Chapter Eighteen

Margo Angelhart

"Iforgot how much I liked this place," Jack said, looking around at the Beverly's ambiance.

"If you like overpaying for beer." I sipped my beer, a Church IPA like last night. Jack ordered something lighter. The appetizers were already gone—both of us had been famished. Steak bites and truffle fries. I could have eaten another round all by myself.

"It's Scottsdale," he said with a shrug. "You pay for atmosphere. So, who do you think was the target yesterday? Monroe or White?"

"The obvious answer is Monroe—he's important, he's wealthy, he has enemies. Yet...they were rendered unconscious, fresh air brought them around. Do you know the cause? Because it would have to be something heavy duty for them to be knocked out without much warning. And they both came around minutes after I aired out the house."

Jack shook his head, sipped his beer. "I'll call Nico in the morning, see if he'll track it down—if they've even gotten to it. Major crimes go to the top."

Like every police department in America, staffing shortages affected every level, from street cops to forensics to support staff.

"White's the one who is acting squirrelly," I said. "Plus, Endicott's lead investigator was out doing what we were doing—tracking White by canvassing Monroe's property. That tells me they were hired to find her, talk to her, follow her...drug her? I don't know."

"Tess said you think she could have a false identity. That would be difficult to pull off, unless she has exceptionally good docs."

"Not impossible. Not even that difficult." I'd found someone to create three very real, but false, identities for Annie Carillo and her two kids, though I didn't mention that to Jack. "I don't see how the target is Monroe. He's been going about his business, meeting investors, friends, no unscheduled trips. Only his wife says he's acting weird and out of character. I'm wondering if she's just making up all this bullshit."

"Why would she?"

"Hell if I know. Relationships aren't my strong suit."

"Don't look at me," Jack mumbled.

I glanced at my brother. "No one serious?"

"Honestly, I'm just not interested in anyone. Rick got me out on a few double dates—oh, sorry."

"Don't apologize. He's your best friend."

"Just—well, he's not seeing anyone seriously, either."

"I don't care." Secretly, I was pleased. Then I told myself not to be happy.

Sergeant Rick Devlin. We were oil and water, fire and ice, all those clichés that basically meant that even though make-up sex between us was the best thing on earth—the kind of sex where fireworks went off and the angels sang—fighting was exhausting. We were two stubborn people set in our ways, neither wanting to give an inch.

Sometimes, I missed him.

"Anyway," Jack said, "I didn't like dating before I got married, and I like it less now. I even tried one of the dating apps."

I laughed; I couldn't help it. "You? Of all people, I can't imagine you on Tinder."

"Bite your tongue. Some other app, I don't even remember the name, but I deleted it. Went out on half a dozen dates in as many weeks and it was literally hell." He stared at his beer and I felt for him. "I loved Whitney. Even three years later, I can't just turn it off. I don't love her in the same way, not after everything, but she's the mother of my son."

I didn't like Whitney. Never had, even before they got married. It wasn't my place to tell him I didn't think she was good enough. At least Jack now has an amazing, fun-loving son. But with the son came his mother.

Whitney was selfish, demanding, and manipulative. She got them so deep into debt that Jack cashed out his Phoenix PD retirement to pay it off, then ended up paying penalties because he pulled money out early. Whitney left him when he told her not to take out any more credit. She refused marital counseling and demanded a divorce.

There was a lot of other shit that went down, but in the end, when the divorce was final, Jack came over to my place and we got drunk. He cried. I'd never seen Jack cry, not like that. It was humbling, and I wished I could take his pain away. I hated seeing my big brother so broken. But after, we were good. And once some time had passed, Jack put the pieces back together and found peace.

"You should call Rick," Jack said after several minutes of silence as we watched the room.

Fortunately, Logan Monroe walked in, so I didn't have to answer.

Logan glanced at his watch, then looked toward the bar. We were sitting in a corner booth near the entrance, both to be inconspicuous and because it was the best place to see most of the room. The dark lighting helped obscure us in case he looked too carefully, but he didn't even glance our way.

We'd already scoped out the place and identified three lone females. Jack had voted for the redhead; I thought the brunette with long hair in the corner drinking red wine because she looked classy and smart. And while the redhead was beautiful, she seemed...harder. Neither of us picked the cute short-haired brunette with multiple tattoos.

Logan raised his hand to the woman at the bar.

"He's meeting the redhead," Jack said.

"You were right."

"Can I get that in writing?" He grinned.

Jack won; I was paying for the beers.

Logan was dressed in what I called his business-casual look—comfortable slacks, a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a small repeating pattern. This one white with navy pinstripes. He must have dozens of the same style, just different colors and patterns.

I couldn't tell, based on his attire, whether this was a business meeting or a personal meeting. I had my phone out and discretely took pictures of both of them, then zoomed in on the woman.

The woman wasn't dressed for a business meeting. She wore a short royal blue dress that barely covered her slender well-shaped butt, with thin straps made of fake diamonds—this was Scottsdale, they could be real, but the dress didn't look upscale enough to include real diamonds. If I tried to walk in her heels, I'd break my neck.

The woman touched Logan; his arm, his hand. He didn't touch her. He pulled his hand back, and then seemed relieved when the bartender put a tall drink in front of him. It looked like a Coke with lime. Could have rum or bourbon in it, I supposed.

"He's not drinking," Jack said as if reading my mind. "I watched the bartender."

The woman was drinking white wine. She rose, motioned to a table, said something that my above-average lip-reading skills translated to, "Let's go over there."

Logan hesitated, then followed.

"He doesn't look happy," Jack said. "Like he got bad news?"

"Or the woman isn't who he expected," I offered.

The table they sat at was small with a curved leather seat that could comfortably sit four. Logan sat at the opposite end from her, and the redhead moved closer. There was nowhere for him to go without falling to the floor. They sat directly across from us now, but too far for me to hear the conversation.

"This is strange," Jack muttered. "Monroe doesn't look like he wants to be here, and I don't think he knows the woman."

The woman was definitely leaning in, flirting, while Logan was sitting rigid, as if he was looking for any reason to leave. But they were talking. The angle made it difficult for me to read them, but I made out a few words—none of which made sense without the context.

A man and woman approached the table and greeted Logan. He smiled, chatted a minute, introduced the woman. I strained to watch his lips. "This is Rachel. Friend." Something like that. Rachel a friend? Rachel Friend?

Jack put his hand on my knee and squeezed. "She just drugged his drink. Something liquid, she palmed it. Shit, he just gulped the Coke." The couple he spoke with walked away and exited the bar. "You distract the woman, I'm going to get Logan out of here."

"She needs to be held accountable," I said.

"First we intervene, then we'll talk to the manager. Let them know what went on. Our goal is to protect Logan. Go first."

I went over to Logan's table. "Rachel, right?"

The woman looked at me with wide surprised eyes. "Do I know you?"

"What, you don't remember? High school?"

"I'm on a date," she said. "Call me later."

"This isn't a date," Logan said. His voice sounded off, not quite slurred, but strange. "It's hot in here, let's go outside and talk."

"Great idea. I'll call an Uber," Rachel said.

"I have my car."

Rachel stared at me with an anger I didn't expect. "Excuse me, honey, we're leaving."

Jack took Logan's hand as he stood. "Logan, so good to see you again. Hey, I have a question about your new project."

Logan looked doubly confused as Jack led him away.

I leaned over and said to the woman, "We saw what you did. There are security cameras all over this place. You'll never be let back in, and if I have anything to say about it, you'll be prosecuted for assault."

"What the fuck?" The woman looked angry and panicked. She was loud enough that a few people glanced over, curious or concerned.

The bouncer—a discreet security guy who stood near the door and kept an eye on the room—took notice. Then Jack was talking to him, and the guy frowned, looked over at Rachel and me, said something to Jack, but I couldn't hear or see his lips.

"Stay," I said, then followed Jack out. I didn't expect Rachel to obey me, but she didn't follow.

I saw Jack sitting with Logan on a bench near the entrance. Logan had his head in his hands.

There was only one couple in the patio area because it was still too hot, even with the misters going. They sat under a vine-covered trellis in the far corner.

"Whatever she gave him must have been potent," I said. "He drank less than ten minutes ago.

"Security will talk to her, but I don't know what they can do other than ban her. I gave the guy my card."

"Do we need to take him to a hospital?" I asked.

"The best thing is to get him to puke. That's all they'd do there, unless he has an adverse reaction."

"No," Logan said. "I don't feel like puking. You're familiar. Who are you?" He looked at Jack, not me.

"Jack Angelhart, Private Investigator. I talked to you yesterday at your house in Paradise Valley."

"Jennifer," Logan said. "Yeah—her friend."

"What friend?"

"Rachel. She called me. Jennifer." He frowned, confused.

"Jennifer called you? Or Rachel?" I asked. "When?"

I had a bad feeling that Brittney had set me up—okay, set Logan up, but used me to do it.

"This afternoon. She had my private cell phone number."

"Who called you, Logan?"

"He's been drugged," Jack said. "He might not remember."

I understood how date-rape drugs worked. He might be confused, but he should remember who called him before he was roofied.

"Who called you?" I repeated.

"Rachel. Jennifer gave her my number."

"Is that what Rachel said?" I pressed. "That she was friends with Jennifer and Jennifer asked her to set up a meeting?"

"Yeah—she said they were friends."

"When did you talk to Rachel?"

"This afternoon. I rescheduled a meeting with an investor to be here." He frowned. "Why would she drug me? Are you sure?"

"How do you feel?" Jack asked.

"Fuzzy. My head feels thick. I didn't drink any alcohol." He rubbed his temples. "Are you sure?"

"I saw her put something in your drink," Jack said. "I spoke to security. They'll review the cameras if you want to prosecute, but she's already gone."

I looked around; I hadn't seen her leave.

Jack said, "We can't detain her, Margo. But we'll find out who she is. Logan, what did she say when you first got here?"

"I asked if Jennifer was okay. She said yes, that she would meet us soon. Ordered me a drink, but I declined. I ordered a Coke. I have an early day tomorrow." He frowned. "I can't remember what I'm supposed to do in the morning."

"Have you spoke to Jennifer since she was taken to the hospital yesterday?" I asked.

He almost didn't answer, then said, "I really don't know who you are."

"Jennifer left the hospital," Jack said. "She didn't go back to your rental or her condo. Is she in trouble?"

He didn't say anything.

I knew that it wasn't Jennifer who sent that woman here to meet Logan.

I motioned for Jack to step aside, then said quietly, "He can't drive home. You drive him, ask questions. I'm certain that Brittney set him up. When we met yesterday, she told me he had a meeting here at six thirty. But Logan said Rachel called him today."

"He could have been planning to meet his investor here."

I didn't buy that, and neither did Jack. The Beverly wasn't a place for business meetings. It's where you might take clients after work.

"I'll see what I can learn." He tossed me the keys to his truck. "What are you going to do with your case?"

"If Brittney set him up with that woman so I could get pics of them in a compromising position, I'll tell him."

"Can you? Ethically?"

"Yep. She lies to me, our contract is null and void. We need to find this Rachel and talk to her."

"I already sent her photo to Tess."