The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 4) Read online

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with his reputation. It isn’t as if he hasn’t gone off like this before. It’s just that—”

  Miranda dared to venture a guess. “This time it’s been longer?”

  Pressing the tissue to her face Elena nodded. “He should have been back from Paris two weeks ago. No one knows where he is. He’s called in but he won’t give his location. And he doesn’t sound like himself.”

  Bingo.

  Miranda had to fight to keep her breath steady. “What do you mean?”

  She waved the tissue in the air. “He doesn’t make demands, bark out orders, complain when expectations he never mentioned to anyone haven’t been met. He simply…”

  “What?”

  “Asks how the girls are doing. He wants to be reminded of their names. He’s never cared about their names before.”

  This guy sounded like a real sweetheart. How could Tia have stood being married to him? He sounded like a real loose cannon. Could he have found out about Tia’s divorce plans and just gone nuts? Might happen with an ultra control freak.

  “Why don’t you call him back? Do you have his cell number?”

  Elena shook her head. “He said he lost his phone and had to buy a prepaid one. He said it was almost out of minutes and he’d be getting a new one soon.”

  Alarm bells went off in Miranda’s head. The bastard was good at covering his tracks.

  But they weren’t going to get any more info about him here. His agency was even more in the dark than they were about the playboy.

  Miranda rose and extended her hand. “I’m sorry, Elena. I didn’t realize you were under so much pressure. I apologize for intruding. Janelle and I will come back for a photo shoot another time.”

  The woman’s green eyes softened with relief. “I’ll have Gypsy make an appointment for you.”

  The icy receptionist? No thanks.

  But she kept up the ruse and shook Elena’s hand. “Thank you so much.”

  Elena glanced through the open door. “What about—?”

  “I’ll find Janelle and see ourselves out.” Before the manager could protest, Miranda turned on her high-heels and shot down the hall, heading in the opposite direction from where they’d come in.

  She found Wesson sneaking out of another corner office.

  “Psst,” she hissed at her. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Wesson nodded and pointed down another hallway. They took it but only found more offices.

  Hunting for an exit sign they turned a corner and slowed down to a normal gait as a door opened and a pair of giggling models stepped into the hall.

  They were even taller than Wesson, tanned and oiled and dressed in swimsuits with colorful kaftans draped loosely over their shoulders. One had long white hair down to her waist, the other long black hair, also waist length.

  Engrossed in their conversation, luckily they didn’t see the two intruders. And they were speaking English. Maybe because they wanted their conversation to be private.

  “I hear Rico’s in town,” the white haired one said.

  Black Hair let out a low, seductive laugh. “Really?”

  “Juli told me yesterday she was going to see him last night.”

  “Oooh, I bet he took her to Antiquarius.” She snickered. “And I bet that’s why she hasn’t come in yet.”

  White Hair wagged a finger at her partner. “You are so right. I know from Bebela in bed he is a wild animal.”

  “Rico and Juli must be growling together right now. She gets all the breaks.” Black Hair opened another door and the pair disappeared behind it.

  Miranda stood staring at the vacant spot, tingling all over.

  Rico was in town last night and had been with a model named Juli? Now that was a lead.

  “C’mon,” Wesson whispered. “There’s the exit.”

  They hurried through the heavy door that was remarkably marked “Exit” without having to pass Icy’s desk again. In the outer hall they found themselves near the elevators.

  “Whew!” Miranda said as she stepped inside and pushed the button for the lobby.

  Wesson leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe we pulled that off and didn’t get arrested.”

  “Or at least tossed out on our asses by Security.”

  Wesson grinned. “I can handle big strong security guards.”

  Miranda just bet she could.

  When they reached the ground floor, Miranda forced herself to move in a calm, business-like pace across the long, marble-floored lobby, all the way through the glass doors and down the rounded steps of the building’s entrance. She’d nearly made it to the concrete wall bordering the sidewalk when she almost tripped over her own feet.

  Near the bicycle rack at the end of the walkway, hands in his pockets like a GQ model, stood Parker. And beside him was Holloway.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Miranda straightened her back and fought down her temper. As if she’d been expecting him she marched straight up to her husband with a casual grin. “There you are.”

  His piercing gray eyes bore holes through her heart. “Here I am,” he echoed.

  So he’d been following her. What else did she expect from the man who’d taught how to tail a suspect? Still, it got on her last nerve. If they had been alone she would give him an earful but with her two co-workers looking on, she had to pretend everything was just peachy. Just as they’d planned it.

  “How ya doin’, Holloway?”

  “Good.” Looking strange in what had to be an extra tall pair of jeans and sleeveless T, Holloway shoved back his light brown hair and peered down the street in that suspicious way of his. “What’s going on, Steele?”

  “Wesson and I went on a little undercover assignment to Rico’s modeling agency.” She shot a thumb over her shoulder. “You won’t believe what we learned in there.”

  “I’m interested to hear it,” Parker said, his handsome features expressionless.

  She lowered her voice. “Rico’s been a busy boy.”

  “That’s the guy you’re after?” Holloway asked.

  Parker must have seen her with Wesson and decided two could play that game. Somehow he’d found Holloway and enlisted his aid, just as she had with his vacation partner. But there was no time to deal with that monkey business now.

  “Yeah,” she said. “The hottest tip—pun intended—is that Rico could be with one of his models right now.”

  “Cool beans,” Holloway said.

  And Wesson shot him a sassy smile.

  Even Parker looked impressed. “Good work, detectives.”

  “The only trouble is. All we have is her first name. Juli.”

  Wesson trotted over to Holloway’s side and put her elbow in his shoulder. “Nuh-uh.”

  Miranda scowled. “What do you mean, ‘nuh-uh’?”

  “That was Rico’s office I was coming out of up there. His computer was right on his desk with no password protection. I took the liberty of helping myself to some of his data.” Her partner in crime reached into her tiny purse and pulled out a pretty purple pen drive.

  “Wesson, you’re amazing.”

  “Yeah, I kind of am.”

  “Except we don’t have a laptop.” Parker had left his locked away in the safe in their cottage back in Campos do Flores.

  Holloway coughed. “I brought mine.”

  Wesson glared at him. “You brought your laptop on vacation with me?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Thought it might come in handy. Turns out I was right.”

  ###

  Parker sprung for a cab and they rushed back to the hotel. Holloway dug out his laptop while Parker ordered room service.

  Over soda cans of something called Guaraná Antarctica, which was tasty and had a real kick, and Bauru—roast beef sandwiches with pickles and melted mozzarella on a French bun—they studied the data Wesson had purloined.

  There were dozens of names of models. Scattered notes about each one. T
hey opened file after file and got nowhere.

  Finally Holloway double-clicked a folder labeled Superstars. “This looks promising.”

  Miranda peered over his shoulder and read. “It looks like some sort of date book.”

  “Here.” Holloway jabbed a finger at the screen. “This was entered two months ago. Juli Torres. Brunette. Nineteen. Aloof. Sharp. Scorching in red.”

  “Did Rico make those notes when she was hired?” Miranda wondered.

  “Maybe. Here’s an address.”

  Her mouth full of sandwich, Wesson’s eyes went wide as she forced down a swallow. “Is that where she lives?”

  Parker’s low voice rumbled over Miranda’s shoulder. He’d been watching everything, taking it all in. “Only one way to find out.”

  ###

  Another cab ride to the north side of the city took them to a high-end high-rise in a very chic area. Two minutes later they had found the elevator and all four of them were at Juli Torres’ door on the twenty-seventh floor.

  Miranda did the honors and knocked. No answer. Maybe they were too busy growling at each other in the bedroom. She knocked again, tapped her foot on the beige carpet in the hall.

  Nothing.

  Miranda had a bad feeling about this. She didn’t want to admit how much she needed him but they had to get in there, so she turned around to Parker.

  He studied her a long moment and she wondered if he realized he might not have gotten this far if he’d put her on that plane back to Atlanta.

  Without a word he stepped forward.

  “Show me that address again,” Miranda said to Wesson.

  She pulled the slip of paper she’d scrawled it on out of her purse. She was still carrying the one with the lipstick in it. And wearing her sunset dress and heels. There’d been no time to change.

  “This is the right place,” she said to Holloway, who was peering over her shoulder.

  Long enough, Miranda thought. “Well lookie there.”

  Parker had the door open. “It must not have been locked.”

  Wesson and Holloway narrowed their eyes at her in unison. She ignored them. Parker couldn’t afford to share his special B&E skills with everyone.

  But the other detectives forgot about it when they stepped inside the apartment.

  It was empty.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A small entranceway opened up to a living room that Miranda thought looked a lot like Juli’s workplace. Clean white walls and shelving, accent pillows, avant-garde artwork in wild swirling patterns of pink and persimmon.

  “Ms. Torres,” Parker called out. “Are you home?”

  No answer.

  Not much on the shelves. A few coffee-table sized books of travel and a lot of fashion magazines. Framed pictures of a smiling young woman with dark hair and two older people. Parents, Miranda assumed.

  Through an open arch she spotted a small kitchen area done in the same style. Looked like it hadn’t been used much.

  Everything was neat and tidy, as if the owner didn’t like anything out of place. Or she only used the place to eat take-out, sleep, and for the occasional boink.

  And like the modeling agency’s office, there was that perfumey smell in the air. This time laced with the faint odor of lilac. But as she stepped into the small hallway, Miranda caught the scent of something else.

  She glanced at Parker. His face told her he’d smelled it, too.

  They hurried to a door at the end of the small center hallway and pushed it open.

  Bedroom.

  White walls in here, too. Light colored furniture. The same pink-and-persimmon swirls on the drapery, the pillows, the spread. But all of the red coloring wasn’t décor. Most notably the spatter pattern on the opposite wall.

  Atop the spread lay a naked woman. Her long tan legs, now bluish and stiff, were parted, her thin arms stretched over the opposite side of the mattress as if still in the throes of passion.

  A slinky black dress lay in a heap on the floor near the foot of the bed.

  Carefully Miranda tiptoed around it to get a look at the upside-down head hanging over the side. Long, wavy dark hair falling to the floor. Beautiful, heavily made-up face. Long white throat—slashed from ear-to-ear.

  He had to stand about here, if he were right-handed. Made the cut from left to right, turning up, hitting the jugular.

  The model’s dark eyes were open wide, as if she’d been shocked at the sudden violent action. He’d lured her with sex, maybe the promise of a lucrative contract, until he had her just where he wanted her.

  The sonofabitch.

  And as Miranda peered at that lovely face, into those exotic Brazilian eyes, a cold chill swept over her.

  Juli Torres looked like Tia.

  Immediately her mind went to the receipt from Nunes Sporting Goods in Campos do Flores. There’d been a Bowie knife on it.

  “Oh, dear God.” Holloway looked a little pale.

  Wesson put a hand over her mouth as if about to retch.

  They’d been working skip traces and claims at the Parker Agency. Neither of them had seen a real dead body before.

  “Stay back,” Miranda told them. “We can’t contaminate the scene.”

  “Right,” Holloway nodded and left the room. Wesson turned and did the same.

  Following her own advice gingerly Miranda moved back around the bed. When she got to Parker she muttered under her breath, “We’ve got to get this bastard.”

  He gave her a solemn nod.

  But back in the living room the four of them just stared at each other.

  “What do we do?” Wesson wanted to know. “Call the police?”

  Parker drew in a tired breath. “I’m afraid we’ll have to.”

  There went that promise to Tia. But as far as Miranda was concerned, it was about time.

  Just as Parker drew out his cell, there was a tap on the door. It was followed by a loud male voice blabbering something in Portuguese. Miranda recognized the word polícia.

  Parker put his cell back in his pocket. “It seems they’re already here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Nothing like the prospect of getting arrested in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language. Especially for the second time in one day.

  Noticing his Portuguese seemed to be getting better, Miranda stood with folded arms while Parker went back and forth with the young pudgy-faced man in the doorway. In his white cap, khaki shirt and pants Miranda would have thought he was the ice cream man, except for the badge on his arm.

  And the gun at his side.

  After about ten minutes, Parker had him convinced that they weren’t a pack of thieves about to ransack the apartment.

  Then slowly, hands up, he walked him to the back.

  Miranda fought down the knots in her stomach as she stared at Wesson and Holloway. They’d never admit it, but she caught the fear in their eyes as they all listened to the tense conversation in the bedroom.

  She never should have dragged them into this.

  A moment later Parker and the officer came out of the back room. The young guy pulled out a cell and stepped into the outside hall.

  “He’s calling his superior and the investigative squad. I told him to ask for Inspector Keith.”

  The dude from the plane landing. Old home week.

  Feeling grimy, Miranda pulled her hair away from her face. “There has to be evidence here,” she said softly. “The killer had to be covered in blood.”

  Holloway nodded, his training coming back to him. “He’d have to clean up somewhere. Change his clothes. There has to be hair, skin, fingerprints, DNA.”

  They stood around waiting, not daring to sit or touch anything until finally Inspector Keith’s rumpled appearance graced the doorway.

  “You certainly get around town, don’t you, Mr. Parker?” he said in the accent Miranda decided was Scottish.

  “When my business requires it,” Parker replied.

  Despite the snide remar
k, Miranda was glad to see the inspector. And the team of crime workers Keith had brought with him as they marched to the bedroom and got to work.

  While Parker explained Holloway and Wesson to Keith, as well as what they were doing there, she slipped out of the living room and stood in the hall to watch the CSIs snap photos and carefully collect evidence on the blood-spattered wall, the bedspread, the furniture. One of them, a young-looking woman with long blond hair, must have been the ME. She examined the body for a long while, her movements steady, her face grim.

  “Severed the carotid in one slash,” she said, half to herself. But since she spoke in English Miranda assumed she wanted the visitors to hear it, too. “Victim would have died almost immediately. Rigor’s set in. From the liver temperature TOD was most likely sometime late last evening.”

  “How late?” Miranda asked.

  The ME raised her head and locked gazes with her. “Midnight, one a.m. I can’t be exact.”

  Behind her she heard Parker suck in a tight breath before moving back to the living room.

  That made sense. If Rico had a car, he could have made it back to Campos do Flores by five in the morning. Just enough time to slip a Mickey into their coffee. But how? Did he have an accomplice at the resort?

  Parker was already on the phone when she got to the corner where he stood, a hand cupped over his mouth. She listened anyway.

  “Do not let anyone in. Understand?...Yes. I know, Tia. But it couldn’t be helped. We’ll get back as soon as we can….Just stay calm until we get there.”

  He clicked off and closed his eyes.

  “She’s still all right?”

  He nodded. “She’s staying in her house as ordered, but she doesn’t like it.”

  “Or the police involvement, I’d guess.”

  “She’s livid but it’s her fear talking.”

  Miranda put a hand on Parker’s shoulder. “She’ll get over it once we catch this bastard.”

  With another short nod he moved to Keith who’d just come out of the bedroom.

  “Bad business in there.” He looked weary.

  “Yes,” Parker agreed. “If you have no more need of us, Inspector, we have to get back to our client.”