“Then she’s not Susan.”
“Looks that way. She’s still pretty nervous, y’know. Looks all around her whenever she goes out, and, like I said, she doesn’t go anywhere alone. More than that, the police are in and out of her shop.”
“Susan wouldn’t have dared call the police.”
“Right.”
“So. She’s not Susan. Do you think she’s given up the search for Susan?”
“I don’t know. Word has it that the detective’s been doing some research.”
“About what?”
“The boutique.”
“You have to be kidding! How did they find out about that?”
“I told her.”
“Not smart. Not smart at all.”
“It was when I had her in the car. I thought she was Susan then.”
“They’ll get my name.”
“They’ve already got it.”
There was a pause, then an arrogant “No problem. The boutique’s on the up-and-up. You’ll just have to be doubly careful with Susan’s demise.”
“What about Lauren Stevenson? And Kruger? And the dick, for that matter? If they do manage to find Susan for us and then something happens to her, they’ll know who to blame.”
“But Susan’s death won’t be traceable to us. It could be an accident; it could be part of a larger scheme. If it looks like someone else kills her, that’s not my worry. And if a whole bunch of people shoot each other to bits, so much the better. I don’t care how you do it, but keep us clean. I pay you good money to handle things like this. Do what you have to. Don’t bore me with the details. I want Susan dead!”
“We’ve het pay dirt!” Matt exclaimed with a broad grin as he set down the telephone. He was seated at the desk in the back room of the shop, and Lauren was propped expectantly at its edge.
“What did he say?” The call had been from Phillip. She’d known that much, but had been unable to follow the conversation, which had been distinctly one-sided in favor of the detective.
“He said,” Matt began slowly, savoring the suspense, “that Susan bought the boutique herself and she financed it with a loan from a local bank. The loan application listed two people as references, neither of whom are named Miles, but both of whom are from Kansas City.”
“Kansas City. Where she grew up?”
“Either that, or where she was living before she hit L.A. It doesn’t really matter. At least we have contacts.” He patted the scrap of paper on which he’d jotted the two names.
“But what if these contacts are somehow related to Prinz? What if one or the other of them was the instrument of Susan’s introduction to him?”
Matt was shaking his head. “According to Phillip, neither of the names has shown up in any of the information he’s gathered on Prinz. There’s still that possibility, but I think it’s remote. And even if it’s not, neither one has any direct association with Prinz now, which means that we’ll be safe.” He lifted the receiver again and called the airport. Within hours, he and Lauren were headed for Kansas City.
“Poor Matt,” Lauren mused when they were airborne again. “For someone who hates flying, you’ve done your share in the past few days.”
He leaned close to her, denying the steel arm between them. “It’s worth it. Every hateful minute.”
Lauren smiled and whispered. “You are a wonderful man.”
“Nah. I’m just along for the ride.”
“That’s one of the reasons I love you.” She kissed his too-square chin. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“But I asked for you,” he murmured deeply. “All my life I’ve been asking for you, and now that I’ve found you, I’ll take any ride, as long as you’re along.” He sought and captured her lips, kissing her thoroughly. “And when this is all over,” he whispered against her mouth, “we are going to take a vacation to beat all vacations. We’ll fly somewhere and stay put for two weeks, just the two of us. Sun and sand and moonlit nights …”
