Complicity in Heels (15 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
he following morning, there was still no media coverage about the DEA bust. Nikki lied to Cordoza, telling him that her parole officer had heard about a large monetary seizure by the Feds and wanted her to report in for questioning, since the crime fit her known pattern of criminal behavior. Instead she had used the opportunity to meet with Harlan and Kameko at the seamstress shop. In the back of her mind, she wondered what was going on with Marty. The phone call from Emma had left her feeling frantic. Nikki was in a no-win situation. She had to stay close to Cordoza to maintain the illusion of being a loyal associate or risk being found out. This meant that Marty and whatever was going on at Paris Oaks had to be placed on hold.

While she was out, Cordoza had confined himself to his office and pored over his financials to determine if he had the cash flow to cover Vicente’s loss.

“I simply don’t have it,” he confessed to Nikki, once she had returned to the Compound. “What did you turn up on your end?”

She looked around the office. It had changed. Gone were the battered desk, folding chairs, and home-improvement-store book shelves from five years ago. In its place were a mahogany L-shaped desk with a matching bookcase, two wing-back guest chairs, and a set of hand-carved wooden cabinets. The dull beige wall color had been replaced with a warm, inviting golden hue, accentuated with contrasting carpet.

Nikki pulled back one of the guest chairs and took a seat. “Absolutely nothing. Complete waste of time. You’d think a bust like that would be the talk of the town. Here it is, a day after the fact, and no chatter, no nothing. My PO was more concerned about the color of my urine sample than the possibility that I could’ve been a party to a recent crime.”

Cordoza’s cell phone rang. He shook his head. “Unknown Caller” flashed across the screen. He frowned. “Hello,” he answered.

“We need to talk,” a stern voice said.

“Who’s this?”

“Quinn.”

Cordoza silently cursed upon hearing the name of the city’s premier drug lord. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“At the moment, nothing, but when I arrive—”

“Arrive?”

“That’s right. Your groundskeeper just let me through the gate. I’ll be there shortly.”

Quinn hung up.

Cordoza stood up from behind his desk and rushed over to the cabinet to his left.

“Gem,” Nikki called out, concerned.

He ignored her, opened several drawers, and rifled through them.

“What is it?” Nikki pressed.

“Where is it?” Cordoza mumbled. “Where the hell is it?”

Nikki stood. “Where’s what? You’re freaking me out.”

Cordoza reached deep into the last compartment and pulled out a 1911 Colt .45. “Aha!”

Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “Gem, what’s going on?”

“Quinn,” he replied, removing the pistol’s magazine. “He’s here.”

“Now?”

Cordoza fumbled around with some loose rounds in the drawer and loaded the weapon. “Yeah.”

Nikki stared at him, stunned. “Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed already?”

Cordoza shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not going down easily.”

Nikki approached Cordoza and placed her hand over the semiautomatic to prevent him from continuing to load it. “Let’s hear what Quinn has to say before we make things worse.”

Cordoza chuckled. “Hear what he’s got to say?” he repeated. “We lost two and a half million dollars of his boss’s money. What’s there to say?”

Nikki snatched her hand back toward her side.

A loud cough interrupted the two. Willard stood in the doorway, accompanied by two men. “Mr. Quinn and his associate, Tony Chen, sir.”

Cordoza dropped the semiautomatic into the drawer. “Thank you, Willard.”

The visitors stepped inside his office and looked around. They resembled Laurel and Hardy: the associate, long, lithe, and lean, while the kingpin was heavyset.

“We have a problem,” Quinn announced. “A huge one.”

Nikki glanced at Cordoza. He looked alarmed, though he tried to play it cool.
Please don’t wig out now, Gem.

“I’m out two and a half million dollars.”

“Yes, sir,” Cordoza murmured. “I realize that.”

“And on top of that,” Quinn added, “you can’t fulfill Vicente’s contract.”

Cordoza shook his head then hung it low. “We got busted.”

“That’s what my man, Patrone, tells me.” Quinn adjusted his silk tie then moved toward one of the empty chairs. “Isn’t it amazing how everything but the money managed to walk away?”

“Not everyone walked away,” Nikki corrected. “We lost a close colleague.”

Quinn massaged the back of the chair he was standing behind. “My condolences, but that doesn’t change the fact that the first thing that should have sprouted legs and made it to safety was the two and a half million.”

Quinn’s bodyguard, Tony, snickered.

Nikki flashed him a dirty look.
Douche.

“Now,” the narcotics underboss continued, “I’m only gonna ask this once.”

Tony reached inside his Mandarin jacket, pulled out a Sig Sauer P239, and pointed it at Nikki and Cordoza.

“Where’s the money?” Quinn said.

A stunned look registered on Cordoza’s face. “We don’t have it. Like I said, we were about to do the exchange when the Feds raided us.”

Quinn ran his thumb and index finger over his goatee. “Then what?”

“It was a madhouse,” Nikki answered. “Gunfire from every direction. Spence gets shot; the DEA snatches up the loot; and your boy Patrone hightails it out of there.”

Quinn motioned for Tony to lower his weapon. “I see.” Nikki and Cordoza stared at each other, confused by the gesture. “Relax,” Quinn reassured them. “I’m not going to kill you—at least not yet.”

Tony snickered again.

“I just wanted to hear your side of the story.”

Nikki crossed her arms. “Now that you have, what’s next?”

Again, Quinn ran his fingers over his goatee. “We find Patrone, get his side of the story, then figure out who to kill.”

Cordoza cringed. “Your guy’s missing?”

“Yep, he was supposed to return back to the yacht yesterday after the exchange.”

Tony tucked his P239 back inside the waistband underneath his jacket. “The boss here doesn’t like to leave the yacht, so he’s a tad bit pissed with this whole situation.”

Nikki glanced at Cordoza again. He appeared less agitated now that the firearm had disappeared.

“I’ve had my suspicions about Patrone,” Quinn admitted. “Ever since an independent team of accountants made me aware of the possibility that someone within my organization was skimming cash from our profits.”

Nikki frowned. “I get it.” Quinn raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on the fence about us, right?”

“Precisely.”

“Wondering if we had something to do with this?”

Quinn nodded.

“We didn’t,” Cordoza cut in.

The drug baron scrunched his face up into a knot.

Nikki quickly raised her hand up in front of Cordoza to signal him to back off. “Mr. Quinn, what can Mr. Cordoza and I do to alleviate your suspicions?”

A smile appeared across Quinn’s face. He leaned in toward Tony and whispered something.

Nikki dropped her hand to her side and waited for a response.

“I propose,” Quinn said, pointing to her, “that you and my man, Tony here, work together to find Patrone.”

Nikki’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

She hesitated for a moment.
That’s insane
, she thought.

“She’s all yours,” Cordoza offered.

Quinn’s face burst into a sharp grin. “Excellent. Then we’ll proceed together from here on out.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Q
uinn insisted on speaking with Cordoza alone. Nikki excused herself and headed toward the lobby en route to her suite. The automated glass doors to the entrance hall opened, sending a blast of lukewarm air into the foyer. Lacey walked in clutching several shopping bags from Nordstrom, her eyes sparkling. Nikki noticed her new earrings and an expensive silk scarf wrapped around her head, tied in a rosette style.

“Well, well, well,” Nikki said, smirking. “Look who’s here! It’s been ages.”

Lacey’s face turned sour. “You really shouldn’t concern yourself with my comings and goings. It’s unbecoming.”

“Cute. We’re in the middle of an unprecedented crisis, and you’ve got time to go shopping.”

“Jealous?”

“Over what? A few shopping bags, some earrings, and an atrocious scarf?”

Lacey dropped a few of the bags and placed her hand on her hip. “This is a one-of-a-kind Roberto Cavalli floral print.”

“Whatever.”

“Have Spence and Willard grab the rest of my things out of the back of the Porsche and take them up to the penthouse.”

Nikki didn’t move.

Lacey motioned for her to shoo along.

Nikki stared at her for several more moments. Finally, her eyes lowered. “Spence is dead,” she announced. The statement was flat—no emotion behind it.

Lacey looked stunned. “What?”

“Spence is dead.”
What part don’t you understand, you
imbecile?

“Come on.”

Nikki didn’t respond.

Lacey shook her head as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “This can’t be happening. I was just ribbing him about that damn computer program of his and whether or not it would work.”

For a split second, Nikki felt a tad bit sorry for Lacey; nobody had thought to inform her of the loss. But then she recalled how Lacey consistently went out of her way to create a toxic environment, and the thought was forgotten.

Cordoza entered the lobby with Quinn and Tony. He spotted Lacey and walked toward her. The two locked eyes.

“Gemini, what’s going on?” she asked.

Cordoza placed his arm around her, pulled her over to the side, and explained that they’d been raided by the Feds during the money drop. Nikki watched with interest as the couple’s bizarre relationship dynamic unfolded before her eyes. She was convinced, now more than ever, that Cordoza was being manipulated.

Quinn picked up on Nikki’s distraction and signaled Tony to approach her. He made a brisk move toward her. Startled, Nikki took a step back and crouched into a low defensive stance. “Whoa,” she said, clenching her fists. “What do you think you’re doing, rolling up on me like that?”

The tall Asian man with olive-green eyes lifted his hands high in the air. “My apologies…I didn’t mean to spook you.”

Nikki relaxed her hands and stood up straight.
I’ve sent women to the infirmary for less
, she thought grimly.

“It’s time to get started,” Tony said.

“Okay, Mr.…umm?”

“Chen.”

Nikki nodded. “Mr. Chen.”

“Not Mr. Chen,” Tony corrected. “Just Chen.”

Nikki gave him a lackluster smile.
With those exotic good looks, you should be on a magazine
cover.

“My bad,” Nikki apologized.

Tony extended his hand. “And you?”

Nikki clasped it and shook firmly. “Frank.”

A puzzled look crossed Tony’s face.

“Frank, Nikki Frank, but since we don’t know each other like that, Frank will do,” she insisted.

“Frank it is then.”

Quinn approached the two, interrupting the conversation.

“Yes, boss?” Tony said.

“You two”—Quinn pointed at both of them—“start at Paris Oaks Assisted Living Facility and go from there.”

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “An assisted living facility?”

Quinn snapped his head in her direction. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Um,” she mumbled. “No.”

“’Cause if it’s going to be a problem…”

Tony removed the P239 from his waistband.

Nikki stared at the semiautomatic. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Excellent,” Quinn said, running his fingers over his goatee.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

N
ikki parked the Buick in an open visitor’s space and cut the ignition.

“What’s so special about this place?” she asked Tony, feigning any knowledge of Paris Oaks. “Why does Quinn want us to start here?”

Tony tensed up at the questions. “An outside auditing firm made the boss aware of some irregularities on our books. He suspected Patrone of stealing and set him up with a test to either confirm his guilt or clear him.”

“What kind of test?”

“A greenback end-around.”

Nikki knew “greenback” was slang for “cash,” and “end-around” pertained to a play in organized football. More specifically, it’s a plan of action to advance the ball farther down the field by having the quarterback hand the ball off directly to the wide receiver. The receiver then proceeds to either run the ball, as directed, toward the line of scrimmage for more yards, or come up with something totally off the cuff to salvage a play that’s crumbling fast.

Nikki concluded that Quinn was the quarterback and Patrone the wide receiver. “How much green?” she asked.

“Fifteen grand,” Tony replied, pointing to the main building of the assisted living facility. “Right here, to this institution, as a charitable contribution.”

Nikki shot Tony a quizzical look, her eyebrows raised and head tilted slightly. “Fifteen K?”

“That was the play Quinn called.”

“Whew.”

“Now we just need to find out what Patrone did with the ball.”

Tony opened the door and stepped out of the car. “You really should consider getting rid of this clunker or at least paying to have it fixed up.” Nikki simply nodded, trying to pull off a demure smile, although she didn’t do “reserved” especially well. Tony headed toward the facility’s entrance. Nikki followed, putting on a pair of sunglasses. Tony turned toward her. “Listen up, Frank,” he said in a stern voice. “I do the talking here; you just hover in the background.”

Nikki nodded then forced a smile.
Hover in the background?
That’s all she’d thought about on the drive over: how best to go unnoticed in a familiar setting where she was known. She had weighed all the options, including telling Tony that her brother was a resident here, a consideration she dismissed quickly.
Cartels are notorious for extending violence to family members
, she thought
. If I’m ever outed…Marty didn’t sign up for this—I did. I’ve already compromised his safety with Gem. I won’t do it again.
Nikki decided, in this scenario, she would have to improvise and roll with the flow.

Inside the lobby, Bethany, the redheaded receptionist, was steadily typing at her curved mahogany workstation.

Tony approached the desk. Nikki cringed. This was the most dangerous part of undercover work, the crossroads—the point at which her personal life, professional life, and criminal life all merged. She could be exposed right here, which could cause things to unravel fast.

“Excuse me,” Tony said, interrupting the receptionist.

Nikki’s heart leaped.

Bethany glanced up at Tony, sighed, then went right back to typing. “Yes.”

Nikki felt a slight sense of ease; Bethany’s preoccupation with her work had prevented her from being immediately recognized.

Tony sighed. “I’m here to follow up on a charitable contribution,” he said.

Nikki’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Tony’s request for information increased her odds of exposure. At any minute, Bethany would stop what she was doing and give him her undivided attention. At that moment, Nikki would be remembered and a comment or two about her brother and/or his situation would be voiced. She would then either have to feign ignorance or be up-front with all parties. Neither option was acceptable. Nikki had to prevent Tony from learning about Marty. Risk management demanded it. If anything ever happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.

Bethany didn’t budge but continued to sit behind her workstation and type.

“Look, you redheaded bitch,” Nikki said, raising her voice, “stop what you’re doing right now and assist the gentleman addressing you.”

Nikki hoped to shock the receptionist, the goal being to prevent the careless revelation of their past association. It was an old trick used by debt collectors: get consumers upset and use their emotional state against them to get them to pay up. In this case, Nikki was counting on the emotional impact of her colorful language and Bethany’s “professionalism” to neutralize the imminent threat posed by idle chitchat.

A stunned look spread across Bethany’s face. She glared at Nikki.

Nikki stared back. “We’re waiting.”

Bethany stood up. “My apologies, sir. What was your question again?”

“I’m here to follow up on a charitable contribution,” Tony repeated.

He withdrew his cell phone from his jacket and scanned through a variety of photos until he found one of Patrone. “Have you seen this guy in the last forty-eight hours?” he asked, holding up the phone.

The receptionist hesitated for a moment. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Nikki cut her another scathing look.

“Yes,” she said, quickly changing her mind. “He passed through here a day or two ago.”

“The man you identified,” Tony continued, “was tasked by my employer to make a generous donation to your institution on his behalf.”

Bethany’s face tightened.

“Bethany,” Tony said, reading her name off the glass plate on her desk, “how much did my colleague contribute?”

Bethany just stood there, staring straight at him. Behind her was a corridor that branched off into several offices and ended with a midsize conference room. There, Nikki spotted Emma. The two made eye contact. Emma looked worried, possibly scared. Her hand covered her mouth, and she was shaking her head. Nikki assumed it had to do with Marty, but she couldn’t tell at the moment.

“Bethany,” Tony yelled.

The receptionist jumped.

“How,” he said, deliberately slowly and drawn out, “much?”

“I’m not at—”

“Fine, you don’t have to say a word. Just indicate the amount with your hands.”

Bethany’s eyes shifted back and forth while she contemplated her response. Finally, she lifted her hand and flashed Tony five fingers.

He turned to Nikki and whispered, “I need to touch base with Quinn and report my findings. Wait here.”

She nodded and watched as he stepped out of the building. Once the door shut, Nikki bolted past Bethany toward the conference room.

Emma stood inside, against the wall, her eyes shut as she massaged her temples. She jumped when the door burst open.

“It’s just me,” Nikki said, shutting the door behind her and removing her sunglasses.

Emma took a deep breath, and then the two hugged like long-lost sisters.

“What’s the latest on Marty?” Nikki asked, breaking the embrace. “Did you find him?”

Emma bit her lower lip. “The staff and I have checked his room, his favorite spots, and his last-known whereabouts, but we’ve come up with nothing. Mrs. Ruiz has notified the police and is in direct contact with them now.”

Nikki glanced up at the wall clock. She was pressed for time. Soon, Tony would be back in the building, and her absence would garner scrutiny. Nikki thanked Emma for the update and cracked open the door.

“Wait,” Emma said.

Nikki paused, turning back toward her.

“I adore your brother, and I’ve become quite fond of you,” Emma confessed. “I know this is none of my business, but I’ll say it anyway.”

A look of concern spread across Nikki’s face. “What is it?”

“The guy you’re here with…”

“Yeah?”

“He’s bad news, real bad news.”

“I know,” Nikki replied.
But how do you? Former
lover?

Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”

“Anything else?”

Emma shook her head. “Just be careful.”

Nikki gave her a nod. “I will.”

She smiled back. “Call me if you run into trouble.”