hand.
“Right.” Davis scratched a note on the paper. “When
was this?”
“Saturday.”
Davis stopped writing. “This Saturday?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, and licked her lips. “We just
met once.”
Damn. He’d been hoping to find someone more
girlfriendish. Someone with an axe to grind, who fancied herself in love, who
looked a little guilty.
This one hadn’t even known Tommy long enough to look
sad. She looked like she’d just as soon rip Davis’s clothes off as the
rapper’s.
A little creepy.
Carver’s incredulous expression said she was reading
the vibes loud and clear.
He glanced back at his notes. “And you just saw him
at the bar?”
“No, silly,” Amber said with a coy look, as if he
were teasing her. “I went home with him, of course.”
Davis glanced over her shoulder in time to see
Carver mouth, “Of course.”
“Did he mention being afraid? That anyone was after
him, or angry with him?”
Amber shook her head. “He didn’t mention anything.
We didn’t do much talking.”
Nice girl. Carver was now making explicit hand signs
and exaggerated ‘orgasm’ faces.
“I see. Did you talk to him since then?”
“No,” Amber answered with a little pout. “And he
said he’d call.”
Bet that ticked her off. “Maybe he was going to–”
“–but he ended up dead,” Carver finished. “Will you
be around if we need to ask any more questions, Miss Tompkins?”
“Oh yes,” Amber said with a smile. “I live here.”
Before Carver started kicking her in the ribs, too,
Davis grabbed her elbow and towed her toward the door, away from Amber.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said through clenched teeth
when Carver dug her nails into his arm. “We appreciate your time.”
“Oh, anytime,” Amber answered, waving red-lacquered
nails.
She stood at the door while Davis and Carver strode
to the elevator and headed for woman number eight out of thirty-two.
So far, they were batting a thousand on crazy.
* * *
As soon as the pigs drove off, Amber slammed the
door to her condo and stalked to the ashtray teetering on the cracked linoleum
counter. Lipstick-tinged Virginia Slims threatened to burst from their pink
plastic stronghold. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the brimming pile.
Amber’s unerring fingers extricated the still-lit
remains of her interrupted break. She brought the butt to her lips for one last
drag.
Damn damn damn.
If that preggo pig hadn’t been there, the sexy cop
would’ve been putty in her hands. Wide shoulders, over six feet tall… he wore
that suit like he’d been a born businessman.
Last thing she needed was a cop in her life, but if
he had to be there, she’d rather him sweaty and thrusting than quizzing her
about Tommy.
Why had they come? How did they find her?
No doubt it had something to do with that big-mouth
Lori.
Miss Sassypants strolls into the bank and not three
hours later, Abbot and Costello traipse up her drive. Coincidence? Ha. She
hadn’t been home long enough to finish a damn cigarette.
Amber lit another.
She yanked out one of the wicker chairs from under
the burn-marked card table and flopped onto the seat.
God, she hated this place. Sterile white walls,
palmetto bugs the size of her fist, the neighbor’s colicky brat howling through
the night. She’d have been out of there if she’d have got Tommy.
If it weren’t for stupid Lori. Today sucked.
Dry lips clung to the cigarette when Amber moved to
stub out the butt. She grabbed her purse. Had to be lip-gloss in there
somewhere. Any other day, five tubes of the crap would fall out while she was
looking for– Oh. She’d almost forgotten.
Amber’s manicured fingers smoothed out the sticky
note.
Cypress Circle. Pay dirt.
She pushed herself up from the chair and crossed to
the counter, ignoring the teetering pile of unwashed dishes. The window glass
might be smudged, but the view told her all she needed to know.
No cops. No movement in
“Right.” Davis scratched a note on the paper. “When
was this?”
“Saturday.”
Davis stopped writing. “This Saturday?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, and licked her lips. “We just
met once.”
Damn. He’d been hoping to find someone more
girlfriendish. Someone with an axe to grind, who fancied herself in love, who
looked a little guilty.
This one hadn’t even known Tommy long enough to look
sad. She looked like she’d just as soon rip Davis’s clothes off as the
rapper’s.
A little creepy.
Carver’s incredulous expression said she was reading
the vibes loud and clear.
He glanced back at his notes. “And you just saw him
at the bar?”
“No, silly,” Amber said with a coy look, as if he
were teasing her. “I went home with him, of course.”
Davis glanced over her shoulder in time to see
Carver mouth, “Of course.”
“Did he mention being afraid? That anyone was after
him, or angry with him?”
Amber shook her head. “He didn’t mention anything.
We didn’t do much talking.”
Nice girl. Carver was now making explicit hand signs
and exaggerated ‘orgasm’ faces.
“I see. Did you talk to him since then?”
“No,” Amber answered with a little pout. “And he
said he’d call.”
Bet that ticked her off. “Maybe he was going to–”
“–but he ended up dead,” Carver finished. “Will you
be around if we need to ask any more questions, Miss Tompkins?”
“Oh yes,” Amber said with a smile. “I live here.”
Before Carver started kicking her in the ribs, too,
Davis grabbed her elbow and towed her toward the door, away from Amber.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said through clenched teeth
when Carver dug her nails into his arm. “We appreciate your time.”
“Oh, anytime,” Amber answered, waving red-lacquered
nails.
She stood at the door while Davis and Carver strode
to the elevator and headed for woman number eight out of thirty-two.
So far, they were batting a thousand on crazy.
* * *
As soon as the pigs drove off, Amber slammed the
door to her condo and stalked to the ashtray teetering on the cracked linoleum
counter. Lipstick-tinged Virginia Slims threatened to burst from their pink
plastic stronghold. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the brimming pile.
Amber’s unerring fingers extricated the still-lit
remains of her interrupted break. She brought the butt to her lips for one last
drag.
Damn damn damn.
If that preggo pig hadn’t been there, the sexy cop
would’ve been putty in her hands. Wide shoulders, over six feet tall… he wore
that suit like he’d been a born businessman.
Last thing she needed was a cop in her life, but if
he had to be there, she’d rather him sweaty and thrusting than quizzing her
about Tommy.
Why had they come? How did they find her?
No doubt it had something to do with that big-mouth
Lori.
Miss Sassypants strolls into the bank and not three
hours later, Abbot and Costello traipse up her drive. Coincidence? Ha. She
hadn’t been home long enough to finish a damn cigarette.
Amber lit another.
She yanked out one of the wicker chairs from under
the burn-marked card table and flopped onto the seat.
God, she hated this place. Sterile white walls,
palmetto bugs the size of her fist, the neighbor’s colicky brat howling through
the night. She’d have been out of there if she’d have got Tommy.
If it weren’t for stupid Lori. Today sucked.
Dry lips clung to the cigarette when Amber moved to
stub out the butt. She grabbed her purse. Had to be lip-gloss in there
somewhere. Any other day, five tubes of the crap would fall out while she was
looking for– Oh. She’d almost forgotten.
Amber’s manicured fingers smoothed out the sticky
note.
Cypress Circle. Pay dirt.
She pushed herself up from the chair and crossed to
the counter, ignoring the teetering pile of unwashed dishes. The window glass
might be smudged, but the view told her all she needed to know.
No cops. No movement in
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