was not the reason for his bug eyes.
Nicole rolled up beside them on Dave’s bike. She flicked the bell once before hopping off. “What is your problem?”
Dave finally found his voice. “I’m sorry I pushed you, but I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be seen with you. I don’t know anything.”
Slade rested on his haunches next to Dave, still huffing and puffing on the ground. “Obviously you know something, or you wouldn’t have taken off like that.”
“And now we’re talking very publicly when we could’ve been having a nice conversation at your place.” Nicole waved her arms to take in the park. “Did Lars give you the Somalia footage or not?”
“I wouldn’t take it from him. If he wanted to gallivant all over the world getting himself in trouble, that’s his business, but I didn’t want any part of it.”
“Why did you think taking the film from him would be trouble for you?” Slade asked.
“Are you kidding?” Dave struggled to a sitting position and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his pants. “Do you mind?”
Slade shrugged, and Nicole shook her head and said, “That’s why you can’t run very fast.”
Dave shook out the crushed package and retrieved a book of matches from his other pocket. He lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. “Lars stopped by my place with a crazy story about someone being after him. He suspected it had something to do with the film he’d shot in Somalia, because someone had broken into a place he’d been staying with a woman in San Francisco and stolen some film he had there, but the Somalia stuff wasn’t there.”
“Why did he connect that break-in to Somalia?” Nicole swung her leg over the bike and propped it against a park bench.
“He’d just heard about Giles, and after the theft in San Francisco, he felt like he was being followed.”
Slade glanced at Nicole. She’d had the same feelings.
“Did you see the film Lars was trying to give you?” Slade held his breath as Dave released another stream of smoke into the air between puckered lips.
“You mean the actual footage?”
“No. The physical thing—was it on a disc or what?”
“A little disc, like this.” Dave held his thumb and index finger about two inches apart.
“Did you send his letter to me?”
Nicole had perched on the edge of the bench and clasped her hands between her knees. She had a bloody scrape on her right wrist from Dave’s bike, and a flare of anger surfaced in Slade’s chest. The guy was a coward in more ways than one.
Dave took a long drag from his cigarette and emitted words and smoke at the same time. “I wouldn’t take any of it. He wanted me to hide the disc and send the letter to you if anything happened to him.”
“Do you know who sent the letter for him? Because I got it today.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. When I heard Lars offed himself, I was damned glad I refused to help him. Lars kill himself? You ever hear of anything more ludicrous?” Dave shook his head and crushed out his smoke. “They really were out to get him and that footage. If you’re smart, you’ll leave it alone.”
“I can’t. Someone’s after me, too.”
Dave’s head jerked up, and he pushed to his feet. “What is it with you people? Why go looking for trouble when it finds you, anyway?”
“Well, now I’m in it, and this guy—” she aimed her finger at Slade “—is going to help me get out of it.”
Was that what she thought? The pressure was really on, especially since this was an assignment way out of his comfort zone.
Slade rose to his feet and planted himself in front of Dave, in case he got any more ideas about taking off. “Who else did Lars see when he was in the city? Who else was here? We already know Paul Lund was out of town.”
“Is that how you found me? Paul?”
“I was looking at video from that party at Paul’s place almost two years ago. Were those all of Lars’s New York friends? Are they still here? Were they here when Lars was in the city?”
“There are probably only two people from that party Lars would’ve contacted besides me—Andre Vincent and Trudy Waxman.”
Nicole sprang to her feet and pulled her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Do you have their contact info?”
“I don’t, but Andre’s a sculptor. You should be able to find him, and Trudy’s an actress. She’s in some off-off-Broadway play right now. It’s at the Gym at Judson, that church in Greenwich Village.” Dave grabbed the handlebars of his bike and plucked out the folder Nicole had stashed in his basket and dropped it on the bench beside her. “Can I go now? That’s all I know about it.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Nicole pocketed her phone. “I don’t know why you had to run like that.”
“Because I’m scared.” Dave pushed his bike and put one foot on a pedal. Rolling forward, he turned and looked over his shoulder. “And if you were smart, you’d be scared, too.”
As he rode off, Nicole plopped down on the bench again, rubbing her elbow. “Lars did a number on Dave. If he hadn’t freaked him out so much, he would’ve been able to leave the film with him.”
Slade crouched before her and took her hands. “You’re injured. Does your elbow hurt, too?”
“A little.” She rolled her wrist outward. “I didn’t even notice that blood before.”
“Let’s get you back to your place and clean that up.”
Tilting her head back, she cupped one hand over her eyes, shading them from the sun. “How’d you bring Dave down? Didn’t anyone interfere?”
“I tackled him. There weren’t that many people around. For all I know, they thought I was chasing down someone who’d lifted my wallet.” He tugged a strand of her hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “And you riding in on that bike like the cavalry.”
A big grin claimed her face, and he felt like a hundred suns had just come out. Nicole had those supermodel good looks, but with a bloody smudge on her arm, her messy ponytail and all those gleaming white teeth, she looked like a happy-go-lucky girl next door—a really hot girl next door.
“That was pretty cool, wasn’t it?” She launched herself from the bench, practically knocking him over. “Now we need to track down Andre and Trudy.”
“We’ll need a computer for that, and you still need to get that cut cleaned up.”
They took another taxi back to the apartment, and Chanel proceeded to paw Slade’s ankles. “Does this dog ever get out?”
“My mom has a dog walker.” She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t ask. She comes by every morning to feed and walk Chanel and then returns at dusk.”
“That’s not one of your duties when you stay here?”
“My mother doesn’t trust me to walk Chanel. She doesn’t trust me with a lot of things.”
“Really? You seem pretty competent to me.”
“For chasing down guys on bikes, but not domestic things.”
He preferred women who could chase down guys on bikes to those who excelled at the domestic arts. Pointing to the door off the living room that led to her small office, he asked, “How about I look up Andre and Trudy while you wash and dress that scrape?”
“I’m going to take a shower and change. Is that okay?” Tucking the folder containing Lund’s