Deadly Intersections (25 page)

“See? Better already. And since you’re already down there, why don’t you give me a little valentine?”

The music pulsated in her ears and she squeezed Lola’s ass. They’d been dancing for an hour, and Molly had never felt so free.
Fuck Ari. Just fuck her
. When the music switched to a slow song, Lola pulled her to the bar for another drink. She’d lost track of how many she’d had—Vicky had said she was calling her a cab.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lola said and led Molly to her truck when Vicky wasn’t watching. “Follow me to my place,” she added with a deep kiss.

She jumped into a Mercedes convertible and headed for the exit. Molly’s adrenaline was surging. She’d never felt this way. She
had
to have her. She ached for her. She hopped in the truck and blinked her eyes. A little voice reminded her about DUI, but when the voice turned into Ari’s pleasant lilt, she sneered.

“Fuck her.”

She pulled up behind the Mercedes just as it whipped into the center lane. She followed behind closely trying to remember the route to her place. Lola veered in and out of traffic and she struggled to keep up. Once she nearly crossed the center lane and an oncoming car sounded its horn and swerved away just in time.

“Shit!”

She knew she shouldn’t be driving. She should forget the woman, pull into the nearest parking lot and sleep it off.
That’s what you should do, Nelson. You know it.

But she wanted to beat Ari. If Ari could cheat and throw away their relationship, so could she. She hit the gas and zoomed behind the Mercedes, nearly rear-ending it. They’d driven east on Camelback Road around Camelback Mountain. Her body swayed with the twists and turns as she fought to stay in her lane. Suddenly Lola crossed two lanes of traffic and made a quick right onto Lafayette. Without looking or thinking, Molly followed—and overcompensated. She overshot the turn and panicked. She jerked the wheel and the truck spun until it plowed into a decorative wall that adorned the front of an expensive Spanish villa.

Her body shot forward into the deployed airbag. Before she passed out she remembered that in her hurry to rendezvous with Lola, she’d neglected to fasten her seatbelt.

Less than twenty-four hours after her truck crashed and she’d resigned from the police force, she sat at The Twenty Yard Line, a bar that cops and lesbians didn’t frequent. She’d never again step through the doors of Oaxaca, the cop watering hole, and it would be a long time before she’d go to Hideaway either. It was all too humiliating.

The memories of Ari that had clouded her mind seemed distant and fuzzy compared to the larger than life visions of her stumbling out of the truck when the first on-the-scene police officers revived her. Despite forgetting her seatbelt she’d walked away without a scratch, the airbag preventing her from flying through the window and her inebriated state ensuring that she didn’t tense up during impact. Lola was gone and she was alone.

They’d taken her weapon, handcuffed her and put her into a car. She was prepared for a trip to jail and was surprised when she was driven to police headquarters instead and led into Sol Gardener’s office. He looked as though he’d been roused from sleep in his sweats and a baseball cap. The other cops left and closed the door behind them. She’d stared at his disappointed face and started to cry. He handed her a tissue and waited until she had her emotions under control.

“This is going to cost you, Nelson, but it could have been much worse. After I got the call from Ruskin that you were in custody I woke up the mayor. He agrees with me that it wouldn’t look good for the Department or the city if the detective that cracked the biggest homicide of the year went to jail. Also, that house you hit is in foreclosure. No harm, no foul. We’re going to make this go away, Nelson. You’re not going to jail but you’re going to resign. Right now. Effective immediately.

She’d nodded and handed over her badge and gun, relieved that she wouldn’t go down to booking, but already knowing her career as a police officer was over. She’d driven drunk and failed a breathalyzer by nearly two points.

Now, sitting on a stool at her neighborhood sports bar sipping a scotch, she wondered what she would do with her life. She still hadn’t told her family. They would be crushed. Ari already knew and had left her a dozen messages, begging her to call, which she wouldn’t. She glanced at the amber liquid inside the glass, swearing to herself that she’d never drink and drive again. The bar was only two blocks from her house so any night she got drunk she could just stumble home.

“I can’t be arrested for that,” she said to the glass.

For some inexplicable reason she’d brought the printouts of the unresolved number 6815 with her. She stared at the pages of numbers once more. There was a nagging feeling at the back of her brain—that somehow all of this was related—but her zeal for justice was depleted, and she just didn’t care.

“Sorry, Itchy,” she said, thinking of her informant who’d likely been killed by the mole.

The door opened and sunlight stretched across the dark room. Jack Adams strolled over and took the stool next to her. He ordered a beer and stared at the bar.

“How’d you find me?”

“Once I got your address I decided to check out the closest bars. This was my second stop.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He flipped through his pictures and showed her an old studio portrait. It was faded and worn but the beautiful woman was remarkable and looked almost exactly like Ari.

“Isn’t she absolutely incredible?” he asked, his voice full of admiration. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen?”

She sipped her drink and refused to answer. Yes, Lucia was amazing, but no woman could ever compare to Ari. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to sob.

“Why won’t you speak to her?”

She glanced up, surprised. “You knew? She told you we were involved?”

He shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “No, she didn’t have to. I figured it out a few days ago. When I was in your office your cell rang and it played
Wipeout
. That was Ari’s favorite song as a child. She used to stand around and dance to it.” He chuckled. “What were the odds? Then she told me she was dating a cop so I just put it together.”

Molly finished her scotch and put on her jacket. “That’s some pretty good detective work. I think the department’s hiring.”

“What the hell happened, Nelson?”

That was a very good question, one she couldn’t answer. Somehow everything had spun out of control. Now her career was over, and she’d lost Ari. She hopped off the barstool and threw some bills on top of the discarded printouts. She didn’t care about moles and killers anymore.

Jack pointed to the printout. “What’s this?”

“It’s not important,” she said, before staggering out of the bar. 

He thought it was hot for February. Temperatures continued to hover in the high seventies when they belonged in the mid-sixties. He moved under the shade of the ramada and glanced at his watch. His connection was twenty minutes late. He’d just completed a call to Vince Carnotti, who was overjoyed at the dismissal of Molly Nelson. He’d escaped a close call, and his sigh broke the silence.

Losing Nelson was hard. She was a great cop—too good for collateral damage.

He heard the motorcycle before he saw it. The park was mostly empty as the visitors transitioned from families ending picnics to beer partiers who hadn’t yet stopped by Circle K to get their alcohol. The motorcycle chugged to a stop next to his Infiniti and the rider dismounted—Biz Stone.

“Great meeting place, Sol. I think I swallowed a pound of dirt all the way up here.”

Sol Gardener remained expressionless. He didn’t care for Biz. He had nothing against lesbians but she was too butch, too hard. He much preferred Ari’s classiness and Molly’s androgyny. He saw her as crude and unrefined. Still, she’d come through and done her job.

He handed her an envelope of money, and she whistled when she glanced at the package of hundred dollar bills.

“Sweet. This’ll pay for my new kitchen in the loft I just bought.”

He turned to go, his business concluded. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

“Sol, wait a minute. You need a helper in the future, you find someone else. I’m done.”

He crossed his arms and gave her a hard look. “Does this have anything to do with Ari?”

She shrugged. “I really care for her. That drunk Nelson didn’t deserve her.”

Sol exploded and pushed her against his Infiniti. “Listen, missy. Molly Nelson was a damn fine cop. Okay, she had a drinking problem, but she was a great person and our little scheme flushed her life down the toilet. So don’t you ever say anything bad about Molly.”

Biz put up her hands and moved away. “Sorry.”

Sol took a step toward her, his finger pointed. “And don’t you ever forget that Ari’s my godchild. If you do anything to make her unhappy or jeopardize her life or career, I’ll kill you. Know that.”

The Hispanic man who hopped out of the taxi in front of 6815 West Windsong didn’t notice the nondescript Buick down the street. He glanced over his shoulder before he jumped the fence into the backyard.

Jack pulled the binoculars away and reached for his clipboard. He recorded the activity on his log, one that was quite lengthy from the seven days he’d staked out the address. The comings and goings at the house suggested drugs, and he was impressed by the low-key operation. Only a tip from an informant, one like Molly’s friend Itchy, would’ve led the police to the front door. Neighbors would never suspect.

He sighed deeply, still digesting the truth, which hurt him almost as much as Lucia’s death. His best friend, his former boss, his mentor and Ari’s godfather was on the take. And he was most likely responsible for the end of Molly Nelson’s career.

She’d abandoned her spreadsheet on the bar as she staggered outside and he’d immediately noticed one of the entries—Duffek Turn. It was a kayaking term and Sol Gardener loved kayaking. It was Sol who convinced Jack to relocate there for his retirement, assuring him that when he retired he would join him and together they could start a kayaking company called Duffek Turn. It was too unbelievable to be a coincidence, but the obvious truth was numbing and forced him to action.

He staged his good-bye a week ago, allowing Ari to drop him off at the airport. No one knew he remained in Phoenix holed up in a Motel Six near the interstate. He’d spent much of his days and nights sitting in the rented Buick, watching, recording and waiting. So far he’d only seen low-level mules trafficking the goods.

He checked his watch. It was after sundown and time to move the Buick again. He made a U-turn and circled the block, deciding to park on the other side of the street in the opposite direction. He knew if he kept this up much longer he’d need a different rental car. There was no reason to take chances since he didn’t know who actually
lived
in the house. He’d watched people come and go but couldn’t spot the owner.

He circled the block and parked again just as an Infiniti pulled up into the driveway.

“Show me something,” he murmured.

He grabbed his camera and positioned his enormous telephoto lens. When no one immediately emerged from the car he worried that he’d been made and was the victim of a setup. Just as he was about to put the rental in drive, a man flew out of the house and raced toward the car. The window opened and the man leaned inside. Jack’s heart rate quickened as he held the shutter button down. He didn’t think about what he was seeing. He only focused on recording the interaction between the underling bending over to receive his instructions from the powerful boss driving the Infiniti—Sol Gardener.

Ari and Jane rode silently through the neighborhood. Since her breakup with Molly, Jane had ceased her usual joking and sarcasm. A part of Ari was grateful for the silence—another part of her missed the normalcy.

And it would take a long time to get back to normal and forget Molly.

“Where are we going?” she asked impatiently.

“You’ll see,” Jane said with a slight smile.

She opened the paper and decided not to think about the mystery. On the front page of the local section was a wonderful human interest story, the reunion of Millicent and Laurel Jeffries.

“This is great,” she commented with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “How is Laurel adjusting?”

Jane nodded. “She’s doing well considering that she hasn’t seen her mother since she was a child. Millicent walked out on her when she was four, but I think they’ll be okay.”

Happy endings are nice
. Jane turned into the Day Arbor neighborhood, and Ari’s anxiety skyrocketed.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s okay, honey. I need to show you something.”

She wasn’t surprised when Jane’s Porsche stopped in front of Stan Wertz’s ruined house. Lorraine’s real estate sign had been removed although the familiar white post still stood in the ground at the edge of the cement walkway.