Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(32)

“But you remember the house,” Kellan said, and bingo. Her frown deepened for a split second before she blanked it from her face.

“Whatever, pretty boy. Like I said, we deliver to a lot of places.”

“Carmen.” Isabella’s gaze narrowed, although with more question than accusation. “Have you been to this house?”

Carmen made a noise comprised of mostly irritation, but it didn’t hide the unease pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe I did the deliveries one night when our regular runner was out with the flu.”

“And you brought a pizza to this address?” Moreno’s tone shifted, softening ever so slightly, and Kellan would bet his paycheck she’d seen Carmen’s grimace just as clearly as he had. “Do you remember anything about the delivery?” she asked with care. “Who was in the house? What they looked like?”

Pushing back from the business side of the counter, Carmen scoffed, her titanium-tough attitude right back in place as she jammed her hands into the denim slung dangerously low over her hips. “Yeah, I remember. The guy invited me in to be dessert, then stiffed me for a tip when I told him he’d have better luck fucking himself. Asshole.”

Okay, so it was a good start, but being an asshole wasn’t against the law. Sadly. A fact which Moreno hadn’t seemed to have lost sight of, either. “What else, Carmen?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap went one bright green nail against the countertop. “Nothing. That’s all I remember.”

“Bullshit.”

Carmen’s eyes darted toward Kellan at the same time his darted toward Isabella, but Isabella didn’t stand down. “I need this guy, Carmen. I think you know why.”

“I know nothing,” she snapped, and Moreno’s voice gentled to balance out her thorny edges.

“You’ve seen him around, haven’t you. From before you started working here.”

The prompt was enough to either take Carmen by surprise or make her throw in the towel. A little, anyway. “Maybe. Look”—her dark stare swiveled over the tiny dining area beside them before moving furtively to the plate glass windows facing the pier—“this is big shit, Isa. These people…you don’t understand.”

Kellan’s blood chilled at the sudden, nameless emotion in Carmen’s eyes, then turned colder still at Isabella’s reply.

“Believe me, I do. That’s why I need to know what you know, mija. So I can do something about it.”

Carmen’s frown expressed her doubt at the possibility in no uncertain terms. Still, she looked out at the water in the distance and said, “There was only the one guy in the house when I delivered the pizza. I’ve seen him before. Once. Six, maybe eight months ago. I was at a club and he invited me to a private party.” She paused, but only long enough to shrug. “Said I was his boss’s type, and if I went, I could have whatever I wanted. Booze, pills, heroin. Said it would be just a taste of the future.”

Moreno didn’t move, just listened, and even though Carmen’s story was kicking him in the gut, Kellan did the same.

“But something about the whole thing felt off,” Carmen continued. “A little too good not to have a punch line. I said no, and one of the other girls who was there didn’t, so he didn’t push. But I never saw her again.”

“Would you recognize her if you did?” Moreno asked, but Carmen shook her head.

“I don’t think so. She was pretty new to the scene, and I was on my way out. I’d only met her once or twice.”

Moreno met the apology on Carmen’s face with a quick shake of her head. “That’s okay. How about the guy? He got a name?”

“Something weird, like one of those MMA fighters. Fury? Or maybe Rage? Something like that. Huge guy. Longish dark hair. He gave me the fucking creeps. But he didn’t recognize me when I delivered the pizza, and I got the hell out of there, fast.”

Moreno nodded in encouragement. “Do you remember what club you were at when he asked you to the party?” she asked, but Carmen shook her head, reaching out to check the napkin dispenser by the register even though it was already full.

“No. I’m sorry. I ran the circuit that night, so it could’ve been half the clubs on the north side. A couple of them have even closed since then. It’s been a while.” She paused, her chin snapping up as if someone had just snuck up on her to yell boo, and concern washed over Isabella’s face.

“Carmen? What is it?”

“No. Nothing.”

But this time, rather than going all pit-bull on her, Isabella softened her demeanor and her voice to just above a whisper. “I think this guy is hurting people, Carmen, and I really need to find him. Help me out here. Please.”

“Danny Marcus. He and I used to…” Carmen dropped her gaze to the floor tiles. “He’s a john. Small-time dealer, he used to trade product for services. I just remembered that Danny was there that night, talking to the wrestler guy. I heard he’s running with a high-end group now, moving up in the game. Real fancy.”

Kellan thought of the background in the photos he’d found, and his heartbeat picked up the pace. It was a stretch—a yoga instructor’s wet dream, actually. But at least it was something.

Apparently, Moreno thought so, too. “You know where I can find him?”