“So,” he said, “tell me about this attorney.”
* * *
I spent most of the drive to the lab dodging Nick’s questions about my love life. Everything that came out of my mouth was the truth; I wasn’t dating an attorney. Not technically. Technically, I wasn’t dating Julian or Nick. But knowing Nick, he would probably investigate my claims himself. And I hoped that investigation wouldn’t take him back to The Lush.
By the time we pulled into the parking lot, I was grateful for the distraction. Nick clipped a visitor badge to the collar of my shirt, then clipped one to his.
“What are you expecting to find?” I asked as we crossed the bright two-story lobby of the regional forensics lab.
Nick headed for a set of long, winding stairs, nodding at the lab techs as we passed and greeting them by name. He waited until they were out of earshot before answering. “When we tailed Feliks and Theresa, they drove to four different properties without stepping foot on a single one of them. They never even stopped the car. But there was soil and grass stuck to the undercarriage of Feliks’s Lincoln that day. Which means they’d been off-roading somewhere pretty recently.” Nick’s pace quickened as he climbed the stairs, his focus sharpening. “My guess is he’s found a piece of land already, or at least one he’s seriously interested in. If I can figure out where it is and how it’s zoned, I can probably guess what he’s planning to do with it. Or at least be one step ahead of him when he buys it.”
“Why?”
“Feliks never records the deeds in his own name. He uses straw men or dummy corporations, which makes his holdings harder to find. If I know what name he’s using as a front when he buys this lot, I might be able to use that information to track down a few others.”
“And do what?”
“Raid them. See what kind of dirt I can turn up.”
“What does that have to do with Theresa and Harris Mickler?”
“Maybe nothing. But I’d love to find a reason to bring Feliks into the station, stuff him in an interrogation room, and find out.”
Nick’s long legs ate the stairs two at a time, his pace eager as we neared the top.
“And the guys in the lab can figure all this out with a piece of dirt?” I asked, struggling to keep up.
“I wasn’t sure. It seemed like a long shot, but the call I got this morning sounded promising.” Nick pushed open a door and held it open for me. He led us to a lab at the end of the hall and rapped on the window glass. A tech in a white coat waved us inside.
“Hey,” the tech said, meeting us halfway into the room and extending his hand to me. “Finlay Donovan, wow!” His handshake was enthusiastic and more than a little sweaty.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a puzzled glance at Nick, then back at the tech. He was young, cute in a geeky, awkward sort of way. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Even when I could see through them more clearly, I couldn’t place how we knew each other. “And you are?”
“Oh, right!” He shook his head, giving himself a playful slap on the forehead. “Sorry, I’m Peter. We’ve never met. But Georgia’s told me all about you. I’m a huge fan, actually.” He wiped his palm on his lab coat, his ears flushing pink. He snuck a peek at Nick and leaned toward my ear, confiding in a low voice, “I’ve read your books.”
“Oh! So you must be the one.” I laughed as Peter’s face fell. “I’m kidding.” I pitched my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There are at least two of you.” The corner of Peter’s lip pulled up with an uncertain smile. “Seriously, I’m kidding.”
He released a nervous laugh. “Nick told me you might be coming. I was wondering if you’d sign an autograph?”
“Sure,” I said through a blush. No one outside my family had ever asked me for an autograph before. “Why not?”
Nick gave a reticent shrug, but I could tell he was anxious to get what we’d come for and his patience was wearing thin. Peter pulled a dog-eared paperback and a Sharpie from the pocket of his lab coat. Nick glanced at the bulging pecs of the model on the cover and heaved an impatient sigh as I scribbled a quick signature in it. Peter studied my face as I handed him back his book.
“You don’t look anything like your picture,” he said, thumbing to my bio page. “You know, the one in the back of the book? You’re blond in your photo. And with the dark glasses, it’s sort of hard to see your face.” He held up the photo, scrutinizing my features against my headshot. My scalp itched, and I tucked my hair behind my ear. “If I didn’t know you were coming, I totally wouldn’t have recognized you.” I avoided looking at Nick as he glanced over Peter’s shoulder at my photo, then checked his watch. “You probably wear a disguise so you won’t be recognized in public and get swarmed by your fans, right?”