“Which should help making the embezzlement connection, when I get my fingers into it again. Until then, it’s simply a secondary account—taxes meticulously paid.”
Damned if he wasn’t dulling her glint. But she pushed on. “And there’s the file you found, with background checks, deep bio on everyone involved in this project—right down to the last gofer—that’s power-tripping again.”
“But not illegal.”
“No, not illegal.”
“But this might be.”
“What have you got?” She pounced, nearly bowled him over as he turned.
“Easy, darling. False bottom in this cabinet, and beneath that a small safe drawer. Which I’ve handily opened. And in that—”
“Codes. Pass codes, swipe cards, keys—all nicely labeled. Here’s the code for the marina gate, for the boat security. Oh, baby. Codes for Roundtree’s home, studio office, his vehicle.”
“You may have found your patsy.”
“Can’t use Roundtree but his wife’s a strong possible. Still, there’s a lot of other people in here. That’s the pal he called tonight.” She gestured. “That’s his home’s pass code, swipe card for the guy’s country club locker. Codes for all the trailers, as far as I can tell, being used on this production.”
“Nosy bastard, isn’t he?”
“He has to control it all. Won’t be shut out. Has to have access and the power it gives him. Plus, useful for setting someone up to take a fall.”
“It appears Steinburger has some explaining to do.”
“Big-time. This proves he had access to the boat. And see this here?”
“Not labeled.”
“3APIS2C. Triple A—A. A. Asner, Private Investigation, Suite 2-C. I’m betting that’s the code for Asner’s vehicle. Maybe he tossed it in here just in case, or wanted it to remind himself of what he pulled off. But that’s more explaining to do.”
She went back to the bedroom for an evidence bag. “I dump these on him, add in the zoner, the list of murders, the boat. I’ll break him down.”
She sealed the evidence, labeled it. “I’m going to let the team handle the vehicle. We’ll go swing by the studio office. Then we’ll pay a visit to Ce Soir.”
He thought she looked like a warrior, coolly prepared for battle. “I can get us a good table. I happen to know the owner.”
“You happen to be the owner, but we’re not eating. We’re going to interrupt Steinburger’s meal and ruin his fucking night.”
“Sounds promising.”
“We can get something from Vending while he sweats in Interview.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
“It’s not that bad. Hold on.” She pulled out her ’link. “Dallas.”
“Listen, Dallas—”
“Nadine, even though we established you’re not my type, I may do you after all. You killed that interview.”
“I’m aquiver. You’ve seen it already?”
“No, but Feeney summed it up. I could get him to do you, too.”
“Aw, you’re too good to me. What about Roarke?”
“No.”
“But not good enough. Listen, Dallas, I was nearly to the station, but I hopped out of the van, grabbed a cab. I’m heading back downtown, to the hotel—Julian’s hotel. I’ve got this nagging feeling.”
“About what?”
“Did Feeney tell you how Steinburger hinted around—off the record—about being afraid something happened between one of them and K.T., how he was worried?”
“Yeah, yeah. You think he meant Julian?”
“Julian was waiting outside the office. He looked terrible, which isn’t easy when you’re that gorgeous. Tired, upset, strung out. Scared—once I started thinking, I think scared. And Joel took him into his office—but as he did, Joel sent me this look. And, it’s nagging me. I think he was setting it up, Dallas. Giving me a look that said this is who I’m worried about, trying to protect. And if I’m right—”
“Then he’s planning for Julian to have an accident or off himself due to guilt. We’ll check it out.”
“Where are you?”
“Steinburger’s place, and we found a few interesting items.”
“It’ll take you longer to get there than me. But will you come? Even if I’m wrong, I think Julian knows something, and I think he’s vulnerable enough to spill it.”
“Leaving now. Do me a favor, get hotel security to go up with you. Make something up, but don’t go up there alone.”
“Julian wouldn’t hurt me—or anyone. But all right.”
“I trust her instincts,” Roarke said when Eve frowned at the blank screen.
“So do I. We’ll skip the office for now, go straight to Julian’s hotel room. I’ll let Peabody know the status.”
As she contacted her partner, Eve wondered just how the hell Stein-burger could kill—or induce a man to suicide—while he himself enjoyed a fancy dinner with a friend on the other side of town.
22
In the back of the cab, Nadine tried Julian’s ’link again. Stupid, she told herself, as she knew it would go straight to message—as it had the other three times she’d tried it. And he’d set the room ’links on DO NOT DISTURB.
Why hadn’t she followed up sooner? she asked herself. Why hadn’t she listened to that niggling concern and gone straight back to Stein-burger’s office, or at least grabbed a cab blocks earlier and headed to the hotel?
Because she’d wanted to get into the studio, review and edit the interview. To lick her chops. Do her victory boogie.
“Goddamn it, goddamn it,” she muttered as guilt drove the niggling toward full-blown fear.
The way they were snagged in traffic, Steinburger could kill Julian, have a drink, plan the memorial, and write the fricking eulogy before she got there.
Stupid, she thought again. It was probably nothing. Just nerves, which had shifted from the good, on-your-mark type for the interview to sweaty-palms stress during this excuse for a cab ride.
“Can’t you get through this?” she demanded.
The cab driver continued to dance his fingers over the wheel in time with the hideous music blasting through the speakers.
“Sure, lady. Just let me activate the transport beam and we’ll shoot through the wormhole and pop out clear.”
“Goddamn it,” she repeated, swiped her card for payment. “I’ll walk from here.”
She bolted out of the cab, squeezed through bumpers and scrambled to the sidewalk where the pedestrian traffic surged like a sea.
She dodged, weaved, cursed the gorgeous heels that made running a death wish, and which she was no doubt trashing. She cursed New York traffic, cursed tourists who didn’t know how to get out of the damn way!, cursed what she tried to convince herself was her overblown imagination.
But she kept running.
Inside his hotel room Julian ignored the ’link he’d tossed on the table. He didn’t have the energy to get up, power it down. He didn’t think he had the energy for that whirlpool either, not when it felt so good to just sit there, sprawled in the chair, drinking some wine, letting everything go. Just go.
Joel had been right, of course. You could count on Joel.
He counted on Joel, now more than ever. Somebody smart, steady, good in a crisis. Somebody who could tell him what to do.
It didn’t seem so horrible—not after two glasses of wine, and with another going down so smooth.
Still, maybe he should talk to Eve. Just explain everything—well, not everything because everything was so mixed up he couldn’t actually explain it to himself.
But just talk to her, tell her what happened, what he remembered, anyway.
She’d understand. He knew she would. He knew her.
She was fair, and brave, and just—and sexy.
Joel was wrong about her, Julian thought as he sipped, as his not-quite-Roarke blue eyes drooped. She wouldn’t do whatever it took to put him in prison. It wasn’t just about the arrest, about the—what was it? The collar. No, not for his Eve, he thought as his mind and vision blurred.
It was about justice.