Unknown - 23_Cat_In_A_Vegas_Gold_Vendetta

“Very Psycho.”

“Exactly. That’s when I knew I had to get out of that closet. I heard someone coming, tried to surprise the intruder by banging through the flimsy louvered folding doors.”

“You had a weapon.”

“Glock. Of course. But I didn’t want to use it randomly. I fended off the perp with my right forearm, but the knife was already sweeping down in the darkness.”

“Ouch,” he said. “If it was a Norman Bates–type attack…”

“No. Slashing, not stabbing. And I was a moving target. The cutting edge did a bouncing glissando on my ribs, left a blood trail, but didn’t damage any critical organs.”

“All pain and no glory.”

“You got that right.”

“So there you are, in the dark, bleeding, hurting, armed, and alone.”

“Don’t I wish.”

“You saw the attacker?’

“You tell me. I figured my attacker was gone, got myself to the living room, and discovered someone was still in the house with me.”

“Not the attacker?”

“So he claimed when he explained himself.”

“At the barrel of a GLOCK?”

“And in the light of a lamp.”

“First lamp in the main room off the hall?”

She nodded.

“Dirty Larry.” He said the name thoughtfully.

She nodded.

Max Kinsella whistled softly, but waited.

“Larry said he’d been watching the house and came in after me.”

“So might the attacker have done.”

“Right.”

“Or the attacker might have been lying in wait, quietly, until you were fully committed to … housebreaking. In a vulnerable position.”

“Right.”

“Anybody admit to seeing the attacker leave?”

“Larry, you mean? No. I was bleeding a lot. He had to get me out of there.”

“How’d he explain being there?”

“He thought I’d stood him up.”

“You were on dating terms?” The slightly disbelieving tone in Kinsella’s voice was either flattering or insulting.

“I’d used Dirty Larry to find your address and then didn’t invite him to the B and E party. He figured something was up and followed me. Ironic, huh?

“Oh, better than that, lieutenant.” Kinsella actually grinned as he considered the Vegas police version of “Spy vs. Spy.” “Maybe that’s how my wardrobe ended up shredded on the closet floor. It looked expensive.”

“It certainly looked like someone hated your guts, and your Guccis.”

“I must have made a lot of money on the Strip. I notice I have expensive tastes.”

She shook her head. “So you’re rich. Big sin. Can you access any of that wealth?”

“Haven’t tried yet. Don’t remember where, actually. Wanna help?”

“Your tough luck.”

“You wouldn’t have to pay me anymore. Have you done any digging into Podesta’s background?”

“His record’s with us. He worked in Flagstaff earlier.”

“I mean, where he and his people came from, family, and school—all that jazz?”

“No. I suspected he had some self-serving scheme going, but nothing truly shady. His file jacket here as a narc is impeccable.”

“His recent behavior sure isn’t. Cops aren’t immune from overcontrolling women. Maybe he wanted you freaked about danger to your kid and depending on him.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Who did you depend on during that challenging time when your daughter was missing? What? You look like I’d handed you a pickle for a Havana cigar.”

“Ugh. What a distasteful figure of speech either way.”

“So who?”

Molina made another pickle-smoking face. “My ex, Rafi. And … a crazy teen alter ego of your Miss Temple Barr called Zoe Chloe Ozone.”

“She’s nobody’s Miss Temple Barr but her own. ‘Zoe Chloe Ozone’? That sounds rather … disturbing.”

“It is. Check the Web. I guess ZCO caught some buzz. Anyway, we caught up with Mariah and her little dancing friend. There’d already been another Barbie doll killing at a mall audition out of state. The captain wanted all of us undercover at the dancing competition, which was being sabotaged. Larry was among the security and police forces there.”

“And the Barbie Doll Killer wasn’t behind anything, or caught?”

“No. Actually, the saboteur was after Matt Devine.”

“Why would anybody be after an ex-priest radio counselor?” When he saw she wasn’t talking about the case, he added, “I suppose no public personality is safe these days. Mister Midnight or Zoe Chloe Ozone. Well.”

Kinsella put his finished beer bottle on the countertop as if planting a flagpole. Firm and targeted. “It’ll be harder to shadow Podesta now, but I’ll manage. I’ll also look into the deepest and darkest corners of his past. You?”

“Larry’s games are just a distraction. I’m going over all the Barbie Doll Killer incidents, lethal and just creepy, until I squeeze a viable suspect out of those files. There’s got to be a loose end somewhere.”

Kinsella stood, wincing. “You’re surrounded by loose ends, including me.”

She watched his stride stretch out after the long time sitting, as he moved to the front door. He was walking pretty damn well for two months off two broken legs. She needed to keep in mind that magicians were often athletes.

Once he’d left, she allowed herself to remember their one set-to, when she’d tried to subdue and cuff him. He’d been frantic to get to Temple, rightfully worried, it turned out.

But while Temple was waltzing with the Stripper Killer and a can of pepper spray in another local strip-club parking lot, she and Kinsella had been tangoing in closest quarters with matched skill and strength at Baby Doll’s.

Recently, forced to watch Dancing With the Celebs with Mariah and Temple/Zoe, seeing the five competing couples do the tango, including Matt Devine with unsuspected macho fire, she’d felt her face heating with memory.

To break her hold and concentration, Kinsella had begun taunting her about her Iron Maiden nickname. She’d recognized a ruse to distract and anger her, but for just a furious moment, she’d thought, I could show you a thing or two, you bastard, just like I showed all the sexists on the force. I could heat you up and then shut you down so fast your brain cells would go nova, if I wanted to.

Luckily, his desperation to get away had ultimately ended that old Argentinean tango she/he impasse. He’d folded, let her take him down, hard, cuff him, and haul him into her Crown Vic while they headed for the other strip club. Only he’d slipped the cuffs off like Houdini and left her cuffed to the steering wheel. He got to the other club first, but Temple was already safe.

Loose ends, Molina thought, smiling as she locked the door after him.

Max Kinsella was completely up for grabs now, and he didn’t remember how he’d tried to seduce her in the heat of battle. She still might like to show him something, after this case and its other loose ends were dead and buried. She had the mental advantage now, although they both had been through the wars. She had a memory.

With Mariah out for the night, she had the bathroom to herself for once. She headed down the hall, now glad that Dirty Larry had been outed. Progress on the case.

She needed, and could get in blessed peace, a muscle-relaxing, pulsing shower. Umm, too Psycho. Why not a long, luxurious soak, courtesy of Mariah’s perfumed Hello Kitty bubble-bath set?

Even Iron Maidens had the occasional day, or night, off. And Mama had a lot of eligible men worrying her mind, some of them even deliciously dangerous.

Chapter 29

Big Pussycats Have Sharp Ears

Mr. Max Kinsella is not the only expert “tail” in the shamus business.

Everyone assumed that I would meekly follow my Miss Temple out of chez Molina and go home of a night.