Dangerous Impostor Page 13

  Brent’s cell phone rang in the other room. She slung the water out of the mug and set it in the sink, then hurried to join the men.

  Brent pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Mason. What do you have?”

  He fell silent, listening. Lauren exchanged a look with Caleb, then they both watched Brent’s expression go from expectant to serious.

  “That’s what we heard, too.” A pause, then he nodded. “You know it, buddy. Thanks for doing this, Mason. I’ll add a couple of lobster tails to that filet, okay?”

  With that mysterious parting, Brent disconnected the call. He faced them with a sober expression. “The collector’s name is Boyd Jarrell. He’s a female impersonator at the Hollywood Casino, but he also does private work, parties and so on. Plays a bunch of different celebrities. Celine, Cher, Reba.” His fingers tightened on the arms of the black desk chair. “Mason called a contact who’s familiar with the Cicalo gang and verified that he’s a collector for their gambling division. And he’s apparently not a very nice man if clients don’t pay what they owe.”

  “A female impersonator.” Caleb’s gaze slid to her.

  The blood drained from Lauren’s face, leaving her cheeks damp and cold. That explained why the blackjack dealer had been so insistent that he knew her. Someone had actually dressed up as her, sat gambling beside Frank for hours in the casino, then followed him to his hotel room and shot him.

  Was that why Boyd Jarrell had looked familiar? Was it the similarity to her own features she recognized in him? The light in the room dimmed, and a roar in her ears almost drowned out her thoughts. She wavered on unsteady legs.

  Brent was out of his chair and beside her in an instant. She didn’t resist as strong arms circled and supported her.

  “It’s going to be okay,” his whisper promised. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Grateful for his touch, she leaned against him and almost let the sobs simmering deep within her rise to the surface. But then she straightened. She didn’t know why this was happening, but she didn’t intend to stand around like a helpless female—a spoiled little girl, to quote Lisa—and let herself be framed for murder. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

  She took a backward step, out of Brent’s embrace, and announced, “I’m going to call David.”

  Lauren sat on the edge of the couch cushion, her cell phone clutched in her hand. David’s name and number appeared on the screen, but her finger hesitated over the button that would connect the call. Part of her was afraid of what she would discover. Did David really betray her to a violent Mafia gang? And if he did, why? Was she so dependent on others to take care of her that she was clueless, gullible? An easy target for manipulation?

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Brent watched her from his seat in the worn chair to her right. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  Of course she didn’t have to. But then she’d never know the truth, would she?

  Caleb, seated in the second chair, leaned forward, his arms on his knees. “Let’s pray about it.”

  His words surprised her. Pray about what? She either made the call or she didn’t. By the time she turned a curious glance his way, his eyes were closed and his head bowed.

  “Lord, we need some guidance here. We need to understand how our sister got tangled up in this scheme, which clearly isn’t Your plan for her.”

  Praying for guidance? Brent had said something similar earlier. She snuck a glance at her boss, who nodded in agreement with Caleb, his eyes also closed. These two took God’s involvement in their lives to a whole different level, one that was alien to her.

  Caleb’s prayer continued. “So we’re asking for wisdom on whether she should make this call. And if so, we’re asking You to guide the conversation and tell us what we need to know. Amen.” He raised his head and said to Lauren, “There.”

  As if that was supposed to do something. Was she supposed to see a sign flashing in her mind? An arrow maybe? If so, it didn’t appear. And she didn’t have time to wait for it. Either calling David was a good idea or a bad idea, but all she could do was what she thought best.

  She decided to make the call.

  Her watch read after eight o’clock. The last conference session would have ended a few hours ago, so hopefully his phone would be on.

  The ringing stopped, and noise filled the line. The musical chimes of a dozen slot machines combined with the mumble of different voices.

  “What have you done, Lauren?” David’s loud words cut through the din. “The cops are looking everywhere for you.”

  “What have I done?” She allowed outrage to creep into her tone. “I’m calling to ask you the same thing.”

  “Hold on a minute. I can’t hear a thing. I’m going up to my room so I can talk without being overheard.” He sounded irritated.

  Yeah, well so was she.

  She heard the ching-ching-ching of a slot machine cashing out and listened until the distracting noise faded into the background. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she waited, her spine stiff, for him to speak again. Brent and Caleb’s eyes were fixed on her.

  The background noise of the casino disappeared completely. “There,” David said. “I’m in the elevator. Sheesh, Lauren, did you really kill Frank Labetti?”

  Her body went rigid. “Of course not. How could you even think that?”

  “I don’t know what to think. The cops are asking some pretty pointed questions about you.”

  “Did you tell them I’m deceptive and dishonest?” she snapped.

  Brent left the chair and slid onto the cushion beside her to place a hand on her arm. “Stay calm.”

  She bit back a sharp retort and nodded instead. He was right. She wouldn’t accomplish anything by arguing with David.

  “David, I have to know. Are you involved with the mafia?”

  “Are you?” he shot back.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. So it was going to be that kind of conversation.

  She schooled her voice. “Look, I know Frank Labetti was involved in an illegal gambling scheme, and for some reason he pulled me into it. Then he got himself killed.” The breath she drew shuddered. “If I can’t figure out what’s going on, I’m afraid I might end up the same. Please, David. Help me.”

  “Hold on.”

  At the sound of resignation in his voice, Lauren’s spirits rose a fraction. She heard the ding of an elevator, and nothing but David’s breath for a long thirty seconds, followed by a door closing.

  “There. I’m in my room. All right, I’ll tell you what I know. I was at work one day and I got a phone call from a guy I know.” A pause. “It’s a guy I owe some money to. A lot of money.”

  “Gambling debts?” she guessed.

  “Yeah.” Embarrassment colored his tone. “If only the University of Kentucky had taken the NCAA title, I would have been in the black.”

  Lauren’s spine lost a touch of its rigidity. That made sense, in a way. She’d never known David to gamble, but he was a sports fanatic in every sense of the word.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “this guy calls and tells me you’ve applied for a job at another company, and he wants me to let you go without a fuss. That hurt, Lauren. You kept it from me, and I thought we had a relationship going.”

  She blocked a stab of guilt at the pain in his tone. They’d had this conversation before, the day she left his company. He was a controlling, manipulative man, and she had been right to get away from him.

  To pull him out of his pity party, she asked a question. “Why did they want me to leave Reynolds SofTech?”

  “They didn’t. They wanted you at Sterling Foods, because they’ve got something going on there. I was supposed to give you a great reference if they called, and a bad one to anyone else to discourage them from hiring you. My guy told me they needed you at Sterling Foods because if someone who knew about technical stuff got that position, there was a risk they’d be exposed.”

  Her brain a
bsorbed the meaning of his words. She sank against the back of couch. “You mean they wanted me for the Sterling Foods job because I have no technical ability? Because I’m unskilled?”

  Her gaze sought Brent’s. Was that why he’d given the okay to hire her? He shook his head no, his expression perplexed.

  “That’s right,” David said. “I didn’t want to lose you, Lauren, but I didn’t have a choice. These people get what they want, one way or another.”

  Reeling from the revelation, Lauren managed another question. “Then why did you glare at me through that workshop this afternoon? Why did you attend at all?”

  “Because I wanted to see you.” He adopted the soft, wheedling tone she remembered so well. “I miss you, baby. When I saw you with that vice president, saw the way you were looking at him, I couldn’t handle it. I got angry. He’s your boss, right? Just like I was your boss.”

  The insinuation stung. Especially since she’d been fighting off romantic thoughts of Brent all day.

  In the background on David’s end came a knocking sound.

  “Hold on. There’s somebody at the door. I can’t stand those geeks who try to organize these late-night conference parties. Let me get rid…” His voice faded. “What are you doing here?”

  Lauren was confused. Was he talking to her or to the person at the door? His question was spoken directly into the phone.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She heard the sound of a door being opened.

  David’s voice became slightly more distant, as if he’d lowered the phone from his mouth. “I’m glad you decided to come. Who needs the phone when we can talk in per—” He stopped mid-word. “Wait a minute. You’re not Lauren.”

  Horror bloomed in an instant. If David thought she was at the door, then it had to be an impostor.

  Jarrell.

  She shot to her feet and shouted, “Don’t let him in.”

  A noise came through the phone, both familiar and unknown. A muffled crack crack. In an instant she identified the sound. She’d only heard it on television shows, never in person. The sound of a gun with a silencer being fired.

  “David!”

  The only answer to her scream was a hideous gurgle. Just like the one she’d heard through the door from Frank’s room last night.

  TWENTY

  Brent knelt on the floor in front of Lauren, her cold hands sandwiched between his. She’d been exhibiting signs of shock for the past twenty minutes.

  “He’s dead.” She shook her head, her gaze unfocused. “I can’t believe David is dead.”

  “We don’t know that,” Brent said quietly, though a dreadful certainty in his gut said otherwise. “Maybe he’s only injured. I’m sure the police have the casino staked out looking for us, so they probably had someone in his room within minutes after we called 9-1-1.” He hoped the call from Caleb’s cheap, prepaid phone couldn’t be traced, but what could they do? If a man had been shot, they had to get help to him somehow.

  Lauren didn’t answer, only continued to stare, her expression tortured.

  Caleb returned to the room with another steaming mug of tea, which he placed in front of her. “Drink this, sister. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Lauren didn’t move to pick it up. Instead, her gaze focused on Brent.

  “Why did you hire me?”

  Her words on the phone came back to him. Something about being unskilled, which made no sense. “We hired you because you were the best candidate for the job.”

  “Really? Because David said the Cicalo gang wanted me to get that job because I don’t have technical skills. They didn’t want me to discover Frank’s database hidden on Sterling Foods’ servers.”

  Brent raked his fingers through his hair, thinking. When he’d met with Lauren, he’d been given a folder with notes from the previous interviewers. Frank had been one of them, he did remember that, and that made sense. Lauren’s job was to act as business liaison between Frank, the technical person and the nontechnical employees who used the systems Frank supported. The man who’d held the position before Lauren had possessed very little technical ability also, though he’d performed well enough to get a promotion that left his job open.

  Brent remembered that the other interviewer, Lauren’s manager who reported to Brent, had given her the thumbs-up. And there’d been something else in that file. A computer printout analyzing her skills and experience, and identifying her as the most qualified candidate. The printout had come from a program Frank supported.

  “You were qualified for the job, Lauren.” He squeezed her cold hands. “I was impressed by your answers to my questions during our interview, and by the way you handled yourself with professionalism. I approved hiring you based on that. A business analyst’s number one responsibility is to communicate with nontechnical people, and that’s one of your strengths.”

  He hesitated. How to say this without upsetting her? “But long before we scheduled your interview, the computer picked your resume from among all the others and identified you as a top candidate. Since Frank was the expert on that system, it’s possible he rigged the results in order to move your application up to the top of the list.”

  She absorbed that information and then nodded. “So, Frank was watching the resumes that came in, looking for someone he thought he could hide his illegal activities from. When mine came in, he decided I was the one.”

  “That makes sense. No doubt he saw Reynolds SofTech on your application as your current employer. Since he was responsible for maintaining the database for the Cicalos, he probably knew David was one of their customers. That’s what drew his attention to you in the first place.”

  Caleb, who had returned to his chair, broke into the conversation. “So where does that money in my bedroom come in?”

  Lauren shrugged. “David didn’t mention the money.”

  “Did he say anything about Frank, like why the Cicalo people killed him?” Brent asked.

  She shook her head. “We didn’t get that far in the conversation before…” She swallowed.

  So they still didn’t know what was going on. Brent sank back on his haunches. They didn’t have any real proof of Lauren’s innocence.

  When his cell phone rang, he snatched it off the table and examined the screen. Mason.

  He answered the call. “Please tell me you dug up something helpful.”

  “Man, it’s good to hear your voice. Is Caleb with you?”

  Why did Mason sound so relieved? “It’s good to hear your voice, too, buddy. Yeah, he’s right here.”

  “Whew. I know we just talked an hour ago, and I know you both say this woman is on the up-and-up, but when I saw the news I got this crazy idea maybe something had changed and she really had done you both in.”

  Brent pulled the phone back to give it a confused glance. “What are you talking about? What news?”

  “You’re not watching the news on television?”

  “No.” Brent stabbed a finger in the direction of the clunky old TV set and asked Caleb, “Does that thing work?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He jumped up and snatched the remote control from a side table.

  On the other end of the phone, Mason continued. “I’ve been watching the Las Vegas news channel on the internet, and a few minutes ago a new story was posted. It’s about your girlfriend.”

  Brent opened his mouth to correct Mason—Lauren was not his girlfriend—but the words died on his lips when the TV sprang to life. A blue banner with white letters across the bottom of the screen announced Breaking News. Above it, a female reporter with a microphone stood in front of a familiar sight, the entrance to the Hollywood Casino. She spoke directly into the camera.

  “…A little over twenty minutes ago, when a 9-1-1 operator received an anonymous tip that a man had been shot at the Hollywood Hotel and Casino on Las Vegas Boulevard. That victim’s identity has not yet been released, but we have received verification that his body was found in a room inside the Hollywood. Thou
gh there has been no official statement yet, the Las Vegas Police Department issued an All Points Bulletin for the arrest of twenty-four-year-old Lauren Elizabeth Bradley just moments ago.”

  On the couch, Lauren gasped. Brent grabbed her hand, and she squeezed his like a vice. Standing near the television set, Caleb’s lips moved in a silent prayer.

  The reporter continued. “At the same time, they released a missing person alert for Brent Emerson, a thirty-two-year-old executive from Atlanta. An unofficial source inside the LVPD informed us that Emerson is involved romantically with Bradley, and the police fear for his safety.”

  “What?” He reeled backward, as though from the impact of a blow.

  Mason spoke in his ear. “I heard that. That’s what it said on the internet, too.”

  The scene on the screen changed to a news station, and a reporter told the viewing audience, “We’ll keep you posted on this breaking story as it develops. In other news tonight, a—”

  Caleb pressed a button on the remote and muted the volume.

  “I can’t believe this,” Lauren whispered, her voice husky. “Frank is dead. David is dead. And they think I’m going to kill you, too.”

  Brent’s thoughts whirled. Things were moving too fast to keep up with. The pieces of information they’d uncovered all made sense, but they didn’t have enough of them to paint a clear picture.

  He spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you back, Mason.” Without waiting for a response, he disconnected the call. “We have to keep a clear head,” he told Caleb and Lauren. “We can figure this out, we just need to work together.”

  Lauren shook her head with a jerk. “No. We can’t do this on our own anymore. The pit I’m in is getting deeper and deeper. We need to contact the police and tell them everything we know.”

  “I’m sure there are a lot of conscientious officers on the Las Vegas Police Department, but we know at least one of them who isn’t,” Brent said. “How can we be certain we’re not just turning ourselves into another pawn of the Cicalos?”

  He directed his question toward Caleb, who shook his head. “Don’t ask me. My path doesn’t cross with the police very often. I just hear people talk, and the people who talk to me don’t have anything nice to say about the cops.”