“James, the bouncer at Night for Night.”
She watched as he leaned back in his seat and took a moment to consider. “Ambitious, untrustworthy, a thug.” He lifted his shoulders. “Why?”
Trena drummed her fingers on the table, enjoying the ritual of making him wait. “Tit for tat?” Her gaze met his impatient one. “A source claims he was close to Madison. Possibly even on her payroll.”
“We already have our suspect.” Larsen was too quick to dismiss the idea, leaving Trena to wonder what he might know that he was keeping from her.
She nodded agreeably. Keeping her voice light and even, she said, “But what if there’s more to it? What if it goes way deeper than that?”
His lip curled up at the side as his tongue worked to dislodge something from between his back teeth. “Always does.”
Trena waited expectantly, sure there was more, and trying not to cringe in aversion when he replaced his tongue with his finger and started actively picking at one of his molars.
“You ready for this?” At first Trena wasn’t sure if they were still on topic, or if he was about to reveal the culprit that had gotten wedged in his gums. Then he went on to say, “That office park that burned down? The fire started in an office leased by Paul Banks, aka the Ghost—”
“Aka Madison’s fixer,” Trena said, as though speaking to herself. Then, knowing how much he hated being interrupted, she shook her head and said, “Sorry. Go on.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and shot her an annoyed look, but a moment later, he was talking again. “Anyway . . .” He dragged out the word. “We’re trying to track this Banks guy. Haven’t been able to locate him yet, but considering his line of work, that’s not all that unusual. But get this, you know how Madison’s car was found in the lot?”
Trena mumbled that she did and urged him to continue.
“Madison’s purse—some Céline bag that costs over three thousand dollars, if you can believe that—was found stashed in the trunk. Phone’s still missing, though.”
Trena forced herself to be patient. So far, other than the purse, none of this was news. Though she hoped he would get to it soon.
“Oh, and something else,” he said, as though it were an afterthought, when clearly it was anything but. “You know anything about this?” He slid his phone across the table and displayed a picture of what looked to be a slightly singed gold charm encrusted with diamonds.
“It’s a hamsa hand,” Trena said. “It’s worn as an amulet for protection against the evil eye.” She continued to study the picture as a familiar gnawing stirred in her belly.
“That’s right.” Larson tapped the photo with the tip of a surprisingly neatly buffed and filed nail. “And you happen to know who wears one of these?”
Trena swallowed. She knew exactly who wore one of those. Aster had worn it during the interview and had occasionally fiddled with it when the questions got a little too heated. She chose to remain silent, however. She knew better than to flub his reveal.
“Aster Amirpour.” Larsen’s eyes gleamed when he said it, and Trena could’ve sworn she saw a small glob of spittle soar from the corner of his mouth. “Found it inside that office building. Must’ve fallen right off her.”
“Lots of people wear those, so how can you be so sure it’s hers?” she said, choosing to remain unimpressed for two reasons—one, because it was true, lots of people did wear them—and two, because Larsen’s obsession with the girl was veering toward disturbing.
“Let’s say I’m operating on a hunch. Though there is a witness who recalls seeing a girl who fits her description running from the building.”
“I thought the witness couldn’t identify age or gender.”
“Turns out there was more than one witness.” Larsen pocketed the phone and leaned back in his seat, seemingly satisfied with the way things had gone.
Trena kept her face neutral, but inside, her mind was reeling with all the myriad possibilities. This was potentially big, really big, promising huge rewards for whoever broke the story first, and of course Trena had already decided it would be her. T
hough it would prove devastating for Aster, Trena had never pledged allegiance to anyone but herself. And if it did turn out to be Aster’s necklace, then the girl was beyond hope.
“It’s in the lab as we speak.” Larsen spoke with palpable excitement. “Got a rush order in place. As soon as I get the call, which I’m expecting any minute, well, let’s just say I hope Aster enjoyed her vacation at Camp W, because it’s about to come to an end.”
“I don’t understand why she’d risk it,” Trena wondered aloud. In her head, she was already piecing the article together, and yet, something about it just didn’t make sense.
“Desperate people do desperate things.” Larsen shrugged, as though he’d just provided a brilliant explanation, as opposed to an oft-repeated cliché. “And sometimes, most times, spoiled-brat rich girls forget the rules are meant for them too.”
When his gaze locked on hers, Trena found herself transfixed, unable to breathe. The realization finally dawned on her that the reason she despised Larsen so much was because they were so much alike. They’d both fought their way out of tough neighborhoods, only to emerge mostly unscathed aside from the giant chip they both wore on their shoulders. They resented the rich, the pampered, those to whom much was given and little was expected in return. In Larsen’s eyes, Trena recognized the dark, shadowy part of herself she preferred to keep hidden. But at the moment, there was no avoiding it, it was like gazing into a mirror and seeing her most driven, most ambitious, most unscrupulous self staring back.
The spell finally broke when Larsen’s phone buzzed with an incoming call and he stepped out of the booth to take it, leaving Trena to grip the edge of the table and fight like hell to center herself.
“Bingo!” he said, returning a moment later. “You mind getting that?” He nodded at the check the waitress had left. “Seems I have an arrest to make.”