so high, if you were here right now, I swear I'd take you on a ride you'd never forget."
Quincy groaned, which made her laugh. "You're killing me here, babe."
"Speaking of killing," she rolled to her side, propped herself up on an elbow, "wouldn't it be something if Sweet Baby Jane ended up dead, too, before this was all over?"
Quincy made a sound of agreement. "Yeah. Wouldn't that be something? This Grimm character—you thinking he's going to come after her again?"
Chris smiled. "He almost killed her once."
"The world loves a dead artist, I always say. Think of the bucks you'd make off this documentary then."
"Way ahead of you there, pal."
"Going to be interesting to wait this out, see what unfolds, huh?"
"You know me, Quin. I'm not the waiting kind."
"Say what? What are you up to?"
Chris laughed at the shock in Quincy's voice. He had her pegged. She'd been known to "help things along" from time to time to elevate the drama level of a story. "Nothing. I'm up to nothing. Don't mind me, okay? Too many late nights. Love you, babe. I've got to go."
She headed for the shower after she hung up with Quincy, who would be shocked if he knew how much Chris thought about Janey Perkins's demise. Thought about it so much, in fact, that sometimes it scared her. She'd even caught herself plotting ways to facilitate Janey's death.
She'd never actually do it, of course—but it wasn't against the law to think about it, right?
"The world loves a dead artist."
The play this film would get if Sweet Baby Jane suddenly turned up dead would make Chris a fortune.
She lathered up her hair, thinking that she'd been chasing the dream of megasuccess for the last ten of her thirty-one years. Near misses. Always, the best she came up with were near misses. She'd watched competitors upstage and outgun her time and time again. And she hated—absolutely hated—that her career was going nowhere.
But... if a famous star whom Chris just happened to be filming ended up getting whacked. Well. An almost orgasmic shiver eddied through her. Hell, she could end up optioning her footage for millions.
She dried her hair, then got dressed for the meet she'd set up for later tonight. Had to be tonight, because Janey Perkins would return to the tour here in Atlantic City tomorrow.
"Yeah. It would sure be something if Janey Perkins ended up dead," Chris said aloud, and headed out the door for her appointment. Okay. Dead might be going a little too far—but a close call... well, that was something she might be able to make happen. And she knew just whose buttons to push to do it.
Saturday, July 15th, two days after the funeral, Gold's Gym, Atlantic City
Janey felt the impact from her ankle to her hip as she aimed a hard kick that landed her heel dead center in her opponent's midsection. When he doubled over, she pivoted and clipped Bryce Jennings behind the ear with her calf, dropping him like a stone.
The gym's trainer fell to the mat with a thudding grunt. "Mother of God. Who've you been taking lessons from? Bruce Lee?"
Sweat dripped into her eyes and down the small of her back. The hair she'd drawn into a loose tail on top of her head was drenched and falling into her face; her breath came fast and deep. She was revved and she was rockin'. And she'd gotten carried away. "Sorry. Didn't mean to drop you so hard."
To his credit, Bryce laughed as he rolled to a sitting position. "The hell you didn't."
Janey conceded with a guilty smile, Okay. She'd put her all into that kick. She'd needed contact. She'd needed crunch. She'd been more than edgy lately, and poor Bryce had just borne the brunt of her excess tension. "Well... I'm still sorry. I should have pulled the kick."
"Hey—you took me clean. You're out of my league, Ms. Perkins. Who did you train with?"
"Actually, she's self-taught." Max entered the closed workout room along with Baby
Quincy groaned, which made her laugh. "You're killing me here, babe."
"Speaking of killing," she rolled to her side, propped herself up on an elbow, "wouldn't it be something if Sweet Baby Jane ended up dead, too, before this was all over?"
Quincy made a sound of agreement. "Yeah. Wouldn't that be something? This Grimm character—you thinking he's going to come after her again?"
Chris smiled. "He almost killed her once."
"The world loves a dead artist, I always say. Think of the bucks you'd make off this documentary then."
"Way ahead of you there, pal."
"Going to be interesting to wait this out, see what unfolds, huh?"
"You know me, Quin. I'm not the waiting kind."
"Say what? What are you up to?"
Chris laughed at the shock in Quincy's voice. He had her pegged. She'd been known to "help things along" from time to time to elevate the drama level of a story. "Nothing. I'm up to nothing. Don't mind me, okay? Too many late nights. Love you, babe. I've got to go."
She headed for the shower after she hung up with Quincy, who would be shocked if he knew how much Chris thought about Janey Perkins's demise. Thought about it so much, in fact, that sometimes it scared her. She'd even caught herself plotting ways to facilitate Janey's death.
She'd never actually do it, of course—but it wasn't against the law to think about it, right?
"The world loves a dead artist."
The play this film would get if Sweet Baby Jane suddenly turned up dead would make Chris a fortune.
She lathered up her hair, thinking that she'd been chasing the dream of megasuccess for the last ten of her thirty-one years. Near misses. Always, the best she came up with were near misses. She'd watched competitors upstage and outgun her time and time again. And she hated—absolutely hated—that her career was going nowhere.
But... if a famous star whom Chris just happened to be filming ended up getting whacked. Well. An almost orgasmic shiver eddied through her. Hell, she could end up optioning her footage for millions.
She dried her hair, then got dressed for the meet she'd set up for later tonight. Had to be tonight, because Janey Perkins would return to the tour here in Atlantic City tomorrow.
"Yeah. It would sure be something if Janey Perkins ended up dead," Chris said aloud, and headed out the door for her appointment. Okay. Dead might be going a little too far—but a close call... well, that was something she might be able to make happen. And she knew just whose buttons to push to do it.
Saturday, July 15th, two days after the funeral, Gold's Gym, Atlantic City
Janey felt the impact from her ankle to her hip as she aimed a hard kick that landed her heel dead center in her opponent's midsection. When he doubled over, she pivoted and clipped Bryce Jennings behind the ear with her calf, dropping him like a stone.
The gym's trainer fell to the mat with a thudding grunt. "Mother of God. Who've you been taking lessons from? Bruce Lee?"
Sweat dripped into her eyes and down the small of her back. The hair she'd drawn into a loose tail on top of her head was drenched and falling into her face; her breath came fast and deep. She was revved and she was rockin'. And she'd gotten carried away. "Sorry. Didn't mean to drop you so hard."
To his credit, Bryce laughed as he rolled to a sitting position. "The hell you didn't."
Janey conceded with a guilty smile, Okay. She'd put her all into that kick. She'd needed contact. She'd needed crunch. She'd been more than edgy lately, and poor Bryce had just borne the brunt of her excess tension. "Well... I'm still sorry. I should have pulled the kick."
"Hey—you took me clean. You're out of my league, Ms. Perkins. Who did you train with?"
"Actually, she's self-taught." Max entered the closed workout room along with Baby
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