was sure, but a good shampoo would solve the problem and put her hair back to normal. She followed Sherry across the salon and climbed up in the chair in front of the mirror. The shop wasn’t fancy, the contemporary furniture a little worn, the photos of male and female models showing different hairstyles slightly dated. The pink silk flowers on the table were a little faded. The place wasn’t fancy but the prices weren’t fancy, either, which was the reason so many of the girls from the club came to the shop.

“So where were we?” Amy asked, hoping to return the conversation to the topic they had been discussing before she went under the dryer, which, of course, was her sister. She wished she could just tell Sherry who she really was, but she’d promised Johnnie. Sherry did the hair of half the girls from the club—news of Amy’s true identity would be out within the hour.

The beautician just laughed. “Are you kidding? These days, I can barely remember where I parked my car.” She was only in her forties, but she was a smoker and she looked much older. Tiny wrinkles puckered around her mouth and the corners of her eyes, and her skin was rougher than it should have been.

“Oh, I remember,” Amy said as if the memory had just returned. “We were talking about Rachael Brewer.” Sherry, who had been doing Rachael’s hair for years, knew her real name as well as the one she used onstage. “My roommate says Rachael’s been missing for weeks. You don’t think… You don’t think someone might have
killed
her, do you?” She widened her eyes and put as much drama behind the words as she could manage.

She wasn’t an actress; she left that to her sister. But she wanted the woman to be intrigued enough to keep talking. Maybe some new information would surface.

Sherry started pulling out curlers. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed a little too black and her eyebrows were plucked a little too thin, but she was friendly and well liked by her customers, and she had been nice to Amy.

“You never know anymore what can happen,” Sherry said. “I know she was seeing a couple of different guys. Could be one of them got jealous.”

Amy’s stomach squeezed. She had posed a similar theory about Kyle Bennett.

“Did she happen to mention their names?” When Sherry began to look at her curiously, she added, “I wouldn’t want to meet up with any of them at the club. I wouldn’t feel safe.”

Sherry dragged out a couple more curlers, tossed them into the sink. “She talked about someone named Danny. And a guy named Ken.”

“Kenny Reason?”

“She didn’t say. Rachael wasn’t much of a gossip.” She took the last curler out of Amy’s hair and ran her hands through the now
curly
blond mass. “Maybe one of them was giving her trouble so she just left town. I sure hope nothin’ real bad happened to her.”

Amy made no reply. She was praying Sherry was right and Rachael had simply left town. Maybe she’d gotten into some kind of trouble and had to get away before it got worse. Maybe she went into hiding somewhere until it was safe to return.

But Amy couldn’t make herself believe it.

Johnnie called Lieutenant Meeks from his cell phone. “I’m working on a case,” he said, careful to keep the conversation brief. “If you’ve got the time, I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“All right.” Her reply was perfectly professional, but he could hear the venom in her voice.

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, and half an hour later, the lieutenant led him into one of the conference rooms in the downtown police station and he sat down at the table across from her. The multi-story building on First Street was new, all sleek steel and glass, with the most modern equipment.

Lieutenant Meeks, a member of the missing persons unit, part of the vice squad, sat down at the table across from him.

“So what can I do for you, John?” She always called him that, always kept a distance between them, even when they’d been in bed.

“I’m looking into the Brewer case. I’m working for her sister.”

She scoffed. “Good luck with that.” She was average height, with short brown, naturally wavy hair. She was a year older than he was, good-looking in a stiff, uptight kind of way, and she had curves in all the right places. “The woman’s a real pain in the neck,” Carla said.

He thought of the sexy little blond pain-in-the-neck he was helping and smiled slightly. “No doubt about it. She’s determined to find Rachael. I’m trying to give her something new, something hopeful.”

Carla looked him over, gave him a catty smile. “Pretty girl. I imagine you’ll be able to give her what she needs.”

He ignored the innuendo. “So what have you got I might be able to use?”

Carla sighed, her mind back on business. “Not much. The night Rachael Brewer disappeared, no one saw her leave the club. Her roommate figured she was spending the night with one of the guys she was dating, maybe got to drinking, didn’t want to drive. But she’d been keeping to herself the past few weeks and the names we checked all had alibis.”

“Kyle Bennett?”

“That’s right. And a real estate agent named Peter Brand. He was attending a company function the night she disappeared.”

“Nothing on her cell?” he asked, just to see what she’d say.

“Never found it or her car. No calls made from her number after she went missing.”

“Anything else?”

“No, but there’s something you can do for me. The sister gave us an address in Culver City. Turns out, it belongs to an actress friend of Rachael’s but the sister isn’t staying there. Her cell number’s all we’ve got. Where is she?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret. And Carla was a good cop. She’d understand the situation. “Amy took her sister’s old job at the club. She’s using the name Angel Fontaine. They don’t know who she is and it would be better for her if it stayed that way.”

Carla frowned. “She’d better be careful. If her sister was into something kinky, it might come down on her.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her. Eventually, I’m hoping she’ll quit. In the meantime, I’m keeping an eye on her.”

Carla gave him a knowing half smile. “I’ll just bet you are.”

Nine

On the way back to the club, Amy wandered along Sunset into a couple of trendy dress shops. The boutiques were designed for young women, the prices on the top edge of affordable. The clothes—lots of black leather and lace, short skirts and plenty of bare skin—were hardly her style, but it was fun to look.

A hot little number caught her eye. At home, she would have been embarrassed for anyone to catch her admiring it, but this was California. She was a different person here, freer, more open to new ideas. Eventually, she would go back to being the simple, conservative young woman she was before, but for now, for this one brief moment in time, she was Angel Fontaine and she could do anything she pleased.

She went home with the sexy black outfit tucked in a Mitzy’s Boutique shopping bag, wondering if she would ever wear it.

As she walked back into the club, she spotted Johnnie sitting at the bar, his intense gaze finding her all the way across the room. He looked dark and rugged and amazingly handsome, and her stomach lifted alarmingly.

This early in the afternoon, the club was mostly empty. It got busier as the sun went down. The Sunset Strip came alive at night.

Johnnie stood up as she approached and she felt a little dizzy at the sight of all that masculinity so nicely packaged in black jeans and a T-shirt.

Johnnie grinned. “Hey, Goldilocks.”

She had almost forgotten her hair, forgotten that too much gel had turned her long, sleek strands into a riot of curls. She reached up and touched it, made a face at the springy texture.

“It’ll wash out,” she said glumly.

“I thought maybe you were going to change your act, bring in a couple of guys in bear suits.”

“Very funny.” She managed to climb up on a bar stool, though being so short, it wasn’t easy. Johnny sat back down on the stool next to hers.

“How you feeling?”

“Normal again. Better than I should be feeling…considering.” She looked across at Dante, who mopped the top of the bar in front of her with a clean white towel. “I could really use a Diet Coke…if you wouldn’t mind.”

“You got it, Angel.” The handsome Latino grinned, then turned to Johnnie. “You wanna beer or something?”

“No thanks, I’m working.”

Amy sighed. “So was I. That’s what happened to my hair.”

Johnnie reached out and slid a hand into her bouncy blond locks. “This, I gotta hear.”

But Amy didn’t reply. Transfixed by the feel of his fingers slipping through the heavy curls, she just sat there like a cat being stroked and wanting to purr. She felt his eyes on her, intense now, sensing her interest, the heat beginning to build between them. She wanted this man. Maybe it was time to do something about it. Maybe she should—

Dante set an icy glass of diet soda in front of her and walked away, and Johnnie’s hand slid free of her hair.

Amy swallowed. “I…ummm…went to see Rachael’s hairdresser. I wanted to see if maybe she’d heard some gossip or something that might help us. Getting my hair done was the only excuse I could think of to talk to her. The curls were her idea.”

Johnnie chuckled. “Do any good?”

“Sherry—that’s the stylist—said that Rachael was seeing a couple of different guys. One of them was named Ken. I figured Kenny Reason. The other man’s name was Danny.”

“
Danny.
No reference to a Danny in the police reports.”

“You saw them?”

He nodded. “My sister, Katie, was a cop before she died. Her former partner is a friend of mine.”

“You have…had a sister?”

He nodded. “She was killed during a bank robbery. She was a really great kid.”

She reached over and caught his hand. “Oh, Johnnie, I’m so sorry.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand and a little tremor went through her.

“Katie always wanted to be a cop,” he said. “She was doing the job she loved, but she was way too young to die. She deserved to have more time.”

She let go of his hand, though she didn’t really want to. “Your sister is gone and now so is mine. It isn’t fair.”

“There’s still hope we’ll find Rachael.”

She took heart at that, managed to smile. “Yes, there is.”

“Because of what happened to Katie, I get to call in a favor now and then. I got a look at Rachael’s file and I talked to Lieutenant Meeks. She pretty much hates you, by the way.”

Amy laughed. “I know I’ve been a nuisance. I figured the squeaky wheel and all that.”

“Doesn’t always work.”

She took a sip of Diet Coke. “So what did Lieutenant Meeks tell you?”

“Not much. Mentioned a real estate agent named Peter Brand, but according to the report, he came up clean.”

“Nothing else?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not exactly on the lieutenant’s favorite persons list, either.” At her inquisitive look, he held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

Amy smiled. “You mean she didn’t fall prey to all that Johnnie Riggs charm?”

He flashed a crooked grin. “You think I’m charming?”

“Maybe. I think you can be very sweet at times, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Sweet! You think I’m sweet?”