“You liked it enough to call in the cavalry.”
“It’s the last time I’m listening to you.”
“There’s no point arguing. We all want the same thing.”
“You’re not going to lose your job if we don’t find her.”
“I might,” he reminded her.
Wen folded her arms and walked away from the dumpster into the harsh sunlight. “Maybe we’ll both be better off, you know? I haven’t surfed in weeks.”
Last night, certain he knew where Cara was going, Jordan had given everything he had to Wen. He knew she’d been up late, interviewing Danvers. Van der Lind still hadn’t been found.
“You’re sure the podcaster gave you everything?”
“He’s cooperating. He showed me their DMs and gave us the number she called him from. He played the full interview back for me, and he insists she didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t on the recording.”
“When is the second interview?”
“According to Danvers, she said she’d call him back when she was ready to talk.”
As soon as she had the proof she needed.
The dumpster smell was too much for Jordan, too, so he joined Wen in the sun. “She’s innocent.”
Her look of surprise mirrored his own astonishment at hearing himself say the words out loud. “Bullshit.”
“Don’t you see? She’s investigating. If she had done it, she’d be looking for a way out of the country, not leading us in circles around Beverly Hills.”
“I don’t care if she did it or not, Burke. Our only job is to catch her—that’smyjob, anyway. I don’t know why I let you come along in the first place.”
“If you don’t want me here, say the word. You’re running this operation.”
Wen opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“Then go home.”
Hearing it stung more than Jordan expected. “Can’t have a hick sheriff running around LA with you anymore?”
“I know you need this, too. But I have to do it my way. You’re on your own.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
CARA
The process of laundering money typically involves three steps: placement, layering, and integration.
—Investopedia.com
Olive and Sal occupied a blond brick building on busy, trendy Abbot Kinney Way in Venice. Three storefronts down from Vuori, it was the last place Cara would have expected to find a loan shark with a penchant for murder.
Inside, the boutique smelled of lavender, soap, and spicy teas. A large, extremely realistic fake olive tree was rooted in the center of the store, its branches dotted with green olives and shading imported, organic offerings on farmhouse-style wooden tables and shelves. Old Cara would never have given a moment’s thought to the profitability of such a charming small business or wondered whether it could possibly be anything other than advertised. Were all the candle stores, sock boutiques, and perfumeries she’d ever wandered into also fronts for criminal activity?
Cara pretended to examine a bottle of black truffle olive oil while she steeled herself for what came next.
“May I help you?” The salesgirl was pretty, twenty-something, with dark curly hair and a to-die-for jumpsuit.
“Cora Conrad for Ms. Gioni,” she said, hoping she sounded all business.
