Evil to the Max (18 page)

Witt waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. “Good work. You’ve got a cop’s instincts.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” She went into attack mode, not wanting Witt to know how much she liked his compliment.

He took her arm and walked with her to the truck. “Backup. In case you hit trouble.”

“Thanks, but I can handle trouble all by myself,” she said as Witt pressed close to open the passenger-side door for her. She couldn’t climb into the truck without rubbing her butt against him. Bad idea. She stood her ground and glared at him over her shoulder. “And I think the worst trouble I’m in is from you, Detective.”

He fingered a lock of her hair, then inhaled deeply. “That’s not trouble, Max. That’s heaven.”

She pursed her lips. Very librarian. But heat rushed straight up between her legs. “Back off, buster, or I’ll have to jam my elbow in your ribs.”

Instead he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. Goosebumps peppered her arms. He was electric. “What’s this about Ariel Sanchez?”

Expecting sweet nothings, she turned and leaned back, stopped only by the ridge of the passenger seat in the small of her back. “How do you know about Ariel?”

He winked. “Eavesdropping, remember? Plus, I had a few beers at the local cop hang-out. Kept my ears open. Isn’t that what you wanted? The guys think she’s a looker.”

On the other side of the truck, a car pulled into the lot. Witt watched it over her shoulder.

“Well? Are the cops suspicious of her?”

“Not particularly.”

“Are you going to tell them what Nadine said?”

“If I find the right opening.” His breath tickled her temple. He fingered a button on her white shirt right between her breasts. “Is this the right opening?”

His scent awoke the sleeping monster inside. Tiffany yawned, stretched, and started to buzz with sexuality.

Max put her fist to his chest and pushed. “Would you be serious? We’re talking about murder here.”

“I do seriously want you.”

She rolled her eyes.

He held up his hands in surrender. “All right. Table that one for later. What do you think of Ariel Sanchez as our killer?”

“I’m leaning more towards Nadine.”

“Why?”

He was serious. He really wanted her opinion. “She’s got an ax to grind. She wants Jake for herself. She’s older and uglier than Tiffany.” God, that sounded bitchy. Tiffany again. “She’s probably hated her sister from the time they were kids.”

“Damn, you don’t pull any punches, lady.”

“I’m no lady.”

His blue eyes sparked, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, Max, you definitely are a lady, but don’t get me started again. Might not be able to stop myself this time.”

His words fizzed like champagne bubbles in her bloodstream.
Danger Will Robinson
. Witt still had her cornered inside the vee of the door. Though, thank you Lord, he wasn’t close enough to breathe down her neck any more. Max tried to ignore him. At least certain parts of him. “Nadine is one angry woman.”

“Why’d she blab her innermost secrets to you?”

“Because I have the kind of face that causes people to bare their souls?”

“I’m ready to bare whatever you want.”

She slugged him in the arm. And she wasn’t doing a great job at ignoring those
certain
parts of him. “I’m walking home if you don’t quit.”

“You don’t really want me to quit. Fighting me is half your fun.” He smiled wickedly. “Giving in’ll be so much better. But what about Nadine? Use your cop instincts, sweetheart.”

She tingled with the endearment. So casual. So Cameronesque. “You’re the cop. You’re better at it.”

“I’ll teach you.”

Oh mama, what Tiffany would love to teach
him
. “So you want me to ask the ‘why’ question?”

He nodded, giving her that devilish, sexy grin again. She tried to ignore it, tried to ignore his mouth.

“Okay. Why did she tell me?” Hmmm. Why? “I figured it was because she had all this stuff just dammed up inside, and it needed to come out.”

“Try again. Remember that everything has a purpose, a reason. Cops have to find those reasons.”

Max cocked her head. “She wanted to incriminate Jake?”

He beamed, chucked her under the chin. “Exactly. Provided his motive.”

Max pushed his hand away. “But if she wanted to incriminate him, why give him an alibi?”

“Might have been giving
herself
an alibi.”

She arched her eyebrows and beamed at him. “Whoa. I like the way you cops think. This is cool. And just to throw me off, she tossed in that bit about Ariel.”

“You’re getting it, sweetheart.”

Damn, she was just too happy with his praise. “But why me?”

“Yeah, why?” he prodded.

“Because she’s not stupid. She knew I was the one who’d asked Jake questions.”

“You’re getting it. Back to my original question; since Nadine brought her up, what about Ariel?”

In defense of Ariel, Max returned to what Cameron had said earlier. “According to Nadine, Tiffany stole Ariel’s husband three years ago. Why wait all this time? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Surprising what people do, how long they’ll plot and plan before they execute.”

He was too sure of himself, too know-it-all. She narrowed her eyes. “Those cops said something about her, didn’t they?”

He held up his big hands. “Nothing. Swear it. They didn’t think she had much of an ax to grind.”

“Why don’t I believe you? You’ve got some ulterior motive here.”

“Curiosity, Max. Simple curiosity.” Relaxed again, Witt put one hand on the top of the cab, the other on the door, boxing her in.

He was too close, too big, and too damn cute with that shit-eating grin of his. She picked on him just to keep an emotional distance. “Yeah, and because the great Detective Witt Long never overlooks a suspect?”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “Who
don’t
you suspect?”

That was an odd way of putting it. It made her think of Bud Traynor, the one she
most
suspected. But she wasn’t about to breathe his name to Witt. There was the question of psychic hunches still between them, and while Witt was willing to believe she was capable of it, he’d think she was delusional if she mentioned Traynor. He’d think the man was her obsession.

It was best to keep Witt out of the Traynor thing altogether, so she answered only the question he’d asked. “I don’t suspect the husband.” She shrugged. “Not much anyway. He was jealous. But he still wanted ...”

She stopped, suddenly uncomfortable. She simply didn’t want to get into the sex thing with Witt, especially not when he had her virtually trapped in the vee of the truck door. All she had to do was hoist herself up onto the seat, invite him closer ... damn, she was bringing on another Tiffany fantasy.

“Yeah, Max?”

She shrugged off the feeling. She only hoped Witt wouldn’t choose this moment for one of his frequent sexual innuendoes. “He wanted ... what they did that night as much as she did. He liked it when she included him in her games. So, I don’t think he needed to kill her right then. Maybe another time. But not that night.”

“Maybe he snapped. People do. Things go along day after day, and then,
kaboom
.”

Ah, no sexual aside from him. Thank God. She focused on what really bothered her about the night Tiffany died. “More went on here than people exploding. Someone watched her. She knew, and she was playing with fire. She liked it, but it burned her in the end.”

“Who was watching?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It could have been Miles. It could have been the janitor, Jules.”

Though she absolutely hated the idea of Jules. Worse than Ariel. Jules was sweet. She wanted him untouched by the evil around him.

Still, Nadine had said Tiffany didn’t like older men, which left Jules the better choice over Miles.

“Jules?”

She fluttered her eyelashes, glad to finally have one up on him. “Our esteemed detectives didn’t mention Jules?”

“No Jules, no janitor. Sounds interesting, though.”

She regretted for a minute having said anything at all. “He’s a little funny in the head. I can’t picture him killing Tiffany, then being smart enough to dump her miles from home.”

“Don’t forget the
two
in Snake’s ... vision.” It bothered her a tad that he had to search for the word.

“I suppose someone could have helped him dispose of the body.” But she still didn’t like the idea of Jules being involved.

He drummed his fingers on the roof of the truck. “Maybe I’ll ask the guys about the janitor. Get them thinking.”

No, don’t
. She managed to stop the words before they popped out. She was sorry to make trouble for Jules, but ... she also couldn’t be sure he
wasn’t
Tiffany’s watcher.

“What about Pippa Louise Lamont?”

Max twisted her mouth. “Grade-A bitch. She’s capable of murder. But if she has a motive, it’s hard to see.” She didn’t believe for a minute that Pippa cared if Miles was schtupping his stylists. “What did your cop buddies say about her?”

“Lead thinks she’s a cool number, but no apparent motive. They’re still trying to break Nadine Johnson. My bet’s on the husband. Beaten to death. Not a female MO.”

Beaten to death. No, that wasn’t what women did to each other. It was what men did. And men could do so much more. She closed her eyes, gripped the door frame above the window, and for just a minute she could feel a boot in her ribs, her bones cracking, the breath, the very life kicked from her.

Workboots, like the ones Jake had worn last night when he found her beside his truck.

Like the ones Witt wore now. She rubbed her arms, shivering

“Max?” She came out of it to find Witt hovering close. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking about Snake.” The lie came easily, as easily as shoving memories of Cameron’s last night back into the hollowed-out hole where her heart used to be. “Whatever he’s got in that locker will lead us right to Tiffany’s killer. I feel it in my marrow.”

He traced a finger down the side of her throat. She shuddered involuntarily. “How do you know these things?”

They seemed to ooze out of that same black hole that swallowed her bad memories. She didn’t tell him that. “Dreams. Visions. Sometimes I touch things—and I just
know
. I already told you all about it, remember?”

“Yeah. But then why don’t you know what Snake’s hiding?”

Because sometimes she didn’t understand what she saw. Or didn’t want to. “I don’t have all the answers, you know.”

Darkness had fallen. Streetlights sprang to life. In late September, once the sun was down, the nights could turn cold quickly. Max shivered in the cool air. Witt rubbed his hands up and down her arms. He stood close.
Kiss me, Witt
. The words hovered on her lips. “Well, so that chore’s done. You know, I’m tired. Why don’t we look for Snake tomorrow?”

Witt smiled knowingly, dropped his hands to his sides, and stepped back. “Afraid to spend too much time alone with me, Max?”

“It’s Friday. I’m sure you’ve got a hot date.”

“Jealous?”

She rolled her eyes and ignored the little internal voice that quickly answered
yes
. “Hopeful, aren’t you? I need my beauty rest, and I can’t get it with you keeping me up all hours of the night.”

“I’ll take you home after we look for Snake. Scout’s honor, no later than nine.”

She thought about it a moment. Traynor wouldn’t be home before midnight. At the earliest. “It’s a deal.”

She put the flat of her hand against his chest and shoved. He stumbled back two paces, far enough for her to climb unencumbered into the truck and shut the door. Whew, that was a close call.

Once in the driver’s seat, Witt grinned wryly. “I get the feeling I got the short end of the stick on this one.”

Max didn’t bother to answer, because he
had
gotten the short end, and that was a very good thing right now. She belted herself in, glad for the armrest between them.

Witt started the engine and backed out of the parking spot. In no time, he had them on the street in front of the Round Up. He made a fast right turn, drove down a block. “That’s the mission.”

He pointed to a squat, yellowed building that ran the length of the block. The discolored walls were covered with graffiti and various other art forms. Someone had started a mural at one end, an ethnic multitude holding hands on a mountain. The parking meters lining the sidewalk had been chopped off at the knees and hauled away, only their bare metal stumps left behind.

The smell of human waste and marijuana seeped into the cab as she rolled the window down. A couple—she couldn’t make out the sex of either partner—hunkered down against the wall, sharing a joint.

Genderless, burned-out people exited from two smudged glass doors at the other end of the building. Tanned skin, leathery after years of living on the street. Faces layered with a coat of grime that would never completely come clean. Clothes that would fall apart with the next washing.

“Why on earth do they provide lockers? I mean, couldn’t the money be better spent on clothes or something?” Maybe on drug rehab. At the very least, portable toilets.

“Even a homeless person wants to think he has stuff worth safe-keeping. Gives a guy a little dignity.”

“Sort of like the God-given right to stand up while taking a leak?”

He smiled and leaned over to pat her knee. “Fast learner.”

She was inordinately pleased and pissed with herself at the same time. Witt was definitely getting to her, and she was scared that had nothing to do with Tiffany.

She mumbled something unintelligible and quit talking.

Witt didn’t park out front, instead he drove down two blocks and pulled in at a meter that still had some life left in it.

She hopped unaided from the truck. No way was she waiting for anyone to open her door. It was miles to the ground, though, and she landed hard and awkwardly, wishing she’d made him take her home to change the damn heels. These shoes weren’t made for walking. The thought reminded her of a song, but she sure as hell wouldn’t attempt to use them to walk all over Witt. He just might like it.