‘Me?’ Hunter cocked his gun. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I asked first.’
‘Well, I have a gun.’
‘Yeah? So did I.’
‘Well, guess what? I still have mine, and it’s pointing right at your face.’
A split-second pause.
‘OK, point taken.’ She lifted her hands but didn’t say a word.
‘I’ll ask again, in case you forgot — who the hell are you?’
‘My name is Whitney Myers.’ Her voice was calm.
Hunter waited but Myers offered nothing else. ‘And. .? Is your name supposed to mean anything to me. .?’
‘I’m a private missing persons investigator. If you allow me to move I can show you my credentials.’
‘Your hands are going nowhere for now, buttercup.’
He looked at her suspiciously. Even through the weak light coming from under the bed, Hunter could tell Myers was wearing dark trousers and shirt, flat-soled shoes, a small pouch belt around her waist and a black skullcap.
‘You dress more like a burglar than a PI.’
‘Well, you don’t dress like a cop either,’ she stabbed back.
‘How do you know I’m a cop?’
She tilted her head in the direction of the wardrobe. ‘Standard issue LAPD flashlight.’ A short pause. ‘Unlike your gun. Nothing standard about that. HK USP tactical pistol. A Navy Seals favorite. You’re obviously part of some special section, or a pretty big gun fanatic. I’m guessing both.’
Hunter’s gun was still aimed dead at her eyes. ‘If you knew I was a cop, why the hell did you attack me like that?’
‘You never gave me a chance to say a word. I was about to politely ask you to turn around slowly when suddenly you turned into Captain America on crack. I was just defending myself.’
Hunter considered it. ‘If you’re a PI, who hired you?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that. It’s privileged information.’
Hunter’s gaze moved to his gun and then back to Myers. ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think you’ve got much of a choice.’
‘You and I both know you’re not gonna shoot me.’
Hunter chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you. All I need is a reason.’
Myers didn’t reply.
‘Plus I can arrest you for breaking and entering. You know how it goes. You’ll have to drag a lawyer down to the station, then you’ll be properly interrogated. . yada, yada, yada. . and we’ll find out anyway. So you’d better tell me something, or this is about to become a
Myers fixed Hunter down with a solid stare. She could see the resolve in his eyes. He wasn’t about to let her go easy. But Myers also wasn’t about to tell Hunter the truth about Katia and Leonid Kudrov. She wasn’t prepared to tell him her secrets, or that — out of habit and as a way of keeping her updated with who her potential clients could be — Myers was sent a daily list of names, including photographs, of new additions to the Missing Persons Unit database. The list was compiled and filtered by her LAPD informer, Carl O’Connor.
O’Connor wasn’t a detective with the MPU. Pure and simple, he was a computer geek, an old friend, and the database administrator for the Valley Bureau of the LAPD. His unlimited access to essential information where missing persons were concerned had given Myers the advantage she needed in many cases. When she received Kelly Jensen’s photograph, Myers immediately saw the resemblance to Katia Kudrov, and that was why she was at Kelly Jensen’s apartment in that specific moment. She was looking for clues.
There was no way she was telling Hunter all that. But Myers knew she had to tell him something. She improvised as fast as she could.
‘OK. The person I’m working for is an ex-boyfriend,’ she lied with the steadiest of faces.
Hunter frowned. ‘Name?’
Myers smiled. ‘You know I can’t give you his name. Not without his consent or a court order. You have neither.’
‘And he went to you instead of the Missing Persons Unit?’
‘What can I say? Some people just don’t trust the LAPD.’
Myers relaxed her right arm.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Hunter called with a lilt in his voice. ‘Easy there, pumpkin. What are you doing?’
She brought her hand to the side of her body, rubbing it while taking a deep breath. ‘I think you’ve broken a couple of my ribs.’
Hunter didn’t move. ‘No I haven’t. And at least you’re not bleeding.’
Myers glanced at the cut above Hunter’s eyebrow. ‘I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. I had you right in my sights. You were supposed to be knocked out cold.’
‘Lucky for me I got out of the way, then,’ Hunter said, gently stretching his neck. ‘How did you get in here? There were no signs of forced entry.’
Myers gave Hunter a charming smile. This was getting complicated. She stood her ground.
‘I’m doing all the talking here, and you still haven’t told me your name or shown me any police ID yet. Hell, I’m not even sure for a fact that you
‘How do you know I’m not with the Missing Persons Unit?’
Her face went dead serious. ‘’Cause I used to be part of them.’
Fifty-Five
Hunter kept his gaze on Myers for several seconds. She held his stare with identical determination.
‘OK,’ Hunter finally said, ‘let’s see that PI license you were talking about. But very slowly.’
‘Let’s see that police badge you were talking about,’ Myers challenged.
Hunter pulled open the left side of his leather jacket. His badge was clipped onto his belt.
Myers acknowledged it with a nod, unzipped her pouch belt and handed Hunter a black leather wallet.
He scrutinized her identity card before returning his attention to Myers. Dark eyes, small nose, high cheekbones, full lips, perfect skin, and an athlete’s body.
Hunter finally holstered his weapon before picking up his flashlight together with Myers’ gun — a Sig Sauer P226 X-5 semi-auto pistol.
‘Being a PI must pay well,’ he said, releasing the magazine and checking for a chambered round before handing the empty pistol back to Myers. ‘This is a two and a half grand gun.’ He slipped the magazine into his pocket.
‘Why? Are you looking for a new job? I could certainly use a guy like you. Good benefits and health insurance.’
Hunter took a paper tissue from a dispenser on the dresser and cleared some of the blood from his face. ‘Yeah? Well, I couldn’t use a boss like you.’
Myers smiled. ‘Oh, you’re quick with the comebacks too? I guess the chicks dig that.’
Hunter ignored her comment.
‘Are you gonna tell me who you are now, or shall I just call you Mr. Detective?’ she asked, folding her arms.
‘My name is Robert Hunter.’ He handed her wallet back to her. ‘I’m a detective with the LAPD.’
‘Which section?’ She nodded at his badge. ‘As I said, I know you’re not Missing Persons.’
