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“It’s not my place to—”
“You’ve worked here long enough to get a read on things. Speak your mind.”
“Something’s off about her, Amberlyn. I bet money on the fact she’s under some influence—”
“Drugs?” I ask.
Anita nods, pursing her lips. “There are track marks and her eyes are bloodshot. Not the kind from crying, either. That, and her story makes no sense.”
“How so?”
“Bar fight turned into arrest and the boyfriend is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
“You pulled up the arrest records from last night?”
“Yes, ma’am. The name she’s giving isn’t in any Dade County facility.”
“Send her in.” Something’s fishy, and I’m not in the mood for bullshit. “Pull whatever records you can on them both and bring them in with my coffee. Let’s see what’s this about.”
12
“THANK YOU FOR seeing me, Miss Ibarra,” the woman says upon entering my office, taking a seat without me offering her one. She’s pretty, about my age, but shifty—almost scratching her arms. There’s also a lot of makeup on her face, her eyes are red, and the clothes she’s wearing are better suited for a bar and not someone who’s worried sick about a loved one.
She’s a mess, yes, but not dirty after a quick perusal. Clothing isn’t torn and her shoes are new; I’d say this is the first time she’s worn them, too.
All in all, Anita is right; something’s off.
“How can I help you…?” I trail off, needing her name.
“Sorry.” A giggle and she holds out her left hand which I take, giving it a firm shake while checking out the ring. It’s on the larger side and also obvious that she wanted me to look. Most people offer their right hands, rarely the left. “I’m Karen Lopez, but you can call me Ren—”
“I’ll stick to Karen, thank you.” There’s a quick tightness around her mouth at that, but she quickly fixes her expression. “You wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes.” Rubbing a hand down her arm, she tears up, and her bottom lip trembles as if on cue. In doing so, she failed to realize I noticed the needle marks on her arm, and they were fresh. “I can’t find my fiancé.”
“Okay.” My cell phone beeps with an incoming text, but I ignore it. “Have you filed a report with the police?”
“They’re the ones that took him from me!” Karen wails, covering her face with both hands while I reach into the right drawer of my desk and pull out a box of tissues, sliding it across my desk to her. Shoulders shaking and leg bouncing, she cries louder—nearly falling from the chair since she chose the one without armrests. “He’s innocent!”
“Miss, there’s not much I can do outside of posting bail,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. Dealing with people under a lot of stress comes with the job, and while something is off, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt until proven wrong. “You do understand that, right?”
“But a friend of mine said you’d helped her.” This is mumbled, yet I catch her peeking toward me.
“Please look at me.”
“You got her a better lawyer and with your connections, the charges were dropped.”
Connections? Lawyers? “Who is this friend you speak of?”
“Her boyfriend worked for the De Leon family.” Not the name I need, but I’m understanding a little better. Either she wants special treatment or is trying to extort my company. Neither will end well for her if she doesn’t tread lightly. “Last year he was picked up on carrying without a permit, a dumb charge, but she said you pulled some strings, and he was out before the following day.”
“Name.” The more she talks, the more I smell bullshit.
“I was asked not to say.”
