What She Doesn't See (3 page)

Hitch. What did he want? Guilt pinged her.
She didn’t actually mind hearing from him, but she’d learned from
experience that maintaining frequent contact proved nothing more
than a segue to
let’s try again.
She pulled the lapels of
her robe together, suddenly self-conscious that she was naked under
her robe.

“What’s up?” She mentally weighed the pros
and cons of having another beer. Two was usually her limit, but
this night had the definite makings of necessary third. Somewhere
in the back of her mind a little voice reminded her that alcoholism
could be genetic. So far having a few beers hadn’t been a problem
for her. Maybe she’d seen enough drunken brawls out of her parents
to override genetics.

“I just wanted to call and thank you for
alerting me to that piece of potential evidence you found this
afternoon.”

She hesitated at the fridge and her forehead
pinched with a frown. Evidence? “The contact lens?”

“Apparently it’s state of the art
top
secret
technology. I’m on my way back over to Morningside to
pick it up from that whiz kid I told you about. I’ll be taking it
straight to the state lab tomorrow. Outstanding call, Alex.”

“That’s great.” She didn’t know why it
mattered or what exactly his obvious excitement meant, but she was
glad Hitch was happy about it.

“Anyway,” he went on, his enthusiasm
palpable, “I thought maybe you’d let me take you to dinner on
Friday night to repay the good deed.”

Oh, man. There it was. “I’d love to, Hitch,
but unfortunately I already have plans for Friday night.” It was
almost true. She’d planned to ask Shannon to go see that new movie
with her.

“Maybe some time next week,” he offered.

“Next week… sure.” She hated constantly
turning him down. He really was a nice guy.

“Well, look. I’m getting another call. Night,
Alex.”

“Goodnight, Hitch.”

She wandered to the bedroom and plugged her
cell into the charger. After drawing the covers back, she reached
to close the curtains over her bed. Movement across the street
snagged her attention. Alex leaned closer to the glass. A figure
ducked into a black car. Male, she thought. The car didn’t belong
to one of her neighbors. Something sporty and foreign. The vehicle
remained dark and nothing else moved. Parking was a premium in this
neighborhood. The street was fair game for visitors. The hot car
could belong to a friend of any one of her neighbors.

After another minute she closed the curtains
and turned out the light. It was late and she was tired. As she
drifted off to sleep she experienced the usual tiny glimmer of
loneliness… and then it was gone.

Alex Jackson was not lonely.

Wyatt moved through the alley until he
reached the dumpster. He’d already taken care of the one street
lamp. His next goal was to disable the security camera pointed at
the entrance to the alley. Wyatt shook his head. If a security
company had installed this setup, the shop owner had been screwed.
No self-respecting criminal would enter from the main street side
of the alley.

He scaled the dumpster. The top groaned with
his weight. Inside the shop, about a dozen dogs started to yap. He
quickly disabled the camera in the event a hasty exit that required
him to veer into its path was necessary. Barely ten seconds later,
he hopped back to the asphalt and headed for the side entrance of
his destination.

He’d conducted an exterior inspection. There
was no security system. Getting the door open was as simple as a
few swift maneuvers with his lock pick set. Inside, the scent of
disinfectant filled the air. He removed the flashlight from his
belt and surveyed the room. Storeroom. Hazmat bags and various
cleaners and disinfectants lined the shelves. On the opposite side
of the room a door led into a corridor.

A break area and an office were the only
additional rooms besides the large lobby that fronted the building.
He opted to start with the office. It was cluttered. Alexis Jackson
dressed impeccably. She had a hell of a body and she didn’t mind
showing it off. Both her home and personal vehicle were well
ordered. In contrast, her office gave the appearance of having been
ransacked.

Stacks of papers and folders cluttered her
desk. Boxes containing sample products littered the floor. He hoped
she was more organized with her client reports. He riffled through
the drawers. Protein bars, lip gloss, and various office supplies.
He shifted his attention to the top of her desk and the random
stacks of papers and folders. He paused to consider the framed
photo occupying one corner. Alexis and her mother. According to the
background check, her mother was her only living relative. He
stared at the photo longer than he should have. Watching the
confident lady was no hardship. Though he didn’t have the time just
now for distraction, she was certainly challenging his ability to
stay focused.

He set the photo aside and started with the
stack of papers. By the time he’d skimmed everything on her desk,
he was confident she hadn’t completed a report electronically or
otherwise on the Crane cleanup. He searched the office again and
then checked the receptionist’s desk in the lobby.

Nothing.

He’d gone through her home and her vehicle.
The hazmat bags she’d taken from the scene had indeed contained the
missing eye but not the device.

There was only one alternative.

“Damn it.” He withdrew his cell and selected
the necessary contact. The wait through two rings before he got an
answer had his frustration level rising. “Find the cop. She must
have given it to the cop.”

Calling himself every kind of fool, he tucked
his cell away. He’d heard the guy, Detective Hitchcock, talking on
his cell when he’d left the scene the first time. He’d made a
comment about believing he was finally breaking Alex’s resistance
down. She had agreed to have dinner with him. Wyatt had assumed
he’d dropped back by to pick her up.

Now he knew differently.

The question was, why hadn’t the cop turned
the device in at the lab? Since Hitchcock hadn’t done so… where was
it?

The Director should have allowed Wyatt to
bend the rules and monitor Alexis’s phone calls as soon as he
arrived and found her at the scene. Recent changes to state and
federal laws had tied their hands on far too many levels.

Wyatt slipped out the side entrance and
returned to his vehicle. There was nothing more he could do here.
Until he heard from his team, he would continue surveillance of
Alexis’s home.

Whichever one of them had the device, she or
her cop friend, they had no idea that merely having it in their
possession was a death sentence.

Tuesday, July 22

Alex checked her rearview mirror frequently
on the way to work the next morning. From the moment she’d stepped
out her door, she sensed someone watching her. So far she hadn’t
spotted anything out of the norm.

Never Happened sat well off Ocean Boulevard.
Nestled between the office of Dr. Sherman Holloway, psychologist
extraordinaire, and Patsy’s Clip Joint, a pet salon, things could
get a little noisy at times. Otherwise, the folks on either side of
Alex’s offices were pretty easy to get along with.

There was, however, the perpetual parking
problem. The alley between the Clip Joint and Never Happened was
supposed to be shared space, except Patsy’s clients weren’t always
so considerate. Especially the ones with the big, luxury
automobiles and the small, prissy dogs.

Alex rolled into what she had claimed as her
space next to the brick wall of her building. Since most of her
staff arrived before seven, morning parking wasn’t usually a
problem. Afternoons were a different story, however. Things could
get hairy—no pun intended.

She pulled down the visor and checked her
reflection in the mirror. Eyeliner, lipstick, no smears or smudges.
Good to go. Flipping the visor back into place, she grabbed her
knockoff Louis Vuitton shoulder bag, her caramel-mocha latte, and
climbed out of her SUV. As she turned the corner toward her shop
front, a long low whistle trilled behind her.

“My, my, Alex,” Patsy called from the open
entrance of her shop, “don’t you look sharp today.” Her wolf call
had prompted a cacophony of yelps from her restless four-legged
guests.

Alex smiled. “Thanks.” The low-slung jeans
she wore were her favorite. She’d paired them with thong sandals
and a ribbed pullover that just reached the extra wide belt buckled
around her waist. “You’ve lost more weight,” Alex commented after
giving her business neighbor an approving once-over.

“Forty pounds so far,” Patsy confirmed before
a lengthy drag on her cigarette. “Twenty-five more to go. I’m
itching for that new wardrobe my husband promised me. Give me a
couple more months and we’ll set a shopping date. I’d love a day
away from this.” She jerked her head toward the racket inside.

Alex gave her the thumbs-up.

“I told Shannon to make sure nothing was
disturbed in your place,” Patsy said before Alex could reach the
door. “Someone disabled my security camera in the alley. Since they
didn’t bother anything in here, I thought maybe your place was the
target.”

Worry tugged at Alex. “You should report it
to the police.”

“Ha. And have ‘em nosing around in my shop.
No way. The dogs would go crazy.”

“Thanks for letting us know.” Alex gave her a
smile before heading into her office.

“‘Morning, Alex.”

Though her friend and office manager,
Shannon, had tried her level best not to glance at the clock, she
did. She couldn’t help herself. Alex had known Shannon Bainbridge
since kindergarten when she was mild-mannered Shannon Owens. The
woman had always been as sweet and kind as any angel, but she was
an obsessive-compulsive, Type A personality, perfectionist to the
max.

“It’s seven-oh-two but I’m here,” Alex said
in acknowledgement of her silent chastisement. “Good morning to
you, too. Everything okay? Patsy told me what happened.”

Shannon nodded. “We haven’t found anything
out of place or missing.”

“Good.” Alex was glad to hear it.

“Guten morgen, Alexis.”

Alex shifted her attention to the man
lounging on the sofa and perusing today’s Miami
Herald.
“Same to you, Professor.”

He liked showing off his command of various
languages. So far she’d recognized six. She’d hired the Professor,
aka Carlton Winstead III, four years ago when he’d “defected,” as
he called it, to Florida from his homeland of Boston. To this day
Alex had no idea at which university he’d taught or the reason for
his decision to leave. He didn’t talk about it and she didn’t ask.
She liked him. He had that distinguished look about him. Even his
thinning gray hair added an air of dignity. But it was the extreme
intelligence that radiated from those caring hazel eyes that she
liked most. He was always a bright spot in her day.

“Hernandez is shelving the delivery that came
early this morning,” Shannon rattled off, drawing Alex’s attention
back to her. “I have two interviews lined up this morning and Marg
hasn’t come in yet. Is everything okay?”

“As far as I know
.”
Any time Alex’s
mother deviated from her pattern, she and Shannon worried. Margie
Jackson was a recovering alcoholic. If Alex hadn’t been running
behind this morning she might have noticed that her mother hadn’t
left yet. Damn it. This was not the way she wanted to start her
day.

“Let me know if you hear from her,” Alex
grumbled as she headed for her office.

Never Happened was made up of only four
rooms. The lobby in front, which served as the reception area and
Shannon’s office. A narrow hall led to Alex’s dinky office. Across
that short hallway was a good-sized lounge that also included a
desk for her mother. Though her mother wouldn’t go near a dead
body, she was an advertising genius. The hallway ended at a huge
storeroom complete with an employee’s restroom and a side exit to
the alley. The latter had been the key selling point for Alex. All
her supplies were housed in that storeroom. The handy side exit
allowed for easy loading and unloading of the necessary materials
for any given assignment.

Alex waved at Hernandez. He gave her one of
those male nods as he lifted boxes of supplies to their proper
shelves. Antonio Hernandez was barely thirty, gorgeous, and as
strong as a bull. A genuinely nice guy, he spent most of his time
off competing in bodybuilding competitions and keeping his
girlfriend happy.

The people who worked here were what
mattered. They were the heart of the business.

Alex hurried around the corner of her desk
and dropped her bag onto the only vacant spot on the floor near her
chair. She was really behind on her paperwork. Files, including
incoming shipment invoices and outgoing payment receipts, were
stacked on the corners of her desk. At some point soon she had to
tryout the test products, many still in their boxes, sitting here
and there around the room. Finding a great new cleaning product was
an important part of staying competitive.

Never Happened was a broad-spectrum cleanup
service. They cleaned up most anything. Calls generally involved
someone’s passing, whether by natural causes or those not so
natural. There was the occasional meth lab deserted by some scumbag
who had or hadn’t been caught. Once in a while Alex got a request
from folks who had experienced some sort of animal invasion, like a
young gator gaining access through an open patio door and getting
swallowed by the family’s pet Burmese python. Big snake. Big mess.
Alex and her team always got the job done.

She picked up the day’s schedule Shannon had
placed on her desk. An elderly couple, dead two weeks, had been
found in their Coral Gables home. Cause of death was listed as
natural by their attending physician, which meant the police
wouldn’t be holding up the scene. Apparently both had suffered from
serious heart conditions. With no family in the state to look in on
them and the neighbors under the assumption the couple had gone on
vacation, no one had realized there was a problem until the stench
reared its ugly head.