tangled wreckage. Nor was it just the faces of the dead but also those that had turned up to gawp at them. Metinides was the rubberneckers’ rubbernecker.
It was Mexico City and much of it was decades ago but to Winter it could have as easily been Maryhill or Mount Vernon right here, right now. The photographs reached the dark places inside him and Narey knew that too, although neither of them had ever said it. She knew how Metinides had inspired him, she just didn’t quite know why. That was why she teased and tormented him to try and get to the bottom of it.
‘Don’t be shy about it,’ she mocked now. ‘It’s cool that you are so into something. The passion is a turn-on. Tell me more.’
Part of him wanted to tell her to fuck off. Not in a bad way, just in a leave-it-alone kind of way. He reached an arm around, pulling her close and feeling her body yield to his touch.
‘A turn-on, is it? Come here then.’
‘I want to hear more first,’ she continued. ‘You’ve never really told me why you are so into it.’
Yeah well, there’s a reason for that, he thought. Guilty secrets. They’d played this game too often though, and he wasn’t ready to offer up any more of himself just yet.
‘There’s something you haven’t told me about either,’ he tried, to change the subject.
‘Oh yes?’ She looked doubtful. ‘What’s that then?’
‘The hooker that was found murdered in Wellington Lane. What’s happening with her?’
Rachel’s eyes narrowed and it was obvious she didn’t want to go there, which suited him just fine.
‘You’re right,’ she conceded. ‘I didn’t tell you about it.’
‘Well?’
‘There’s not a lot happening,’ she admitted. ‘Our enquiries are continuing, as they say.’
Her tone was changing, warning him off, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d taken a kicking to veer her away from places he didn’t want her to go.
‘What is this? The ten o’clock news? That’s all I get?’
‘We’re getting nowhere with it, okay? The poor girl was left dead with her knickers round her ankles. It’s been the shittiest part of an already shitty week and I don’t want to go over it all again.’
She paused and Winter sensed a counter-punch coming.
‘I bet your creepy Mexican guy would have loved to have photographed her though . . .’
‘He wasn’t cree—’
Damn her. She was grinning at him and he was annoyed at himself for falling for it.
‘Come on,’ she continued. ‘Photographing dead bodies? What else would you call it?’
‘Ha bloody ha. Fuck off.’
She giggled.
‘Come on, tell me about him, then. What was his thing? And why is his thing your thing?’
No, he thought, enough was enough.
‘Forget it. Talking time is over. Playtime again.’
He made a grab at her but she easily ducked away from him, twisting her body out of reach and asking again. ‘And why have you got it so bad?’
He grabbed her, placing a hand over her mouth but she playfully bit it. He pulled her on top of him, happy to wrestle rather than talk any more. Just as he was thinking that they were heading for round two, her mobile rang and she rolled off him to answer it, laughing as she picked up the receiver.
‘Hello? Oh, hi. What’s . . .’
The smile froze on her face.
‘Shit . . . No way . . . Fuck. What happened? Uh huh . . . Right, okay. Soon as I can.’
The look on her face as she hung up left Winter in no doubt that there wouldn’t be a second round. She sat looking vaguely at the wardrobe but he knew she was looking much farther away.
‘Well?’
‘That was Addison. Malky Quinn has been shot. Through the head. By a sniper.’
CHAPTER 8
‘Shit.’
‘That’s pretty much what I said,’ Narey intoned, her eyes briefly closed. ‘Right, I’ve got to go in. Happened half an hour ago. Quinn stepped out of his car to go into his converted ranch thing in Kinnear Road and bang. Place is going fucking mental.’
‘Retaliation for
J. Gregory Keyes
Stephen Humphrey Bogart
Patricia Fry
Jonathan Williams
Christopher Buehlman
Jenna Chase, Elise Kelby
K. Elliott
John Scalzi
G. Michael Hopf
Alicia J. Chumney