Karen Olson - The Missing Ink

The speedometer inched up higher than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have a choice. While I’d toyed with the idea of just pulling over and confronting him in the nanosecond before we started down that incline, I wasn’t leaning in that direction now. I just wanted to get away, slow my heartbeat to normal, and then call Simon Chase to find out why, if he was meeting me in a few hours, he felt compelled to show up early and scare the bejesus out of me.

Oh, right. I had the diamond. But he didn’t exactly know that right now.

The light was red ahead of me, where I’d turn onto the Strip. A mass of tourists moved like a slow swarm of bees. The light turned green just as the last pedestrian moved out of my way, and I sped to the left, the Dakota hot on my butt.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to work.

I squinted ahead and saw the next light was red. And stayed red, the closer I came. Lights on the Strip were longer than James Cameron’s Titanic .

A minivan slipped between me and the Dakota. I could see a slip of smoke coming out of the driver’s-side window of the truck. Simon Chase smoked? Oh, right. All those Europeans were like chimneys. Another thing I could bolster my resolve with when I met him tonight.

If he didn’t manage to get me beforehand.

If he’d wanted to meet earlier, I would’ve been open to that.

The light changed. Cars ahead of me began to crawl toward the next light, which was, remarkably, still green halfway there. I put a little more pressure on the accelerator, spun around the taxicab in front of me. The light blinked yellow, and I threw caution to the wind, weaving around a tour bus as if every nerve ending weren’t on fire, and got through just a second after the light turned red.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed the Dakota stuck behind that minivan.

I resisted the urge to pump my fist and instead took my sunglasses out of the glove box and slipped them on. I went past the Monte Carlo, New York New York, the MGM, and sat at the light at the Tropicana. Where was I going? Home? I was pointed in that direction; I could use a nap.

But the truck was still behind me somewhere. He might figure I’d go home, and I didn’t want to go to a place where he’d find me alone.

My options were limited. I should’ve stayed at the shop with Joel.

A phone rang.

Simon Chase’s phone.

I took it out of my bag and hit the button to answer. “Hello?” I asked, this time not bothering to disguise my voice. He knew I had the phone. It might even be him.

“Brett?”

It was him.

“Yes?”

“Something’s come up. I can’t meet you this evening.” Something came up, all right. I just outran him. I smiled. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.” Considering how fast my heart was pounding, it was amazing my voice didn’t vibrate.

“Me, too.”

“Listen,” I started.

“Yes?”

“Why did Matthew trash my shop, take my safe, beat up one of my tattooists?”

Silence.

I didn’t want to let him off the hook. “I saw you talking to him. At Versailles. And you and he and Elise were all at Viva Las Vegas last night. And why are you driving a Dodge Dakota, and why did you just chase me out of the parking garage?”

He was so quiet, I thought he’d ended the call. Just as I opened my mouth to ask if he was there, he spoke.

“What are you talking about? I’m not driving a Dodge Dakota. I’m in my office, at Versailles. I haven’t left all day.”

I looked at the phone number on the BlackBerry. It was his office number.

If Simon Chase hadn’t been driving, who was?

“You were driving a Dakota last night,” I pointed out, uncertain where to take this, doubts about all my theories crowding my head.

I heard a short intake of breath, then, “We’ve got a couple here at the hotel for management to use, left over from when it was just a construction site. I took one last night because, to be honest, a place like that isn’t a place for a Mercedes.”

I could hardly blame him.

“Why the twenty questions, Brett?”

Why, indeed? “Because you met Elise last night, and you know Matthew, and you dated Kelly, and you obviously knew Matt Powell, and you seem to be some sort of link between everything that’s going on.” I hadn’t really meant to let it all out like that, but I was tired of the whole thing.

Surprisingly, I heard him chuckle. “Why don’t you leave the detecting to your brother, Brett? I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of all this.”

“Do you know where Elise is?”

“Let it go, Brett.” It had gotten a little frostier in the car, and the air wasn’t even on all that high.

“I just want to find her,” I said.

“Why?”

Should I risk telling him I had the diamond? If he was in on it, then it would give him another chance to sic Matthew on me. No, thank you. I’d have to try another tack.

“Someone thinks she left something behind when she came to my shop.”

“Did she?”

“Someone thinks so.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine.”

Silence indicated we were both going to be stubborn about this.

“I’m going to make time to see you,” Chase finally said, like it was totally putting him out. “I’ll be there at eight, as I said. But I won’t have time for dinner. I’ll just meet you at your shop.”

“Don’t go changing plans just for me.”

“I think we have some things to clear up. We need to do this in person. I’ll see you at eight.” And now he really did end the call.

I stared at the BlackBerry, then tossed it on the passenger seat. What exactly had just happened here? The only thing he said for sure was that he wasn’t driving that Dakota. It was the only thing he hadn’t skirted around.

Speaking of skirts, I touched the outline of the diamond in my pocket. I couldn’t drive around with this; I needed to do something with it. Put it in a safe place. But where? My safe was gone, lifted-literally-by Matthew. The safest place for the ring, ironically, had been in that orchid pot. I probably should’ve just left it there.

The sign for the In-N-Out beckoned just ahead. When in doubt, go for a Double-Double.

I took my burger and lemonade to an empty table and sat down, peeling back the paper on the burger and taking a big bite. I was still chewing when my phone rang. My phone, this time, not Simon Chase’s.

“Hello?” I asked after swallowing, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“Brett?” It was Tim. “What’s going on? What do you want?”

“I found something,” I said. “I found what they were looking for.”

But before I could elaborate, a hand clasped itself over mine, yanking the phone away from my ear. I heard Tim distantly asking, “What?” as another hand twisted my other shoulder.

I wrenched my head back as far as I could to see the eagle wings on his neck.

Matthew.

His breath was hot against my ear.

“You’re coming with me.” His voice was deeper than I’d imagined, gravelly, like he smoked three packs a day. But I didn’t smell cigarettes on him, just a musky odor mixed with sweat.

His hand shifted underneath my armpit and lifted me up. I still held the burger as he almost carried me out the door. My phone was on the table.

I expected to see the Dodge Dakota, but it wasn’t in the parking lot. Instead, Matthew led me to a motorcycle, a Harley.

“We’re going for a ride,” he said, handing me my bag and taking the burger, throwing it in a trash can.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and shook my head. “Not on that thing.”