Tim also ran the license plate number he got from that ridiculous Mustang – a serious ‘small dick’ car if he’d ever seen one. The photo on record was Samuel Foster, but something about the image tickled a memory in the back of Tim’s mind. He stared at the picture for five minutes, trying to shake the memory loose.
“I know I’ve seen this guy before, and not just at Arielle’s house,” he muttered to himself. In a huff of frustration, Tim pushed away from his desk and went in search of coffee. When he returned, Danielle was waiting for him.
“My shift just ended, and I thought I’d see how you were getting along,” she said.
“I’m not,” he replied with a sigh and gestured to the screen. “I know this guy from somewhere, but I can’t place him.”
Danielle walked around the desk and stood close to him. Her ample breasts, right at his eye level, strained against the buttons of her uniform as she leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. She scrunched up her face in concentration, and then she let out an excited ‘ooooh’ sound. “It’s the magician,” she said, stabbing her finger at the screen. “That’s Atticus Colt. I’d recognize him anywhere. He’s totally gorgeous.”
Tim took another look. She was right! The dots slowly connected. Samuel Foster was Atticus Colt – stage musician…performing monkey. How did the rookie miss such an obvious connection?
There were a lot of rumors circulating about Atticus Colt that were far from complimentary. He had a notorious reputation of treating his fans like dirt, although he wasn’t shy about taking the women to bed; Tim had heard a number of stories of Colt’s conquests. And Arielle was going out with him.
Sweet, kind, gentle Arielle was being seduced by an asshole celebrity. She must not know about his stage personality because she would never be attracted to such a player. The thought of uncovering his nasty secrets got Tim’s blood pumping.
“Oh, I’ve got him now.” He couldn’t keep the delight out of his voice. Danielle was in his personal space, trying to distract him with her tits and perfume. But Tim wouldn’t be swayed. Not yet anyway. “Would you move, please.”
She huffed out a breath but backed off. “What’s this about? Why are you investigating a magician?" Her green eyes sparkled as she voiced her questions. “Is this about the murder? Did he do it?”
Tim looked up. “What? No! At least, I don’t think so.” She wasn’t going away, leaving him with no choice but to explain. “You know about Steve Nygaard, right?”
“Your old partner? Sure.”
“Well, his wife is dating this magician.” Danielle’s eyes widened at the news. “And I want to make sure that he’s good enough for her. So, I’m checking him out.” He turned back to the laptop, which was running Atticus Colt through a very in-depth search program. And there were at least two other programs that Tim had in mind to search through. But it was going to take time to get results. And Danielle knew it.
“You want to take a trip ‘uptown’ while you wait?” she asked, using the code they had established for sex. The thought of exposing the bastard homing in on Tim’s territory was making him hard, and having Danielle suck his cock was appealing, but he knew he’d never be able to focus. It would be a wasted fuck.
“Not this time, babe,” he said with slight reluctance.
She brushed off the rejection. “Your loss. Hope this is worth it.” She sauntered off, swaying her hips provocatively as she walked out of the room.
As the search started returning information, Tim grew more and more excited. It seemed that Atticus Colt had sticky fingers. There were dozens of reports of stolen jewelry – watches, bracelets, necklaces – and every one of them from people who had been to one of Colt’s shows or private performances. No one fingered the magician as a suspect, but his name appeared in every report. Maybe he was working with a crew that cased spectators and lifted the items. Las Vegas was a large city, and these reports came from various precincts, so it was reasonable that no one had connected them. And, as isolated incidents, they weren’t really top priority.
Tim scanned over the names of the complainants, recognizing many of them. The common denominator, aside from Colt, was their wealth. These were big players, rolling in more money than they knew what to do with. No doubt, they were heavily insured, and a missing diamond tennis bracelet or Rolex watch wasn’t much more than an inconvenience to them.
He still didn’t like the man, but Tim was slowly losing the sharp edge of hatred he had felt when he saw Arielle leave her house with Colt. Although he was definitely going to revel in sharing this information with her.
Tim’s cop instinct, honed over years on the job, told him that Colt was a thief, even if he didn’t have hard proof of the fact. He didn’t have a clue about why the magician stole or what he did with the goods, but Tim wasn’t going to let Arielle be misled by a criminal.
Chapter 12
Lose Myself
Samuel Foster
“Ready for some fun?” I ask as I shut the door behind Arielle, and she settles into the passenger seat. Her face is a study in mixed emotions, and I totally get it. As much as I want this date to happen, I can understand her reservations.
What if things go wrong? What if we screw this up? Sure, I’ll be out of a cat sitter, which would suck. But she’d be out of a job. And she needs it. After seeing her with her son, I can see how much she loves him. Even though he barely seems to notice her. It must be so hard…and I feel a pang in my chest as I think about it. It’s how a mother should love her child. Unconditionally. I glance at her now and smile, then turn my attention back to the road.
“So, where are we going?” she asks as I pull out into the mild Saturday afternoon traffic.
“You’ll see,” I say enigmatically, secretly hoping she’ll enjoy my surprise.
“Oh, go on, don’t keep me on the edge of my seat,” she laughs, and I shake my head.
“Nope, you’ll have to torture me to get it out of me.”
She laughs again. “Ah, so it’s like that, is it? And just what constitutes torture? Would I have to…spank you?”
