Lizzie Lynn Lee Read Online Free Page B

Alfred Hastings when he’d got his American citizenship.
    Cat had tracked Duval’s whereabouts through a favour from Jon’s friend, a cop named Kevin Preston. Cat suspected this interview wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined not to let this one intimidate her, unlike her interview with Gabriel Larousse. Okay, last night’s failed attempt at stealth in that gentlemen’s club hadn’t led to much of an interview. Gabriel had spooked her and made her horny. It had been a totally dumb move on her part that hadn’t helped her investigation.
    She hated being a rookie. She missed Jon. Her brother was good at this job. He had twice taken her with him when interviewing suspects and he had been able to coerce the truth from people without them knowing it. Jon had been an ex-cop. He’d been tall, imposing, and drenched with authoritative poise. People saw her and all they noticed was her boobs. If her chest could affect people like a truth serum, she wouldn’t be deep in this shithole. The agency was twelve grand in debt in unpaid bills and such; she hoped that Judith Rossi’s final payment would keep it afloat. Besides, she didn’t have a licence. Jon had. She planned to get one after she successfully completed this job.
    If she could solve this one.
    “Excuse me.” Cat interrupted the receptionist when the curly-haired, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound whale, who was squashed into a stretch tank top, made no attempt to cut her rambling on the phone any time soon. “I had an appointment with Mr Hastings at ten.” Cat tapped her wristwatch. “Now it’s almost eleven.” Cat had been waiting for more than an hour in this stuffy office, standing. The place was choking her and her feet were killing her.
    The receptionist gave her a venomous scowl. “Mr Hastings is very busy at the moment.”
    “Could you check it again? It’s been more than half an hour since you talked to him on the phone.”
    The receptionist snapped into the receiver, “Hold on a minute, Cherise, I gotta check something.” She put her friend on hold and called her boss’s line. She surrendered at the fourth ring and flashed a vicious smile at Cat. “Mr Hastings isn’t at his desk. He didn’t pick up his phone.”
    A pang of annoyance stabbed Cat’s guts. “Is he in the office?”
    The receptionist shrugged uncaringly. “He must be. Haven’t seen him outta the joint.”
    Jesus. What kind of businessman would hire such a moron to tend to the front of his office? “Could you go to his office and remind him that he has an appointment, since it appears you’re not doing anything at the moment?”
    The receptionist looked insulted. “No. I’m busy.”
    “With what? Chatting with Cherise about your dead cats?”
    “Look, lady—”
    “Detective Kovac,” Cat bluffed.
    “I’m not going to stand around with you bitching over my shoulder—”
    The door burst open and a balding man dressed in a silk suit padded through the crowded waiting room. Cat recognised him as Alfred Hastings, a.k.a. Oliver Duval, from the immigration photo she had on file. Cat quickly tailed him. “Mr Hastings.”
    The man ignored her call and kept waddling towards the parking lot.
    “Alfred Hastings.”
    He waved dismissively. “Sorry, I’m busy. Some other time.”
    Fuck this. “Oliver Duval!”
    The magic words stopped him in his tracks.
    Gotcha.
    “What did you say?”
    “Your name was Oliver Duval, right? Before you became a US citizen.”
    Now she had his full attention. He cast her a suspicious look. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Catherine Kovac, your ten o’clock appointment. Can we talk somewhere private?”
    Duval’s gaze slid to a black Lincoln parked nearby. “I’m a bit tight at the moment. We can talk if you want to take a ride. Otherwise, you have to schedule another appointment with Janice.”
    The hell she would. That bitchy receptionist? No way, José. “I’ll take a ride.”
    “Good. Let’s go.”
     
    * * * *
     
    As Gabriel had