Read Online Blond Cargo by John Lansing - Free Book Online

was all about. And who the intruder was.
    “Are you with the LAPD? We’ve got a lot of friends.”
    “Good to hear, me too. Retired,” Jack said. He lowered his voice. “Working a missing-persons case. Could we do this in your office?” He glanced toward the receptionist, who was pretending not to listen.
    “Halle, when am I due at the planning commission?”
    “The meeting starts in five minutes.”
    Good one, Jack thought. Little Halle was well trained.
    “It won’t take but a minute,” Jack said in as unthreatening a manner as he could muster. He already didn’t like the man, who had turned on his heel and walked up the hallway toward his office. Jack winked at the receptionist and followed in his wake.
    “What a view,” Jack said, once inside the palatial office. “Thank you for taking the time.”
    “What can I do for you, Jack?”
    Raul sat back in his black leather chair. King of his domain. He gestured for Jack to sit in one of two Barcelona chairs, but Jack stayed on his feet. The thirty-year-old had a thick veneer that covered a lot of scar tissue, Jack thought. Six years behind bars could do that to a man. His face was handsome enough, but his eyes had that hollow prison stare. A trimmed brown mustache matched his razor-cut longish hair, which couldn’t hide Raul’s red-rimmed brown eyes.
    Jack cut to the chase. He pulled out the picture of Angelica at Club Martinique. He slid it across Raul’s glass-and-chrome desk. “Have you ever seen this woman?”
    Raul picked up the printout, looked at it thoughtfully. “I don’t think so, I don’t know. There are so many beautiful women in this town.” He handed it back to Jack. “Should I know her? Who is she?”
    “Her name is Angelica Cardona. Her father’s Vincent Cardona. Owns the Chop House?” Jack asked, voicing a question.
    Raul didn’t blink, just shook his head.
    “You might know her as Angelica Curtis,” Jack continued. “Maybe this will help.” And he showed him the picture of Angelica and Carol sitting shoulder to shoulder.
    “Not really. Cute, but—”
    “The bartender said you took the picture,” Jack lied, protecting his source, Carol Williams.
    Raul’s brow furrowed and then he asked, “Where was this?” And then he answered his own question with a question. “Was this at Club Martinique? Oh yeah. Oh yeah .” He used his best one-man-to-another low, commiserating tone. “I was loaded. Walked by, they were taking photos with their iPhone. I offered to take a picture of them both.”
    “And?”
    “And they said yes. I snapped the shot, tried to work my charm, and they said no. I walked back to the bar with my tail between my legs, where I spent too much time and too much money.”
    “And you never spoke with either of these women or saw them again after you took the photograph?”
    “Are you kidding me? The club was insane that night. Speaking of which, how did you happen to find me?”
    “You make quite an impression,” Jack said, evading.
    “Good to know,” Raul said with a weak grin.
    Jack thought about showing him the other pictures, but he saw nothing to be gained.
    “I’m afraid I have to go,” Raul said, tapping his watch. He stood up from behind his desk and extended his hand. “I wish I could have been more help. How long has the girl been missing?”
    Jack shook his hand and exerted more pressure than necessary. “The woman disappeared that night.”
    “That’s terrible, really.” Raul met the grip and then broke it. “What a city,” he said sincerely.
    Jack handed him his card. “Do you mind?” And he took one of Raul’s cards out of a gold tray that looked like an antique. “In case I think of anything else or you think of anything, a call would be greatly appreciated by my client.”
    “I’d love to help. But . . .”
    Jack took his cue. “Thanks.” He casually walked out the door. Yet he didn’t think it was the last time he was going to cross paths with young Raul Vargas. An