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“Not unless you can make this POS stop acting like it’s possessed. It keeps freezing up.”
“That’s my specialty.” He walked behind the receptionist’s desk. Her hardware was about five years out of date, which usually translated to the operating system being just as old. He went with the go-to fix for a glitchy computer, powered it down, and then leaned against her desk. “Let’s give it a second.” He held out his hand. “Carlos.”
“I know.” She drooped her eyelids to half staff and shook his hand, lingering a little longer than necessary. “Kimmie.”
Uncertainty shifted his stomach. Okay. This was not normally his area. Cam was the resident flirt at Maltese, not Carlos, and as his interactions with Mika had proved, he was better with software than people. “Does it always act like this?”
Kimmie rolled her eyes. “O
nly on a day that ends in Y.”
He pressed the power button. “Let’s try now.” The screen came back on.
“Yes,” she said, a pink flush bringing color to her pale cheeks. “How can I thank you for working your magic?”
A few days ago, he might have taken her up on her unspoken offer, but it didn’t do a thing for him today. “This is embarrassing, but is there a bathroom I can use?”
“Sure. I can let you use Mr. Durning’s private bathroom, since he’s out today.” She wrote her number down on a card and handed it to him. “Just in case we don’t get a chance to chat again before your friend gets back.”
“I appreciate that.” He slipped it into his pocket, right next to the small case holding the listening devices. “So where should I go?”
She hit a button under her desk and the inner doors to the rest of the office slid open. “Take a left at the first hallway. His office is the second door on the right.”
He gave her a wink and strolled through the open doors, careful to maintain a slow pace until he turned in to the empty hallway. Then it was all hustle as he got to the office without being seen and closed the door behind him. The computer on the elder Durning’s desk was just as old as the hunk of junk the receptionist had. Bypassing it for the moment, Carlos sat down behind the desk and pulled open a file drawer.
Bingo. Bank records.
He plucked them out and hurriedly thumbed through the contents. It didn’t take long to realize that the business’s finances were in trouble. Durning Imports was just the type of target Diamond Tommy Houston looked for. Lots of goods from all over the world going in and out so as to avoid suspicion and a major financial drain that needed to be plugged or the whole business would go under. He slapped the folder shut and replaced it.
Glancing at the analog clock hanging on the wall, he figured he’d been gone from the front lobby for about five minutes. Not a lot of time left if he didn’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention from Kimmie. He withdrew the case from his pocket. The listening devices were about the size of a single caramel chew. He secured one behind a dusty fake fern that probably hadn’t been looked at, let alone moved, in a decade. Then he got the hell out of there.
The hallway was empty as he started for the front lobby. Mission accomplished, he had time to take a better look at his surroundings. Surveillance cameras were secured to the ceiling at both ends of the short hallway. That along with the locked doors between the lobby and the inner sanctum had him popping his knuckles trying to figure out what was going on. The importers weren’t set up like a regular business pushed into illegal dealings because of Diamond Tommy’s influence. By the fifth knuckle, his certainty had gone from a state of fluidity to being as solid as concrete. The place was rotten, and it may not even have a damn thing to do with Harbor City’s biggest scumbag.
He passed by a door marked Roger Durning. Not stopping to think, he changed course and ducked inside. This office was the polar opposite of the elder Durning’s office. Pristine. Painfully organized. A brand-new laptop on the uncluttered desk. There wasn’t a single place Carlos could see to hide the listening device.
He spun around on his heel, doing a three-sixty inventory. If it weren’t for the fact that Roger’s name was outside the door, Carlos would think the office was abandoned. The digital clock on the wall told him he’d been gone for nearly ten minutes. He didn’t have time to futz around here. Grabbing a piece of gum from his pocket, he walked to the desk. He popped the gum in his mouth and started chewing as he checked the desk’s underside. There was a notch in the wood where the side met the back that was the perfect size for the listening device. He slid the case out of his pocket and withdrew one of the devices. He squished the chewed gum to the back of the device and pressed the whole gooey mess into the notch under the desk.
It wouldn’t hold forever, but it wouldn’t need to. Between the devices and what he could dig up online, if During Imports was as dirty as he figured, he’d know soon enough.
He made it down the hall without seeing anyone, but Mika’s giggle stopped him as he approached the turn that would take him back to the lobby. He peeked around the corner and saw her standing with Roger in front of the doors leading to the lobby. She was facing the hallway where Carlos stood, but Roger had his back to him.
Fuck. The last thing they needed was for Captain Douchetastic to realize he’d left the lobby.
Mika must have spotted him, because her almond-shaped eyes widened for a second before she grabbed Roger’s hand and leaned in close. The way she looked up at the jerk reminded Carlos a little too much of how she’d watched him through her thick eyelashes while they’d danced at Feeny’s. That look had gotten him harder than a railroad spike on the frozen tundra. Judging by the way Roger adjusted his stance and the subtle way he swept his gaze across her every delectable curve, there was no way he wasn’t having the same reaction.
Mika giggled. She never fucking giggled.
“Roger, you have to show me the chiffon you brought in for BC Designs. Rumor is, it’s gorgeous.”
“Anything for you.” Captain Douchetastic tucked Mika’s hand back in his elbow and led her toward the back, away from Carlos.
Carlos was going to have to kill him. Not literally, of course, but that man’s face was going on every shooting target at the practice range for a good long time. No one got to look at Mika like that but Carlos.
He gave it to the count of ten and then double-timed it to the lobby doors and strode into the lobby.
Chapter Ten
“Fashion is about having a fantasy.”
