Lucky Break by Deborah Coonts Read Free Book Online Page B

it, where it went.”
    “And how this,” Romeo held up the bayonet, “could’ve ended up buried in Holt Box’s stomach.”
    “Precisely.   And I want you to figure out who other than Teddie might’ve wanted Holt Box dead.”
    “The wife might be able to help with that.”
    “A good place to start.   But in the meantime, let’s shake some trees and see what falls out.   Maybe his manager, his P.R. person.”
    “His wife has been his manager for years. His P.R. firm is in L.A.   A gal by the name of Kimberly Cho handles his account.”
    I grabbed his arm.   “She was the one at the party.”
    “What one at the party?”   Romeo clearly wasn’t following.
    “She came up to me in the lobby before my interview.   She wanted to talk to me.   She was scared.”
    “What did she want to talk about?”
    “I don’t exactly.   She warned me to be careful.”
    “About what?”
    “A man.   ”   I remembered her expression, her warning.  
    “Which man?”
    “I don’t know.   She said he was someone she’d known from before.”   I tried to remember her exact words.   “She told me to be careful.   That’s all.”   I felt a horrible sinking feeling, that disappointment in myself.   “I didn’t have the time to talk right then.   She was going to catch me after the interview, but she never showed.”
    “How do you know her?”
    “She handles PR for a lot of folks, big names.   She’s doing some work for us in Macau.”
    Romeo pulled out his pad and flipped through the pages, shaking his head.   “She wasn’t at the party.”   His eyes met mine.   “Or she left before talking with anyone at Metro.   How do you know her?”
    “The Big Boss has a large operation in Macau that is scheduled to come on line next year.   The thing has been a morass of cultural clashes and palm greasing.   Kimberly knows her way around Macau, knows the right people to get things done. She’s been incredibly helpful.”
    Romeo slowly folded his notebook closed, stuffing it back in his pocket.   Lost in thought, it took him three tries.   “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
    I thought for a moment.   “Yes, I think I might.”

    Paolo waited nervously by the car.   He seemed unscathed as he opened the back door and ushered me inside, so he must’ve remembered the single malt.   My father lounged, head back, legs extended in front of him, a crystal double old-fashion glass cradled in both hands on his lap.   “What do you think?” he asked, knowing I had no more answers than he did, perhaps fewer.
    “I’m trying not to.”   I pointed at the glass in his hands.   “Pour me one of those.”
    He handed me his, then leaned forward to pour another.
    “Tell me what Teddie said,” I asked, as I popped off my shoes—even the flats killed my feet.  
    My father raised the privacy window and made sure the intercom was off, as Paolo settled behind the wheel.   His Old Spice cologne filled the small space.
    Teddie wore Old Spice.
    Fuck.
    I sucked down half the Scotch.   It burned its way down, then exploded white-hot in my belly, but it couldn’t dissipate the chill of dread permeating deep to my bones.  
    My father didn’t speak right away.   I didn’t know whether that was good or bad, but I knew not to press.   Paolo eased the big car out of the parking lot, leaving the darkness behind as he aimed the machine toward the bright lights of the Strip.
    “I’ve been going over and over the whole sequence of events, and I just can’t make sense of it,” my father began, his voice husky, roughed up by the grit of emotion and the medicinal sting of the Scotch.  
    Moving down in the seat, pressed by the weight of worry, I lay my head back and closed my eyes, letting his story unfold over me.  
    “Teddie found me pretty quick.   He’d been into the booze; I could smell it on him.   But he appeared himself, under control, modulated, so I figured the liquor was just enough