inched closer, his hand steady and his finger sliding to the trigger. “I’m counting to three. If you don’t happen to remember by then where I can find your boss lady, you won’t be remembering anything ever again. And if you lie to me, I’ll track you down and yank your heart out through your throat.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“One.”
She didn’t want to die. She wanted to wear the beautiful bridal lingerie. Wanted to marry Enrico. Wanted to have his children. “This is about that video isn’t it? Trish doesn’t have your stupid video.”
“Two.”
She heard a siren. The cops were on the way.
“Three.”
LANGSTON’S CELL PHONE RANG at nine-thirty the next morning. The ID read Aidan Jefferies. Good. He knew he could count on his detective buddy to work quickly. “Any luck?”
“Some. Gary Packard’s got a clean record except for one count of domestic violence against his wife. That was ten years ago. They’ve divorced since.”
“What about Buck Rivers?”
“He’s been in Dallas for four years and has had several arrests—no convictions. He always seems to be around trouble, but there’s never any proof that he’s in it. He’s been working as a bouncer at one of the local gentleman’s clubs for the past six months. One of the dancers reported he’d beaten her up a month ago, but later recanted the charges. There’s probably a lot more on him, but that was all I could get with phone calls to the DPD. I’ll follow up, but I could fax that to you if you’d like hard copy.”
“We barely have indoor plumbing here.” He stepped outside the door so that Trish wouldn’t overhear his next question. “Did you get any information on Trish Cantrell?”
“She bought the Cottage Boutique five years ago after moving to the States from London. No police record. Not even an unpaid parking ticket. So are you heading back to Houston today?”
“That’s the plan. I’ll give you a call later.” He thanked Aidan again, broke the connection and went back inside.
Trish had showered and was dressed in the same clothes she’d had on last night. The shorts showed off her tan and terrific thighs and the pale pink T-shirt fit just snug enough to cup beneath her breasts. Her hair was still damp but curling about her cheeks.
He forced his gaze away. The close quarters were definitely getting to him. “I could use some breakfast,” he said.
“I still have an apple.”
“I’m thinking more like bacon and eggs.”
“I could go for that. I’m starved, and I actually got some sound sleep last night for the first time since the carjacking.”
“Good.”
“And I’ve made some decisions.” She propped her bottom on the arm of the faded sofa. “I’ll hire a private investigator to look into the mystery tape and a bodyguard to protect me until I know exactly who’s behind all of this.”
And just like that he’d be out of her life again. He should feel relieved, but his knee-jerk reaction felt more like a punch to the gut. “What about Gina?”
“I’ll hire a bodyguard for her, too. Now shall we go somewhere and find breakfast? I’d like to head back to Dallas as soon as possible.”
His cell phone ran. Aidan, again. He took the call.
“Breaking news,” Aidan said. “I just heard from a friend with the DPD that Selena Hernandez’s body was found minutes ago inside the Cottage Boutique. She was shot twice in the head at close range. A cop found her when he answered a silent alarm she’d apparently set off before she was shot.”
“Sonofabitch.”
“Yeah. Looks like Trish Cantrell is playing with some real sweet guys. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear anything else.”
Langston was trying to decide how to break the news to Trish when his phone rang again. This time it was Celeste. He let it ring. She’d never understand why he was bringing an old girlfriend involved with a killer home with him.
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