Perfect Target, page 14
"Maybe Lindsay wasn't as big a fan of her father's as she's pretending to be."
"She seemed very conflicted about her feelings toward him. She also invited me to the memorial service on Tuesday. She said her mom and Joel want everyone from Larry's past, including The Carmichaels to be there."
"Were you a friend of Joel's, too?" he asked.
"Not really. He was six years older than me. I saw him at a few parties. He was wilder than Lindsay, that's for sure. He acted like an entitled, rich, son-of-a-celebrity most of the time I was around him. But we were all a lot younger then. I have no idea what he is like now."
"My impression of him the other night was basically the same. He had an entitled, rich, son-of-a-senator vibe. But Lindsay was different than her brother?"
"Yes. She was a sweet girl. We lost touch when I got wild. She seemed too innocent for me, and she had more rules than I did. So, we stopped being friends." She took another bite of her taco, then said, "Lindsay had two bodyguards with her. Do you think she's in danger?"
"I think it's good she's protected."
"So, what are you going to do about Hailey?"
"I'm going to talk to her. But first I'm going to eat this burger."
"Good decision."
"This is a nice spot. I haven't been here before, have you?" he asked.
"I came about a year ago for lunch with one of my friends. The food is as good as the view, which isn't always the case. It's nice to eat by the water."
"You live by the water," he said dryly. "You can eat by the water every night."
"And I do," she said with a smile. "I was born in Glendale, in the valley. It was a nice city, but hot and often polluted. Whenever I had time to come over the hill and breathe in ocean air, I felt so much better. Now, I can't get enough of the ocean."
"Does your mother live nearby?"
"No. She lives in Calabasas now, which is the new Beverly Hills. She doesn't have a compound like some of the other celebrities, but she has a nice house with a pool and a guesthouse, where my grandmother lives."
"Sounds nice. What was the party your mother and agent were talking about earlier?"
"It's a very exclusive summer kick-off party at the home of Ethan Cawley, who used to run Paramount and now runs the new NBS Network. He's probably the most powerful man in Hollywood, and his party is very exclusive. Getting an invitation is a big deal. All the power brokers will be there."
Beck shifted in his chair as he gave her a thoughtful look. "I understand why the news shows want to interview you about the senator's death, but I'm confused as to why you've suddenly become a marketable actress again."
"It's all about perception. I was always a good actress until I was branded as difficult to work with and an irresponsible partier. Now there's buzz about me, interest in seeing who I am now. With that renewed interest, producers and network executives see opportunity."
"Okay, I get that. What I don't understand is why you didn't just say no?"
"You didn't see how difficult it is to say no to Ron and my mother?"
A smile played around his lips. "I think you have the strength to say no, but you don't seem to have the will."
"It's complicated."
"Is it complicated because you're only telling me 90% of the story?"
He was too sharp, and the more time she spent with him, the more likely he would see right through her, or she was going to lose her will to keep lying to him. "It's just complicated," she replied. "I have mixed feelings about it all, but I don't have to decide this second, so I'm not going to." She paused as her phone buzzed. She took it out of her bag, then frowned. "I don't recognize the number."
He straightened in his chair. "Answer it anyway."
"Hello?"
"Piper Nolan?"
"Yes?"
"This is Detective Spalding from the port police."
Her gut churned. "Detective Spalding. What do you want?"
"I need to speak to you about the explosion."
"I've already spoken to the police and to the FBI."
"Well, you haven't talked to me. I have some information you'll want to hear. I stopped by your home and your bakery and saw the media camping out. I'm sure you'd rather we didn't meet at your house."
"I'd rather we didn’t meet at all."
"This won't take long. But I need to see you."
"I thought the FBI had taken over the investigation."
"They have, but there's something you need to know, and I feel I owe it to you to tell you."
"You feel you owe me something?" she challenged.
"I couldn't help you before, but I can help you now. Why don't we meet at the Santa Monica Pier at three o'clock? Will that work?"
She wanted to say no to everything, but she was also curious. "All right. I'll meet you at the pier."
"I'll be by the entrance, near the arcade."
"Got it." She set down the phone and met Beck's enquiring gaze. "Detective Spalding wants a meeting. He says he couldn't help me before, but he can help me now. He feels he owes me. To avoid the press at my home and bakery, he wants to meet me at the Santa Monica Pier at three."
"I can't believe he reached out to you," Beck said with a scowl.
"Should I have said no? I wanted to, but I wasn't sure if I could. And to be honest, I'm a little curious as to what he has to say."
"Why doesn't he want you to come to his office?"
"He admitted that the FBI is running the investigation. I guess that's why he didn't want to make our meeting official. What do you think he wants?"
"My guess is he's worried you know something or saw something."
She sighed. "I really wish everyone would stop thinking that. What should I do?"
"I need to think about that. First, I want to talk to a friend of mine. He knows Spalding better than I do. And he still works with him." He sent a text and then motioned for the check. "We'll talk to him before we make a decision."
Chapter Fifteen
Beck didn't like that Spalding had reached out to Piper. Everything about the meet seemed off. What could Spalding possibly need to tell Piper? It was more likely that he wanted something from her. But what?
It was difficult to believe Spalding had had anything to do with a bomb going off on Brixton's yacht. However, he might have been contacted by someone to help with clean up, and Piper might fit into that category.
"Tell me about your friend," Piper said, interrupting his thoughts as he drove toward the freeway. "What's his name and how does he know Spalding?"
"Hank Ortiz. He's an officer with the port police and has worked with Spalding for years. Hank was a mentor to me when I was a police officer. He was one of the reasons I joined that division."
"Explain," she said, shifting in her seat to look at him.
He debated how much he wanted to tell her. He was letting Piper get too close, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I didn't grow up with a lot of options for college or careers. I worked a lot of stupid jobs just to make some cash, but I knew I needed a long-term plan. When I was nineteen, I decided to join the Army."
"Really? I had no idea. You couldn't have been in that long."
"No, I wasn't. While I was lucky enough to get into ranger school, two years later, I was not so lucky when I injured myself during a jump. I ended up with a medical discharge at the age of twenty-one."
"That's rough."
"Abrupt life-changing moments are a big part of my past," he said. "Anyway, I met Hank at a physical therapy center in LA where we were both rehabilitating from injuries. I was trying to figure out my career options, and he suggested I think about becoming a cop. I mulled it over for a few months. I knew I had to do something. David and I were staying with my grandmother, but she was in poor health, and she really couldn't take care of either of us anymore. So, I went through the academy and ended up with the port police where Hank was assigned."
"Did you like the job change or did you miss being in the military?"
"I missed the friends I'd made and being able to serve my country, but becoming a cop opened up other avenues for me, and I still felt like I could be of service."
"But then you moved to the FBI."
"Not for several years. By then, I knew that I needed more autonomy and more power. I didn't like being under Spalding's thumb."
"I can't blame you. Getting back to Spalding… He said he wanted to help me and make up for not doing that before. Clearly, he wanted me to know that he remembered our first meeting."
"And he wants you to trust him."
"That won't happen. I trusted him once, and it got me nowhere. I'm sure the smear campaign was launched because I talked to him." She paused. "I wonder if he's the one who started it with that photo taken of me on the docks."
"Couldn't you trace the source?"
"Ron tried, but he kept getting stonewalled, and there was so much proof of my bad behavior out there. It seemed like everyone had a picture of me wasted or dancing or wearing too few clothes."
"We live in a world of cameras."
"Once the story started rolling, more and more people came forward to cash in on me," she said, a note of pain in her voice. "Probably even some of my so-called friends."
"You think they sold you out?"
She glanced back at him. "I wouldn't bet against it. At that point, I'd walked away from most of my real friends to hang with my party friends." She drew in a breath. "That's all in the past."
"It seems like you have good friends now."
"Well, I'm a better friend than I used to be. So, what is Hank like?"
"He's a big, bear-hug kind of guy, very outgoing. He's Latino and family is everything. When you're his friend, you're also his family. You'll like him, and he'll like you, and that will mean questions."
She shot him a speculative look. "About me?"
"Me and you."
"Aren't you going to tell him you're just protecting me, that I'm a case?"
He met her gaze. "I'm going to tell him that, but he won't believe me, because it won't be the whole truth."
She didn't even try to refute his statement. "No," she said, meeting his gaze. "It wouldn't be the whole truth."
His nerves tingled at her words, but she looked away, and so did he. They'd gotten too close to the fire. Time to back away.
Hank Ortiz was everything Beck had said he was. His big smile, friendly dark eyes, and the warm greeting she got from both him and his wife, Sandra, made her feel very welcome. She also liked the inviting chaotic color of his well-lived-in home and the enthusiasm of the cutest barking puppy. Within minutes, she felt like she was family, simply because she was with Beck.
"Okay, that's enough," Sandra said as she grabbed the squirming puppy in her arms. "Time for you to go outside. I also just took some brownies out of the oven. Do you want to help me with them, Piper? I know Beck never turns down my brownies."
"How could I? They're amazing," Beck said. "But we'll have to see what Piper thinks. She's a pastry chef, Sandra. She owns a bakery in Santa Monica."
"Well, I don't think my brownies will be that impressive then," Sandra said.
"I bet they're terrific, and I'm happy to help." She sensed that Beck wanted to talk to Hank alone.
"We'll let the brownies cool for a minute while I get this guy outside," Sandra said, leading her through the kitchen and out the back door. The yard was fenced in and shaded with some tall trees on all sides, making it feel small but private. Sandra set the puppy down and said, "There you go, run around."
The puppy took off before she'd even finished speaking.
Sandra shook her head and laughed as she glanced at Piper. "The last thing I wanted was a puppy, but my youngest daughter brought this dog home during her spring break from college. It turned out she couldn't keep it in her apartment at school, so until she can move into a new place this summer, Hank and I are dog-sitting. As if we haven't done enough sitting in our lives. I don’t know if Beck told you, but we have four kids and three grandkids now, and I watch two of them every day after school. We also have two cats who don't like the puppy, but here we are. What could we do? How could we say no when we saw that cute puppy face?"
"He is adorable. I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mother was not a pet person."
"Well, you're an adult now. You can get one if you want one. My nineteen-year-old did."
She smiled. "I have my hands full with my business."
"A bakery sounds like fun. How do you stay so skinny? I should stop baking because I eat too much." She smoothed her hands down her ample hips. "But Hank still loves me." She gave Piper a curious smile. "So, you and Beck?"
"Friends." She settled for the easiest and vaguest answer.
"Well, he hasn't brought too many friends to meet us. In fact, he hasn't brought anyone. I've always told Hank the day Beck shows up here with a woman, I'll know he's serious about her."
"We actually just met. I'm part of a case he's working on. You have the wrong idea, Sandra. There's nothing going on with us."
Sandra gave her a sly look. "Okay. It's not my business. It's just that Beck is such a good man. He spent so much time taking care of his brother, that I sometimes worry about him going after what he wants, having his own life. He's certainly due."
"He told me he had sole responsibility for his brother after he got out of the military."
"He did, and before that, he had a lot of responsibility, too. Beck had to grow up fast. And he's stronger because of that. He's a good man, Piper, but he's not always easy to read. He had to put his emotions away a long time ago. I worry he buried 'em so deep, he'll never be able to find them again."
"I hope that's not true." Sandra's words made her feel a little emotional, which was ridiculous since she barely knew Beck. But what she was learning about him was only making her like him more.
Sandra cleared her throat. "Let's cut up some brownies. And you can tell me what I can do to make them better."
"You have the wrong idea," Beck told Hank as they faced each other across Hank's beat-up desk in the room he called his man-cave. Aside from the desk, there was a foosball table and a TV for watching sporting events that Sandra didn't want to watch. "Piper is a witness, that's it," he added, trying to ignore the knowing gleam in Hank's eyes. "I only brought her with me because I can't leave her alone. Someone tried to kill her last night. They ran her off Mulholland Drive."
At his words, Hank's expression turned somber. "I'm sorry to hear that. Tell me how I can help."
"Spalding."
Hank immediately shook his head. "I have one year to go before I retire and sticking my nose in Spalding's business would mess that up."
"This is important, Hank. Lives are on the line. What do you know about Spalding's investigation into the bombing?"
"I know the FBI took the case away from him."
"Then why would Piper get a call from Spalding asking her to meet him this afternoon? He doesn't want her coming down to the office, and he said there's too much press at her home and business, so he wants to meet her at the Santa Monica Pier."
Hank cocked his head to the right, a thoughtful gleam in his gaze. "That is odd."
"I think so, too. I don't know if you remember that yacht fire seven years ago—"
"Wait a second! Piper. That's the name of the girl you pulled out of the water, the one you couldn't stop talking about—the actress."
"Yes."
"And she was also at the yacht with the senator before it blew up? That's an interesting coincidence."
"She says the events are not related."
"Do you believe her?"
"I'm trying to figure that out, but Spalding has thrown a curveball with his request for a meeting. He told Piper that he felt guilty about not helping her before. He thinks he can do that now."
"What didn't he do before?"
"I told you he never investigated that fire."
"Yes. But there was no proof there was a need for an investigation."
"Because the problems were buried. Piper told Spalding that she was attacked on the yacht, but she couldn't name the person because she'd been drugged. She threw the candle at the curtains to get away."
Hank stared back at him with a growing frown of displeasure. "And she gave that statement to Spalding?"
"Yes, but he changed her story on the official report. He said she agreed with the other witnesses that the fire was an accident. He buried a sexual assault allegation, Hank, and I think there might have been another assault on that yacht as well. Spalding was in someone's pocket then, and he might be now, too. He could be involved with Friday's explosion. We're talking about the murder of a United States senator."
"I'm aware." Hank gave him a grim look. "I know that Spalding has been doing some private security work for some influential friends."
"Was Larry Brixton one of his friends?"
"That I don't know, but a few days ago, he was talking to a rookie cop about moonlighting as security for a party at John Nicholson's house, the producer."
"I know who Nicholson is. His party was last night. Piper catered the desserts. She dropped them off at the house before the party began, and shortly thereafter she was run off the road."
Hank raised a brow in surprise. "Piper was on the yacht that caught fire seven years ago. She was on the yacht that blew up on Friday, and she was at Nicholson's party last night? That can't be a coincidence."
"She was on Brixton's yacht for the same reason she was at Nicholson's party; she was delivering desserts. I told you, she runs a bakery. Let's get back to Spalding. Did he work Nicholson's party?"
