Red Carpet Christmas Page 9

  Nodding, Cass pulled out her cell.

  And Simone cautiously entered the house, again calling, “Nikki!”

  She got as far as the entrance to the living room when she froze. The place had been trashed. Couch cushions had been thrown around, chairs upended, books forced from their cases, video and audio equipment out of its media cabinet, drawers pulled out of a wall unit.

  But it was the still form in the midst of the chaos that got her complete attention.

  “Cass, call 911 now!” she shouted, rushing forward to check for any signs of life.

  She’d found Nikki Albright…

  Only too late.

  Chapter Eight

  “So you just happened to be the one who accidentally stumbled over two bodies in three days,” Detective Mike Norelli mused as he put the heat on Simone. “Are you sure you wanna stick with that story?”

  Middle-aged and beefy, Norelli wore a nondescript dark suit, a white shirt and a forced smile as he questioned her. He hadn’t been the detective who’d taken her story at the club—that murder was under investigation by a different area office of the Chicago Police Department. Even so, by the time he’d arrived at Nikki Albright’s town house, Norelli had known all about Al Cecchi’s murder and that Simone was the chief suspect in that case.

  “It’s not a story,” Simone insisted. “It’s the truth. Simple bad luck.”

  Sitting at the dead woman’s dining room table—able to see the investigative team around Nikki’s body as they scoured the living room for evidence—Simone was ready to jump out of her skin. The weapon this time had been a knotted cotton cord—a tieback from one of the heavy living room drapes—wrapped tightly enough around Nikki’s neck to strangle her.

  “So you want me to believe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Twice?”

  “I wasn’t alone today. As I said, Cass waited outside, but she can back me up on the fact that the door was open and Nikki was already dead.”

  “Yeah, well, the word of an ex-con isn’t normally considered reliable.”

  Simone glanced over into the kitchen and saw Detective Jamal Walker questioning Cass. Cass looked nervous—no wonder if she’d served time before. Not that Simone believed Cass had been any more guilty of a crime than she herself was.

  “I told you we were at a meeting of the Chicago Philanthropic Club until an hour ago,” Simone protested. “Members of which are upstanding citizens and can all vouch for us.”

  “I know who you really are, Ms. Burke. I know all about your family. Your brother. You can try to lose yourself among the upstanding citizens of the world, but in the end, it won’t save you.”

  The words were a blow to Simone. She’d lived her life in exemplary fashion—she’d never had so much as a speeding ticket. Or a parking ticket, for that matter! This was another reminder that she couldn’t divorce herself from the DeNali name and all that it entailed.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she insisted. “I certainly didn’t kill anyone!”

  “The Albright woman has been dead for longer than a couple of hours. She’s still in her nightgown. You said coming here was your idea. You could have done the job earlier and then brought along a patsy to stand up for you. Too bad you didn’t know Cassandra Freed already had a record.”

  His continuing accusations left Simone speechless and light-headed.

  Could they really pin this murder on her?

  And if they did, would they add charges for Al Cecchi’s murder, as well?

  She was fighting a rising fear that threatened to choke her when the door opened again and Detective John Logan walked in, Gideon right behind him.

  “Logan, what’re you doing here?” Norelli’s gaze took in the other detective’s companion, and his expression grew grim. “The both of you?”

  “You remember Gideon, owner of Club Undercover,” Logan said. “I did security for him for a while when I was on leave. He has an interest—”

  “He’s a civilian!”

  “He’s with me.”

  “And this is my case.”

  Logan gave Norelli an agreeable smile. “No one said it wasn’t.”

  “You called in a civilian?”

  Gideon clarified the situation. “Cass called me and I called Logan.”

  “So you’re here for the dame.”

  Gideon’s gaze locked with Simone’s when he said, “I’m here to make sure the ladies are all right.”

  “Yeah, yeah, stay then. Don’t move and don’t touch anything. Most of all, don’t be a pain in my—”

  “Detective?” One of the crime scene investigators waved Norelli over.

  “We’re not done,” he said to Simone before leaving her, Logan following close on his heels.

  Simone felt as if she could breathe again, at least until Gideon whispered, “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t know Nikki was dead.”

  “Cass said she had a bad feeling, but you came inside anyway.”

  “What’s the difference? If I hadn’t come in, we still would have had to make the call to the police, and I still would have been under suspicion.”

  “But there wouldn’t be any trace of you at the scene.”

  He thought they would nail her for this murder. No doubt Logan had told him so on the way over here; being a cop, Logan would surely know.

  Simone’s stomach knotted more tightly.

  She glanced over at Cass, who was sitting alone, withdrawn and appearing all too vulnerable. Simone thought to go into the other room to talk to Cass, but before she could, Norelli was back and in her face.

  “We got a time of death somewhere between midnight and three in the morning,” he said. “So where were you last night, Ms. Burke?”

  Simone’s eyes widened. For a good part of that time, she’d been in Al Cecchi’s office. Not that she could tell him that. Horrified, she realized that she was damned if she told him the truth and damned if she didn’t.

  “She was with me,” Gideon said, making it sound very, very personal. “Consider me her alibi.”

  ALIBI OR NOT, Simone knew that Norelli still had his sights on her as his prime suspect.

  Once again, she was told not to leave town.

  What would Gideon expect in return for telling a half-truth? she wondered. Had he gotten pleasure in making her squirm with his intimation about them? Surely he wouldn’t expect that from her.

  As Simone headed for the door, she avoided him, which swung her closer to the living room. She didn’t want to see what was going on there, but it was like passing a car wreck—she simply had to look one more time.

  The investigative team was still busily working. One man was checking out furniture, and Simone realized he was looking for fingerprints. Suddenly it hit her that he was examining Cecchi’s desk, the top of which was half torn off and hanging from a hinge. It was a shame that the beautiful antique had been so badly mangled.

  An even bigger shame that Nikki Albright was dead.

  Knees suddenly weak, Simone couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

  She got down the steps and moved to the curb looking for a taxi. In a mental fog, she didn’t object when Gideon said, “I’ll take you home.”

  “I’ll give Cass a ride,” Logan volunteered.

  “That would be great.” Cass turned to Simone. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really. And I’m sorry I dragged you into—”

  “No need for an apology. I’m glad I was there to speak up for you.”

  If the police even believe the word of someone who has been in prison before, Simone thought. Smiling through her doubts, trying to tame her fears, she gave the other woman a quick hug, then asked, “You didn’t have any unusual feelings in there, right?”

  “You mean did I see the murderer?” Cass shook her head. “I tried to get an image, but as usual…”

  Simone knew there was more. “You sensed something?”

  “It’s all confused.”

>   “Try me.”

  Cass shook her head. “It’s as if the murderer’s identity were hidden.”

  “Hidden?”

  “Like I said, it’s confusing.”

  Logan said, “There’s no confusion about one thing. It really is too much of a coincidence that both Cecchi and the Albright woman were murdered within days of each other. If it had just been Nikki Albright, Norelli probably would have come to the conclusion that she’d interrupted a burglary. But with the two victims both having been at the fund-raiser…it seems the murders may be connected, and with Simone finding both bodies, Norelli is sure to put some heat on her.”

  “What can we do to take it off?” Gideon asked.

  “Find the murderer. Is there an Albright-Cecchi connection?” Logan asked her.

  “Absolutely,” Simone said. “Al got Nikki’s ex, Sam Albright, off on charges of molesting a minor—a teenage boy—and Nikki was angry because she thought it reduced her divorce settlement. That’s why she was so set on getting Al’s desk at the auction.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll start.”

  “One more thing,” Simone added. “At the party, Sam overheard Nikki telling me about their divorce settlement. He told her to watch her mouth and she asked him what he was going to do to stop her from talking.”

  “Death would do it,” Logan said. “I’ll see what I can dig up on him in CPD records, whether or not he’s been brought in for anything else. Maybe I’ll pay him a friendly visit.”

  Simone suspected Logan’s version of friendly was darker than Norelli’s. Well, good. Having a cop on her side was at least one thing in her favor.

  “What else?” Gideon asked him.

  “For now, it’s all I’ve got. Too bad there were no witnesses.” Logan shook his head, opened the passenger door for Cass and got behind the wheel.

  As he took off, a childish cry caught Simone’s attention and she was suddenly focusing on the kids who were still playing outside.

  “Wait a minute…” She walked over to them. “Hey, there.”

  “What’s going on?” the oldest boy asked, looking past her to the official vehicles lined up at the curb.

  “Someone broke in next door late last night. Did any of you hear anything?”

  “Like a noise?” another kid asked.

  “Right. Maybe around midnight or later.”

  “We don’t stay up that late, lady.”

  “Mom would kill us.”

  “I heard something,” the littlest girl said, her face spreading into a wide grin. “An’ I saw him.”

  The pulse in Simone’s throat pounded as she asked, “Saw who?” The murderer?

  “Santa Claus!”

  The other kids laughed and one of them said, “She’s always seeing Santa.”

  Of course the little girl would, with Christmas two weeks away. Throat tightening, Simone said, “Thanks.”

  Gideon didn’t comment until they were in the car and on their way. Then he asked, “What made you think the kids might know something?”

  “Kids are more observant than a lot of people realize.” Especially someone who doesn’t even know he has a kid, she thought, trying not to feel guilty about not wanting to tell him about Drew.

  “And imaginative.”

  Realizing he’d heard the little girl say she saw Santa, Simone said, “You’d be surprised at how observant they can be, though. Drew always seemed to know what was going on with our neighbors—he was certainly more in tune with the local goings-on than I ever was.”

  “Drew…your son.”

  “Right.”

  Simone mentally flogged herself for bringing up their son. What if Gideon started questioning her about him? She was so distracted by the possibility that it took her a while to realize he’d turned up Milwaukee Avenue.

  “Taking the long route to my place?”

  “We’re not going to your place.”

  “But you said you’d take me home.”

  “I did. And I am. To mine. We need to keep on this investigation, Simone. Your finding Nikki Albright made it even more critical.”

  Knowing he was correct didn’t make her any more comfortable with the thought of being alone with him. But if she protested, he would sense her discomfort. She didn’t want Gideon to have the upper hand, so she just swallowed her objection.

  He said, “Before leaving the club, I gave Gabe the list of names we pulled from Cecchi’s files, so he’s already working on the security checks.”

  “What about the committee members and the party guests?” Lists that he would have obtained before the event.

  Simone felt odd checking out the women she’d known for years, but everyone had secrets.

  “Those, too, but they’ll take longer,” Gideon said. “One of the things he’s doing is cross-checking them. I want to know if any of Cecchi’s clients showed up at the party.”

  Simone was impressed by his thoroughness. Gideon had thought of everything, it seemed. “So what’s next?”

  “There isn’t a next until we get some answers. We need some information to follow up.”

  “I thought the point of your abducting me was to work on the case.”

  “Abducting?” He sounded amused. “A bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say? And after this morning, you could use a little downtime before we start again. Definitely some food.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then you can watch me eat,” he said, parking the car in front of an old Wicker Park conversion. “This is it. Home, sweet home.”

  As she followed him into the former warehouse and up to the top floor loft, Simone felt her wariness grow. This getting-personal business—knowing that Gideon had a comfortable if too-modern-for-her-taste loft apartment—was dangerous. She couldn’t chance getting too comfortable around him.

  She wanted Gideon’s help finding the murderer—or murderers. They still didn’t know if the two deaths were connected. What she didn’t want was him getting too close, or his figuring out what she didn’t want him to know.

  Trapped. Feeling trapped frightened her. Simone knew there were many ways to be trapped. If Gideon learned they’d had a son as a result of their one night together, what then?

  She would never be free of him.

  Was she trading a jail cell for a different kind of prison?

  THE KITCHEN WAS Gideon’s favorite area of the loft. Cooking had always relaxed him, and so he’d made cer tain to get a place with a state-of-the-art kitchen—granite countertops, island stove and workspace, patterned ceramic floor, stainless steel appliances. He added chopped garlic and mushrooms and fresh tomatoes to the pan in which olive oil was already sizzling.

  “Can you really resist this smell?” he asked Simone, who sat on a stool on the other side of the counter. She hadn’t relaxed yet.

  “In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have taken you for a man who cooks.”

  “Hopefully your dreams are wilder than that.” Her nostrils flared at the implication and he was aroused. “What would you take me for?” he asked. “Someone who has everything done for him?” He checked another pot filled with bubbling water and hand-cut pasta he’d brought from the club; the pasta was almost tender enough. “When I struck out on my own, one of my first jobs was as a short-order cook.”

  “So how did you get from there to here?”

  “A combination of hard work and luck. I went to college, but I was always starting over. I never could get a degree because I had to keep changing identities. I couldn’t exactly claim credits earned under another name.”

  “How frustrating for you,” she said, sounding sincere. “At least you were free to keep moving.”

  “You think so? Free?” He poured the pasta into a colander. “I couldn’t use my own name. I couldn’t stay in one place. I couldn’t make a real life.”

  “You seem to have one now.”

  His gaze intent on her, he said, “It’s a new start. And this time, I assure you I’m not going anyplace
.”

  Simone looked away, but not before he noted something disturbing reflected in her eyes. Fear? Of him? Maybe she should fear him. Maybe he should want revenge. But with Simone close enough to touch, revenge was the last thing on his mind.

  He tossed the pasta with the mushrooms and tomatoes, then divided the food onto two plates and set them on the counter between them.

  “A little Parmesan?” he asked. “And don’t say you’re not hungry.”

  She sniffed. “Actually, I believe I’m starving.”

  Passing the bowl of grated cheese, he then got the garlic bread from the toaster oven and filled a basket. When he held it out to her, she made a little sound at the back of her throat. A moan. Sounded like sex. He was ready to have some.

  He watched her eat. Simone was not one of those women who picked at her food; she ate with gusto.

  Just as he remembered.

  He remembered so many things about her. About them. They’d defied their families to be with each other. A modern Romeo and Juliet fairy tale—that’s what friends had said about them. Too bad it had turned into a horror story just like the Shakespearean tragedy.

  “How bad was it?” Simone suddenly asked. “The moving around and starting over.”

  “Mind-numbing at times. But it wasn’t all bad. I got to live in New Mexico for a while. That was different.”

  “Santa Fe?”

  Gideon laughed. “Hardly. I didn’t have the bucks back then. Try Taos—slower-paced, more Old West, filled with odd characters. I lived practically for nothing on a commune with a bunch of old hippies for a while. I tended their llamas until I got a job as a bartender and could afford my own room in a boarding house.”

  “Is that where you learned how to run a club?”

  He shook his head. “That happened years later, when I landed in Vegas. I was an assistant manager in a casino nightclub, then got promoted to manager. I was good at it.”

  “Managing and owning are two different things. So what made you decide to start a club of your own?”

  “The roll of some very lucky dice. I rarely gambled—I mean, working in the business, you know the odds are against you. It was an aberration—the playing, as well as the winning—and I knew it wouldn’t happen again, so I took the money and ran. Opportunity brought me right here, so here I am.” Opportunity and the desire to take back his real life. He sat back and studied her as he said, “You seem to have made a real life for yourself.”