Killer in High Heels

Almost.

“Uh uh. No way, pal. You have some serious explaining to do before there’s any more of…” I paused, gesturing between our lips, “…this kind of stuff going on.”

He sighed, then sat down on the double bed and rubbed a hand at his temple. “All right. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, what the hell are you doing in Vegas? And why are you working for Monaldo?”

He paused. And for half a second I thought he wasn’t going to tell me, his dark eyes scrutinizing me. Finally he gave in, Lustful Cop for once winning out over Bad Cop. “Okay,” he said. “But it doesn’t leave this room.”

I sat down beside him and held up my right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Two months ago,” he started, “the body of a customs agent at the port of L.A. comes floating in with the tide. I got the page that night I was at your apartment. It was pretty clear the way this guy was killed that it was a professional job.”

I gulped. “As in Mafia?”

“As in not a random act of violence. Apparently the agent had been asking questions about a container that came in from Thailand the week before. The container was stalled in customs. The agent dies, and two days later, customs clears our container.”

“Convenient.”

“Very. We followed the trail of paperwork through a couple of holding companies and dummy accounts, until it finally led us to a name. Monaldo.”

“So why don’t you arrest him?” I asked.

Ramirez sighed. “Trust me, I’d like to. Only it seems we aren’t the only agency investigating Monaldo.

“The ICE-Immigration and Customs Enforcement-thinks Monaldo is involved with the Marsucci family, an organization that’s suspected of having a hand in dozens of criminal activities along the West Coast, including importing counterfeit goods and distributing them here in the U.S. Only they haven’t got enough proof to link the containers coming in through the port of L.A. to the Marsuccis yet. Monaldo could be that link. They’ve had him under surveillance for the last eighteen months, but if they want a case to stick against a family like the Marsuccis, they’ve got to have solid evidence. Monaldo is their best chance at that and if I arrest him for murder, there goes their case.”

My head was spinning. This was all just a little too HBO for me. “So this is where Bruno comes in?”

He nodded. “If I can get enough proof to link Monaldo to the Marsuccis, then, and only then, can I arrest Monaldo for killing the customs agent.”

“What kind of link are you looking for?”

“Money,” he said. “If Monaldo is working for the Marsuccis, he’d have to be kicking back their share of the profits from the sale of the counterfeits to them somehow. So far we’ve scoured all of his accounts and come up empty. He must be handing it over in cash. Only we haven’t been able to catch him in the act yet. And, trust me, Bruno’s been sticking to this guy like glue.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get it; doesn’t murder out-rank a few fake items in your justice playbook?”

He gave me a look. “This is more than a few fake items. We’re talking ten billion dollars a year worth of fake items.”

I blinked. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow is right.”

“What are they counterfeiting, gold?”

Ramirez paused, suddenly not meeting my gaze.

“What?”

He looked down at his hands, rubbing them one over the other. Then he looked up at the ceiling and did a deep resigned sigh. “Shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

Another deep sigh. “Shoes, okay? They’re importing counterfeit designer shoes and passing them off as originals to retail stores up and down the West Coast.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. “Wait a minute-you’re telling me that Big Bad LAPD Officer Ramirez can’t make his case because of a few girly pairs of fake Fendis?” I was enjoying this way too much.

“That’s it. Laugh it up, shoe girl.” He gave me a playful punch on the arm.

And I was. I was laughing so hard tears were forming at the corners of my eyes and I was doing some really unladylike snorting. I couldn’t have designed better payback for his macho-man attitude if I’d tried. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, finally getting myself under control. “I know shoes. I could have helped!”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Maddie, this isn’t SpongeBob slippers. Profits from counterfeit items are often used to fund terrorist activities. The ICE takes this kind of thing very seriously. And you should too. The Marsuccis are not nice people. Not,” he emphasized, “the kind of people who take kindly to having women snoop through their offices.”

I pictured the look on Monaldo’s face when he’d caught me fumbling around his office. Ramirez was right; it wasn’t a comforting thought. Even less comforting was the thought that Larry was somehow mixed up with these kind of people.

“What about Hank?” I asked. “What does his death have to do with all this?”

Ramirez shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Was it really suicide?”

He paused, his Bad Cop face sliding into place again.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. “Look, if you had just told me this three days ago, I wouldn’t have been at that club and you wouldn’t be having to worry about your precious cover being blown. So don’t pull this Bad Cop crap on me. I’m a big girl. Lay it on me.”

I could have sworn I saw him suppress a smile. “Okay, big girl.” Yep, that was definitely a smile. “No. We don’t think it was a suicide. The trajectory off the building is all wrong. Plus…” He paused again, weighing how much to tell me.

I did my best Bond Girl impression. Hand on hips, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. Don’t mess with me, pal.

Finally he relented. “This is just between you and me, got it?”

I nodded.

“This piece of information isn’t being released to the public, but there was a suicide note. Obviously forged. Someone wanted to make it look like Hank killed himself.”

“Do you think it was Monaldo?”

Ramirez shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It only matters what I can prove.”

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “See, there you go with that ‘we’ thing again. Why do I get a very bad feeling every time you say ‘we’?”

I narrowed my eyes.

He grinned. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you do that.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“And that.” His grin widened into a full-fledged Big Bad Wolf smile, complete with shiny white teeth. “Honey, I’ve spent the last six weeks surrounded by men in bad wigs. There’s not much you can do that isn’t going to look cute.”

I had to admit, all the cute stuff was wearing me down. Especially when he said it with that lopsided grin, showing off the deceptively boyish dimple in his cheek. “So you’ve really been undercover this whole time?” I asked.

He nodded.

“All those ‘I’ll call you’s and getting your voice mail. You weren’t blowing me off?”

Ramirez took my hand in his and pulled me to him. “I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but Bruno doesn’t get to take a whole lot of personal time.”

“So…you do like me?” I asked, knowing I sounded just a little pathetic, but the way Ramirez’s warm body was