the small of her back. By the time they got inside, she was squarely fifty-fifty on the question of asking him to stay. Well, maybe sixty-forty.
They rode up to the fourth floor along with one of her many, many neighbors. Not one she knew by name. Just a woman who kept giving Bax sidelong glances.
Finally, they were at her front door. He didn’t seem to be anxious to leave as she dug out her keys. Once the door was unlocked, she didn’t know what to do.
He made it simple.
“What time do you get to the hotel in the morning?”
“A quarter to eight, if the trains are on time.”
“I’ll meet you at the subway,” he said. “You lock up as soon as you’re inside.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He bowed just a little, just with his head. When he looked at her again, Mia’s throat tightened as she held her breath. His eyes had darkened and even though she could tell he had meant to walk away, he just looked at her.
It was as if the rest of the universe darkened and slipped away, leaving the two of them, straddling a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Bax swallowed and her gaze moved to his Adam’s apple, then back up to the stubble on his jaw, the slight parting of his lips. There was something unreal about him like this. A man that rugged shouldn’t look so hungry. Or maybe it was the other way around.
He leaned closer to her. Not by much. Not enough.
Her own lips parted, willing him to cross the threshold and kiss her, darn it.
But he stopped. Suddenly. As if he’d been slapped into his role as cop, as protector. He swallowed once more as he stepped back. “Lock up now,” he said, although with a much gruffer voice.
Mia watched him turn away, then she closed the door and locked it. But she didn’t move for a long while.
What to make of Baxter Milligan? She hadn’t a clue.
5
WHAT THE MOVIE PEOPLE called a trailer and he called a motor home was in the underground garage at Hush. It was a Winnebago-type deal times ten. Plush carpets, flat-panel TV, leather couches, marble counters. It was a hell of a lot nicer than Bax’s apartment and it made him wonder yet again about the public’s take on heroes. All Danny Austen did was dress up and pretend, and for that he got millions, adoration, trailers, women. It didn’t help that Bax had a headache and that he’d had to come to Austen instead of Austen coming to him.
He leaned back in the incredibly comfortable captain’s chair, waiting while Austen changed. Anxious to get the interview over with, Bax fiddled with his notebook, his pen, and kept thinking not about Danny Austen or Gerry Geiger but Mia Traverse.
As promised, he’d met her at the subway exit and made sure she got into the hotel safely. She’d had to go to her locker and change. He’d stood there like a damn fool long after the elevator had taken her away.
If she’d only known how virtuous he’d been last night. Okay, virtuous and tired. But man, he’d thought about her all the way home. And first thing this morning.
The universe had a wicked sense of humor.
He had to stop. This was the job. She was his informant. There was no way he could mix that with anything personal. Not just because it might taint her as a witness but because it would be completely inappropriate.
Not that such things hadn’t happened. He knew one cop, a good detective by the name of Wilson, who’d been assigned to protect a witness. She’d been married at the time, and so had he, but three months after the trial they both filed for divorce. He’d gone to the wedding.
No one ever asked Wilson if they’d started screwing around while he was on the clock. No one had to ask. Wilson was still in the department, only now he was a desk jockey. Probably because his new wife didn’t want him protecting anyone else.
It didn’t matter that Bax was leaving. He wanted his career to end as it had begun. With self-respect. With a sense of pride. He just wished he didn’t find her so damned attractive.
With a shake of his head he banished thoughts of Mia and focused once again on Danny Austen’s world. On the table next to him there was a script for this movie, a couple of other scripts and a boatload of tabloid magazines, most of them with Austen on the cover.
Bax wondered if any of the cover shots had been taken by Gerry Geiger. Danny Austen was connected to Bobbi Tamony on two covers, but several other stars on other magazines. Was any of it true? Or were these just convenient lies to hide another side of the famous heartthrob? The last thing Bax wanted to do was give those rags a moment of attention, but they might play a key role in this investigation. That horrible fact made his head hurt worse.
“You want a drink?”
Bax looked up to find Danny standing in front of the refrigerator. Danny got himself one of those high-energy drinks with loads of sugar and caffeine.
“You have any coffee?”
Danny offered a smile so brilliant it made Bax wince. He had to give it to the guy—he looked every inch the movie star. He was tall and it appeared that he was religious about his workouts. Still, there was something slightly off about him. The hair, the eyes, the teeth, they were all perfect. Had the perfection come first, or was it a natural progression of becoming a star? Not that it mattered. Perfection at any time wasn’t natural. People were flawed. If Austen’s blemishes weren’t on the outside, they were surely on the inside.
“Hold on.” Danny picked up a walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Riva?”
A voice came back, a woman, very clear. “I’m here.”
“Can you bring me some coffee?” Danny turned to Bax. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Yes,” he said.
“A whole service,’ kay?”
“Right there,” she said.
Danny put the walkie-talkie down, then sat across from Bax in a matching chair. “So, hell of a thing, Gerry getting killed, huh?”
“Yeah,” Bax said. “A hell of a thing.”
Austen widened his eyes. “You have any suspects?”
“Lots. Let’s try and make you not one of them, shall we?”
The guy winked at him. “I like your attitude. How can I help?”
Bax wondered whether the wink was a facial tic, or just something movie stars thought made them seem more accessible. Personally, he preferred to think it was a tic. “Want to tell me what you were doing the night of the murder?”
“Nothing special. I was released at ten, then I went to my suite and took a shower.”
“Released?”
“Yeah, I was finished shooting for the day. They try to release me before we go into overtime.”
“You get
