Free Lucky Break by Deborah Coonts Page A

in and out.   A serious-faced youngster playing dress-up as a Metro cop leaned over to peer inside—no privacy with the top down.   “May I help you?”
    “Lucky O’Toole, I own this place.   Well along with several banks and a hedge fund, but you get my drift.”
    “Some identification, please.”
    “You really think some bad guy is going to roll up here in a fire-engine red with the top down?”   I’d let Paolo go home at the end of his shift and had borrowed a car from the Ferrari dealership in the hotel.
    “You’d be surprised.”
    “And discouraged,” I muttered as I dug through my Birkin, an extravagant gift from the Big Boss.   I’d abandoned my evening purse—a small showpiece short on functionality.   “Everything important seems to hide at the bottom.”   My hand brushed the butt of my Glock that I’d tossed in at the last minute.   My father told me never to carry a gun unless I was ready to use it.   I was ready and wishful.
    The cop seemed nonplussed by my explanation and steadfast in his demand.   A few curious Holt Box devotees, as identified by their T-shirts in garish hot pink and gold, took an interest and wandered over.   One guy snapped a few photos, doing little to help my abysmal mood.   If tonight got any worse, I would hop the next jet to anywhere … if only I could find my credit card and ID.
    My hand closed around my wallet.   “Aha!” I shouted as if I’d discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.   But, alas, my luck had run out some time ago, and with no leprechauns in sight, I doubted that would change anytime soon.
    The cop waved me through.
    This time, when I walked through the lobby of Cielo, it had lost its energy.   The party was over.   The police clustered in the corner comparing notes. Romeo was back, listening, occasionally asking a question as he jotted in his notebook.   A couple of security guys seemed to be on the hot seat.  
    Romeo stepped away from the group after silencing the questioning so we could talk and he wouldn’t miss anything.   We met under the Chihuly chandelier of bright glass swirls in the center of the lobby.
    This night so far had added years to his face. Still, he looked all of twelve. “Man, I am so dogged.   Getting too old for this,” he announced, a beleaguered pro caught in the vise.
    “Barking up the wrong tree, kid.   I’ve got empathy, but running real short on sympathy.”
    “This totally sucks.”
    I refused to be sucked into despondency.   If I didn’t keep steering the boat through the storm, I’d be swamped by a wave and sink to the bottom.   “You got anything?”
    He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.   “Nobody saw Teddie’s white-coated guy.”
    “I did.”  
    His eyes snapped open, and his fatigue vanished.   “Why didn’t you say that before?”
    “I did.   Told you he reminded me of Irv Gittings.   Remember?”
    “Yeah, that’s right.   Man, this case has me chasing my tail.”   He gave me a worried, distracted look.
    I knew the feeling.   Teddie.
    “Anything to go on other than you saw him?” Romeo asked, trying to do his job.   “Could you recognize him again?”
    “I only caught him from the back, with a slight profile.   I’m not sure I could recognize my own father if that was the only view I got.”
    Romeo deflated.
    “But there is a bright spot.”
    Romeo didn’t rise to the bait.   He was really taking this Teddie thing personally.  
    “Kid, if we find the real killer, then Teddie’s home free.”
    “But what if … ?”
    “No what-ifs.” I pressed his copy of the photo Jerry had given me into his hand.   “Start here.   This is the guy we’re looking for.”
    Romeo focused on the photo.   “Not a very good photo.   It almost seems like he knew exactly what he was doing, giving us something but not enough.”
    “Like maybe he’s in the system?”
    Romeo shrugged.   “You know him?”
    “No.   But I just can’t