Page 54 of Tequila Tuesdays

He ran a hand through his hair. “One of my biggest clients was burglarized early Sunday morning.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

He sighed. “The thief shut the security system off with a valid code, then robbed the house.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yeah. He got scary quiet. His safe was also robbed, but we didn’t install that.”

“Did he try to blame you guys?” I asked.

“No. I think he might have a couple of ideas, but he didn’t share them. Someone with a code shut off the system and most of the cameras.”

I paused. “Mostof the cameras?”

He nodded and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah. Zeke’s not very trusting and doesn’t like to depend on one system. So we sometimes set up a few simple hidden motion sensor cameras.”

“How does that work?”

“They record, but the recordings have to be retrieved.”

“Do your clients know about the additional cameras?” I asked.

Damien nodded. “Yes. But most of them forget.”

“What can I help you with tonight?”

He took another sip of beer. “I need you to be a witness and a buffer when I go over to my client’s house and play what we found on one of the cameras.”

I nodded. “I’m happy to go with you, but why aren’t you taking Sebastian or Zeke?”

“Zeke is out of town doing some work in Riverside, and Sebastian doesn’t have the patience for this kind of thing. He’s more apt to make the situation worse.”

That was probably true. Sebastian wasn’t very talkative or particularly friendly. I guess it wasn’t surprising he and I got along.

His client’s house was located in one of the most exclusive gated golf communities in the La Quinta and Palm Desert area. The residence was a sprawling, white modern structure with a massive, manicured yard and a swimming pool. The garage alone was probably three times the size of my house.

“Who’s your client?” I finally asked.

“A retired professional hockey player, but his primary home is in Canada. He has a stake in the new Seattle team that’s starting up next season, and they have a feeder team in Palm Springs now. We should go catch one of their games.”

“I’d go with you. Martina and I talked about it the other day. Hockey is a great sport; they can get away withsomuch shit. This is Connor McCoy’s house, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But he’s not in town much,” Damien answered.

“Martina told me she knows his local assistant. The woman recently quit, and she said Connor’s brother is Lucifer reincarnated.”

We walked up to the enormous front door and Damien pressed the doorbell. He had his laptop with him. A large tasteful Christmas wreath hung on the front door, and I could see a glimpse of a massive, professionally decorated Christmas tree through the side panel next to the front door.

It reminded me I hadn’t decorated for Christmas yet, and Olivia was coming in a few days. A sibilant chime rang through the house, and a moment later a fit, middle-aged man with laugh lines around his eyes opened the door.

He seemed relieved to see us. “Hello, Damien. Come in.”

“Javier, this is Harley. She’s working with me tonight. Harley, Javier is Connor’s property manager and landscaper. He lives on the property in the smaller home.”

Javier didn’t waste time. “Connor’s brother is blaming the break-in on Isa. There’s no proof because she’d never do this. Her biggest faults are she’s got a sharp tongue and has poor taste in music.”

“Who’s Isa?” I asked.

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