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Nina stared at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I started down the driveway. “No. We have to stop.”
“But we’ll be late. You told her four and she’s paying a thousand dollars a day.”
“She’ll wait.”
“This is so totally why you need a mission statement,” she muttered.
I failed to see the connection between stopping to put oil in my car and a corporate mission statement, but I kept my mouth shut. I drove to Sheeler’s Garage, ran inside to grab two quarts of oil, and figured at most, we’d be five minutes late.
That was before Joey Smack’s representatives, in the form of a long, black sedan with dark, tinted windows saw fit to stop by Sheeler’s and give me a personal season’s greeting from their boss, aka Santa Claus, aka The Man Voted Most Pissed Off About Having His Sled Repo’ed.
I had the hood popped and was about to insert the funnel, when the car rolled to a stop beside us. The right-side passenger window slowly slid down, just far enough for an arm and a hand to emerge. The arm was wearing a charcoal-gray suit jacket and a light blue cotton shirt with cuff links. The hand was holding a gun.
“Merry Christmas!” the arm’s owner called, and started shooting.
Nina screamed and ducked down in her seat. I hopped behind the car, wedged between the pumps and the Camaro and wished like hell I’d worn a holster instead of leaving the Glock wedged down beneath the driver’s seat.
The bullets hit the right front tire, the right rear tire and the back window, before the driver of the sedan hit the accelerator and tore off out of the lot.
I heard the squeal of tires and cautiously popped my head up over the open hood and watched the getaway.
“Nina, you all right?” I called.
Nina slowly rose up from the front passenger-side floorboards and gave me a nasty look.
“We could’ve been killed!” she stormed. “Don’t you take precautions? Why didn’t you shoot them?”
“My gun was in the car,” I said.
Nina nodded an I-told-you-so nod. “See? No planning. No mission statement. That’s how you wind up in situations like this. You need to be prepared!”
“I’m sorry, honey,” I said, realizing how scared she was.
Nina shook her head. “It’s not just that they shot at us,” she said softly. “I’m used to that by now, I mean, ever since you started chasing bad guys and all, but we could’ve been better prepared, Stella, that’s all.”
Of course, that wasn’t all. Nina was right, as usual. I hadn’t been prepared. I hadn’t figured Joey Smack would go so far, but he had and we hadn’t been ready.
“You ladies okay?” The shaken garage attendant popped his head out of the door. “I called the cops, they’re on the way.”
Needless to say, we were late for the client meeting.
We pulled into the parking lot at 4:20 p.m. Nina practically flew out of the car in her rush to unlock the front door and open up the office. “Office” is a euphemistic term here. Our temporary quarters were over a print shop in what had been a long-vacant apartment in major need of renovation and cosmetic improvement.
When Nina slid her key into the door leading to the steps up to the second floor, she turned, her eyes widening.
“It’s not locked,” she whispered. “I think somebody’s up there!”
I walked back to the car, stuck my hand through the now-missing back window and pulled my Glock out from its resting place beneath my seat.
“Wait here,” I told her. “I’ll go check.”
“But what if he shoots you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you could start by calling 911. If I’m dead, bury me in my jeans. I don’t see the sense in getting all dressed up and uncomfortable just to be buried.”
“Stella!”
“Okay, okay! Just call 911 if you hear gunshots, and stay out of the way!”
I handed her my cell phone, gently pushed open the front door and started up the stairs. I kept the gun low by my side, careful to step on the outside edges of the old stairs, and slowly moved toward the second-floor office.
I hated coming in this way. Approaching a possible bad situation from the ground floor was potential cop suicide and I knew it. If someone heard me, if they were waiting for me, I was a sitting duck.
I crawled the steps, flattened against the wall, and reached the landing. So far, so good. I paused, listening, and was rewarded with the sound of muffled voices, male and female, coming from the upstairs office.
You’d think burglars would be quieter. I snuck up three more steps, my head rising just above the hall floor. I peeked around. Nothing. I trained my gun on every possible hiding place and still saw no sign of illegal entry or Joey Smack’s people. As I listened, I heard the impossible.
Jake Carpenter’s unmistakable rumble echoed out into the hallway. He laughed and I knew for certain he was inside. When a woman’s high-pitched giggle erupted, I knew the score. Jake had beaten us to the punch. He was sitting in my office, in my high-backed desk chair, talking to our client as if I didn’t exist. Damn him!
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped, spinning around to face Nina, who’d managed to sneak up the steps behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I told you to wait!” I whispered loudly.
Nina grinned and brandished the Camaro’s tire iron. “Yeah,” she replied, “you did, but now I’m armed. I can help.”
Nina cocked her head and listened intently for a moment. “Besides,” she said, brushing past me, “it’s only Jake anyhow.”
Leaving me to follow in her wake, Nina sailed through the office waiting room and on into the inner sanctum where Jake held court with our new client.
“Maybe we do need a mission statement,” I muttered. “Maybe a few people need to know who’s in charge around here.”
I stiffened my shoulders and walked behind Nina into the office. The new client sat with her back to me. She was so unconcerned with our arrival that she didn’t even turn to look over her shoulder as Nina made her entrance.
For some unknown reason this was all about Jake. I knew that much from our brief telephone conversation. She probably assumed, wrongly, that since he was the man, he would handle her investigative matter better than any mere girl. I sighed inwardly, funny how some women were like that.
Jake finally broke his contact with our new client and looked up.
“Well,” he said, smiling, “finally. We were beginning to wonder about you.”
He rose and indicated the woman sitting across from him. “Stella Valocchi, may I introduce you to Mia Lange?”
Our new client stood and for the first time I got a good look at her. A few inches shorter than my five-eight, closely cropped straight black hair, black leather jacket, short skirt, black stockings, high heels. Dressed to impress, or rather, dressed to seduce. Deep, dark eyes, small, perfect mouth, but the pout said she was not a happy woman.
I noticed something else about her, too. When she turned to me the light went out of her eyes, but when she looked at Jake she lit up like a Christmas tree. She was as phony as they came and I disliked her instantly.
I extended my hand and smiled, figuring two could play this game. “I’m sorry we’re late. We got held up.”
Her grip on my hand was like iron and she squeezed hard. I figured she wanted to see me wince, so I squeezed back. Was that the merest flicker of pain I saw cross her marble features? I smiled a little wider. Nina broke the moment.
“Held up?” she sputtered. “Well, not exactly, more like shot at by attempted murderers!”
Mia Lange’s eyebrows lifted and her mouth dropped into a perfect O of surprise, but her eyes remained coolly detached and I thought she seemed completely indifferent to Nina’s news. She released my hand, returned to her seat and dismissed me entirely.
But Nina had Jake’s complete attention. He raised his eyebrows. “What happened?”
I smiled frostily. “Don’t worry. I took care of it.”
Jake nodded, silently agreeing to discuss it later, and started to sit back down in my chair. When he caught the look I gave him, he hastily grabbed one of the spare chairs and pulled it up beside the desk.
“Here,” he said, gesturing to my chair. “Why don’t you sit here.”
I gave him a withering glance, nodded him into the spare seat and took my rightful place behind the desk. Nina was right. We were so going to have an organizational meeting just as soon as our newest client left.
“Ms. Lange.”
“Mia,” she cooed, her eyes widening and fluttering in his direction.
“Mia,” he echoed, “has asked us to find her brother. It seems they lost contact with each other after their parents died and they were adopted out.”
I felt the first tiny twinge of remorse for not liking our new client. She’d lost her parents when she was a kid, too. I’d been lucky. I got to finish growing up with my mother’s sister, Aunt Lucy, while Mia got stuck with strangers.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “How old were you when this happened?”
Mia looked down at her lap. “I was very young,” she answered. “I couldn’t have been more than four-years-old at the time. My brother was older, I think, but not much, maybe a year or two.”
I nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your brother?” I asked politely. “Do you have any idea at all where he might be?”
Mia never looked at me, instead she lifted her head and stared straight into Jake’s eyes.
“Like I told you,” she said softly. “The investigator I hired a few years back was able to learn that he might have been adopted by a family in Surfside Isle, New Jersey, where we were born. He couldn’t find out anything else.”
“So you’ve tried to find him before and couldn’t?”
Mia nodded. “I was so young when my parents died, too young to even remember my siblings’ names—or even our family name. I have nothing to go on. My adoptive parents gave me the name of the adoption agency, but the agency would only tell the P.I. that my brother grew up in Surfside Isle. The records were sealed and they couldn’t give him anything else to go on. The same thing happened with my sister. The agency said she was adopted to an out-of-state family, but wouldn’t give us more.” Mia shrugged. “I made sure the agency had my name and address. I told them that if my brother or sister ever wanted to find me, they could give out my information, but that’s all I could do—wait and hope they come looking for me. I gave up until about a month ago. That’s when my sister contacted me.” Mia bit her lip and fell silent for a moment.
“I really need to find my brother,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation. “You see, he may be my sister’s only hope.” As I watched, tears formed in her eyes and her lower lip trembled slightly. “She needs a kidney transplant. I would have given her one of mine, but it turns out I’m not a suitable donor. I’d go look for him myself, but my sister’s so ill now that I’m afraid to leave her. I would hate to go looking for my brother and have my sister die. I mean, we’ve only just found each other! That’s why I need you.” She gazed into Jake’s eyes as big tears rolled down her perfect cheeks.
He leaned forward, patted her knee and handed her a tissue. Nina, watching from the edge of the room, bit her lower lip and frowned.
Mia shook her head, brushed away the tears with one elegantly manicured index finger, and seemed to struggle for control of her emotions.
“I’m all right,” she said, smiling bravely at Jake. “I just feel so alone in all this. Without my brother, I really have no one I can turn to.” She stared into Jake’s eyes. “Please tell me you can help me help my sister.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ll find your brother.”
“Good.”
Mia straightened in her chair, her attitude changing from pathetic damsel to businesswoman the instant she heard Jake say he’d help. She reached into her large leather bag, brought out a thick, business-size envelope and handed it to Jake. “I hope this covers my retainer,” she murmured.
Jake tossed the envelope onto the desk unopened and said, “I’m sure it’s fine.”
I was less trusting. I reached for the packet, opened it and almost gasped. There were ten one-thousand-dollar bills inside.
“I’ll get you a receipt,” I said. “Of course, there will be expenses in addition to our usual daily rate…”
She didn’t even let me finish. She dismissed me with a wave of her hand, her eyes never leaving Jake’s infatuated face. “Of course, whatever you need. Just let me know and you’ll have it.” She smiled at Jake.
She reached back into the bag, pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to Jake. “I’ve heard such good things about you,” she said softly. “I just know I can trust you to find him.”
Jake beamed, while I took the more paranoid worldview of a cop. How had she heard anything about us? We’d only been in business for a month. So far our biggest coup had been the repossession of Santa’s sleigh, and I hardly thought Joey Spagnazi was bragging about what a great job we did.
“I’m glad we come so highly recommended,” I said. “Who do we have to thank for sending you to us?”
Mia glanced briefly in my direction.
“My sister. She’s a bookkeeper for a local businessman and she gave me your name.”
“What’s your sister’s name? Maybe we can find your brother by tracing your sister back to Surfside Isle.”
“Oh, we tried that already.”
Jake nodded sympathetically. I was less impressed.
Mia fluttered her eyes in Jake’s direction and I wanted to slap her.
“You see, I came to Glenn Ford, hoping against hope that I’d be a match, but it didn’t work out.”
“Didn’t work out?” I echoed.
Mia’s head dropped slightly and she stared down at her hands.
“No,” she said softly. “I have hepatitis C, so I’m not an option. That’s why we’re so desperate now. My brother is her only hope.”
Before I could ask her anything else, she stood up, this time making eye contact with both of us.
“I only have one request,” she said, her voice firm and undeniably hard.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Find him, but don’t approach him. Don’t tell him about us.” She paused, apparently remembering her helpless act, and continued, this time in her little-girl-lost tone. “It might be a shock to him, that’s all. I want to be the one to break it to him. I don’t want to jeopardize my sister’s chances by having a stranger tell him about us.” She fluttered her eyes at Jake again. “You do understand, don’t you?”
Jake seemed to grow two inches taller. “Of course, Mia,” he said, soothing our poor little client. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
She reached out and gripped his arm, her eyes pleading. As she did this, I had an instant mental memory of myself standing naked in front of Jake, the same expression mirrored in my own eyes. Now, here I was, the bystander, while Mia Lange, the dark-haired pixie, was the object of Jake’s very rapt attention.
