"So you're not her boyfriend?"
Tarken shrugged and sighed. "Not since she found out about Melinda. But that's over now, and I'm going to get her back. So don't get in my way, Vane."
The arrogant S.O.B. actually smiled at that. No, not a smile, a snarl. A vicious one.
"I figure there's not much money in Lucy's line of work so in a few days Abbey will come crawling back."
Vane frowned, then a shadow of alarm flashed across his black eyes. Good. Whatever he'd said was having an affect.
"You give her money?"
"Well, yeah. Good money. She works pretty hard for it though. And I have to admit, she's good at what she does."
The hand on his arm tightened and Tarken swallowed. Already his limb was becoming numb from the lack of blood flow. But it was worth it just to see the look on Vane's face. It was almost a look of...fear?
"I didn't really realize how good until she quit. Always the way though, isn't it? You're employees leave and you find no one else in the company knows how to do what they do. I've advertised for a replacement, but so far the agency hasn't come up with a suitable applicant."
Vane's grip relaxed and so did Tarken, clenching and unclenching his fist to get the blood flowing again. Vane frowned at him, his eyebrows knitted.
"She works for you?"
"That's what I just said."
"What does she do."
"Nothing, she quit."
"Before she quit, Idiot."
Tarken smarted. "She was my personal assistant."
Vane's arm dropped to his side. "Personal assistant?" His voice was vague, distant.
Good. He had Vane on the ropes. He didn't know how he'd managed it, but that didn't matter. It was the end result that was important, and the end result was that Vane was on the back foot. Obviously his answers were the opposite of what Vane had expected to hear. Or wanted to hear. Excellent. Tarken was winning. He enjoyed winning.
"Yeah, my P.A. Things are a little hectic since she left, but when I get her back, it'll be okay again."
"And how will you get her back, Tarken?"
Tarken didn't like the inflection in Vane's voice when he said his name. It was arrogant, self-assured. The uncertainty of moments ago had completely disappeared from the computer salesman's tone.
"Offer her more money of course." He snorted. What a stupid man Vane was.
***
The taxi was taking way too long. Nick drummed his fingers on his knee, glanced at the ancient driver squinting through bottle-thick glasses at the traffic, and willed him to hurry.
The day had dragged on after Tarken had left the seminar. Nick hadn't felt the urge to punch someone since he was twenty, but he'd been very close to punching Tarken's patrician nose when he'd spoken about Abbey as if she were an object, easily bought.
The guy was a first class idiot, and he didn't understand what Abbey had ever seen in him. She could do much better than the likes of him. He'd tell her that too, when he saw her.
Hopefully that would be soon.
He'd thought about calling Lucy's office first, but decided he'd rather speak to Abbey face to face. What he wanted to say couldn't be said over the phone. Actually, he didn't really know what he wanted to say to her yet, but at least the taxi ride gave him a chance to think things through.
To think about what Tarken had said.
Abbey wasn't a hooker. That was definitely a load off his shoulders. He should've believed her when she told him, but that wasn't his fault. He liked proof, and all the evidence had pointed to her being a less than reputable woman. The masseur story, sex within minutes of meeting him, and then again the next night. And of course, the clothes had 'easy' written all over them.
Nick drew in a deep breath to calm himself down. They were traveling through a nice part of town, east of the city center, but the houses quickly became smaller and denser as they crossed a major intersection.
"Richmond," said the driver. "Good factory outlets and seconds shops if you're looking for a new suit."
"No thanks."
The taxi pulled into a street, turned a few corners, then stopped outside a warehouse. The street was full of warehouses. Some looked like they'd been converted into trendy apartments with balconies and garages. Others, with crumbling facades and broken windows looked less loved.
Nick paid the driver and got out. He scanned the dull brass labels beside the glass door and spotted the P.I. agency. Suite 2C. He pushed open the dirty glass door and entered.
The hallway smelled moldy and the carpet looked it. Nick held his breath as he glanced at the staircase. He went up, dodged the broken step, and paused at the top of the landing. It was darker on this level with no natural light. There were no windows in the corridor.
The first door belonged to a lawyer's office, the second to a medical clinic and the third was Richmond P.I. Nick knocked on the grimy opaque glass door. No answer. He knocked louder. Still no answer.
Damn. He should've called. He really didn't want to have to go all the way back to the hotel and return again another time. Maybe he should wait. Lucy would arrive eventually and point him in Abbey's direction if she wasn't with her.
He leaned against the wall and paint flaked off onto his sleeve. Enough of this. There was only one option. He would break in.
It wouldn't be breaking and entering, as such. More like just entering. He wasn't going to steal anything or break anything. He just wanted to talk to Abbey. He might as well wait in relative comfort.
He bent and studied the lock. Nothing fancy. He fished in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a credit card and lock picks. Old habits died hard. He still carried although he hadn't used them in a long time.
The lock was just about to give way when a door opened along the corridor. A giant of a man with the physique of a Neanderthal stepped out. Nick looked up, nodded, and waited for the guy to leave.
He didn't.
"What you doing?" he asked.
"Waiting for Lucy."
"Looked like you were trying to break in."
"Do I look like a burglar to you?"
The Neanderthal looked Nick up and down. "Guess not."
"Lucy's a friend," Nick said.
The man grinned crookedly. "She's every man's friend." He passed Nick and stepped heavily down the stairs making them creak dangerously under his weight. When he reached the bottom he looked back up and grinned. "Just don't let her give you that shit about being busy. That's her kiss-off line. Besides," he signaled the closed office door, "she never looks busy to me."
He opened the front door and disappeared outside into the sweltering heat.