forehead. “I can’t believe I threw away my suit. It was just stage blood, colored gel. How hard could it be to clean?”
“About that.” Joe stroked his goatee and studied her with unnerving patience. “You do know “Spy Girl” is on hiatus.”
She smirked. “How could I not know the schedule of my own show? Oh, wait.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I mentioned my stunt double, didn’t I? I don’t know why I did that. I just, I had a sense that I screwed up an action scene. I’m certain my being here is work related. It must have been another kind of shoot.”
“The gun’s real, Sofia.”
Her skin prickled. “Real?”
“You said you threw away your suit. Where?”
The gun was
real
? “The ladies room down the hall from the lounge. I vaguely remember stripping in the stall and shoving the suit in the garbage pail.” She looked away, embarrassed. “I’d had a few drinks by then.”
He pushed a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of dry toast in her direction. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”
“I’d rather have a cigarette.”
He reached into his shorts’ pocket, offered her a stick of gum, Wrigley’s Spearmint. She remembered he’d tasted like spearmint when he’d kissed her all those months ago. She resisted the memory and his offer.
Emotionless, he pocketed the gum, and moved toward the desk.
Goosebumps rose on her arms when he opened the drawer and removed the handgun in question. “If that’s a real gun, then the blood on my skirt could have been real.”
“Your legs and feet are pretty banged up. Could have been your blood.”
She wanted to believe that. She clasped her hands in her lap, fidgeted. “What if I did something wrong? What if I hurt someone and …”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” He snatched up his cell phone. “Eat so we can get out of here. We’ve got a mystery to solve.”
She envisioned all sorts of bizarre tabloid headlines.
An overnight success ruined overnight
. She thought about her sister and Murphy. How they wanted to adopt a child. Would an agency reject them based on a relative’s mistakes? “I can’t afford a scandal.”
He frowned as he placed a call. “Then we’ll do our best to avoid one.”
She heard him ask for Special Agent in Charge, Creed. “But …”
“Trust me.”
He may as well have asked her for the moon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A nything?”
“Zip.” Frank tossed the newspaper aside. He’d read three local rag sheets cover to cover. No mention of last night’s debacle. It seemed too good to be true. Why hadn’t the Marino dame run to the cops? Unless, she didn’t want the world to know where she’d been, or more precisely who’d she’d been with. Maybe her career couldn’t withstand the scandal. Maybe she was going to pretend like it never happened. Or maybe, just maybe the crazy bitch planned on blackmailing them as soon as she regrouped and figured out how to establish contact. The world was full of greedy people who worked all sorts of angles.
He cracked open a warm beer and swallowed his first painkiller of the day. Bottom line, her silence afforded him and Jesse the upper hand. Career thieves, this was their first and last professional hit, the payoff big enough to fund an early retirement. He refused to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder like their Wild West namesakes.
No loose ends
.
Frank rose from the economy motel’s sagging twin mattress and crossed to the bathroom. He winced when he caught sight of his battered face in the bureau mirror. Disgusted, he adjusted the angle of his Stetson hoping to shadow the swelling. He’d never been a handsome man, never known women to drool over him the way they did his little brother. Jesse had the face and body of an angel, according to the ladies. He could easily get laid seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Thing was, being a germ-o-phobe, Jesse wasn’t all that interested in swapping bodily fluids with a woman. Where was the
“About that.” Joe stroked his goatee and studied her with unnerving patience. “You do know “Spy Girl” is on hiatus.”
She smirked. “How could I not know the schedule of my own show? Oh, wait.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I mentioned my stunt double, didn’t I? I don’t know why I did that. I just, I had a sense that I screwed up an action scene. I’m certain my being here is work related. It must have been another kind of shoot.”
“The gun’s real, Sofia.”
Her skin prickled. “Real?”
“You said you threw away your suit. Where?”
The gun was
real
? “The ladies room down the hall from the lounge. I vaguely remember stripping in the stall and shoving the suit in the garbage pail.” She looked away, embarrassed. “I’d had a few drinks by then.”
He pushed a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of dry toast in her direction. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”
“I’d rather have a cigarette.”
He reached into his shorts’ pocket, offered her a stick of gum, Wrigley’s Spearmint. She remembered he’d tasted like spearmint when he’d kissed her all those months ago. She resisted the memory and his offer.
Emotionless, he pocketed the gum, and moved toward the desk.
Goosebumps rose on her arms when he opened the drawer and removed the handgun in question. “If that’s a real gun, then the blood on my skirt could have been real.”
“Your legs and feet are pretty banged up. Could have been your blood.”
She wanted to believe that. She clasped her hands in her lap, fidgeted. “What if I did something wrong? What if I hurt someone and …”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” He snatched up his cell phone. “Eat so we can get out of here. We’ve got a mystery to solve.”
She envisioned all sorts of bizarre tabloid headlines.
An overnight success ruined overnight
. She thought about her sister and Murphy. How they wanted to adopt a child. Would an agency reject them based on a relative’s mistakes? “I can’t afford a scandal.”
He frowned as he placed a call. “Then we’ll do our best to avoid one.”
She heard him ask for Special Agent in Charge, Creed. “But …”
“Trust me.”
He may as well have asked her for the moon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A nything?”
“Zip.” Frank tossed the newspaper aside. He’d read three local rag sheets cover to cover. No mention of last night’s debacle. It seemed too good to be true. Why hadn’t the Marino dame run to the cops? Unless, she didn’t want the world to know where she’d been, or more precisely who’d she’d been with. Maybe her career couldn’t withstand the scandal. Maybe she was going to pretend like it never happened. Or maybe, just maybe the crazy bitch planned on blackmailing them as soon as she regrouped and figured out how to establish contact. The world was full of greedy people who worked all sorts of angles.
He cracked open a warm beer and swallowed his first painkiller of the day. Bottom line, her silence afforded him and Jesse the upper hand. Career thieves, this was their first and last professional hit, the payoff big enough to fund an early retirement. He refused to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder like their Wild West namesakes.
No loose ends
.
Frank rose from the economy motel’s sagging twin mattress and crossed to the bathroom. He winced when he caught sight of his battered face in the bureau mirror. Disgusted, he adjusted the angle of his Stetson hoping to shadow the swelling. He’d never been a handsome man, never known women to drool over him the way they did his little brother. Jesse had the face and body of an angel, according to the ladies. He could easily get laid seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Thing was, being a germ-o-phobe, Jesse wasn’t all that interested in swapping bodily fluids with a woman. Where was the
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