Naked Frame

Robert Burton Robinson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Robert Burton Robinson.

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Books by Robert Burton Robinson

Greg Tenorly Suspense Series

Bicycle Shop Murder

Hideaway Hospital Murders

Illusion of Luck

Fly the Rain

Sweet Ginger Poison - a whodunit mystery

Classical Revenge - Thirteen Short Stories

Rebecca Ranghorn Mystery Series

Naked Frame

(Book 2 - coming in Feb. 2011)

(Book 3 - coming in May 2011)

Special thanks to

Don Neuman

Lynda Robinson

Synopsis

Rebecca Ranghorn is wanted for murder. The dead man in her office has a bullet in his head. Her bullet. But she’s not the killer. At least she doesn’t think so.

Rebecca is a private investigator working mostly cheating husband cases. She knows how to kick butt, and she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.

In NAKED FRAME, her client is a mother wanting proof that her teenage daughter is having sex with a sleazy Dallas businessman, Big Bill Smotherburn. Once Rebecca shoots the video, the mother begins to threaten him.

Big Bill drops by Rebecca’s office unannounced, after hours, and tries to buy the video. But within minutes, Rebecca has passed out, warm pistol in hand, and Big Bill is sprawled out on the floor with half his face blown off.

Rebecca had been pointing the gun at Big Bill, unsure of his intentions. But she’s sure she wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. She believes somebody framed her.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before police discover the body, and come looking for her. It’s an odd time to reconnect with her best friend, Gabby, from high school. But he wants to help Rebecca.

The two of them will unravel the mystery. Or die trying.

CHAPTER 1 - Monday, 5:43 p.m.

Rebecca Ranghorn stared at her noisy wall clock. Each tick felt like a little hammer pounding at the back of her skull. The four aspirin had done nothing for her headache.

She commanded the clock to be silent.

It ticked on.

Her sanity hanging by a thread, she jumped up from her chair, ready to quick-draw her pistol like a Wild West gunfighter, and blow the damn thing to kingdom come.

Rebecca was an imposing figure: a lean, six-foot frame, long brown hair pulled back tight, steely eyes, and a kick-ass attitude.

Her desk phone rang, and her head nearly exploded. "Rebecca Ranghorn Investigations," she barked.

"Becca, I'm so sorry. I had a flat tire, and—"

"—it's okay, Gabby." She sat down. "But instead of you coming here, why don't we just meet for dinner? I've got an errand to run in a few minutes. But I could meet you someplace at around 7:00."

"I really need to talk to you privately, if you don't mind. I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Okay. I'll wait. But my secretary has already gone home. So, just knock, and I'll come out and let you in."

Maybe Gabby had something stronger for a headache. Like opium. Rebecca was no druggy. But right now she couldn't think of anything over-the-counter that would do the trick.

She got up, and snatched the battery out of the wall clock. Ah, silence. But after a few seconds she realized the silence might be even worse than the ticking. She sat back down at her desk, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

Rebecca was excited to see her old buddy. But why wouldn't he tell her what this was about? They'd had no contact whatsoever since high school. She had no idea what he'd been up to for the past fifteen years.

Maybe he had a cheating wife. Surely he hadn't killed somebody. Was that why he didn't want to meet in public? Was he running from the cops? Didn't sound like the Gabby she knew. But, then again, a person can change in fifteen years.

Rebecca no longer worked murder cases. Not since college, when she was partnering with her dad.

She caught cheaters, all over Dallas. That was her thing. Snooping. Gathering evidence—usually with her video camera. A little movie, starring the husband and the other woman, usually gave the wife all the leverage she needed in divorce court. The husbands hated Rebecca for it, and sometimes threatened her.

"Bitch, I've got half a mind to jam my fist right down your throat."

"Try it, and I'll pull my gun and blow your damn balls off."

In truth, she had never shot anyone, and didn't even know if she could. She was impressive at the shooting range. But those targets weren't breathing. Good thing Rebecca was a stone-cold bluffer. Randy Ranghorn had taught his daughter well.

She leaned back in her rickety office chair, and tried to relax her headache away—imagining a steamy hot bubble bath. Soaking for an hour. An occasional toe to the faucet handle, releasing an influx of heat when needed. Reading a romance novel in the soft light of a dozen scented candles.

Someday she would take that bubble bath. But tonight would probably end like most other nights. Five minutes under the showerhead. Collapsing into bed. Too tired to even turn off the lamp.

Most women would be skittish about hanging around an empty office after hours. Particularly in a mostly vacant strip mall. But the rent was cheap. And Rebecca had learned to ignore the slight stench of mildew in her office.

If she screamed for help, nobody would hear her. But Rebecca wouldn't scream. She'd reach under her suit jacket for the blue steel pistol snuggled inside her shoulder holster.

She unlocked the bottom desk drawer, picked up the handcrafted wooden case, and placed it on top of her desk. Her dad's old Smith and Wesson Model 27 revolver held such strong memories. She took it out of the case and aimed at an imaginary criminal.

Rebecca loved remembering her first time. She was ten years old. It was a chilly Thanksgiving day on her grandfather's old farm. After the football game, her dad had asked her to join him for a walk around the property. They agreed it would help work off the turkey and dressing.

——

"How about a little target practice?" he said, nodding to an old galvanized trash can lid that had been wired onto the side of a bale of hay. It was riddled with holes. "Think you could hit the bull's eye?"

"Sure. Give me your gun."

"Take it easy, Rebel. We'll do it together."

"Aw, come on, Daddy, I can do it by myself."

He pulled the revolver out of its holster. Rebecca always wondered why her dad carried a weapon to family get-togethers. She later came to understand that P.I.'s were always in danger. You never knew when some guy you had investigated would come looking for payback.

He pointed the gun toward the target. "Now, do what I tell you, Rebel."

She faked a pouty face. "My name is Rebecca." But she loved it when he called her Rebel. She wanted to be tough—like her daddy.

"Now, take the weapon in your right hand like this." He showed her how to grip it, and placed his hands on the sides of hers.

"What if I'm left-handed?"

"Are you left-handed?"

"No."

"Then shut up and listen."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I can do it myself."

"Not the first time. Okay, now take aim."

"Got it."

"Are you sure? Because if you accidentally shoot one of grandpa's cows, we're going to be eating cow patties for dinner."

"You mean hamburgers?"

"No, I mean cow patties."

"Yuck."

He chuckled. "Well, it's the truth."

"Grandpa wouldn't be mean to me. He loves me."

"Well, let's not chance it."

She squeezed the trigger. When the gun fired, Rebecca was surprised—not so much by the way it felt. She was surprised at how much she liked the way it felt. The sheer power of the weapon excited her.

Rebecca had no idea whether she could ever shoot an animal or a bad guy. But she was instantly addicted to that magnificent feeling of power. Yeah. She liked feeling tough.

——

It was a wonderful memory of her dad and his gun. For her next birthday, he gave her a silver charm bracelet. One of the charms was a pistol. She still wore that bracelet every day.

But the good memories were always followed by the bad: that horrible night when she found him in a pool of blood, on the floor of that abandoned old house.

His gun was still holstered. The drug dealer had caught him by surprise. Three shots to the back. Damn coward.

But her dad's old revolver was for more than just memories. Rebecca cleaned it regularly, and kept it loaded, as a backup weapon. It gave her the feeling that her dad was there with her. That he always had her back.

She heard a noise from the reception area. Perhaps her young secretary had forgotten something and come back for it. Wouldn't be the first time. "Wendy?"

No reply.

Her door swung open, and Big Bill Smotherburn stepped into her office, turning sideways to clear the doorway. At 6-foot-3, 350 lbs., he could knock down a door, frame and all, just by bumping into it.

She pointed the revolver at him. "You son of a bitch. How did you get in here?"

He seemed no more threatened by her gun than if she were holding a lollypop. "So, this is the office of Rebecca Ranghorn, Private Investigator." He looked around as though he were actually interested. "What a dump." He grinned. "Mind if I have a seat?"

"Mind if I blow your damn head off?"

"Now, now, Rebecca. You're not gonna shoot me, and we both know it." He walked over to the metal chair sitting in front of her desk.

"Wanna bet?" She released the safety, and aimed the gun at his head.

"Look, I didn't make it this far in life without being a pretty good judge of character." As he eased himself down onto the chair, it groaned in protest.

"What do you want from me?"

He set two cups on her desk. They were from her coffee bar in the reception area. "I want you to get your client to back off."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her head was still throbbing.

"Yes, you do. Carly Cinaway."

She hesitated. "I don't tell my clients what to do."

He reached into his suit coat pocket.

She cocked the gun. "Careful."

He pulled out a flask and unscrewed the lid.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's tequila. Your favorite brand."

"I don't have a favorite brand. I don't drink...anymore."

He poured a few ounces into each cup. "I'm here to celebrate with you." He picked up one of the cups.

"Really? What are we celebrating? The fact that you're headed for prison?"

"I'll be happy to tell you as soon as you join me." He held up his cup and nodded to hers.

Rebecca knew she shouldn't. It could be drugged. And, besides, she was afraid she was becoming an alcoholic. Her mind said No. But her pounding headache said YES, PLEASE. "You first."

"You think I've come here to poison you?" He laughed. "My dear, if I had wanted you dead, your cute little ass would already be in the morgue." He drank half of the tequila in his cup. "I don't do business that way."

Rebecca picked up the cup with her left hand, and took a sip. It didn't taste funny.

"Excellent, huh?"

She gulped it down. It was so good. Better than sex. Although, it had been a long time.

"That old beat-up Lincoln sitting out front is a piece of shit."

"Hey! That was my dad's car."

He held up his hands. "I apologize. It was a great automobile—in its time. But not anymore. And it's just not you, Rebecca. Picture yourself in a brand new shiny convertible. Imagine how hot you'd look driving around town."

"What's your point?"

He carefully and slowly reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick envelope, and dropped it on her desk.

"You're not seriously trying to bribe me?"

"Of course not. I'd like to make a purchase." He pointed to the envelope. "Go ahead. Count it. Make sure there's fifty thousand in there. I think that's more than a fair price for an amateur movie."

"Carly told you about the video."

"Wasn't that foolish of her? She even admitted she didn't have a copy yet. Obviously, my offer is for the original and all copies."

Rebecca slammed her empty coffee cup down on the desk. "You're disgusting. I can't get it out of my mind—you and her young daughter. How do you sleep at night?"

"We were two consenting adults having a little fun."

"She's seventeen!"

"She told me she was 21. It's not my fault she lied. How was I to know?"

"You're a dirty stinking pig."

"Can I help it if women throw themselves at me?" He laughed. "Look, the truth is she wanted a job."

"She's a high school student."

He shrugged. "What can you do? Girls lie to get what they want." He wagged his long, fat index finger at her, as though it were a magic wand. "But don't you think for one minute that Mrs. Cinaway is going to win this thing. I have some very expensive lawyers. All she's going to do is humiliate her daughter in open court. And for what? Nothing."

"If you're so sure about that, why are you here offering me fifty thousand dollars?"

"Look, Rebecca, I'm a practical man. By handling it this way, everybody's happy. Once I have all the copies, I'll give you another fifty thousand—for your client."

"What about her daughter?"

"I'll take care of her myself." He grinned.

Rebecca began to feel very drowsy. "You did put something in my drink." She tried to point the gun at him. But she could not raise her arm. Her whole body went limp and her torso fell forward, onto the desk. She couldn't find the strength to even open her eyes. But she could still hear him talking.

"Put that thing down," he said.

The last thing she heard was a gunshot.

CHAPTER 2 - Monday, 10:09 p.m.

Rebecca tried to force her eyes open. Her head was spinning. How long had she been asleep? She hadn't felt this bad since the last time she downed a full bottle of tequila. But she didn't remember drinking. She glanced over at her alarm clock, but couldn't see it.

The door opened. Somebody was coming into her bedroom. She rolled to her side, opened the night table drawer, and reached for her pistol—but found a book instead.

A book? She wasn't at home. She was in a motel room. Rebecca needed a weapon. But instead of a gun, all she had was a Gideon Bible.

"Take it easy. You're going to be fine." The man flipped the wall switch, and a lamp came on.

Rebecca's eyes were still blurry. She threw off the covers, leaped out of bed, and ran blindly at the intruder with all her might.

"Whoa!" He backpedaled into the door.

Rebecca slammed into him at full speed, grabbed his wrists, and plowed a knee deep into his crotch.

He yelped, bent forward, and grabbed himself.

She pushed him hard to the floor, and went for the door knob.

He struggled to catch his breath. "Are you sure you want to go out dressed like that?"

Rebecca looked down. Her vision had cleared just enough for her to see she was wearing only a bra and panties. "Where are my clothes? What did you do to me, you pervert?" She kicked him in the ribs with her bare foot.

"Stop it. I didn't do anything to you."

She pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself. "Then why am I here? And why did you take my clothes off?" She kicked him again—harder.

"Becca, stop! Please."

"Gabby?"

"Yeah, Sweetie. It's me. I rescued you. If it wasn't for me, you'd probably be in jail right now—for murder."

"Murder?"

"I'm sure you had a good reason for killing him. Or maybe it was accidental."

Now she remembered Big Bill breaking into her office and trying to bribe her...offering her a drink. She remembered how she began to feel drowsy. "Bill Smotherburn is dead?"

"Yeah. When I got there, you were passed out across your desk—with a gun in your hand."

"I do remember having the gun. My dad's old revolver. I was holding it when Big Bill broke into my office."

"Well, by the time I got there, he was sprawled out across the floor with half his face blown off."

"No. No way. I didn't kill him. There's no way in hell I killed that bastard. But now the police are never going to believe me—since I left the scene of the crime. What were you thinking?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Call the police? Let them see you there with a smoking gun in your hand?"

"It was smoking?"

"Well, maybe not smoking. But it was still warm."

Rebecca racked her brain. She remembered getting drowsy...and then going completely under. No, wait. Right before she went under, she heard Big Bill say something...and then...a gunshot. She sniffed her right hand. It smelled like gunpowder. "Dammit. Maybe I should turn myself in."

"How are you going to explain it to the police—if you don't even know what happened?"

"And how am I going to explain why I ran?" She frowned.

"But you couldn't have killed him if you weren't there."

"My fingerprints are all over the gun, Gabby. And the coffee cup."

"The police don't have the gun or the cups. We've got them. And I grabbed your backpack too. And don't worry. I wiped off everything I touched."

Rebecca let it all sink in for a moment. "I can't believe this."

"I'm sorry, Becca. Maybe if I had been on time for my appointment..."

"Why did you undress me?"

"I thought you'd sleep better. I remembered how you always hated to sleep in your clothes. You've been out cold for four hours. But I was a gentleman. There was no inappropriate touching."

She believed him. In high school, kids assumed Gabby was gay. He denied it. But even as his best friend, Rebecca never knew for sure. "I guess you know they're going to throw you in jail, too—for helping me."

"I know. Aiding and abetting, tampering with a crime scene, and all that stuff. But none of that is going to matter once we catch the real killer."

Poor Gabby, she thought. They make it look so easy on TV. "Where are my clothes?"

"They're hung nicely and neatly in the closet over there."

"Of course." She let the blanket fall off her shoulders and drop to the floor as she walked to the closet and began to get dressed.

"Does it bother you at all that I'm watching you put your clothes on?" Gabby got up from the floor and started brushing off his clothes with his hands.

"Why should it? You've watched me get dressed a hundred times."

He hesitated. "I'm not gay, you know."

"I know," she said too quickly.

"The whole high school was wrong about me." He waited. But she did not chime in. "Just because I'm not super macho..."

"The drama club thing is what started it." She took her pants off the hanger.

"I wasn't the only boy in drama club."

"No. But you were the only one designing costumes."

"Yeah, but I couldn't understand why everybody didn't want that job. The beautiful fabrics against the magnificent form of the human body..."

"Bingo. That's the kind of talk that earned you the nickname, Gabby Girl. At least you don't have to deal with that stuff anymore." Rebecca stepped into her pants and pulled them up.

"Well..."

"You're kidding. Where do you work?" She zipped her pants.

"I have my own business."

"Wow, that's great, Gabby."

"It's a boutique."

"Boutique?"

"Ever heard of Gabby G'Blee?"

She slipped into her blouse and began to button it. "It's a women's clothing store. Right?"

"Yes. My own original designs."

"Well, what happened to Gabby Garnersdale?"

"I had it legally changed to G'Blee. Nobody wants to buy original designs by Gabby Garnersdale. It's a boring name. And I needed pizzazz."

Rebecca grabbed her shoulder holster from the closet shelf and strapped it on. "But now, with that name, and the fact that you own a women's boutique, everybody in Dallas probably thinks you're gay." She checked her pistol and put it back in the holster.

"But now I don't care. And what if I really was gay? Would you still want to be my friend?"

"Of course I would." Rebecca picked up her backpack from the closet floor, set it on the bed, and opened it. She located her dad's revolver at the bottom of the bag and took it out to examine it. "Damn."

"What?"

"You're right. It's been fired. One shot." She put the revolver back into the bag. "I've got to get out of here and do some nosing around." She slipped into her shoes.

"I'm your driver."

"Oh, right. My car's still at my office."

"The old Lincoln, right? It's just as well. The cops would have seen you coming from a mile away driving that battleship."

"True. But I don't want to get you into any more trouble than you're already in."

"Oh, believe me, Honey, I'm in just as much trouble as you are. Maybe more."

"What do you mean?"

"I owed him money."

"Big Bill? You borrowed money from Big Bill Smotherburn? Are you crazy? How much?"

"Twenty thousand."

"Oh, Gabby."

"And every time I made a payment, he told me it was just enough to cover the interest. Becca, I was going to be paying him for the rest of my life."

"Gabby, what were you thinking? Borrowing money from a loan shark?"

"I didn't know he was a loan shark. I was three months behind on my lease. They were going to evict me. I was going to lose my shop. I couldn't let that happen."

"So, you had a motive to kill him."

"Doesn't look good, does it?"

"Is that why you were coming to see me?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe you would have some way to help me get out of the mess I was in."

"Well...I did help you get out of it, I guess. Your loan has been paid in full—assuming Big Bill kept no records. Of course, you may end up in prison. Did you sign a contract?"

"No. He said a handshake deal was good enough for him."

"This is too coincidental, Gabby. For him to show up at my office right before you got there. Did anybody else know about your loan?"

"His son, Wiley, knew about it. He's the one who hooked me up with Big Bill."

"What did you do with the money that was on my desk?"

"What money?"

"There was an envelope with fifty-thousand dollars in it. Big Bill tried to bribe me with it."

"Why was he trying to bribe you?"

"One of my clients was about to file charges against him, and he thought he could buy his way out of it."

"Well, I'm sorry, Becca. I don't know what happened to it, but believe me—there was no money on your desk. No envelope."

Rebecca sighed. "We've been framed, Gabby. Big time. I can imagine what the police are going to think after they talk to Wiley. They know Big Bill's a son-of-a-bitch. And they know about my hot temper."

"Not a good combo, huh?"

"Let me lay it out for you. My best friend from high school owes Big Bill Smotherburn thousands of dollars. The three of us meet in my office to discuss the loan. Big Bill is being unreasonable, then verbally abusive. He waves his big fat finger in my face, and throws a few insults. He laughs at us. I lose it and shoot the bastard. We panic and run."

"We're screwed."

"You got that right."

"But we'll figure this thing out together, Becca. Just like in high school when we used to map out your new basketball moves. That's how you won Most Valuable Player, three years in a row."

"This ain't basketball, Gabby. This is life and death. Whoever framed us is not going to like it when we start snooping around."

"I understand. But I don't care. I'm all in."

Rebecca almost smiled.

"But, Honey, we've got to go incognito. We can't go prancing around Dallas as Rebecca Ranghorn and Gabby G'Blee."

"That's for sure."

"I've got a fine little outfit that's going to be fabulous on you. It'll give you a completely different look. And I'll let your hair down. Even I won't recognize you when I'm done."

"What about you? What are you going to wear?"

"Well, the first question is whether I should go male or female."

Rebecca hoped he was kidding.

He laughed. "Not really. I've got lots of possibilities for me too. And all of them are male."

"Good."

CHAPTER 3 - Monday, 10:21 p.m.

The woman was a bit mature for this line of work. But nobody had ever complained. Her customers always walked away happy. She made sure of that, by giving them even more than they asked for.

This particular john had requested lights out. That was fine with her. She did her best work in the dark, knowing the little imperfections of her maturity could not be seen.

Newbies thought they could outperform the senior members of their profession through sheer physicality. Eventually they would learn that sex is more mental than physical. If your brain thinks you're turned on, then Baby, you're turned on.

She was a magician of sorts—a wizard, practicing dark arts not easily mastered. Seasoned practitioners, such as herself, could cast a sexual spell upon a man, gently massaging his brain with her words, slowly but surely leading him into mind-blowing, convulsive ecstasy.

Occasionally, a man would stop her, just as her magic began to envelope him, having been frightened by the power of the spell. But this rarely happened. And once the orgasm became inevitable, he was beyond the point of no return.

The young whores didn't have a clue.

She was also smarter about money. Hers was a solo operation. No pimp to slap her around and take most of her earnings. A simple online ad, offering escort services brought in plenty of business. Two-hundred bucks for an hour's work. And she could handle two to three customers per night.

Her only regret about her work was its effect on her daughter. She had successfully hidden her true profession for years.

Mommy's a nurse, and some nurses have to work at night. So, be good for Daddy, and I will see you in the morning, Sweetie.

But her baby girl turned sixteen last year and got a driver's license. And one night she followed her mom to work. That's when she found out mommy wasn't healing sick people. She was screwing sick bastards.

——

That night, as soon as the first john left, there was a knock at the door. When she looked through the peephole and saw her sweet, innocent daughter standing there, her heart dropped. There was no denying what she had just done. An ear to the door had provided all the gory details.

But instead of the expected disappoint or insults, there were probing questions about money. And how to get into the biz. There were visions of cash and shopping sprees and new cars.

"So, you want to turn tricks like your mother? Make a lot of money? Fine. All I ask is that you wait a while—until you're older. Wait until you have a dud for a husband who can't ever seem to make enough money to support his family.

"Wait until you're about to be evicted from your home. Until the repo man comes after your car. Then you can be a hooker like your mother. Then you can do nasty, disgusting things with sweaty old men who can't get sex without buying it.

"But not now. You're sixteen years old. Have a normal life while you still can, for heaven's sake. I pray to God your life never sucks as bad as mine."

——

She inspected her motion-activated piggy bank. It was armed and ready to go. The cash went into the bank before any work was done. And if the john messed with miss piggy, the little porker would squeal loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

There was a knock at the door. It was a young man in a uniform, holding a tray of food. "Room Service."

Poking her head out the door, she said, "I didn't order anything."

He looked down at the receipt. "Well, it says here...oops, sorry." He walked away.

She released the door handle, and the automatic door closer pulled it shut. Turning and walking into the bathroom, she didn't notice that the door did not completely close.

A couple of minutes later, she turned off the light and walked out of the bathroom into the darkness.

"Hello." The man's voice came from across the room.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?"

"Who do you think?"

She stood frozen in place, wondering how the hell he got in.

"It's me. John Doe."

His body, and the chair he was sitting in, began to materialize as her eyes adjusted to the dark room. A sliver of hallway light peeking in below the door provided the only illumination.

The john stood up. He was wearing a black trench coat and a hat. "Here's your money." He tossed some bills onto the center of the bed.

She reached over and picked up the money.

"Five-hundred, as agreed."

He was to be her only john for the entire night. She had discounted her hourly rate.

Holding the five bills at an angle, she was able to catch enough light to confirm their denomination. She folded the bills and stuffed them into the piggy bank, expecting to hear the usual snide comments about the bank.

"Ready to get down to business?" he said.

"Sure. You've got my undivided attention for the next six hours." Thirty minutes of sex with her, and he'd be asleep for the rest of his time.

He walked around the bed to where she was standing. "Sit on the bed, please, with your back to me."

"Don't you want to get comfortable first?"

"Not yet."

"Okay." She got up on the bed reluctantly, wondering what he had in mind.

He placed his hands on her shoulders.

Her nose caught the familiar scent of latex. She thought she had made it clear that he must use her condoms. She never trusted a john's rubbers.

But, no, it wasn't a condom she was smelling. It was latex gloves. Why was he wearing gloves? A chill ran up her spine at the thought of how vulnerable she was. His hands could easily go around her neck.

"You seem tense," he said. "Maybe this will help." He began to massage her shoulders, and up her neck to the back of her head.

Just as she had begun to relax, she heard an aerosol can spraying. The back of her head felt cold and numb.

She pulled away. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Take it easy," he said. "You're going to enjoy this."

He pulled her head back to himself and massaged it.

There were two clicks, and she felt something weird. She bounced to the center of the bed and turned around. "I don't like this. You paid me to have sex with you—not to let you get all weird, and spray stuff on my head."

He reached into his coat pocket and took out some gadget. It was a small silver box with buttons, lights and dials. "Tell me how this feels." He pushed a button.

"No. I'm done with you. Get out of—" She felt a tingle between her legs. How strange, she thought.

He adjusted a dial.

The tingling intensified. "What is that thing?"

He turned it up another notch. "Feel good?"

Stretching out on her back, she said, "Don't stop." She couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth. It was as though she was under one of her own sexual spells.

He turned it up higher.

She had not felt anything like this in years. No john had ever turned her on. Nobody ever gave her any sexual pleasure.

Tossing and turning, she moaned in ecstasy.

Gradually, he lowered the setting on his remote.

She lay sprawled across the bed, spent.

"Let's go again," he said, turning up the dial.

"Who are you? And where can I buy one of those things?" Her voice sounded more sultry than she could ever fake.

"How's this?" He increased the intensity more rapidly than before.

"Damn." She grabbed her breasts and held on tight for another wild ride.

He spun the dial to the maximum setting.

"No, that's too much. Stop!" It was like twelve orgasms coming all at once. Her body began to quiver. Convulse. "Please, stop!" She grabbed her chest. An elephant foot crushed her ribcage down against her heart. Her body bounced around on the bed like a ragdoll in an earthquake.

"Stop," she gasped. "I can't breathe!"

CHAPTER 4 - Monday, 10:47 p.m.

Rebecca and Gabby jumped into his Honda Civic and he drove out of the motel parking lot. "So, I can understand why somebody would want to kill Big Bill. But why frame us for it?"

"The bigger question is how they framed us. They must have bugged my office. Otherwise, they wouldn't have known the precise time to kill Big Bill and get out of there before you arrived."

"Maybe they got lucky. Maybe they had no idea I was coming, and just happen to leave before I got there."

"Are you sure they left? Did you check my closet?"

"No. I didn't even think about it. I was too freaked out by the whole thing. My first thought was to get you out of there before the cops showed up."

"Because you figured I shot him."

"No. I mean—I wasn't sure. I just knew you were in big trouble."

"You were in trouble too, since you owed him thousands of dollars."

"That was my second thought."

"I believe the killer knew everything. He heard me talking to you on the phone this morning. That gave him all day to convince Big Bill to pay me a visit."

"I don't know, Becca. I realize this is your line of work. But that sounds pretty far-fetched."

"Okay. Why were you late for our meeting?"

"I told you when I called. I had a flat tire."

"What kind of flat? Did you have a nail in your tire or what?"

"No. It was leaking on the side."

"As though somebody stabbed it with a knife?"

"Oh...yeah. I see what you mean," said Gabby. "It was to hold me up. To make me late."

"And to give the killer enough time to wait for the drug to work, and then shoot Big Bill with my gun—with it still in my hand."

"Oh, my God."

"He must have followed him into my reception area, and waited for just the right moment."

"Big Bill drank the drug too. Although, his cup was still half full. And he had three times your body mass."

"So, he might have just been drowsy," said Rebecca.

"Which would have made him slow to react when the killer came in and pointed my gun at him."

"Or," said Gabby, "if he knew the killer, Big Bill might not have suspected he was going to shoot him."

"Then you walk in, see the dead body and call the police. You and I both had motives to kill him."

"But I didn't call the police. The killer miscalculated that part."

"Yeah. But eventually we're going to be right where he wants us: in jail. Unless we can catch him before the police catch us."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

Rebecca said, "It could have been his wife, Kimberly. She's a trophy wife. He was 60. She's 29. But apparently even that's not young enough. He's out there screwing teenagers."

"I wonder if there was a prenup?"

"If not, I'd put her at the top of my list. Next, would come any business partners who stood to gain."

"Could have been one of those teenage girls."

"Maybe. But they had sex with him willingly. After two of his waitresses were discovered by a Hollywood agent, the word got out: get a job at Big Bill's Café Nue, and first thing you know—you'll be a star. Some girls will do anything to be famous."

"Some do it just for the money. Those waitresses make a fortune in tips. Ever been there?"

"No."

"It's three blocks from my shop."

"Good. After you do our makeovers, let's go down there and nose around."

Gabby stopped for a traffic signal. "Well, there it is. My baby. What do you think?"

It was smaller than Rebecca had imagined. The bold neon letters were spread diagonally across the entire width of the storefront: Gabby G'Blee Boutique. "Very nice, Gabby."

"It's bigger than it looks. I keep the high-priced stuff on the second floor, which is adults only—since the accident."

"Somebody got hurt?"

"No. But one of my dresses did. I don't allow food or drinks in my shop. But some girl pulled a bottle of grape soda out of her backpack."

"And spilled it on one of your dresses?"

"The very thought of it makes me cringe. It was completely destroyed. Unsalvageable."

"Well, I guess when something like that happens, you just write it off your taxes."

"Oh, Honey, they won't let me write it off. The IRS doesn't understand the value of my creations."

"What was the value?"

"The sales price was ten-thousand dollars."

"Whoa. You can get that much for a frigging dress?"

"Not a dress. A Gabby G'Blee Original."

"Then you must be loaded."

"I've only sold two at that price. Most of my designs go for under a thousand. But lately, business has really been picking up. I think I'm finally becoming known."

"Well, I've heard of Gabby G'Blee. So I guess you're right. I just didn't know it was you."

Gabby drove around to the alley. They got out of the car, and she followed him into the back of the building. He flipped on the lights and locked the door behind them.

"Can you see these lights from the front of the store?"

"Worried about the police getting suspicious? That won't be a problem. I'm always here at night. They're used to it. And they know my car."

"So, they won't bother us."

"Nope." Gabby led her to the back stairs. "We need to go up to the third floor." He began to attack the stairs, two at a time.

Rebecca followed suit. It brought back high school memories. She could almost hear Mrs. Mattison fussing at them for their enthusiastic, but illegal climbing of stairs. Right now she longed for those days— when the only laws she was breaking were in the school handbook.

They walked through a work room, past several large tables and industrial grade sewing machines, to the doorway of his office. "It's not much, but—"

"—at least it doesn't have a bloody corpse in it."

"Yeah."

Rebecca noticed the pillow and blanket on his couch. "You sleep up here?"

"Yeah. I had to give up my apartment. Couldn't make the rent."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not that bad. I'd do anything to keep my shop. Whatever it takes."

"Don't say that to the cops."

"Oh. Right. So, let's see..." He walked across the work room. Gabby's Originals hung all over the walls. "Oh, this would be marvelous on you."

She followed him to a pink, low-cut dress.

He took it off the wall and held it up in front of her. "Try it on."

"Oh, no, Gabby. I don't really do pink."

"Which is why this will be perfect. We need something your best friend wouldn't recognize you in," said Gabby. "Do you have a best friend?"

She hesitated. "Melanie. She's dead."

"Oh, wonderful. Don't you have any friends or family that are still breathing?"

"Just you, I guess."

"That's sad, Girl. But don't worry. I'll be like five friends."

"You always were."

"That's right. Now try it on."

"Is there a dressing room?"

He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. "Really?"

"Oh, what the hell."

She stripped down to panties and bra.

"You always did have lovely legs. And, Honey, your butt is still nice and firm. Good job."

"Will you quit looking at me?"

"It's just that I admire the human form...particularly when it's so damn perfect."

Rebecca frowned at him.

"A little over the top?"

"Yeah."

"That bra won't work. Hang on." He scurried into his office and came back with a bra in hand. "Here's what you need."

"You've got a selection of bras in your office?"

"I like bras." He grinned and shrugged.

Rebecca reluctantly unhooked her bra and took it off.

"Oh, my. You always had perky breasts. Probably from all that weight lifting and basketball."

"Stop it!" She covered herself with her hands, and turned her back to him. "All those times in high school when I let you watch me get dressed—I thought you were gay."

"Why? Because everybody else thought so? I told you I wasn't. And you said you believed me."

"I did. Sort of." She spun around. "Well, if you weren't gay...if you're not gay, then why didn't you ever make a move on me? Was I not pretty enough?"

"Not pretty enough?"

"I had zits all over my face. And because I was a tall basketball player who liked to get physical on the court, some of the kids thought I was gay too."

"I knew you weren't."

"Then why didn't you ever try to kiss me?"

"Because...I wanted to be the strong one in the relationship. And that was never going to happen with you."

"So, I never even turned you on?"

He smiled. "Oh, I didn't say that." He gave her body the once over with smiling eyes.

"Quit looking at me that way."

"Okay. I'll try to restrain myself."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Ever been married?"

"No." He hesitated. "Okay, I know how that looks. But I've been busy. How about you?"

"Have I ever been married? No. I've had a few boyfriends. In fact, I moved here to Dallas to be closer to a guy I was dating. I really thought we had something. But it didn't work out. I always seem to scare them off."

"I'm sorry, Becca."

"It's no big deal."

"Now...the ponytail has got to go. You wear it up most of the time, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let it down. Nobody will recognize you." He went into his office and came back with a brush and a wig. He handed her the brush. "Here you go."

Rebecca took the brush. "Is that for you?"

"Yep. This is all I need." He positioned the wig on his head.

"So, you're going to be the one with the ponytail. You look like Paul Revere."

"I was going for hippie. Alright, we'll grab you a pair of shoes on the way out. They're on the first floor. You still wear a 10B, right?"

"I can't believe you remembered."

"Are you kidding? How many times did you throw your smelly basketball shoes at me?"

Rebecca laughed.

"Okay. Let's go to Café Nue and do some investigating."

"You like to go there because of the sexy young waitresses."

He grinned. "Sure. As well as the food. It's exquisite. I love their chateaubriand with pommes de terre truffée and the Cabernet Sauvignon."

"I'd rather have a burger with fries and a diet Coke."

"They have that too."

As they went down the staircase, Gabby said, "I love the name of the place. Café Nue. It's French, you know. It means—"

"—I know what it means. Nude Café."

CHAPTER 5 - Monday, 11:25 p.m.

As they walked up to the entrance, Rebecca pointed to the sign on the door: By Reservation Only.

Gabby waved it off. "Don't worry. I'll handle it."

They walked into the foyer and stepped to the end of the line.

The maître d' towered over the podium as almighty judge of the mere peasants below hoping to gain entrance. Rebecca couldn't tell whether he was male or female. Male, she finally decided. And he was either standing on a platform or he was seven feet tall.

He raised his long arm, extending his index finger toward the exit. The couple at the front of the line turned around and cursed their way back out to the street.

Rebecca whispered to Gabby, "This guy's got an attitude. There's no way he's going to let us in."

Three men moved forward to await their verdict.

"Name?"

"Johnson," said one of the men. "Bill Johnson."

The maître d' searched his list. "Yes, Mr. Johnson. For three." He offered a fake smile of approval. "You may enter."

A beautiful young woman led them inside.

Gabby leaned over to Rebecca. "This is not the regular guy."

The couple in front of them were rejected out of hand—apparently due to their lack of respect. Or perhaps he didn't care for the color of their eyes.

Gabby stepped forward.

"Name?" The man was scary-tall up close.

"Gabby."

"Hmm. I don't see—"

"—it's Gabby with double B's."

The giant stared down at Gabby. "I don't think so, Honey. You're a Double A at best."

Rebecca glanced at Gabby's chest.

"Sorry," he said, looking down his nose. "There's no Gabby here."

Gabby leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps it's under G'Blee."

"G'Blee? You're Gabby G'Blee? The hot, new designer?"

Gabby smiled and put a finger to his lips—as though he wanted to stay under the radar of the paparazzi. "Yes. That's me."

The maître d' bent down and whispered, "Oh, Darling, I absolutely adore your work."

"Thanks."

He reached over and placed his hand on Gabby's shoulder. "I would give my right arm to have one of your originals. Any chance I could get you to design an evening gown for me? Something low-cut?"

"Come and see me. We'll talk."

"Wonderful. Oh, that would be scrumptious."

"What about my...reservation?"

"Oh, of course." He returned to his standing position.

"For two."

"Yes. Please enjoy yourselves. See you soon." He winked at Gabby, and nodded to the lovely young hostess waiting by the entrance. "Table twenty-one."

They followed the woman through the door into a long, dark hallway. The black walls faded to beige, curved outward, and were gone. One moment they were walking through the hallway. The next, they were several feet into the café. What a weird sensation, thought Rebecca. When she looked back, she understood. They had walked out between two enormous, but beautifully sculpted, butt cheeks.

Rebecca hadn't seen so many bare breasts since her high school locker room days. And she knew the waitresses wouldn't be completely nude. But when she saw how tiny the thongs were, she wondered how the place could be legal.

The café was larger than Rebecca had expected. More of a hall than a room. The bar, which was located at the back, in the center, was oval-shaped, topped with white marble. There was a pool at the center of the bar which was fed by a fountain. The gentle flow of water into the pool provided a soothing drone.

Nice touch, thought Rebecca. But not at all Big Bill Smotherburn's style. Then she realized the bar resembled a toilet seat. And the stream of water flowed from a large pipe hanging out over the pool which looked very much like a penis.

The hostess led them to their table and they sat down. "Please feel free to adjust the table lights to your liking. They're touch sensitive." She flicked the nipple of one of the hanging boob lights and it got brighter. "Your waitress will be with you shortly." She walked away.

Gabby smiled at Rebecca. "I told you I could get us in."

"Do you really enjoy looking at these women?"

"Well, I don't hate it."

"You're a regular horndog of a man, aren't you?"

Their waitress appeared from nowhere. "Hi. My name is Cotton Candy. May I take your order?"

Gabby said, "Two Diet Coke's. With lemon. Two steak burgers. Well done."

"Yes, Sir. I'll have you order right out. Thank you." The waitress walked away.

"You still take lemon with your Diet Coke."

"I figured you did too. Was I wrong?"

"No." Rebecca smiled. "What are the steak burgers like?"

"They're just fancy hamburgers made with Angus Beef."

"I'll bet they're expensive?"

"Twenty bucks."

"For just the burger?"

"Yep. Don't even ask how much they charge for the booze."

"And then there's the tip."

"Yep. But that's the best part. Oh, I hope I've got some cash."

"Where do you put the tip?"

"Under the thong strap."

"Men." Rebecca shook her head. "So predictable when it comes to sex."

"True."

"Grabbing a hamburger with you kind of reminds me of when we used to go to Jackie's after home games."

"Except Jackie was wearing clothes."

Rebecca winced. "Oh, great. I'll never get that image out of mind."

"What image?" Gabby grinned.

"Of Jackie walking up to our table in a thong. How old was she? Ninety?"

"At least."

Rebecca grimaced.

"You just pictured the boobs, didn't you?"

"I'm changing the subject now."

"Okay."

"This is kinda fun, Gabby. But what can we hope to accomplish here? Our waitress is not going to tell us anything."

"A guy named Joey Ketrousie runs the place for Big Bill. I hear he's from New York City. Maybe he's Mafia."

"Oh, great."

"Anyway, we'll find out if he knows what happened to Big Bill tonight. He wouldn't know yet, unless..."

"Unless he had something to do with it."

"Right."

Cotton Candy delivered their food and drinks.

"Wow, that was fast," said Rebecca.

"Thank you, Ma'am," said Cotton Candy.

Rebecca didn't appreciate being called Ma'am by the perky young thing.

After the waitress walked away, Rebecca leaned in. "How are we going to talk to Joey? I mean, where is he? And even if you find him, how are we going to ask him about Big Bill without getting ourselves killed?"

"You mean capped, right? I love that cool gangster talk."

"You won't love it so much when you're dead."

"Gabby grabbed his burger with both hands, took a big bite, and began to chew. He stopped and contorted his face.

"What?"

He jumped up from the table and yelled, "What the hell kind of crap is this?" He threw the burger on the floor.

"Oh, God." Rebecca slumped down.

Cotton Candy ran over to Gabby, followed by two other waitresses. "What's wrong, Sir?"

"How much was this so-called steak burger? Twenty bucks?"

"Yes, Sir."

Gabby's face turned red with rage. "Well the damn thing's not worth fifty cents. Hell, it's not worth one cent."

Cotton Candy said, "I'm so sorry, Sir. Please let me get you another one that's cooked to your liking. Now if you'll have a seat—"

"—no. Hell, no. I want to speak to the owner of this joint. Right now."

Throughout the room, half-chewed bites and half-spoken words awaited the resolution of the spectacle Gabby had created.

"Yes, Sir. Sure. Come with me."

Gabby motioned for Rebecca to come too.

They followed Cotton Candy down several hallways to an empty office in the back.

"Please have a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment."

"The owner," Gabby insisted.

But Cotton Candy had already closed the door.

Rebecca glared at him. "You're crazy. Just plain crazy."

Gabby held a finger up to his lips, indicating that they should not be talking.

Rebecca looked around for cameras, but didn't see any.

The room became dead silent. They stared at each other, not knowing what to expect.

The door flung open and two large men strode in.

"I'm Joey Ketrousie." The accent was obvious. New Jersey. "What's the problem here?"

Gabby said, "Are you the owner?"

"That's right. And I understand you had a complaint about the food."

"The hamburger tasted like leather."

"Didn't my waitress offer to get you another one?"

"Yes. But I've lost my appetite."

"I see. Well, look, here's what I can do for you. The meal's on me, okay and—"

"—what meal? I couldn't eat it."

Joey's face turned red with anger, and Rebecca thought he might rip Gabby's head off with his large, paw-like hands. But he quickly regained control. "Whatever. My associate here, Mr. Ballentini, is going to give you a nice, clean, crisp one-hundred dollar bill. Would that make you happy, Sir?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Good." He motioned for Bobby to give Gabby the money.

"Now," said Joey, "you will never ever come back here again. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Sir. No problem," said Gabby.

"Good," said Joey.

"You did say you were the owner?" said Gabby.

"That's right."

"I thought William Smotherburn was the owner."

"I'm buying the place."

"When?"

"Hey, what's with all the questions? We're done." He motioned to Bobby. "Get them the hell out of here, Bobby."

Bobby led them to the door and opened it. They saw another one of Joey's goons waiting in the hallway. "My associate will assist you to the exit."

Gabby and Rebecca walked out of the room, into the hallway. Bobby closed the door.

The thug said, "Follow me."

Gabby followed, but Rebecca lingered at the door for a moment, trying to hear what Joey and Bobby were saying inside.

The man turned around and saw that Rebecca was not following him. "What the hell are you doing, Lady?"

"Uh, sorry. My shoe fell off." She slipped it back on and hurried to catch up.

"Stay with me." He led them out of the building.

Once they were outside, walking back to Gabby's shop, Gabby said. "What were you doing in the hallway?"

"Listening."

"Hear anything?"

"Yeah. Bobby was worried about what to do if Wiley showed up tonight."

"That's interesting." Rebecca could see that Gabby's mind was churning. "What are you plotting now?"

"A way to find out what Wiley knows. Yeah, I'm sure it'll work. But you'd have to go sleazy. You know. A little slutty."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

CHAPTER 6 - Monday, 11:52 p.m.

It was nearly midnight when Phillipa Thagery drove up to the gate. She smiled at the guard. He returned a smile and waved her through.

All the guards knew Phillipa well. The brilliant, attractive young black woman was Senior Research Scientist in Product Development at Smotherburn Technologies. Big Bill had given her a free hand and almost unlimited resources to develop a device he hoped would make him a fortune.

Phillipa parked her car, grabbed the McDonald's bag from the front seat, and walked up to the retina scanner at the back door of her lab. She inserted her key card and leaned in to the scanner. The automatic door swung open, and she entered.

She walked through the ultra-modern lab to her office, sat down, and retrieved a bottled water from the mini-fridge next to her desk.

As she took the Big Mac and fries out of the bag, she told herself that someday she would eat better. It wouldn't always be like this. Soon she would have everything she wanted. And she'd never work nights again.

Phillipa took a bite of the Big Mac. She heard something out in the lab...a toilet flushing.

She got up from her desk and walked out to the lab. "Hello? Who's there?"

"It's me, Phillipa. Wiley."

William Wiley Smotherburn was Big Bill's one and only child. And a big pain in the butt. The twenty-two year old had recently graduated with a degree in drama. He had hoped it would be easy to break into Hollywood. His dad could pull a few strings, offer a few bribes.

But Big Bill had refused to help Wiley in any way. He wanted his son in the family business, working a real job. He told Wiley it was time he earned his keep, and hired him as a lab tech.

Phillipa had told Big Bill she would quit rather than continue to work with Wiley. He ignored her threats. They both knew she was bluffing. She wouldn't leave. Not when all her dreams were about to come true. "How did you get in here?"

"Henry let me in."

"That damn Henry had no business letting you in. What's the point of a retina scanner, if the guards are going to bypass it?"

"Well, since we're both here...all alone..." He walked up close to her. "Why don't we take a load off? Relax on the couch in your office."

"Don't make me file sexual harassment charges against you, Wiley. Because I will, you know."

He put his hands up. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Please accept my humble apologies."

Acting. Everything Wiley said or did was an act. Nobody knew the real man. And Phillipa didn't wish to. "Why are you here at this hour?"

"Because I came in late this morning, and I took kind of a long lunch."

"No, you wandered in at precisely 11:22 a.m., and left at 12:15. You returned from lunch at 3:45."

"Wow, I had no idea you were keeping tabs on me."

"Your father asked me to."

"Why? Because you've been complaining about me?"

"That's correct."

"Well, at least you're honest. Unlike Simpson in accounting."

"I expect you to be here from eight to five, like everybody else. Not to come in at all hours of the night trying to make up your time."

"What's the difference? You're here practically 24/7."

"The hours I'm here in the lab are none of your concern. I enjoy working alone at night."

"But wouldn't it be nice to have a partner?" Before she could respond, he said, "Hey, what's that gadget over there on the workbench?" He went over to check it out. "I've never seen one of these before. Is it some top secret thing? Is that why you don't want anyone body else up here at night?"

She smiled nervously. "You watch too much TV. It's just a new type of TENS unit."

Wiley launched into his TV commercial voice. "TENS, or Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation, is used to treat pain with electrical pulses. Two or more electrodes are attached to pads, which are applied to the skin. The pads are similar to EKG pads."

"Very good. Now go home."

He picked up a little black thing, shaped like a small watermelon seed. "What's this?"

"Put that down. It's an electrode. It attaches to a pad. Same as all the others."

"You think I'm stupid, don't you? Just a dumb actor. This is not like the others. Where's the wire?"

"Put it down, Wiley."

"He held it up to the light. There's something inside. A computer chip."

"Give me that."

"It's an implant, isn't it? It goes under your skin."

She stared at him.

"I knew it!"

"Now put it down. And go home."

"What's it going to be for?"

"You must not tell anyone about this. Do you understand?"

"Sure, sure, I know. I won't tell anybody."

"It will work like the others, only better."

"To kill the pain."

"Reduce the pain. And do it more effectively than anything else on the market. Wirelessly."

"Wirelessly. Cool. My dad's always complaining about the wires."

Big Bill had suffered from chronic lower back pain since his thirties, and had been using TENS units for years. It was the reason he had formed Smotherburn Technologies—to develop a better TENS unit—and make a fortune.

"That's right."

"So, that is a tiny computer chip inside."

"Yes. And the user will recharge it each day by wearing a special charging cap that I'm developing."

"Wow. That is cool." Wiley thought for a moment. "Could it be used for other stuff?"

She hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"You know. If you implanted a couple of those babies down below the belt," he said, pointing to his crotch, "could you make somebody go from frigid to red hot with the flip of a switch?"

"Why do you have to be so crude? This device is for pain management. Like all of our other models."

"But...could it be used for pleasure?"

"Well, that's a good question."

He smiled. "See. I have something to contribute. I make you think."

"Sure. Very good. So, do you want to be my test subject?"

"Uh..."

"You'll need to strip down, and get up on that table," said Phillipa.

"Naked?"

"Yes, of course. Don't be embarrassed, Wiley. I'm a scientist. I'll cut two slits and insert the electrodes. Then we can test your theory."

"You'd have to cut me?"

"Yes, of course. How else can I insert the electrodes? They'll be tiny slits."

"Where?"

"Hmm. In the scrotum."

"Whoa. Wait a minute."

"But, I must warn you that I have no idea what will happen. Maybe nothing. You might not feel a thing. Or it could light you up like a Roman candle."

He grinned. "Great Balls of Fire."

"Literally."

"You know what? I think I'll pass."

"Goodnight, Wiley."

He headed for the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Be on time."

"Right."

CHAPTER 7 - Tuesday, 12:03 a.m.

"Are you sure Joey won't recognize me? And what about the waitresses? And the maître d'?"

"See for yourself." Gabby spun Rebecca around to see herself in the full-length mirror.

"Who is that? I truly do not recognize myself."

"So, you like?"

"Well, sure. It's amazing how much different I look with curly hair. And it's been a long time since I've worn a skirt this short."

"How about the makeup?"

"It's way too heavy."

"That's on purpose. The idea is that you're desperate to get noticed."

"But I'm ten years older than Wiley. You really think he's going to believe I'm his age?"

"Honey, looking like this, he's not gonna care how old you are. Are you kidding me?"

"Thanks, Gabby. But I don't think he'll even notice me. Not in a roomful of bare boobs. How can I compete with that?"

"Easily. They're exposed. Their stuff is in all in your face. You, on the other hand, are leaving something to the imagination. And the imagination is always better than the real thing. I ought to know. It's how I make my living."

"Yeah, I guess so." Rebecca looked around at his beautiful designs all over the walls, thinking he could make any woman look beautiful.

"Okay, we'd better get going. Wiley should be there soon. He usually strolls in between midnight and one."

"But we still don't have a reservation. I hope your new buddy will let us in again."

"You don't need reservations after midnight. They let everybody in."

**********

When they strolled into the lobby of Café Nue, Gabby spotted Wiley. He leaned over and whispered to Rebecca, "He's right over there. In the corner. See him?"

Rebecca saw Wiley talking to Bobby Ballantini. It looked like a serious conversation.

"I hate this place." Gabby spoke loud enough for everyone in the lobby to hear him, including Wiley.

Rebecca looked surprised. And she wasn't acting. Gabby had gone off script again.

"Let's get out of here." Gabby grabbed Rebecca's arm.

Rebecca took the cue. "Get your hand off me before I break it off."

Gabby threw both hands in the air. "Fine. You can catch a cab home, Bitch."

Rebecca punched him in the face.

He grabbed his jaw and began to rub it. "We're done, Slut! You hear me? Done!" He turned and stormed out.

Rebecca hoped he was still acting. She had walloped him pretty good. She turned around and straightened her dress, attempting to regain her composure.

Wiley walked over to her. "Are you okay, Miss?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Good. But you've lost your escort. Could I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, don't feel obligated just because my boyfriend's a jerk."

"I don't. Not at all. But you can do better."

"Thanks." Rebecca smiled. "Oh, sure, I'd love to have a drink with you."

He looked at the hostess, "Is my table ready, Cindy?"

"Always, Sir."

Wiley winked at Rebecca. The hostess led them into the restaurant and over to Wiley's table in the center of the room.

He ordered two glasses of expensive wine. Rebecca didn't like wine. It was just as well, since she had no intention of consuming any more alcohol tonight.

"So, what's your name, Honey?"

Rebecca went blank. What had she planned to call herself? She blurted out, "Julie."

"Julie what?"

"Jones. Julie Jones."

"That's okay. You don't have to tell me your real name."

"That is my real name."

"Okay. Sorry. It sounds fake. I'm sure you get that a lot."

She smiled and nodded.

"Well, my name is Wiley Smotherburn. Of course, you probably already knew who I was."

"Glad to meet you Wiley." She extended her hand. He took it in both of his hands and rubbed it gently. "Soft skin."

Rebecca nearly laughed out loud. Her hands were not soft. He must have already had a drink or two, she thought. The alcohol was deadening his sense of touch. She could only imagine how that would affect him in the bedroom. Although it didn't matter, since she would not be joining him in any bedrooms. "Thanks." She withdrew her hand.

"Yeah, my dad owns this place." He looked around. "It'll be mine one day soon."

Not if Joey Ketrousie had his way, thought Rebecca. Obviously, Wiley didn't know his father was dead.

"And I'm going to make some changes. Big changes."

"Like what? Do away with the nudity?"

"Hell, no. I want even more nudity. If topless can bring in this kind of business, imagine what total nudity would do."

Rebecca looked around at the waitresses. She could barely stand to eat in this room as it was. Total nudity? Barf.

"And I'll add a cover charge. Thirty bucks to get in the door."

The waitress brought the wine bottle and filled their glasses.

Wiley gulped his down immediately and motioned for the waitress to refill it.

Rebecca pretended to take a sip of hers.

"Are you hungry?" He sucked down his second glass of wine.

"No, not really."

He put his hand on her arm and leaned in. "Want to go to my place? I just bought a house." He grinned.

"Uh, sure."

He staggered out of the restaurant, hanging onto her for support. Rebecca decided he must have already had several drinks before she got there. "I'll drive."

"What? No, I'm fine."

"I'm not going with you unless you let me drive."

"Oh, alright." He took the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her.

His address was programmed into his car's GPS system. It was a good thing, since he was in no condition to give directions.

"You're a very beautiful woman, Judy."

"Julie."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Julie. You're a very beautiful woman, Julie. Did anybody ever tell you that?"

"A couple of times."

"I love your long, long..." He seemed to get stuck on the word. "...long, long...legs...Julie." He reached over to put his hand on her right thigh.

"Take it easy, Big Boy," she said. "I'm trying to drive."

"Oh, sure. Sorry."

"Are you and your dad close?"

"Huh? Oh. Not really."

"I mean, how often to you see him?"

"Usually just at the office. Or sometimes at the café."

"So, did you see him today? Or talk to him?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Yeah, I saw him at the office today."

Rebecca drove in silence.

"Why do you ask, Julie? Are you looking for a job? Do you want me to put in a word for you with my dad?"

"Yeah. Maybe." She pulled into the driveway, as instructed by the woman's voice in the GPS. "Well, here we are."

Rebecca helped Wiley make it up the steps and into the house. "This is a nice place you've got." She was surprised at how neat it looked.

"Thanks." Wiley plopped down on the couch.

Rebecca noticed the pictures on the mantle. "Is this your dad?"

"Yeah." He got up and joined her. "And that's my stepmother, Kimberly." He stepped in close to the picture, his nose two inches from the glass. "Die, Bitch!"

"So, you and your stepmom don't get along."

"You could say that." Wiley was beginning to sway.

Rebecca took his arm. "Maybe you'd better sit back down." She led him to the couch.

He fell onto the couch, pulling Rebecca down with him.

"I think you've had way too much to drink."

He had already passed out.

"Maybe I'd better go."

He began to snore.

She took a few seconds to look around the house, but didn't see anything of interest. So, she walked outside and called for a cab. She was gone within ten minutes.

**********

Once the cab had driven away, Wiley stood up and took out his phone.

"Hey. We may have trouble. Rebecca Ranghorn showed up at the club...I don't know. I did my drunk act...yeah...totally fooled her...no, don't worry...I've got it under control."

CHAPTER 8 - Tuesday, 1:16 a.m.

Rebecca paid the cabbie and got out. As she walked to the front door, she saw Gabby unlocking it from the inside.

She heard something whizz by her head. Then a pop. In the split second it took for her to realize somebody was shooting at her, another bullet hit the doorframe.

Gabby opened the door and Rebecca ran inside. As he closed and locked the door, the window shattered.

They ran for the back stairs, and flew up to the third floor.

"What the hell, Becca?"

"Kill the lights."

Gabby flipped the switch.

"We pushed somebody's buttons," said Rebecca.

"What did you tell Wiley?"

"Nothing. And it couldn't be him. He was passed out on the couch."

They heard more glass breaking downstairs.

Rebecca crouched down and scurried to the front window.

"Get back. They'll shoot you."

"They can't see me in the dark."

Gabby joined her at the window. "They're inside. See. They turned the lights on." The glow from the shop lit up the sidewalk and street, and began to flicker. "Wait—is that fire?"

"I'm afraid so."

"My beautiful dresses." He bolted for the stairs.

"Gabby, stop. They may be waiting for us down there."

He ran down the stairs anyway. Rebecca ran after him.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairwell it was filled with smoke.

"It's too late." Rebecca grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry. We've got to go back up."

When they were back on the third floor, Gabby took out his phone and called 911 to report the fire. When he had ended the call, he said, "Becca, we can't stay here. By the time the fire trucks come we'll be dead from the smoke. We've got to go up to the roof. We can go over to the next building and climb down the fire escape."

"No. We can't go up there, Gabby. The shooter may be trying to smoke us out. He'll pick us off as soon as we step out the door."

Gabby thought for a moment. "I have an idea." He felt his way over to the wall.

Rebecca followed him.

"There's a door here. The guy who used to own these buildings wanted to be able to go back and forth easily, so he cut a passageway."

"Can you still get through?"

"I think it's just nailed."

"What about the door on the other side?"

"I don't know."

"If can get through, we'll hide out in the other building. The shooter will think we died in the fire. You got any tools?"

"A few." Gabby fumbled around in the darkness until he found his toolbox. He located the flashlight. It was small but the batteries were still good. He picked up the toolbox and carried it over to the door. "We've got two hammers and a big screwdriver."

"Great." Rebecca took the flashlight and shined it at the door. "Look at this. They didn't nail the side with the hinges. We'll pop the pins and pry it open."

Gabby held the flashlight while Rebecca removed the pins with the screwdriver and hammer. Then she drove the screwdriver in between the door and the frame and began to pry with it. Once it opened slightly, she jammed the claw of her hammer into the crack. "While I hold this, see if you can get the claw of the other hammer in here, so you can help me pry the door open."

Gabby put the end of the flashlight into his mouth. He picked up the other hammer and forced its claw into the narrow opening.

They worked their hammers from the top to the bottom of the door. One by one, the nails began to give way. Finally, they were able to swing the door to one side.

Gabby shined the light into what he expected to be a short hallway. Instead he saw a white wall. "What is that?"

"Foam insulation. They must have sprayed it into the gap between the doors to absorb the sound."

Gabby turned around and shined the light toward the stairwell. The smoke was flowing up the staircase into the room. "We've got to get out of here fast."

Rebecca swung her hammer into the foam, claw first. She yanked it backwards, ripping out a small chunk of the foam.

Gabby joined in. They chomped away at the foam like a couple of beavers.

By the time they hit the other door, they were soaking wet with sweat, and beginning to cough.

"How are going to get this door off? The hinges are on the other side."

Rebecca thought for a moment. "Do you have anything we can ram it with? Some heavy piece of equipment or furniture?"

"No, I don't have—wait. Yes, I do. Come with me."

Rebecca followed Gabby into his office. He opened his closet door.

"I bought this weight set a while back."

"Perfect."

They tore into the boxes, put the weights on the ends of the bar and locked them in place.

"That's 130 pounds," said Gabby.

"I hope it's enough."

They picked up the bar at the ends, and Rebecca led them through the work room, into the passageway between the doors. "Okay," she said. "We'll swing back on three and forward on four."

"Got it."

After three rams, the door had still not budged.

"It's not going to work," mumbled Gabby. He took the flashlight out of his mouth to cough. "Maybe we should take our chances on the roof."

"No. It has to work. We've got to hit it harder."

"I'll try." He put the flashlight back into his mouth.

"One, two three, four! Did you feel that, Gabby?"

"Yeah."

"One, two, three, four! Hell, yeah, Baby!"

"We're gonna make it." Gabby coughed hard, and the flashlight flew out of his mouth. He picked it up from the floor and shined it toward Rebecca. He could barely see her through the smoke, even though she was standing right in front of him.

"Hang in there. One more time."

They both knew this might be their last chance—before collapsing into a smoky grave. They slung the barbell with all their might. The door swung open a full foot. They lost control of the barbell and it fell to the floor.

Gabby took the flashlight out of his mouth. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Come on." She squeezed through the opening.

Gabby followed her. "We made it. I can't believe we did it."

Rebecca heard the sirens. "The fire trucks are here. If the shooter is still out there, he's watching for us on the roof. He has to know that if we don't come out soon, we're dead from the smoke. So, let's hurry downstairs and slip out to the alley."

Gabby shined the flashlight back toward his shop.

"I'm sorry, Gabby."

"I'm just glad I didn't let my insurance coverage lapse."

They watched the smoke billowing in through the partially opened door.

"Good thing this side is vacant," said Gabby.

She put her hand on Gabby's arm. "Why don't we go find another motel and crash for the night?"

"Why get a different one? We're still checked in."

"Did you use your real name? How did you pay?"

"I used my credit card. Oh."

"Yeah. We need to go find an ATM and get some cash. Then we can give a fake name at another motel. We don't want to make it too easy for somebody to find us."

"Right." Gabby shined the flashlight in front of them to locate the stairs, and they went down to the first floor.

They slipped out into the alley, got into Gabby's car, and drove away.

Rebecca took out her phone.

"Who are you calling at this hour?"

"Carly. I need to tell her Big Bill is dead."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"She'd want to know now. She works until midnight. Never goes to sleep before two."

"Lousy schedule."

"She's not answering."

"Leave her a voice mail."

Rebecca thought for a moment. "No. This is not good. Something's wrong. I need to get over there."

CHAPTER 9 - Tuesday, 1:37 a.m.

Mandibul slipped into the lab. As nimble as a jaguar, the 6-foot-5 black man moved slowly along the wall toward Phillipa's office. His firearm was holstered. With hands the size of an NFL quarterback, he rarely needed a gun.

Her office was empty.

He spotted her, standing at a workbench—in a state of high vulnerability. His timing could not have been better. The steady hiss of her acetylene torch would mask any inadvertent scuff of his boots on the tile floor. He stayed low to avoid any reflection in her welding goggles.

Within a foot of her back, he stood upright. "Don't move."

Phillipa flinched.

"Kill the torch."

She turned it off and set it down on the workbench.

"Feel that?"

She gasped. "Yes." She took off her goggles.

"Hold still, or it might go off."

"Have you no control over your weapon?"

"Very little."

Phillipa spun around. "What the hell took you so long?"

He grabbed her up in his rock-hard arms and kissed her hard on the lips.

She pulled away. "How much time do you have?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Let's make it count."

He scooped her up as though she were a feather pillow. Phillipa loved that. She was tall and fit, but at 175 lbs., very few men could make her feel weightless.

Mandibul carried her to her office and set her down on her feet.

She threw off her lab coat and began to unbutton his security guard shirt while he took off her blouse.

Phillipa looked up into his eyes. "You could get fired for this, you know."

"We won't get caught."

"I'm not talking about getting caught. I'm saying if you give a sub-par performance."

"You know better than that."

She grinned. "Yes, I do."

He stripped off her bra, poised to devour her breasts.

"Mandibul?"

He did not take his eyes off her chest. "Yes? What do you desire tonight? Your wish is my command."

"Good. But first...I have a question for you."

He stood erect, and looked directly into her eyes.

"Have you ever...killed anyone? I know you were in the military, and—"

"—yeah, I've killed a few men."

"Was it hard?"

"You don't think about it. You're in survival mode."

"I see."

"The problem is...you think about it afterwards."

"Could you ever do it again?"

"I guess. If I had to. Why? You got somebody you want me to knock off?" He smiled.

She giggled. "Of course not. I'm being hypothetical, Silly."

"How about I hypothetically pull your panties off and throw you down on the couch?"

"Better yet, do it for real."

"Yes, Ma'am."

CHAPTER 10 - Tuesday, 1:40 a.m.

Gabby waited for the traffic light to turn green. "So, where are we going?"

"The Grande Pimpton Hotel," said Rebecca.

"I know where it is. But it's two o'clock in the morning. What is she—a night clerk?"

"No. She's a hooker."

"You're working for a hooker?"

"Yeah. But what I've been working on has nothing to do with her...job. It's about her daughter. Big Bill raped her."

"That bastard."

"He didn't force her. But legally, because she's underage, it's still rape."

"How do you know she did it willingly?"

"Well..."

"You watched, didn't you? You videoed the whole thing."

"I know—it's not pretty, but it's part of my job."

"What in the world would make a young girl want to have sex with that old fart?"

"To get a job at Café Nue."

"Of course. So she could be discovered by a Hollywood agent."

"Those young women will do anything to get a job there. I'd like to knock some sense into all of them."

"Maybe Carly isn't answering her phone because she's busy, if you know what I mean."

"Serving a customer?"

"Is that what she calls it?"

"Yeah. But no, it's not that. Not after midnight."

"Maybe she already went home and went to bed. Turned her phone off."

"She stays at the hotel for a while, to shower and recuperate."

Gabby shook his head in disgust.

"Then she goes home to her husband."

"Does he have any idea what she's doing?"

"Oh yeah, he knows. He doesn't seem to care as long as she brings home the bacon."

"Is he a drunk? Or a lazy bum?"

"Neither. He's weird. He works on cars all day long. It's all he cares about. And he's very good at it. Meticulous, but very slow. So he doesn't make much money."

**********

As they walked up to the hotel lobby, they saw their reflection in the glass doors. Their faces and clothing were smutty. Rebecca's half-curly hairdo was leaning to one side.

Gabby said, "We're a mess."

"We look like we just had sex in a dumpster."

Gabby grinned at her. "The sex part sounds good."

"Gabby." She pushed his shoulder and he lost his balance, and nearly fell down. "Oh. Sorry."

"Maybe we should have got a motel room and taken a shower first."

"But we don't have any other clothes. And I really need to do this right now. It won't take long."

When the young man at the counter saw them approaching, he began to rummage through the cabinets below. Probably looking for a can of Lysol, Rebecca thought. Or pepper spray.

"Could I please get an extra key for Room 412?"

Without saying a word, he went to the rack of key cards.

"I appreciate this," said Rebecca.

"No problem." He handed her the key card, being sure not to touch her sooty fingers.

Rebecca and Gabby walked to an elevator.

Gabby pushed the call button, and whispered, "I can't believe he gave you the key card without making you show I.D. Do you know him?"

"I've seen him before when I've come here to meet with Carly. But I doubt he recognized me looking like this. I don't know why he didn't ask to see my driver's license. I think he was afraid of us."

"You came up here this late?"

"No. We would meet before she started working. In fact, I was supposed to come by here tonight—to bring her a copy of the video. That was the errand I told you about on the phone."

"Oh, yeah."

The elevator doors opened and they walked in.

Rebecca pushed the fourth floor button. "The Grande Pimpton—what a name. This place is not so grand anymore."

"It gives me the creeps. It must be crawling with hookers and johns."

"And roaches." Rebecca stomped one with her foot.

The guts squished out and nearly hit one of Gabby's Italian dress shoes. He gasped and jumped back.

The elevator doors opened and Rebecca led the way to Room 412. She put her ear up to the door and listened. But she heard nothing, so she knocked.

After waiting a few more seconds, Rebecca slipped the key card into the slot. She eased down on the door lever and slowly opened the door.

The light from the hallway flooded the room, revealing a woman lying on the bed in a negligee, motionless. They went in, and Rebecca closed the door and flipped the light switch.

Carly Cinaway was flat on her back, both hands on her chest. Her eyes were wide open, filled with terror.

"Look at this thing," said Gabby, pointing to the odd-looking piggy bank on the nightstand.

"Don't touch it. It's got an alarm system." Rebecca reached into her pocket and took out a pair of latex gloves.

"You're kidding."

"What?" She pulled the gloves onto her hands.

"Where did you get those?"

"I had a box of them in my purse. In my line of work, you never know when you're going to need to touch things without leaving fingerprints." She felt Carly's neck, trying to locate a pulse.

"Anything?" said Gabby.

Rebecca frowned and shook her head.

"What do you think killed her? I don't see any blood."

Rebecca inspected the neck. "Doesn't appear she was strangled."

"Overdose?"

"Maybe. But I don't see any pill bottles." She checked each arm. "No needle marks."

"From the look on her face—"

"—I know. It's almost as if something scared her to death." She slid her hands under Carly's body and rolled her onto her side.

"What are you doing? You don't want to mess around with the crime scene."

"I just need to make sure—wonder what this is?"

"What?"

"Two little red spots on the sheet, where her head had been lying. She's bleeding."

Gabby walked over to take a closer look. "Awe, come on, Becca. That could have come from a pimple. It's nothing. Let's get out of here before we get caught."

"Let me take a closer look." She began to inspect the back of Carly's head, foraging through her hair. "I wish we had your flashlight."

"It's in the car. And don't ask. I won't go get it. We need to leave. Now."

Rebecca continued searching Carly's head. "I feel something right here."

Gabby reached into his pocket and took out his key ring. "Try this."

She looked up. Gabby had a tiny flashlight on his key ring.

"Thanks." Rebecca held her place on Carly's scalp with one hand while taking the key ring light with the other. She leaned in close and shined the light where her finger was. "Check this out."

Gabby stepped closer to take a look. "What is it?"

"Something punctured the skin in these two spots."

"A needle?"

"Not unless it was one hell of a big needle."

CHAPTER 11 - Tuesday, 1:50 a.m.

A beautiful young woman walked through Café Nue, and found Bobby Ballantini standing in the side archway that led to the restrooms. "Excuse me, Sir. I wonder if you can help me."

He smiled. "I'll try my best."

"It's about my application for employment. I've been waiting forever to hear something."

"It can take a while. You'll have to meet with my boss: Mr. Ketrousie."

"Okay. Where can I find him?"

"No. You'll need an appointment, Honey. You can't do it tonight. We're about to close. Come back tomorrow afternoon. Around two."

She stepped in closer, placed her hand on his arm, and looked deeply into his eyes with every ounce of her considerable sex appeal. "Gee, I work afternoons and evenings, so you can imagine how hard it is," she pushed one of her thighs up against his, "for me to get here at that time. I was really hoping to talk to him tonight."

"Well...I guess we can give it a try. Come with me."

She followed him out of the dining room and down a hallway.

Bobby knocked on the door and stuck his head in. "Boss? I've got a young lady here who applied for a job a long time ago, and she's wondering if—"

"—tell her to come back tomorrow."

"Aw, come on, Boss."

Joey hesitated. "Let me see her."

Bobby pushed the door wide open.

Joey smiled at what he saw. "Come on in, Sweetie."

She walked in. Bobby closed the door and walked away.

"You're quite a babe."

"Thanks."

"What's your name?"

"Megan."

"Well, Megan, as you know, this is a topless establishment. So, I'll need to see your boobs to find out if you meet our qualifications."

She began to take off her blouse. "You know, I already did this for Big Bill."

"I understand. But things have changed around here. Now I make all the hiring decisions."

"Okay." She took off her blouse, and her bra.

"Nice, Baby." He walked around to the front of his desk. "What did you say your name was?"

"Megan."

He walked toward her, eyes widening, about to take a feel of her young, plump breasts.

"Megan Cinaway."

Joey stopped cold in his tracks. "Put your clothes back on." He turned around and walked back to his desk and sat down.

She knew her mother had threatened Big Bill with rape charges. Did Joey know about it? She would never forgive her mother if she had destroyed her chances for a job at Café Nue. "What's the matter? Are they not big enough? I could get a boob job."

"No, it's not that. If anything you're too beautiful."

"Huh?"

"I think you're ready for the majors, Baby."

"Majors?"

"Yeah. This minor league stuff is beneath you. Hiring you to work here would be a waste of your considerable talents and charm. I'm sending you to New York."

Megan bounced with excitement. "New York City?"

"That's right, Baby. The Big Apple. You're going to be a professional model. America is gonna be seeing your sexy bod on the cover of all the top magazines."

"Wow. You could make that happen?" She slipped into her bra.

"Sure. Now, here's what I want you to do." He reached into his pocket and took out his money clip. He put some bills on his desk. "Drive over to the Holiday Inn Express by the airport. Get yourself a good night's sleep. I'll book your flight for you. In the morning, you'll go to the American Airlines ticket counter and tell them your name. They'll give you the ticket."

Megan was nearly speechless. "Okay." She walked over to his desk and took the money.

"I make that trip a couple times a month. Your plane will leave at 11:45 and get to New York at around 4:30. There will be a guy from the modeling agency waiting for you at the airport. He'll be holding up a sign with your name on it."

"Okay."

"Excited?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm so excited."

"Well, you should be. This is a great opportunity."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Okay then. Get going. You'll need your beauty sleep for that first photo shoot."

CHAPTER 12 - Tuesday, 2:25 a.m.

After hitting the ATM machine, Gabby and Rebecca had stopped by Wal-Mart to buy three changes of clothing each, not knowing how long they would be on the run. Their motel room smelled like smoke. Gabby had suggested that once they had taken their showers, they should throw their smoky clothes in the dumpster.

While she took a shower, he sent a text message to all of his employees, telling them about the fire. Then he did some research on his smartphone. He found the website for Smotherburn Technologies and located a page that listed their top executives, complete with photos.

At the top of the page was William Smotherburn, in all his pompous glory. "Okay, now which one of you wanted him dead?" The most obvious choice was Harvey Hamstel. He was the president of the company. So, he was probably in the best position to take over as CEO.

Rebecca walked out of the bathroom with a towel around her body and another one around her head. "Your turn."

He held up his phone. "I think I've found our prime suspect for Big Bill's murder."

She took the phone. "Harvey Hamstel, President. Well, he does look guilty."

He walked toward the bathroom.

"Check this out." She turned the phone toward him.

Gabby walked back to look at it. "Phillipa Thagery, Vice President of Research and Development."

"It says she's developing some cutting edge TENS unit that will put the company years ahead of their competition."

"A TENS unit. Didn't you wear one of those for a while in high school?"

"Yeah. For the pain in my back. So, what if the killer hooked a super-powerful unit up to Carly's head and fried her brain?"

"You think this Phillipa Thagery did it?"

"Not necessarily," said Rebecca. "It could have been somebody else who had access to what she was developing."

Gabby walked toward the bathroom. "Killing Carly would have made Big Bill's problem go away."

"But why kill Carly after Big Bill was already dead? Unless Carly's killer didn't know he was dead."

Gabby turned around in the bathroom doorway. "And why make plans to kill Carly knowing Big Bill was going to try to bribe you?"

"Maybe a few hours of sleep will clear our minds."

"I sure hope so." Gabby closed the bathroom door and started the shower.

Rebecca started to call Wendy and tell her to take another day off. But she didn't want to chance waking up the baby and ruining Wendy's night. She would call her first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER 13 - Tuesday, 2:31 a.m.

"Hey, Poppa, it's me, Joey."

"Hey, Joey, it's the middle of the night. Why are you waking me up?"

"Sorry, Poppa, but I need your help."

"Okay. But couldn't it wait until morning?"

"No, Poppa. I'm sorry."

"Well, what is it? What do you need?"

"I've got a problem, and it's headed your way. I sent you the details in an encrypted email. You'd better check it now."

"Okay, Son. I will. And whatever the problem is, I'll put Cam on it right away."

"Oh, no. Not Cam. He's a freak."

"Joey! He's your brother. Don't ever dishonor your own flesh and blood. And believe me, he's working hard to be part of the family business now."

"I wish I could believe that."

"You can believe it because your father said it!"

"I'm sorry, Poppa. I meant no disrespect to you."

"Then don't disrespect your brother."

"Okay. You're right, of course, Poppa."

"So, is everything else going okay? Are you about to own the business?"

"Yes, Sir. Just like I said I would. In a couple of weeks."

"And you'll finally bring in some real money."

"For the family, Poppa. It's all for the family. You know that. How's Momma?"

"She's fine. Except for the dirty look she giving me right now. She wants to go back to sleep."

"Tell her I'm sorry, Poppa. And tell her I love her."

"I will. Goodnight, Son."

"Goodnight, Poppa. And thanks."

CHAPTER 14 - Tuesday, 8:48 a.m.

Rebecca liked the melody. It was a cute little tune. Oddly familiar. It stopped playing. Then it started up again. She woke up. It was her cell phone. "Oh crap."

Gabby jumped out of bed. "What?"

"We didn't get our wakeup call. And this is Wendy. I was going to call her first thing this morning and tell her to stay home today."

"She found the body. Now she'll have to call the police."

Rebecca took the call. "Wendy, are you okay?...oh...well, sure, I understand...no problem...just take a sick day...you're welcome...bye."

"What happened?"

"We lucked out. She's feeling ill today. Not anything serious. She was probably up all night with her baby. Her mom will take care of the baby today while Wendy catches up on her sleep. This happened a few weeks ago."

"Sounds like you need a new secretary."

"No, Wendy's been my secretary for several years. When I relocated from Sherman, she came along with me."

"A loyal employee."

"Yeah."

"So, do you suppose anybody has found Big Bill yet?"

"I don't know. The door is unlocked, so anybody could wander in and find him. And even if that doesn't happen, at some point the stink is going to seep into the office next door. So we may not have much time."

"I guess we didn't accomplish much last night."

"Except to get your shop burned down. I'm sorry, Gabby."

"It wasn't your fault. It was probably one of Big Bill's people who knew about my loan. I guess it's better than getting my legs broken."

"Or they might have done it because they tracked Big Bill to my office and they think I killed him."

"Yeah. It wouldn't have been difficult. They could have tracked his cell phone. Or his car. It was parked in front of your office. And if somebody recognized us last night at Café Nue..."

"Like Joey Ketrousie. Or Wiley."

"But wouldn't they just let the police take care of us? Wasn't that the purpose of framing us for Big Bill's murder?"

"Yeah." Rebecca thought for a moment. "But if whoever framed us is afraid we're close to figuring out who he is..."

"He might try to take us out himself."

"Right." She sighed. "How did you sleep?"

"I got about four hours."

"Yeah, me too. I didn't think I would be able to sleep at all." Rebecca set her phone on the night stand and stood up. "I keep picturing Carly's face. It must have been a horrible death."

"You still think whoever it was that killed her was working for Big Bill?"

She nodded.

"But what I still don't get is why he was having Carly murdered on the same night he was trying to bribe you to shut her up."

"Yeah. That doesn't make sense. Unless...the person who killed Carly was acting on his own."

"Doing it for Big Bill—without his knowledge? Why would he do that?"

"Deniability. Big Bill would honestly know nothing about Carly's murder. And if he got away with it, he could go to Big Bill and take credit for keeping his butt out of prison. And try to collect a pile of cash. Or, if it was Ms. Thagery or some other employee, they might be looking for a big promotion."

"Or...how about this theory?" said Gabby. "The same person who killed Big Bill also killed Carly.

"Why kill Carly if Big Bill is dead?"

"I don't know," said Gabby. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Unless the killer was worried about Carly suing the company. Big Bill's raping of Megan Cinaway involved company business, since the sex was part of his job application process. It would have to be somebody whose wealth or power is tied to the company."

"Well, if that's the case, I'm surprised he didn't go after Megan, too."

Rebecca panicked. "What if he did? She may already be dead." Rebecca picked up her phone and called Megan. "Carly gave me her number, but I've never used it. Come on, Megan, answer.

"Is this Megan Cinaway?...this is Rebecca Ranghorn. Your mother hired me to—...well, I'm glad you're okay, but I need to tell you—...New York?...wait, Megan, I need to tell you something...Megan?...It's important. Hello?..."

Rebecca called again, but it went straight to voicemail.

"What was that about New York?"

"She's flying to New York City today. Says she's going to be a supermodel."

"Obviously, she doesn't know her mother is dead."

"I doubt she knows about Big Bill either. But somebody has got her believing she's going to be rich and famous."

"The same somebody who killed her mother and Big Bill? But if that's the case, wouldn't he have already killed her? Why send her to New York?"

"Maybe he figured he was pushing his luck. He's already got two dead bodies in the same town."

"So, he's going to send her to New York, and follow her up there and kill her?"

"Or have somebody else do it. We've got to stop her from getting on that plane."

"What plane? Do you know what time her flight leaves? And which airline?"

"All I know is that she suddenly realized it was after nine, and that she needed to get to the airport."

"Well, assuming she's not too far away, she's probably trying to make it there by 10:00 or 10:30."

"And that would mean a departure time of around noon or so."

Gabby took out his phone. "So, let's see what flights depart at around noon."

"Just the non-stop flights. She's a teenager. This may be the first time she's ever flown by herself. They wouldn't want to take a chance that she'd miss a connection."

"Okay...my best guess would be...American Airlines...departing at 11:45."

"We don't have much time. And once she goes through security—"

"—yeah. We've got to hurry."

**********

Rebecca spotted her at the security gate. "Megan!"

Megan looked back and saw Rebecca and Gabby hurrying toward her. She ignored them, putting her bag on the conveyor belt, walking through the metal detector, and grabbing her bag on the other side.

By the time Rebecca and Gabby got there, she was already out of sight.

"Try calling her phone again," said Gabby.

Rebecca was already doing it. But it went straight to voicemail. "Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn. Please call me when you get this message. It's extremely important. Your life is in danger."

"Why didn't you tell her that her mother is dead? She would have been more likely to call back."

"I know. But I can't tell her that in a voicemail."

"Wonder when she'll turn her phone back on."

"Hopefully before the plane takes off. But who knows?"

Gabby started talking like a ventriloquist, barely moving his lips. "Don't look now, but there are two security guards staring at us."

Rebecca laughed—loud enough for the guards to hear.

Gabby glared at her.

"Okay. Let's go home, Sweetie. I'm starving," she said, grinning. She whispered, "Walk at a normal pace."

CHAPTER 15 - Tuesday, 10:45 a.m.

"Let's pay a visit to Calvin Cinaway." Rebecca gave Gabby directions to the Cinaway home.

"You think he knows his wife is dead?"

"Hopefully nobody knows yet—since I put the Do Not Disturb sign on Carly's hotel room door."

"I didn't even see you do that—probably because I was in such a hurry to get out of there before we got caught. You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"No," said Rebecca. "He'd call the police. Then they'd want me for two murders."

"Us. They would want us for two murders."

"But the fact that Calvin doesn't know yet is good for us."

Gabby smiled. "Because we can see how he reacts to certain questions."

"Yeah. And he doesn't know me. He may know my name. But I've never been to their house before. We can use that to our favor."

"You don't think Calvin killed Big Bill, do you?"

"It's possible. He knows his daughter was having sex with him. But from what Carly told me, I'm not sure he really cares what happens to Megan—or to Carly for that matter. He loved the fact that she was earning a lot of money and paying all the bills."

**********

Gabby parked the car down the block and around the corner from the Cinaway home. If the cops drove up while they were there, they could escape across the back yards.

Three shiny, classic cars were snuggled together inside Calvin's Auto Shop. His three-car home garage had been expanded on both sides and at the rear to make room for tools and equipment. There was a 1956 Buick Special in the driveway. Rebecca figured that one to be Calvin's car.

When they entered the shop, their hair and clothing began to blow. Rebecca's blouse flapped wildly against her chest. She located the source: a very large fan suspended in the back corner of the garage.

"Mr. Cinaway?" Rebecca immediately realized she needed to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the fan. "Mr. Cinaway?"

"Yeah?" Calvin poked his head around the open hood of a Pontiac GTO.

"Could we have a word with you?"

Calvin waved them closer, and went back to work. "What kind of car you got?"

"Uh..."

Gabby jumped in. "A '63 Catalina. 421 cubic inch."

Calvin looked up. "Nice." He pointed to the workbench. "Put your name and number on the list over there, and I'll call you when I get an opening."

Gabby walked over to the workbench. "How long do you think it will be?" When he picked up the clipboard, he knocked off a large screwdriver. He jumped back in the nick of time—before the sharp blade pierced the top of his shoe. He picked it up and put it back on the workbench.

"I don't know. Could be months. But I'll definitely give you priority. I'd love to get under the hood of that sweet baby. I could max her out, and get that mother to do a hundred miles per hour in under 15 seconds."

Gabby's eyes lit up. "Whoa."

Rebecca could see Calvin's passion for cars. She knew that he and Carly had no sex life. Maybe this is what it took to get his rocks off: classic muscle cars. "By the way, is your wife home? I would love to show her my exciting line of cosmetics."

"No. She's not here right now. Not sure when she'll be back."

"Well, do you have a teenage daughter who might be interested?"

"She's not here either."

"Okay, thanks. Maybe some other time."

Gabby was standing at the workbench, perusing a Porsche brochure he had found there. He held it up. "I wouldn't mind having one of these."

Calvin stopped working and stood up straight. "Yeah."

Rebecca noticed that he seemed uneasy about Gabby's discovery of the brochure. "You ought to buy yourself one."

"Oh, I'd love to." Calvin laughed nervously. "But I don't make that kind of money."

Rebecca stared at him—which seemed to make him fidget.

Gabby followed her lead, walking over with the brochure in hand. "Wow, it says here that the base price is $62,000. But look how cool, Becca. It's a Porche Boxster Spyder. It does zero to sixty in 4.9 seconds."

"Beautiful." Rebecca kept one eye on Calvin. "Well, I guess we'd better get going and let Mr. Cinaway get back to work."

"Yeah. We don't want to be pests." Gabby took Rebecca's hand. "Thanks, Mr. Cinaway." They turned and walked out.

"Sure thing," said Calvin.

Once they were back in Gabby's car, Rebecca said, "You shouldn't have called me Becca in front of him."

"I know. I'm sorry. You think he figured out who you were?"

"Probably not. And obviously, he hasn't heard from the cops yet. But he's hiding something."

"You think he killed Big Bill? Or Carly?"

"I don't think he's capable of killing anybody. But he definitely got nervous after you picked up that brochure."

**********

Calvin wiped off his hands, and took out his phone.

"When are you going to bring my money?...Cash, right?...Good. I'll be here."

CHAPTER 16 - Tuesday, 11:36 a.m.

Harvey Hamstel leaned back in his plush executive chair and studied the artist's rendering of William Smotherburn. The massive canvas was mounted on the wall facing his desk. Each member of the senior management team had been blessed with one.

It felt as though Big Bill himself was with them at all times. Whether they were preparing a proposal, reading a report, reprimanding an employee, or chit chatting over the phone—Big Bill was watching, judging. Like Big Brother.

Each work of art was an original oil painting, with a unique setting and pose. Some portrayed him hard at work: sitting at his desk, studying some important document, or standing with a construction foreman, holding a blueprint in one hand while pointing at something in the distance with the other.

There were also paintings that illustrated his leisure life. At the helm of his 38-foot yacht. On the golf course. Next to his prized sports car: a $150,000 black Maserati GranTurismo.

Margie, a recently promoted female executive was not at all happy with the painting in her office: Big Bill enjoying dinner with friends at his own Café Nue, while a well-endowed, bare-breasted waitress leaned over to refill his wine glass. The artist's rendition of the young woman's chest was breathtaking.

Harvey snickered. That painting would be a constant reminder to Margie that she could never measure up to Big Bill's standards.

Harvey Hamstel was the President of Smotherburn Technologies. A small man with enormous ambitions. And he admired ambition in his managers—to a point. Their job was to make him look good. What was good for him was good for them. But any manager who sought to make himself look good would soon find himself unemployed.

He, and he alone, had the ear of the CEO, William Smotherburn. Harvey was the ultimate Yes Man. Whatever Big Bill wanted, Harvey got it done for him. No questions asked.

But after twenty-three years, Harvey was tired of being Big Bill's errand boy. He was ready to take over as CEO. And now it would happen. Soon it would be his image in those paintings. Standing at the podium, giving the Annual State of the Company Address. Sitting at the head of the executive conference room table.

Perhaps he would take up cigars. He would look dashing on a sailboat, smoking a fine Cuban.

Harvey imagined how the management team would react to Big Bill's death, and how he would reassure them. He would tell them Kimberly Smotherburn was committed to the goals of the company. She would not sell it or make any drastic changes.

The grieving widow would appoint Harvey as CEO. And once the dust settled, they would be wed, and fly off for a two-week honeymoon at some tropical resort.

But first Harvey would need to unload his current wife. It would not be difficult. She had been unhappy for years. And lately he had been deliberately antagonizing her. He would offer her a generous settlement, and she would tearfully agree to a divorce.

Mrs. Kimberly Hamstel. He liked the sound of it. And he could not wait to get that young, hot thing into bed. How had she put up with Big Bill and his philandering?

Good riddance to the old fat ass.

CHAPTER 17 - Tuesday, 11:44 a.m.

"How was it?"

"Mind blowing, as always, Baby." Kimberly rolled over to her back and pulled the sheet up over her curvy, naked body.

"Big Bill was so fat. How in hell did you ever—"

"—he pretty much just laid there like a side of beef. I did all the work. But that's what happens when a twenty-four year old marries a guy twice her age and three times her weight."

"I wish I hadn't asked. Now all I can see is his big old ugly naked butt. I'm never going to get that picture out of my head."

Kimberly laughed."What about me? I've been seeing it for five years. I'd pay anything if I could have those memories surgically removed."

"I'll bet."

"But that's okay. The money will help me forget."

The phone rang. Kimberly picked it up as she watched her lover get dressed.

"Hello?...how are you, Harvey?...sure, how about eight o'clock?...yes, I'm hot for you too, Babe...see you then."

"You're not actually having sex with that little runt?"

"Of course not. I'm just stringing him along."

"But now that Big Bill's dead, The Hamster's gonna want to get naked with you."

"The Hamster?"

"Yeah. That's what everybody calls him behind his back."

"Well, The Hamster is a pushover. He's easy to handle."

"Okay. Good. I've got to go. I'll give you a call later, Sweet Cheeks."

Kimberly slithered out of the satin sheets and walked into the bathroom. She stood naked in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her physique. All original equipment, and still perfect.

She spun around and looked back over her shoulder. Her tight little butt drove the boys crazy in high school—especially in her cheerleader outfit. Go Bulldogs. Go horndogs. Kimberly loved to get the boys all hot and bothered.

A lot of them claimed to have nailed her. Everybody thought she was easy—which made the boys lust after her even more. She loved having a reputation. But in truth, she wasn't about to give anything away for free.

Five years ago, she was just another sexy young woman applying for a job at Café Nue. She stripped naked in Big Bill's office like the rest of the little fools. But when he told her she would need to meet him in a motel room to continue their interview, she told him to go screw himself, and walked out.

Two days later Big Bill called and asked her for a date. She hung up on him. But she knew he would call back. He was hooked. And at that point, Kimberly knew she could get whatever she wanted. And what she wanted was his money.

Within a month Kimberly was standing at the altar with him. Her conditions had been met: a two-carat, princess-cut diamond ring and no prenup. And she would be the perfect little wife. She would do whatever he asked. Ride him all night, every night, if that's what it took.

And so she waited...for the perfect moment to eliminate him. And maybe she wouldn't have to do anything. With his high blood pressure and diabetes, Big Bill could have dropped dead at any moment. It was a miracle he had lived so long. A little too long.

Kimberly was well aware that her husband was having sex with every waitress he hired for the club. He had promised her he would cut it out when they got married. But she knew better. And she didn't really care. According to her source, he always used protection. And it meant less bedroom responsibilities for her.

It made her smile to realize that his disgusting way of vetting the women for employment was the very thing that led to his death. If he hadn't screwed the Cinaway girl, he would have still been alive. The massive piece of crap got exactly what he deserved.

Now Kimberly would be the Chief Executive Officer of a multimillion dollar enterprise. If Smotherburn Technologies were a public corporation, Harvey might have been able to convince the board of directors to crown him CEO. But it was a private company, formerly owned by one man: William Smotherburn.

And now it would be all hers.

CHAPTER 18 - Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.

Gabby watched Rebecca devour the first bite of her Whataburger. "I've never known another woman who could eat the way you do—and stay thin." He took a bite of his chicken sandwich.

"But can't you see that I've cut back? I used to order these babies with double meat."

"Oh, that's right." He laughed. "And didn't you eat a triple burger one time?"

"Yeah. But it made me sick. And it was your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yeah. You bet me ten bucks I couldn't eat one."

Gabby laughed. "That's right. But you paid me back."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You got sick as a dog, and on the way home you threw up in my car."

"Oh, yeah." She laughed. "And you wanted your ten dollars back. You said it didn't count if I couldn't keep it down."

"Those were fun times."

"Yeah."

The man sitting in the booth behind Gabby finished his meal and walked out.

Rebecca got up and grabbed the newspaper the man had left on his table. She sat back down and began thumbing through it.

"What are you looking for? Surely you don't think—"

"—no, no. I want to check out the business section. Maybe there's something in here about his company. Some new product. Whatever."

Gabby loved to watch Rebecca working a problem. How many times had he seen her feverishly sketch out a plan to defeat a rival basketball team? Her studies were put on the back burner. Movies became unimportant. The only thing she could think about was how to overcome her enemy. And she nearly always succeeded.

He looked over the top of her newspaper. "Grasping at straws?"

"Yeah, I guess. Oh—maybe I should try this." She showed him an advertisement.

"You could."

"I was kidding."

"No. You could definitely pull it off—if you could handle the nudity."

"Maybe if I could work one shift—that might be enough. Girls talk. But what if Joey recognized me last night?"

"He didn't act like he knew who you were. Besides, I can give you a drastically different look. We'll need to go shopping for clothes again. But first—put down the paper and eat your lunch."

"Now I'm too nervous to eat."

Gabby recognized the look on her face. Determination. She had always loved pushing herself to the max. "Take a few deep breaths and relax."

Rebecca followed his advice.

He leaned in, so as not to be heard by the mother and children walking by. "Now eat. You're going to need your strength—to hold up your boobs."

She punched him in the arm.

"I'm kidding. They're nice and perky."

She cocked her fist for another wallop.

He held up his hands. "Enough. I'm sorry. But, hey—I think it worked. You seem more relaxed now."

Rebecca grinned.

"Eat."

CHAPTER 19 - Tuesday, 2:18 p.m.

Joey Ketrousie sat behind his desk, puffing on his cigar. "What's your name, Honey?"

"Heather Dreslaw," said Rebecca.

"How old are you, Heather?"

"Twenty-five." She could still hear her father's words: To be a private investigator, sometimes you have to lie. Good thing she had listened and learned, because right now she was lying her butt off.

"I don't think so. And that's my cutoff. I'm very strict about it. There's a reason the ad specifies a range of 21 to 25. Men come here to see tight, young bodies. And while they're here, they spend a lot of money. I can't afford to disappoint my customers."

Rebecca felt the sudden urge to leap over his desk, cram the cigar down his throat, and beat his face to a bloody pulp.

Bobby chimed in. "Give her a chance, Boss. She's got a killer body."

"You think?" said Joey. "Let's get a better look." He grinned at Rebecca. "Well?"

Rebecca thought she had prepared herself for this moment. But as she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, and unhooked her bra, she wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"Very nice. Huh, Boss?"

"Hmm. Pretty good boobs," said Joey, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "Now let's see the rest of the package."

Rebecca reluctantly unzipped her mini-skirt and let it drop to the floor.

"Panties too," said Joey.

What the hell was she doing? Rebecca didn't have to put up with this shit. But if she couldn't handle getting naked in front of two men, how was she going to walk around in front of all those men in the café wearing nothing but a tiny thong? She took off her panties fast—before she could talk herself out of it.

Joey smiled. "Give me the 360."

She gritted her teeth and slowly rotated. Halfway around, she wanted to bend over, tell him to kiss her ass, and get the hell out of there. But she had already humiliated herself. She had to stick with the plan.

"Okay, you know what? I don't care whether you're really twenty-five or not. Hell, with that body, I don't care if you're forty-five. You're hired, Baby."

Rebecca put her clothes back on, and Bobby sent her down the hall to fill out some papers and get a badge. He watched her until she was inside the security office.

Bobby walked back inside Joey's office and closed the door.

"That girl looks sort of familiar," said Joey. "But I can't place her."

"You don't think she's a cop, do you, Boss?"

"Didn't you check her out?"

"Well, yeah. We ran the usual background check on her. Like we always do. But we couldn't find a Heather Dreslaw."

"Go down there and tell her I changed my mind, and kick her ass out of here."

"Oh, come on, Joey. Give her a chance. I really don't think she's a cop. But even if she is, it doesn't matter. We're not doing anything illegal here."

"Oh, I get it. You old son of a bitch. You've got the hots for that babe."

"No...well..."

"Okay, look. I'll keep her on for a couple of nights. But if you haven't banged her by then, you're out of luck. And she's your responsibility. So, keep a close eye on her."

"Oh, I will, Boss."

"I don't doubt it. How long since you got a piece, Bobby?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"That's because you ain't got nothing to tell. Believe me, Bob-o, if you were hitting it every night like I am—"

"—I know, Boss. You're a stud."

"One hell of a stud." He leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar.

**********

Gabby pulled over, and Rebecca got into the car.

He said, "Well?"

"I got the job."

"Congratulations. I knew you could do it. Did he make you take off your bra?"

"Just drive."

Gabby drove away from the curb. "So, you start tonight?"

"Start and finish. It's a one-shot deal. One night is all I can stand. I just hope I don't have to kill anybody."

"What do you mean? You can't take a gun in there. There's no way you could get it past security."

"I don't need a gun. If some guy comments on my boobs or my ass I'm liable to take him out with my bare hands."

"It's going to be tough. I know. But you've got to keep your cool—somehow."

"I know." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "They open at five. I've got to be back at four."

"Okay."

"I really think Joey might have hired somebody to murder Big Bill. He couldn't have done it himself, or he would have recognized me."

"Yeah, especially when he saw you in the buff."

"I can't believe I'm gonna do this."

CHAPTER 20 - Tuesday, 3:56 p.m.

Gabby dropped off Rebecca at the end of the alley. As she approached the employee entrance, she saw two young women going inside. The alley smelled like dead fish.

She swiped her badge and the door unlocked. She pushed it open and walked into a long, narrow hallway. The door immediately slammed shut behind her, creating a loud echoing racket.

"Welcome, Miss Dreslaw."

Rebecca looked around, trying to locate the source of the loud voice. She spotted a security camera and speaker near the ceiling. "Thanks."

When she entered the dressing room, several women were already changing into their outfits: black high heels and a black mini-thong. Each waitress had a dressing table with a large mirror in the center, bordered by three smaller, angled mirrors. The only thing missing was a rearview mirror for checking out your butt.

Rebecca found the dresser with the name tag, Heather Dreslaw (Boobsicles), and sat down on the stool. All of the waitress were assigned sexy nicknames. Rebecca would have preferred something like WhatAreYouLookingAtAsshole.

She held up the mini-thong. It looked like a pirate's eye patch.

"You'll get use to it."

Rebecca turned and saw a young woman to her left, just arriving at her own dresser. "I doubt it."

The woman laughed. "Hi, my name is Darcy. AKA, Sweet Cheeks." She held out her hand.

Rebecca extended hers. "I'm Heather." She doubted Darcy was 21. She looked like a teenager.

"Better try your shoes. They give you whatever size you say, but, you know, sizes can vary. I'd guess you're a 10B."

"That's right. How could you tell?"

"I used to work at a shoe store."

"Why—"

"—did I quit? Lousy pay. And I was their best salesperson."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking...how much do you make here?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Well, I know I get $2.13 an hour in wages. But that's only enough to pay the taxes. I understand the real money is in the tips. They told me it could be several hundred dollars if I give the men what they want. Whatever that means."

"Yeah, it's true. When I first started I was pretty shy. But I still made $600."

"Your first week?"

"My first night. And that was just food and drink tips."

"What other kind of tips are there?"

"We call them...sex tips."

"Whoa."

"Don't get me wrong. We don't have sex with the customers. But we make them want to have sex. You know—you accidentally rub up against them while refilling their drinks. You lean over the table to serve their food, letting your boobs hang down two inches from their faces. Stuff like that."

"So, how much did you make after you learned to do all that?"

"Anywhere from $1,200 to $1,800 a night."

"That's amazing. So, those sex tips are in cash, I assume."

"Yeah. That's why you have that little pouch that snaps onto your strap." Darcy pointed to the small black leather bag on Rebecca's dresser. "Some girls slide theirs around to the back. I keep mine at my side because I'm afraid somebody might try to rob me if it's in back."

"So, guys put bills in that pouch?"

"No. That's where you put them for safekeeping. They stuff the bills under your strap. But you've got to watch them. Some men will try to reach down too low. And one time a guy put a hundred dollar bill in my butt crack."

"What did you do? Slap him? Did you call security and get him kicked out?"

"No. I just kept my distance from him the rest of the night. And I kept the bill."

Rebecca winced.

"I washed it, though. I wash all my tip money. I throw it in the washing machine. It doesn't hurt it, you know. Then I dry it and iron it."

"That's great advice, Darcy. Thanks." Rebecca slipped into her heels and stood up.

"How do they feel?"

"Okay, I guess. I don't usually wear heels." She took a few awkward steps. "Why do they have to be five-inch?"

"Because it's kinda dark in the restaurant, so people can barely see our black shoes. It almost looks like we're barefoot—tiptoeing."

"Which is suppose to make your calves look sexier."

"Yeah. And they can't see the mini-thongs very well either."

"So, they think you're completely naked?"

"They know you're not. But it lets them imagine you are."

"I just don't want anybody grabbing me."

"Well...that kinda comes with the job."

"Y'all let guys touch you?"

"You don't let them. But once or twice a night some guy will grab your butt. Or lean his head into a boob while you're refilling his glass. You get used to it."

Rebecca cringed.

CHAPTER 21 - Tuesday, 4:27 p.m.

Megan Cinaway turned on her cell phone. Passengers were beginning to stand up and get their carry-on bags out of the overhead compartment. The non-stop flight from DFW to JFK had been boring and long for most passengers. But not for Megan. Her mind had been titillated with visions of money and airbrushed, magazine-cover fame. She couldn't wait to start her modeling career.

She had one voice mail: Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn. Please call me when you get this message. It's extremely important. Your life is in danger.

Megan deleted the message. That detective would do anything to stop her from living her dream. She was sure her mother had put the woman up to it. But it would not work. Megan was old enough to make her own decisions.

She saw a young man retrieving his bags from the compartment over her seat. He was hot. Maybe he was a model too, she thought. "Would you mind getting mine down?" She offered a sexy smile.

He stopped what he was doing and turned around. When he saw her, he returned her smile. Perfect teeth.

"Would you mind? It's a pink bag." Blonde hair, perfect body, beautiful smile, and pink bag in the big city. She was Elle Woods, from the movie, Legally Blonde.

"No problem." He took hold of her virginal bag and gently lowered it to the floor. "There you go."

"Thank you so much," said Megan, with all the gratitude of someone who had just been given a new car.

His girlfriend stood up, and shot Megan a look that said: Keep your slutty little paws off my man, Bitch.

Whatever. Nothing was going to spoil Megan's day. She extended the handle of her bag and rolled it along behind her as she made her way off the plane.

But as she walked through the terminal, she began to have second thoughts about Rebecca Ranghorn's message. What if her life really was in danger? She began to see evil in every passing face, imagining herself a little stuffed teddy bear among giant grizzlies. At any moment, one of them could rip her head off. She was helpless to defend herself. Megan took out her phone and located Rebecca's number from her earlier call.

Gabby answered. "Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn's phone, but she's not here right now. I'm her friend, Gabby."

"Are you the guy who was with her at the airport?"

"Yeah, that was me. I'm afraid I have bad news for you."

"What?"

"It's your mother."

Megan stopped walking. "What happened?"

"She's been murdered."

"No!" She hurried over to a bench by the wall. "Are you sure it was my mother? Carly Cinaway?" She sat down.

"Yes, I'm sure. Rebecca and I found her."

"Where? At the hotel?"

"Yes."

Megan began to cry.

"I'm sorry, Megan." He waited a few moments until her sobbing began to subside. "And there's something else. We believe somebody's going to try to kill you too."

"Here in New York? Why?"

"It all has to do with Big Bill Smotherburn. Did you know he's dead? He was murdered too."

"When did all this happen?"

"Last night. We think that whoever killed him might have also killed your mother."

"And now he's coming after me?"

"Yeah. Or maybe he's hired somebody up there to do it. It seems like he's trying to eliminate everybody who was involved in—"

"—the so-called rape. If Mother would have just left it alone, everything would have been fine."

"Is somebody supposed to pick you up?"

"Yeah. He'll be holding up a sign with my name on it."

"He may be the killer. Don't go with him."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't know anybody up here."

"I called my uncle. He should be there in thirty minutes. You can stay at his apartment for a few days, until this thing blows over. His name is Melvin. He'll be wearing a Dallas Mavericks cap. I gave it to him, and he's never worn it before. So it will look brand new."

"How old is he?"

"Seventy-something. He's retired. And don't worry—he's a very nice man."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll be watching for him."

"Just be careful. Don't trust anybody but Melvin."

Megan ended the call and put her phone away. Some people were glancing at her as they walked by. She knew she must looked hideous. Red eyes. Runny mascara. But right now she didn't care how she looked. She leaned over and buried her face in her hands.

A hand touched her arm. "Are you okay, Miss?"

When she saw him, she recoiled. An old man was sitting next to her on the bench. His suit looked like it had been pulled out of somebody's garbage can. Smelled like it too.

"I know how you feel, Young Lady. It's a tough world out there. But this will help." He held out a Gideon New Testament. The cover was dirty and worn. But it looked as though it had never been opened.

"Thanks, but I'm okay."

He put the little book in his coat pocket. "You could starve out there."

She ignored him.

"But a five dollar bill would keep a man from going hungry."

"I don't have any money."

"Well, then...you're in as bad a shape as me."

Megan stood up and began to walk away.

The old man followed her. "It's dangerous for a young woman to be walking around by herself."

"I'll be fine."

"Well, I'll tag along to make sure."

Megan saw a security guard across the way, and considered flagging him down to get the old man off her ass. But that would draw attention. And right now, she needed to blend in. She reached into her purse and took out her cash, holding it close to her side, away from the man. She had about $300 left from the cash Joey had given her. She quickly found a five-dollar bill and put the rest back in her pocket.

She handed him the bill. "Good luck and goodbye."

"Oh, thank you, Miss. God bless you." He walked away smiling.

After Megan stopped by the restroom, she walked over to a coffee shop and bought a large cup of coffee. She sat down at a table and began to sip. What was she going to do now, if this supermodel thing had just been a trick to get her there?

Joey Ketrousie was the one who had sent her to New York. Did that mean he was the killer? Her mind raced with questions. And she didn't have good answers to any of them.

After a few minutes, a young man in a leather jacket walked in. She listened as he ordered coffee. Megan loved his New York accent, and his jet black, wavy hair. He sat down at a table across the room from her, and almost immediately began to stare at her.

She was flattered at first. But what if he was there to kill her?

Megan pretended her cell phone was vibrating. "Hey, Baby...okay, I'll be right out." She put her phone away, and rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving her half-full coffee cup sitting on the table.

As she walked down the corridor, she thought she heard somebody calling out from behind her.

"Hey, Lady."

Megan walked faster. It sounded like the guy from the coffee shop. But maybe all New York men sounded that way.

"Lady." He caught up with her.

She stopped walking and turned around. It was him. "What?" Her first thought was to kick him in the balls and run. But she froze.

"Back at the coffee shop—you left this on the table." He handed her some dollar bills and coins.

"Oh. My change from the coffee. Thank you so much." She wished she could get to know him and his deep blue eyes. Then she saw his wedding ring.

"No problem." He smiled. "Have a nice day."

She resumed her trek to the passenger pickup area. Megan hoped Gabby's uncle was going to be there. She tried to remember everything Gabby had told her. His name was Melvin. He was in his seventies. He'd be wearing a Dallas Mavericks cap—a brand new one.

And there he was, plain as day—standing right next to a man holding up a sign with her name on it. "Shit."

Megan approached from the side, and spoke softly. "Are you Melvin?"

"That's me," he said loud enough for fifty people to hear him. "Are you Megan?"

She shushed him, and nodded.

"Okay. Let's go."

The man with the sign stayed put. But she saw him glance at her as they were leaving.

She tried to hurry Melvin, but he explained that his arthritis wouldn't let him move any faster. Megan wished she could put him on a luggage cart and roll him out.

They got into Melvin's old car and left the airport. Megan kept looking back. But there were too many cars for her to judge whether anybody was following them.

CHAPTER 22 - Tuesday, 5:55 p.m.

"Reservation for G.G."

The maître d' studied the man before him in the navy business suit, long-sleeved white shirt, and maroon and navy silk tie. He checked his reservation book. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't see..."

He leaned in and whispered, "It's me. Gabby."

A smile of delight spread across his face. "What are you doing?"

"Just play along, Arnie. Please."

"Oh. Here it is. Enjoy your evening, Sir."

"Thank you." Gabby winked at him.

If Gabby's friend, Arnie, had not been working tonight, he might have been turned away. Or worse yet—exposed. The guy who was filling in for Arnie the night before had gushed over Gabby. He surely would have given away his identity tonight.

Those years in the high school drama department had given Gabby no experience in acting. All he ever did was create costumes. But tonight he would prove he had acting talent. Suppressing his natural effeminate demeanor, he would become the most macho guy in the room.

Gabby had a wad of cash in his pocket, and he was ready to get up close and personal with a hot, young waitress. If she'd rub up against his arm with her bare ass, he'd stuff her string with fifties.

His own thoughts made him cringe. Sure, he was only playing a character, but...he could never treat women that way. Dammit! He had to stop thinking it to death. Tonight he was an actor.

As the hostess led him to his table, he pointed to a particularly busty waitress. "I'd like one of those...with cherries on top. And some whipped cream—so I can lick it off."

The hostess stopped in front of an empty table. "Sir, we don't allow that type of behavior here at the Café Nue."

Gabby laughed. "Oh, I know that. I was just screwing with you."

"Here's your table, Sir. Your waitress will be right with you."

His eyes followed her as she walked away. Such a cute bouncy butt—dancing cheek to cheek.

Gabby hoped he didn't get the same waitress as last night. But there she was—walking toward his table.

"Good evening, Sir. My name is Cotton Candy, and I will be your waitress." She handed him a menu. "Would you like to start with a glass of wine?"

He didn't bother to open the menu. "No. I'll have a Bud Light and a cheeseburger. No fries."

"Very good, Sir. Thank you." She took his menu and walked away. She did not appear to have recognized him.

Gabby spotted Rebecca on the far side of the room, carrying a large tray of food. He hoped she would see him and come by his table.

After she delivered the food to her table, she walked around to see Gabby. "Don't look at my body."

He checked her out, head to toe, and grinned. "You are smoking, Babe."

"Quit looking. They named me Boobsicles."

Gabby laughed.

"I could slice your head clean off with this tray."

"Sorry." He looked directly into her eyes. "I heard from Megan. My uncle picked her up at JFK. She'll stay at his apartment for a few days."

"Good."

"Did you find out anything?"

Rebecca was about to speak when a large hand grabbed her left butt cheek. Before she could turn around and clock the guy, she realized it was Bobby.

"This is not your table, Boobsicles. What are you doing over here?"

"I'm sorry," said Gabby. "It's my fault. I motioned for her to come over. She's just so damn hot. I wanted to give her this." Gabby took out a fifty-dollar bill and stuffed it under Rebecca's thong strap.

"Thank you." She offered a forced smile.

"Well, I agree. She is a very sexy woman. But you must observe the house rules. You can only interact with your assigned waitress."

"That's fine. Cotton Candy's smoking hot too." He grinned. "I just got a little greedy."

"It's understandable, Sir, but—"

"—I know. No problem."

"We appreciate your cooperation," said Bobby. He finally released Rebecca's butt.

She walked away.

"Have a nice evening, Sir," said Bobby.

Bobby should have recognized Gabby from the night before. Not from the way he was dressed, of course, but from the sound of his voice, or his mannerism. Something. But he didn't. Gabby was feeling very proud of his newfound acting skills.

Cotton Candy delivered his beer.

"Thanks, Babe."

"You're welcome, Sir. Your dinner will be ready soon."

A familiar voice caught Gabby's attention. He diverted his eyes to the middle of the restaurant. It was Wiley. And he was sober.

Gabby watched Bobby walk over to Wiley's table. The conversation looked serious. Bobby put his big, fat hand on Wiley's shoulder, and appeared to be lecturing him. Wiley pushed Bobby's hand away and jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. He stormed out of the restaurant.

Gabby wished he could have heard what they were saying. Last night, Wiley had told Rebecca that he would soon be the owner of Café Nue.

Yet Joey Ketrousie had told them that he was now the owner. Was that the cause of the conflict between Wiley and Bobby? Or did it have to do with one or both of the murders? He couldn't wait to tell Rebecca what he'd seen.

CHAPTER 23 - Tuesday, 7:00 p.m.

As Rebecca walked into the dressing room to take her break, two large-breasted women walked past her without saying a word. Darcy was sitting at her dressing table, finishing up a sandwich. "Hey, Darcy. How's it going?"

"Fine. How about you? How are your tips?"

"Not bad." Rebecca sat down at her dresser. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and quickly looked away.

"Did you bring something to eat?"

"No. I didn't even think about it."

"I did the same thing my first night. I was so nervous that I forgot to bring food." Darcy reached into her cooler and took out another sandwich. "Here, you can have this one. It's tuna."

"Oh, no, Darcy. I'm not going to eat your dinner. I'll get a bag of chips out of the machine."

"Look. I'm full. So, you might as well eat it, or it's just gonna go to waste."

"But you might get hungry later. It's a long night."

"No, I never do. Got to stay thin if I want good tips."

Rebecca eyed her body. "Well, whatever you're doing—it's working."

Darcy giggled. "Thanks."

"You've been so helpful to me on my first night. I really appreciate it, Darcy."

"You're welcome." She smiled warmly. "Well, it's time for me to get back in there and make some more money. I'm saving up to buy a house." She stood up.

"Wow. Okay. See you later."

Rebecca tore into the sandwich like a wild animal. Either it was the best tuna sandwich ever made or she was starving to death.

As she gobbled down the last of it, she stood up, hurried to the doorway, and peeped out into the hall. It was clear. She casually but quietly slipped down to Joey's office. The door was closed. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

After knocking lightly and hearing no response, she peeked inside. The office was empty.

Checking the hallway again, she rushed into the office and closed the door. She knew Joey could come at any second. What reason would she give for being in his office?

She sat down at his desk, quickly surveying it for anything of interest. Near the phone was a notepad with the message: CC 214-209-5555. She knew it wasn't Carly Cinaway's phone number.

Rebecca unzipped her tip bag and took out a twenty-dollar bill. In tiny numbers, she wrote 2142095555 on the edge of the bill and put it back in the little bag.

To her surprise, Joey's desk was unlocked. In the top left drawer she found a contract for the sale of Café Nue to Joey. It was signed by Kimberly Smotherburn, and notarized. But the document was postdated for the fifteenth of next month. So, the notary had committed fraud, risking revocation of his commission or even prison. There must have been some serious payoff money, thought Rebecca.

Kimberly was selling Café Nue for a measly ten grand. It had to be worth a lot more than that. And what gave her the right to sell it?

Rebecca heard someone walking down the hallway. She quickly put the contract back in the drawer and closed it.

Joey opened the door. "What the hell are you doing in my office?"

Rebecca got up from the chair and sauntered over to him. "I've been waiting for you." She stepped in very close. With the heels, she was 6-foot-5. Her bare breasts were just below his chin.

"Well, you have no business being in here."

"Aw, come on, Baby. Don't be mad." She put her hands on the sides of his head and gently pulled it toward her breasts. If Rebecca could keep herself from barfing on his head, she figured she just might come out of this alive.

Joey soften his tone. "I'm not mad...I just..." He kissed the top of her left breast.

There was a knock at the door.

Joey jumped back.

Bobby opened the door and stuck his head in. He looked surprised and disappointed. "What's going on, Boss?"

"Nothing." He cleared his throat. "Get back to work, Boobsicles. I'll...look into that problem."

"Thank you, Sir." Rebecca exited.

She hurried to the dressing room, changed into her street clothes, and left the building before Joey or Bobby came out of the office. She needed a shower. A very long, hot shower.

Once Rebecca was two blocks away, she took out her phone and called Gabby to come pick her up. It took him ten minutes to get there, but it seemed like thirty.

"What did you find out?"

"I think Joey is the killer, and that he did it for Kimberly."

"Kimberly Smotherburn? Why? I mean, I can understand her motive. She wants her husband's money and his company—without having to be his wife. But what's Joey's motive?"

"The café. I found a sales contract between Kimberly and Joey for Café Nue. She's selling it to him for $10,000."

"That's practically giving it to him."

"Yeah, and it's postdated for the fifteenth of next month. It's even notarized."

"So, Joey kills Big Bill and frames you for the murder. Ownership of Café Nue passes to Kimberly, and she sells it to Joey for a song."

"Quite a plan, huh? So, I'm moving Joey Ketrousie to the top of our suspect list."

"But if Joey killed Big Bill right there in your office, why hasn't he recognized you?"

"I don't know. He must have hired somebody else to do it."

CHAPTER 24 - Tuesday 7:32 p.m.

Wiley plopped down in his leather recliner and called her again.

"Why do you keep calling me?"

"Because I miss you, Baby. And I want to come over."

"Well, I miss you too, Honey, but you know you can't come here right now. What if somebody were to see you?"

"I don't care," he slurred.

"Are you drunk, Wiley?"

"No. Of course not."

"Because you know how I feel about that."

"I know. I did have a couple of drinks earlier. But I'm not drunk. Definitely not drunk."

"Good."

"I want to come over there and screw your brains out."

"Wiley!"

"I'm sorry. I meant make love to you. You know that's what I meant, Baby."

"I know. I want that too. But we can't."

Wiley sighed.

"But you know what we can do?"

"The Game?"

"Yeah, The Game. It turns me on like crazy, Honey. Please play with me."

"Okay. Let me get it. I'm putting you on speaker." He set his cell phone down on the coffee table.

After a few moments, she said, "Wiley? Are you there?"

"I'm back."

"Good. I'm lying in bed. Let's play."

"Okay. I'm spinning."

"I'm already getting hot."

"Putting it against my head."

"I'm catching on fire, Honey. Keep going."

"I'm pulling the trigger." The revolver clicked.

"I'm almost there, Baby. When you spin, it feels like you're licking me. Oh, God, don't stop!"

"I'm spinning again. Spinning. Spinning."

"Oh, my, I'm gonna explode. Hurry! Pull the trigger, Baby. Pull it!"

The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

"Oh, oh, here it comes. Shit! Oh, Baby. I can feel you in me. Oh, God!"

Wiley waited a few moments for her to finish.

"Let's go again, Baby. You want to go again?"

"Sure. But this time, how about I come over there and do it for real?"

"Oh, wait. I'm sorry, Wiley. Somebody is ringing the doorbell. I've got to go."

CHAPTER 25 - Tuesday, 7:38 p.m.

Melvin open the door to his apartment.

Megan walked in. It smelled like old people. Or maybe it was the stacks of newspapers along the wall.

"Have a seat, Young Lady."

"Thanks." There was a couch, covered with a worn and stained quilt. No way. She opted for the wooden rocker. At least the wood looked relatively clean.

"You must be hungry. Let me see what I've got in the fridge."

Megan imagined leftover turnip greens and fried liver. "No, thanks. I'm fine. I had something at the airport."

"How about something to drink? I've got a can of Pepsi."

"Sure. That would be great."

He brought her the can.

She opened it and began to sip. "It's kinda noisy here."

"What do you mean?"

"You know." She pointed to the window. "The cars honking. People yelling."

"You get used to it."

She set her Pepsi on a coaster. "Where's the bathroom?"

"At the end of the hall."

"Thanks." Megan got up and walked into the hall, pulling her carry-on bag behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Melvin looking at her bag, shaking his head. He probably thought a pink bag was silly.

She went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and shut the door. After she had used the toilet and washed her hands, she heard a knock at the apartment door. Megan put an ear to the door and listened from inside the bathroom.

Someone burst into the apartment.

"Where is she?" said the man.

"Who?" said Melvin.

"You know who. Where is she, Old Man?"

Megan panicked. She knew it must be the killer. The bathroom window wasn't very large, but she was sure she could squeeze through it. She released the latch, and pulled the window open. Megan knew the killer would find her bag in the bathroom. But she hoped he wouldn't hurt Melvin for lying.

She climbed up on the counter, and went out through the window, onto the fire escape. She had never stepped foot on a fire escape before, and it scared her. Although, not as much as the killer in Melvin's apartment.

She followed the stairs down as fast as she could, and took the ladder to the sidewalk.

CHAPTER 26 - Tuesday, 7:49 p.m.

Calvin was under the hood of the GTO, installing a radiator hose, when he heard someone open the side door of his garage. "It's about time." He had been waiting all day for his money.

"Really? You've been expecting me?"

Calvin stood up and turned around. Three young Hispanic-looking men stared at him. Were they gang members or just some kids looking for trouble? "Who are you?"

"My name is Larry. This is my brother, Darryl. And this is my other brother, Darryl." He laughed. The Darryls didn't crack a smile.

"Oh, I get it. The Bob Newhart Show."

"No, Man. Not the Bob Newhart Show. Just the plain Newhart Show. The one where he lived in that Vermont Inn. You're not much of a connoisseur of classic TV, are you, Dude?"

Larry was clearly an American. He spoke English intelligently, and apparently grew up watching the TV Land Network. But the two Darryls didn't appear to know what the hell he was saying. "What can I do for you?"

"Wow, Man. You've got some fine automobiles in here. I love this GTO." The three men walked around it, checking out the interior, the chrome, and the engine. One of the Darryls rubbed his hand across the smooth, shiny front fender.

"Please don't touch," said Calvin. "Do you have a car that needs work?"

"No," said Larry. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you don't have work for me, why are you here?"

"Because I'm thinking about buying a '69 Triumph Spitfire."

"I don't work on foreign cars."

"Why not? Are you prejudiced or something?"

"Prejudiced?"

"Yeah. You hate what you don't understand, Man."

"I don't hate people from other countries. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah. For example, my two step-brothers here. I'm American. But they're Mexican. You hate them, don't you?"

"Of course not."

"I don't believe you, Man."

"Look, when you have an American car for me to work on, come by and I'll add you to my waiting list."

"Oh, I see. I'm not good enough for your regular list. You'd put me on your stupid waiting list."

"Everybody goes on the waiting list."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"Okay, I've had enough talk. I've got to get back to work." Calvin began tightening the screw on the hose clamp.

"Okay, Man. I get it. No hard feelings."

One of the Darryls took a set of gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. He picked up a large screwdriver from the workbench and walked up behind Calvin.

Larry said, "So, have a good night, Sir."

Calvin ignored him, hoping they would leave. He never saw the long, sharp screwdriver Darryl was holding above his back. And he had no chance to react when Darryl thrust it downward with both hands, into Calvin's back, through his heart, and out the front of his chest. As he fell forward, his forehead slammed into the edge of the exposed carburetor.

"I really wanted this car." Larry looked at Calvin's lifeless body lying across the front of the car, blood dripping down the radiator and onto the concrete floor. "But not anymore."

CHAPTER 27 - Tuesday, 7:57 p.m.

Gabby studied Rebecca, as they sat in his car eating McDonald's ice cream sundaes and sipping coffee. She looked so vulnerable. He loved it when she let her guard down. To him, she was still the cute, innocent teenage girl he grew up with.

Was that why he had such a strong urge to kiss her cold, wet, ice cream lips? Or was it because of her topless act at Café Nue? Or the excitement of the danger they were in. Whatever the reason, he would resist. Gabby knew they could never be more than friends. And he was okay with that. He was just happy to have his best friend back in his life.

Rebecca's phone rang. She put it on speaker.

"Megan, are you okay?"

"No."

Her voice sounded weak and hoarse, as though she had been crying.

"What's the matter, Honey?"

"We went to Melvin's apartment and some man showed up and started yelling at him. And I think he hit him too. I was in the bathroom."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No. I climbed out the bathroom window. But I don't know what happened to Melvin. Tell Gabby I'm sorry. I hope his uncle is okay."

"I'm sure he's fine. Maybe a little roughed up. Don't worry." She glanced at Gabby.

Gabby was very worried. He wished he hadn't put his uncle's life in jeopardy.

"Where are you right now?"

"I don't know exactly. I'm outside some coffee shop."

"Okay. I'm going to buy you an airline ticket to Dallas. Do you have enough money for a taxi to JFK?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go back to the airport and I will text you with your flight information. You can pick up your ticket at the counter."

"Oh, thank you so much, Rebecca. I feel like such a fool."

"It's going to be okay. But if you have enough money, you might want to buy a hat or windbreaker, or anything that will make you look different."

"You think the killer will come after me?"

"Probably. So be careful."

"Okay. Thank you."

Gabby knew what Rebecca was about to ask. "Yeah, I'll buy the ticket."

"I'll pay you back."

"I know."

Gabby purchased the ticket on his smartphone and sent a text message to Megan with her flight information. "There's something that's been bugging me."

"What?"

"Calvin. We went by his garage this morning at around eleven o'clock. And Carly never made it home last night. So, why didn't Calvin say anything about it? When you asked to talk to her about cosmetics, he said she wasn't home. Shouldn't he have been worried about the fact that his wife had never come home last night? Or, was that something that she sometimes did?"

"No. As far as I know, she always went home. It would usually be after midnight. But she went home."

"So, why did he act like everything was fine? Why did he casually say she wasn't home. He should have been saying that he didn't know where the hell she was. Or at least appear to be worried about her. How do you explain his behavior?"

"I just chalked it up to him not caring what happened to her. Maybe he thought she fell asleep at the hotel after screwing her last john."

"Is it possible that Calvin murdered Carly?"

"No, I don't think—"

"—what if somebody offered him enough money to buy that car he was drooling over, for example? You know—the one in the brochure."

"Who would pay him money to kill his own wife?" She thought for a moment. "Joey."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"But it looked as though Carly had been killed by some type of electrical device."

"Right. And Calvin has all kinds of electrical testers and gadgets in his shop."

"Like a battery charger or something?"

"Yeah. We should go back there."

"Wait." Rebecca reached into her pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and clicked on the dome light. "I copied a phone number from Joey's desk and wrote it on this bill. It had the letters CC next to it. I wonder if it could be Calvin Cinaway's number?"

"Try it."

Rebecca called the number. It went to voice mail: You have reached Calvin's Auto Shop. Our hours are eight to six. Please leave a message. Rebecca hung up. "I think we're on to something. Let's get over there."

Gabby pulled out of the McDonald's parking lot, and drove them to the spot where they had parked that morning—around the corner from Calvin's house. "Any chance the police could be there waiting for us?"

"There's always a chance. I'll bet nobody's even discovered Big Bill's body yet. But I'm sure they're investigating Carly's death by now. And if Carly was carrying my business card in her purse—"

"—the police will be wanting to talk to you."

"By tomorrow, it's going to be much harder to get around this city anonymously. We've got to figured out who killed who, and we've got to do it tonight."

They stepped out of the car and took the sidewalk around to Calvin's garage. The doors were closed, but the lights were on. The only car in Calvin's driveway was his Buick. There were no cars in front of his house.

Rebecca pointed, and led the way to the side door, which faced the side of the house. She knocked.

They listened for a response. But the only thing they could hear inside was the giant fan.

"Maybe he didn't hear," said Gabby.

Rebecca knocked louder.

Still no response.

She opened the door. "Mr. Cinaway?"

At first, Gabby thought Calvin had fallen fell asleep under the hood of the car—until he saw the screwdriver handle. "Oh, shit." He hoped it was a stubby screwdriver. Their blades are only a couple of inches long—made for tight spaces. But stubby screwdrivers had stubby handles. This handle was six inches long. Then he spotted the pool of blood under the car.

They rushed over for a closer look.

Rebecca leaned in under the hood for a side view. "It went all the way through his body. We've got to get out of here."

On the way out, Rebecca used the tail of her blouse to wipe her fingerprints off the doorknob.

CHAPTER 28 - Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

The last stop of Mandibul's security rounds was the lab. He poked his head into Phillipa's office. "Feeling horny tonight?"

Phillipa stood up from her desk. "Come in, Honey. I need to talk to you."

"Sounds serious."

"It is." She led him to the couch and they sat down. "You know how I feel about you, Manny. And I think you feel the same way. We're hoping to have a future together, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, the thing is...I have a problem."

"How can I help? Tell me what I can do."

"Okay. You know about how I'm supposed to make a lot of money from the project I'm working on?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's a man who wants to take that away from me. And that would destroy our future. We need that money."

"So, you want me to go talk some sense into the bastard?"

"No. I'm afraid talking won't work."

"How about I rough him up? That'll change his mind."

"No. What I need...is for him to die."

Mandibul hesitated. "You want me to...kill him?"

"It's the only way."

CHAPTER 29 - Tuesday, 9:14 p.m.

Cam was taller than your typical supermodel. At 6-foot-4, she was every man's larger-than-life dream Barbie. Some guys were bothered by her angular features. Others were oblivious to the fact that they were being turned on by a transvestite. She would never do anything to burst their bubble. She lived for the fantasy.

But her dreams of a modeling career were history. Cam had become a realist. She was serious about her new work. After her brother, Tony, had failed, Poppa had told him to hand the job over to Cam. She was finally getting chance to prove herself.

And it was going to be so easy.

She had no trouble recognizing Megan. The seat across from the seventeen year-old was available, so she took it. When Cam crossed her legs, Megan noticed her bright red high heels.

"I love your shoes."

"Thanks."

"You must be a model. Or an actress."

Cam smiled. "Both, actually. I'm flying to Dallas for a local commercial shoot."

"So, you live here in New York?"

"Yes. Most of my work is here. But I was free for this thing, so I figured, why not? It might lead to an acting career."

Megan's face lit up. "Wow. That's so cool."

"Now, judging by your accent, I'd say you're a Texan."

"Is it that obvious? Damn, I've got lose this accent somehow."

"You dang sure better, Missy," said Cam, in her best Texas twang.

Megan's jaw dropped. "That's amazing."

Cam laughed.

"How did you learn to sound like a Texan?"

"You pick it up. It's not that hard. But you've got to be careful where you use it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, a lot of people up here think you're dumb or gullible if you sound southern."

"Really? Thanks for the tip." Megan hesitated. "But I guess it doesn't matter now. I'm going home. And I don't know if I'll ever get to come back."

"Oh, don't say that, Honey. I'm sure things will work out for you."

Megan began to cry, and wipe her eyes. She got up and walked to the restroom.

Cam waited a few seconds, and followed Megan into the restroom. Bending down to look under the stalls, she saw only one pair of shoes. And she could hear Megan sobbing.

Cam slipped back out to the entrance and looked around. Nobody was approaching. She would knock on Megan's stall door, and the foolish little teen would open it to her new friend. Cam would step inside to console her, place her hands on the sides of Megan's sweet, young head, and give it a violent twist. After balancing the girl's corpse on the toilet, she would walk away, and mark the first notch on her kill belt.

The adrenaline rush was amazing. Cam's body tingled with anticipation as she walked to the stall of death. She was about to knock when five college girls ran into the restroom.

Cam turned around and walked over to a sink. She opened her purse and took out her powder. The co-eds would get their business done quickly and clear out. Megan would be unlikely to exit her stall while the cheery babes were in the bathroom.

Cam counted the girls out of the corner of her eye as each one came out of a stall, washed her hands, and left. She was careful to avoid eye contact, not wanting to be remembered as the strange woman lurking in the restroom.

She bent down to look under the stalls. Yes. Only one pair of shoes. Cam hurried to the stall door and knocked.

Megan didn't answer.

Cam knocked again. "Megan?" She needed to do it fast, before somebody else wandered in.

Still no answer.

She stretched to her tiptoes and peeked over the top of the door. "Megan?"

"Do you mind, Lady?"

The girl looking up at her was not Megan. It was one of the college girls. Megan had not been in that stall, but in the one next to it. She had slipped out with four of the college girls. "Dammit."

Cam ran out of the restroom. Megan's plane was already boarding, and she was nowhere in sight. Cam had a ticket, but she was on standby. And the plane was full. But flying to Dallas had never part of Cam's plan anyway. The ticket was just to get her through security.

She watched the plane pull away from the gate.

It should have been so easy.

CHAPTER 30 - Tuesday, 9:26 p.m.

Harvey poured himself another glass of Pinot Noir. "Yes, 2004 was a very good year." He took a sip.

But, of course, this year would be even better—now that Big Bill was a giant sack of worm food. He sat down in his overstuffed leather chair and gazed at his wall-to-wall bookshelf. He had actually read some of those books. Many were leather bound. None were paperback. Harvey enjoyed bringing dinner guests into his study for a drink, just to impress them with his large personal library.

Catherine was gone for good. She had grown tired of Harvey's late nights and weekends at the office. Never having time for her or their children. She had taken the girls to her mother's house. He would be expecting a call from her divorce attorney.

Harvey would give her whatever she wanted. No long, drawn out divorce. The quicker the better—so he could marry the true love of his life: Kimberly. The very thought of her name raised his blood pressure—in a good way.

Yes, he would divorce Catherine, marry Kimberly, and become the new CEO of Smotherburn Technologies. He took another sip and smiled. Running the company every day. Banging Kimberly every night. What a life it would be.

**********

The intruder wrapped a soft cloth around the head of the hammer and tapped it against one of the panes in the kitchen door. The pane broke and glass fell to the floor inside. The study was located in the other wing of the house, so he wouldn't hear a thing.

Reaching in through the broken window with a gloved hand, it was easy to unlock the deadbolt and open the door. No alarm would sound. Harvey never set it until bedtime.

Harvey was so busy drinking wine and dreaming of his honeymoon with Kimberly that he didn't notice the tip of the suppressor emerging from the edge of the door frame. He should have spotted the gun aiming at the side of his head, twelve feet away.

But he didn't.

And he didn't feel the bullet when it pierced his temple, passed through his brain, and out the other side of his head.

Harvey slumped over. The glass fell from his hand, splashing red wine onto the plush, white carpet.

On the way out the kitchen door, the killer dropped a small silver item on the floor.

CHAPTER 31 - Tuesday, 9:40 p.m.

As Gabby pulled into Wiley's driveway, his phone rang.

"Melvin?...Well, are you okay? I tried calling you earlier...I see...good...thanks, Melvin. And I'm so sorry I got you into a dangerous situation...okay. Take care."

Gabby ended the call. "He's okay. Just a few bruises. No broken bones."

"Thank goodness. I was really worried about him."

They got out of the car and walked up to Wiley's front door.

Rebecca rang the doorbell.

Gabby peeked in through the sidelight window. "I don't see anybody. Try knocking."

Rebecca knocked on the door.

Still no response.

"Maybe he's passed out," said Rebecca.

"It's kinda early to be drunk."

"Yeah, I guess."

Gabby glanced over his shoulder. "Did you see that car slow down as it passed by?"

"No."

"I think somebody's watching us. Maybe we'd better get out of here."

"I want to find out if Wiley knows about the contract."

"That's probably what he and Bobby were arguing about."

"So, maybe now he's gone over to confront Kimberly."

Headlights from the road caught Gabby's attention. "There's that car again."

"Okay. Let's go."

They got into Gabby's car and he backed out of the driveway. As he backed into the street, he saw a car in his rearview mirror making a U-turn. Gabby gunned the accelerator. "They're following us." He ignored the stop sign at the end of the street, and turned right.

The other car followed.

For blocks, Gabby tried to elude the chaser. Finally, he turned off his lights.

Rebecca panicked. "What are you doing? You're going to hit something."

"Don't worry. I've done this before."

His eyes began to adjust to the near darkness in front of him. He turned into a used car lot, pulled in between two pickups, and killed the engine.

They sat perfectly still, barely breathing.

Headlights drove by. After a minute or so, they began to relax.

There were two taps on Gabby's window.

When he turned, he was looking into the end of a gun barrel.

"Get out," a gruff voice said.

They obeyed. The men patted them down. One thug took Gabby's smartphone and threw it across the pavement. The other one grabbed Rebecca's phone, pulled off her shoulder holster and pistol and tossed everything on the ground. They zip-tied their wrists behind their backs.

Once they were in the black full-sized van, with the two thugs in the seat behind them, the man in the front passenger seat turned around. They recognized him immediately as Bobby Ballantini—Joey's right hand man. His face looked eerie, backlit by the soft glow of the instrument panel. "I'm afraid you two have been bad little children. Now you're going to the principal's office."

Rebecca had made plenty of trips to the principal's office. A couple of times she even got paddled, with permission from her dad. And she had deserved it.

But she and Gabby were in for more than a paddling. In retrospect, perhaps turning themselves in to the police would not have been such a bad idea after all.

The van drove into a warehouse. Once the warehouse door closed, the lights came on, and they saw Joey standing there.

The two goons ordered them out of the car and over to where Joey was waiting. "Well, hello, Heather."

He slapped Rebecca in the face with a vengeance, and she stumbled backward. "I mean Rebecca Ranghorn."

After Joey had caught her in his office and then nearly had sex with her, he might have wondered if she'd had some ulterior motive for being there. Perhaps he realized he had left his desk unlocked—and that she had probably seen his contract to purchase Café Nue.

"And this is your buddy, Gabby. How are you doing, Gabby?" Joey punched him in the stomach.

Gabby fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

Joey stepped back. "Now, you can make this easy. Or you can make it painful."

Rebecca looked straight into his eyes. "What's the point? You're going to kill us anyway."

Joey laughed. "That's Old School. I'm sophisticated. Subtle. Just answer my questions and I'll let you go on your merry way."

Rebecca hoped Gabby wasn't falling for Joey's bullshit.

He stepped up close to her. "Tell me what you know about my contract."

"What contract?" said Rebecca.

"Wrong answer." Joey punched her in the face. "One more chance."

Blood dripped from Rebecca's nose. She wondered if she had lost a tooth. "Screw you."

"No. Screw you." Joey punched her in the stomach.

Rebecca fell to the concrete in agony.

Gabby said, "You bastard!"

One of the goons jabbed a rock-hard fist into Gabby's ribs, and he collapsed to the floor in the fetal position.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch," screamed Rebecca.

One of the goons handed Joey a four-foot galvanized pipe.

Joey grasped the pipe as though it were a baseball bat, and stepped over to where Gabby was lying. "You know, Gabby, back in the day, I was a helluva ball player."

"Okay. Wait." Rebecca gasped. "I saw the contract."

"Now, see how easy that was? And did you tell anybody about it?"

"Just Gabby."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Joey cocked the bat, ready to take a swing at Gabby's head. "Are you still sure?"

"Yes!"

"Get them out of here," said Joey.

The goon yanked Rebecca's arm, pulling her to her feet. He and the other thug threw them back into the van.

It was a long drive, but nobody spoke a word.

When the van drove into an abandoned marina, Rebecca understood what Bobby had in mind for them. Her nose was bleeding and her teeth felt loose. And she guessed that Gabby was suffering from cracked ribs. But what did it matter? They were about to be fish food.

Bobby stayed in the van with the driver while the two backseat thugs unloaded Rebecca and Gabby. They ordered them to sit down on the dock, and used a rope to tie them together, back to back. Then they zip-tied their ankles.

The thugs walked to the car. Rebecca expected them to come back with cinder blocks and chains.

The engine started up, and the van drove away.

"What the hell?" said Gabby.

CHAPTER 32 - Tuesday, 10:19 p.m.

Gabby said, "So, if Joey's not going to kill us..."

"He probably hired somebody—like whoever it was that killed Calvin."

"Wonderful."

"Fall over to your side."

"Why? What are we going to do? Play dead? I don't think that's going to—"

"—no, Silly. Just do it. Fall over to your right side."

"Okay, I'll play along."

They tipped over together.

"Now, we'll stretch our legs out straight so our heels are touching."

"Okay. Now what? Is this some kind of Houdini trick?"

"Not exactly. We'll roll over to the edge of the dock. There's a lower deck. I saw the stairs."

"We're gonna roll down the stairs?"

"We'll try to hide down there."

"I guess that's better than sitting here in plain view."

"Yeah. They could drive out here in a big truck and just run over us."

"That's not how I want to go out."

"Okay, then let's go with my plan."

"Wait. How are we going to do this?"

"I'll roll on top of you. Then you'll roll on top of me."

"Sounds painful—especially with our hands tied behind us."

"If we roll fast, it won't be so bad. Let's go."

They began to roll, gradually picking up speed.

"Whoa. Hold it," said Gabby. "I'm going to be sick."

They stopped on their sides.

"Go ahead," said Rebecca. "Throw up. But try not to do it where my head is about to be."

"Don't rush me. I'm dizzy. But I think I'll be okay in a minute."

"Listen. Do you hear that? A car's coming."

Rebecca heaved to the side and they began to roll again. She could hear the car getting closer. No. It was at least two cars.

Almost to the edge of the dock. The cars would be there any moment. They rolled down the stairs at full speed, banging their way to the lower deck. At the bottom, Rebecca's head hit the wood, nearly knocking her out.

They continued to roll several more feet.

Rebecca said, "We've got to roll over there—under the overhang."

They were all banged up, but getting pretty good at maneuvering themselves. They rolled under the upper deck, to the very edge of the lower deck. Gabby faced the edge.

Cars drove onto the dock. Rebecca figured two cars. Doors opened.

One of the men said, "I thought they were supposed to be sitting right here."

That's no hit man or gang member, thought Rebecca. It's cops. So, they weren't going to be murdered. Her arms and hands were both sore and somewhat numb from the rolling trip. But the zip-tie around her wrists didn't seem as tight. Could it have stretched? Not likely, she thought. In fact, her wrists and hands should have been swollen after the all that rolling. She pulled with all her might. There was no pain—only numbness. Would she even feel it if the plastic zip-tie was peeling the skin off of her hands?

Another cop said, "Mike, you and Ron check that building over there. And that old pickup. Me and Bill will search the boats."

Rebecca saw the flashlight beams approaching. She heard two cops coming down the stairs.

They began to shine their lights into each boat.

It was only a matter of time before one of the flashlights pointed toward them. She yanked her left hand, trying desperately to free it. But if she did manage to get her hands loose, then what? She and Gabby should probably give up. Yell to the cops. Go to jail.

But she still didn't know who framed her for Big Bill's murder. Could she trust the cops to figure it out? She was the obvious killer. Open and shut case. Why investigate further?

The cops worked their way outward to the ends of the dock, and began to walk back toward the center.

Rebecca saw one of them shining his light under the edge of the upper dock. Within twenty seconds she and Gabby would be discovered. No! She thrust her body upward and over Gabby.

They rolled off the dock, into the water.

CHAPTER 33 - Tuesday, 10:39 p.m.

As they sunk ever deeper into the dark water, Gabby wondered why in the world Rebecca had done it. Jail would have been better than instant death. If they could hold their breath long enough, would they eventually bob to the surface and float? But even if they could float, being back to back, wouldn't one be breathing while the other drowned?

Surely the police had heard them splash into the water.

Gabby felt the gradual rotation to vertical as they went down. When he felt the soft muddy bottom, he instinctively bent his knees, hoping Rebecca was doing the same. As soon as he reached a squatting position, he jumped up. Apparently she had done the same thing, because they were now bulleting toward the surface. Would they make it to the top? They might not have enough oxygen for a second try.

Miraculously, their heads broke through the surface of the water.

Gabby began to move his legs frantically, like a mermaid's tail, trying to stay above the water.

Rebecca whispered. "Be still. I've got us."

Gabby stopped. How were they staying afloat? What was Rebecca doing—resting her chin on the ledge? For now, he didn't care how she was doing it. He wanted to call out to the police before they went under again.

One of the cops said, "I think it came from over here somewhere."

Gabby saw the flashlight beam, and realized that he and Rebecca were under the lower deck. There was a foot of clearance between the lower deck and the water. He almost yelled for help. But he couldn't. Rebecca had told him to hold still. He trusted her.

"Probably just a fish," said one of the cops.

"Must have been a big one."

After the cops had walked along the back edge of the lower dock inspecting it with their flashlights for another minute or so, they went back up the stairs and joined their fellow officers. Soon, doors opened and closed, and the cars drove away.

Gabby said, "How are you holding—"

"—quiet," said Rebecca.

When the cars were far away, Gabby wanted to speak, but he waited. He could hear his heart beating in his ears.

"Okay," said Rebecca. "They're gone."

"How are you holding us up?"

"I managed to pull my hands loose. I'm holding onto a joist. It's one of the boards that support the decking."

"Well, you could have told me, so I wouldn't have thought we were going to drown."

"They would have heard me. I pulled it free right before I rolled us into the water."

"I really thought we were dead."

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't let them put us in jail knowing Big Bill's killer might never be caught."

"We'd probably both get life."

"Or the electric chair."

"Well, I don't want to fry. But I sure don't want to drown either."

"Don't worry. I've got it under control." She began to untie the rope that was holding them back to back.

"Don't lose me," said Gabby. "I'll sink to the bottom if you let go of me."

"I've got you." She pulled the last knot apart and the rope began to loosen.

"I'm going under!"

Rebecca grabbed his arm and pulled him back up. She let go of the board and started tying the rope around Gabby's chest. They both began to sink.

"What are you doing?"

Rebecca reached up, grasped the board, and pulled them back up. "I'm going to tie you to the dock and go find a knife."

"Okay. Sounds good. I think."

"Here we go again." Several more times, she released the board, worked at tying the rope around Gabby's chest, grabbed hold of the board again, and pulled them back up.

She eased them over to the edge of the lower deck and looped the rope around a dock post and pulled on it until Gabby's head was positioned safely above the top of the water.

Rebecca pulled herself up, and climbed on top of the deck. "Okay. Now we need to cut the rest of these zip-ties off. There's got to be a knife on one of these boats." She began hopping toward one of them.

"Be careful."

She tripped on something and nearly fell off the dock.

"Maybe you'd better find a flashlight first."

"Good idea, Smart Ass."

CHAPTER 34 - Tuesday, 10:52 p.m.

Gabby shined the flashlight under the dash for Rebecca. "You really think you can hotwire this thing?"

"Sure."

"How do we know if this old truck will even run?"

"We don't. But we're about to find out. Our only other choice is to walk all the way back to town."

"I guess you do this a lot in your line of work."

"Haven't done it in years. But it's pretty easy on these older vehicles." She stripped another wire with the knife she'd found on an old fishing boat.

"I hear a car coming."

"Get down."

Rebecca peeked over the top of the dashboard, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a fully-restored, 1963 Riverside Red Chevy Impala Super Sport. She had dated a boy in college with that exact same car. She loved classic cars like her dad, and it had been the only reason she agreed to go out with the otherwise unworthy suitor.

"Rebecca, get down."

The car doors opened, and one of the men said, "Where the hell are they?"

Judging by the man's accent, he was Hispanic.

Rebecca took another peek, and saw the man taking out his cell phone.

"Bobby? We're here at the marina. Where are they? I thought you said they'd be sitting out here in the plain sight...yeah, we just got here...well, don't blame me. We were on the other side of town when you called...Yeah, we've been drinking. So, what?...You must not have tied them up very well, Bro, because they're gone...Okay, yeah, we'll look around. If they're here, we'll find them."

He led the other two men over to the stairs, and down to the lower deck. "If they're still tied up, they couldn't have gone far."

Rebecca said, "Okay. It's now or never." She touched two wires together and the truck's starter clicked.

"It's not going to work," said Gabby. "We'd better make a run for it."

The leader of the gang started barking orders in Spanish.

Rebecca tried again, and the starter clicked again. "The battery's weak."

Gabby took a quick look out the window. "They're coming fast. We've got to run."

Rebecca tried again. This time the starter worked. The engine coughed and sputtered at first, as though it had not been started for several weeks. She revved it a couple of times, dropped it into gear, and stomped the accelerator. The truck began to move.

"Can't you go any faster?" said Gabby.

Rebecca glanced back at the truck bed. "It's all that treated lumber in the bed." She had built a backyard deck with her dad, and knew that the eight-foot 4-by-4's weighed about forty pounds each.

They heard a gunshot and ducked. The back window shattered and shards of glass rained down on the back of their heads.

"We'll be okay as long as we stay low. That lumber is our bullet-proof vest," said Rebecca.

"I hope they're not smart enough to shoot the gas tank or the tires."

As they made it out of the marina onto the two lane road, the truck continued to pick up speed. Soon they were doing 60 mph.

But the Impala was coming up fast from behind.

"Don't let them come up beside us," said Gabby, "or we're dead."

"I've got it covered," said Rebecca.

Every time the Impala tried to pull up next to the truck, Rebecca steered the truck to that side and blocked it. She tried to do it without touching the car, knowing that a fender ding could send the driver of the Impala into a rage. Right now, he was just doing a job. But mess up his car, and it would become personal.

"We can't outrun this guy," said Gabby. "And when we get to the freeway, he'll be able to pass us—"

"—and shoot us through the door." Rebecca veered sharply to the right, into the grass. The truck began to bounce on the uneven, bumpy ground.

"What are you doing?" said Gabby.

"His car can't handle this."

"I'm not sure this truck can handle it either."

"But did you see the way the front his car was jacked up? His rear is going to drag bottom."

The headlights followed them into the grass.

Gabby looked back, "They're gaining on us."

Bullets hit the truck, but most were absorbed by the lumber in the bed.

"I hope the tailgate holds," said Rebecca. "Because if that baby falls open..."

Gabby peeked over the seat to look back. "They're slowing down. I think they stopped."

"Great. It worked."

"Now, can you get us back onto the road."

Rebecca steered to the left. "It's a pretty good slope. I hope we can make it back up."

"Maybe it would help if we dump the wood."

"Yeah, we might have to."

Gabby looked back. "The tailgate's open on one side. One of those bullets must have hit the bracket.

Gabby saw the Impala struggling to U-turn and go back up the way it came down.

The truck had slowed to 5 mph by the time they drove back onto the road.

"That was too close," said Gabby. He looked back. "Oh, shit! Here they come."

Rebecca downshifted, and floored the accelerator. Soon they were up to 50 mph.

"They're coming up fast."

They heard bullets hitting metal. They were now at 65 mph.

Gabby said, "Please. Not the tires."

They heard a bullet hit solid metal, followed by a loud clang.

"What was that?" said Rebecca.

Gabby took a peek. "There went the tailgate."

More shots rang out.

"Watch out for that pothole," said Gabby.

Rebecca swerved. At 70 mph, she was afraid the giant hole in the road could pop a tire or rip out the axel. The front tire cleared it, but the left rear tire hit it—dead center.

The back of the truck dropped and bounced up. The lumber in the bed hung suspended in midair for a moment, and crashed back to the bed. But now the jostled pile of wood was repositioned—a foot or so away from the cab. One of the top pieces was at a tipping point—about to fall onto the road.

"I've got an idea," said Gabby. "We need to hit another pothole."

"Are you kidding me? That last one nearly wreck us."

"Yeah, but if you do it again I think it will dump some of our lumber."

"And hit the car."

"Hopefully."

"That might work."

"There—coming up on the left side of the road. Can you hit it?"

"I'm gonna try."

More bullets sprayed the truck.

"Hang on," said Rebecca, aiming for the pothole.

She hit it with the front tire and the back. The lumber did a double bounce.

"That wasn't enough," said Gabby. "No, wait. There goes one."

The board fell out of the bed, and flew down the road. The driver of the Impala apparently didn't see it in time.

"Bulls-eye!" said Gabby. "He's got a new hood ornament." He laughed. "That can't be good for the engine."

Bullets pelted the truck.

"The only bad thing is, if we drop too much lumber," said Rebecca, "we're not going to be bullet proof anymore."

"There goes another board. Whoa, it's airborne. Oh, God!"

"What happened?"

"It went through the windshield. The car's going off the road. It's slowing down. I think that board was a direct hit—to the driver's head."

"Well, I'm sorry if somebody had to die. But I'm glad it wasn't us."

CHAPTER 35 - Tuesday, 11:15 p.m.

The old pickup made it to the used car lot where Gabby's car was parked. They searched the area and found their cell phones, as well as Rebecca's holster and pistol. The phones were banged up, but still working. They got into Gabby's car and drove away.

Rebecca had missed a call from Wendy, her secretary. She called her back with the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Wendy. Sorry I missed your call."

"Rebecca, where are you?" She sounded funny.

"I'm...out and about—working on a case."

"Well, I went out earlier to pick up some baby formula and I passed by the office, and..."

Rebecca cringed. "You didn't go into the office did you?"

"Well, your car was there and the door was unlocked."

"Oh, Wendy..."

"So, I went in. But you weren't there. And I thought that was so weird, and—"

"—you went into my office?"

"Yeah."

"So, you called the police?"

Wendy hesitated. "Why would I call the police? Because the door was unlocked?"

"No, Wendy. What did you find in my office?"

"Nothing. Well, your dad's old gun case was sitting on your desk. And I thought that was odd since you usually keep it locked in a drawer, but—"

"—so, there was nothing on the floor?"

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't see anything usual—other than the gun case?"

"No, that was all. Are you okay, Rebecca?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. So, you locked the door?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you so much, Wendy. And take tomorrow off. I'm giving you a paid holiday."

"Oh, thank you, Rebecca."

"Goodnight."

"What the hell?" said Gabby.

"Are you sure Big Bill was dead?"

"I thought he was. He was definitely on the floor."

"So, you're not sure he was dead?"

"Well, like I told you—half his face was blown off."

"But you didn't check his pulse?"

"No. I didn't want to touch him. I don't like touching dead people."

"What if he's not dead? What if somebody came in and got him. Took him to the hospital."

"I suppose that's possible. But why would they clean up the mess?"

"Yeah, that doesn't make sense."

"What if he wanted to make you think you had killed him?"

"Or think I had been framed."

"Yeah."

"I don't get it," said Rebecca. "But one thing's for sure. Joey Ketrousie wants us dead."

"Well, now we can go to the police. Let them protect us."

"I don't know. It could be a trap."

"But if you're innocent..."

"I know. I just need to think about this."

Gabby pulled into the motel parking lot and drove up to their room. Rebecca looked around to see if anybody was watching them. They got out of the car and went inside.

"We're not the only ones who thought Big Bill was dead," said Rebecca.

"Yeah. Kimberly and Joey apparently thought so."

"And what about Wiley? And how about Harvey Hamstel and Phillipa Thagery? Did they think he was dead too? And if so, why? Who told them? Or were they in on the scam?"

"Maybe they're not. Maybe Big Bill faked his own death to see who he could trust."

"Yeah," said Rebecca, "that does sound like something he might do."

"And if he's alive, maybe he's the one who killed Carly...and Calvin. He could have even been the one who burned down my shop."

"This is a real tangled mess," said Rebecca. "We've got to find Big Bill. There's a website that lets you search for owners of property. We can search on his name and see all the properties he owns. Maybe he's hiding out at one of them."

"Great idea."

Gabby took out his smartphone. They found the site and ran the search.

"Oh," said Rebecca, "look at this property. It's outside of town."

"It's just a piece of land. Acreage."

"Let's plug that address into Google Maps and see what we get."

"Okay."

When it came up, Rebecca said, "What's that? Zoom in."

"Looks like a barn."

"That could be it."

"You really think a wealthy guy like Big Bill would hide out in a barn?"

"Maybe it's not a barn. Maybe it just looks like a barn. Besides, we don't know when this picture was taken."

"That's true. These images are not real-time."

"Look, I know it seems like I'm grasping at straws, but I've got to go out there."

"No. You're right. It's the only lead we've got. I just hope we don't piss off anybody else, and make them want to kill us too."

CHAPTER 36 - Tuesday, 11:48 p.m.

Gabby drove slowly along the black abyss between two fields of moonlit grass. The vibration from the tires assured him they were still on the dirt road.

Rebecca leaned forward and squinted. "There's the barn. See the light? And I think there's car out front. Let's park here and walk the rest of the way."

Gabby pulled over and killed the engine. They got out and started walking toward the barn. "Don't you think I should have a gun too? I could carry your dad's old gun."

"Have you ever fired one?"

"No. But I'm sure I could do it—if I had to. We don't know how many people are in there, or what kind of weapons they have."

"But we've got the element of surprise."

"I hope that's enough."

Rebecca stopped walking and reached into her pocket. "Here, take this."

Gabby held out his hand. "A pager? What am I supposed to do with this? Throw it at him?"

"It's not a pager. It's a high-voltage stun gun. Don't let the size fool you. That thing is powerful."

"Yeah, but I have to be close enough to touch him with it, right? I'd rather have a gun. A big gun."

"Look. You turn it on here, press the electrodes against his skin, and push this button."

"What if he touches me when I do it? Won't it shock me too?"

"No."

"Okay. Thanks." He put it in his pants pocket.

Now within twenty feet, Rebecca realized there was no light coming from the barn. What she had seen was moonbeams reflected off the metallic blue finish of a brand new Mustang parked out front. And right beside it was a black Maserati GranTurismo. Big Bill's car.

Gabby followed Rebecca to the back of the Mustang. Before Rebecca could decide what to do next, lights came on. Powerful lights, all around them. She and Gabby might as well have been standing on the pitcher's mound in Rangers Ballpark. There was no place to hide.

An amplified voice said, "Why it's Rebecca Ranghorn and her sidekick, Gabby G'Blee."

They looked at each other and said it in unison. "Big Bill."

"Don't be afraid, guys. Would you like to come in?"

The front of the barn didn't look like a barn at all. More like a fortress. The door opened.

"Come on in."

They walked into the building.

"Walk forward, then right, please," said Big Bill over the speakers.

The door automatically closed behind them. They followed Big Bill's directions, which led them into a large room. There was a young man working at a computer terminal with his back to them. He seemed oblivious to their arrival.

And there was Big Bill, to the right, sitting atop a two-foot high platform, in a huge Captain Kirk style swivel chair. "Welcome."

The back wall was covered with large flat-panel displays of what appeared to be live video feeds from cameras in Café Nue, including one in Joey Ketrousie's office. Another camera captured Phillipa Thagery working in a lab coat. Still another was trained on Kimberly Smotherburn's bedroom. She was sitting at a dresser, brushing her hair. Even Calvin Cinaway's garage had been equipped with a hidden camera.

Then Rebecca saw her office. "You bastard."

Big Bill chuckled. "I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"Yeah," said Rebecca, "and I'm really disappointed that you're not dead."

"Well, I would think you'd be relieved that you won't be charged with my murder."

"You sure looked dead to me," said Gabby.

Big Bill laughed. "Yeah, Wiley is quite talented with special effects makeup—the kind they use for movies. He used to scare the neighbors half to death at Halloween. One time a lady called 911. She thought somebody had taken an axe to his face."

"But what was the point?" said Rebecca. "Why did you go to all that trouble just to make us think you were dead?"

"I wanted to frustrate you—to put you on the defensive, and make you do crazy things. And it worked."

"But somebody fired her gun," said Gabby.

" Oh, yeah. Sorry about the hole in your ceiling, Rebecca." said Big Bill. But I guess it doesn't matter since you're going to prison."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you murdered Carly Cinaway for $100,000."

Rebecca stared at him in disbelief.

"The police have an eye witness—the desk clerk. They also have your DNA at the scene. Two of your lovely, long hairs were found in her hotel room."

"You pulled those hairs from my head while I was passed out in my office. Then you planted them in Carly's hotel room."

"Do you have any proof of that?" Big Bill laughed. "And hiding the money in Gabby's saving account was just lame. Didn't you realize it was one of the first places the cops would look? What were you thinking?"

Gabby took out his smartphone.

Rebecca frowned at Gabby. "What are you doing? He's lying."

Big Bill said, "Well, if you're not the one who killed Carly, why didn't you call the police when you found her body?"

"You know why."

"Oh, you mean because you thought the cops were looking for you in connection with my murder?" He chuckled. "Is that it?"

"Bastard." Rebecca searched the displays on the wall. "You were watching everything. We're all just little ants to you—living in your personal ant farm."

Big Bill laughed. "Oh, I like that. That's a good one, Rebecca."

"You know who really killed her."

"Yes, I do. It was you."

"Did you record it? Let's see the video. Show me the video where I killed her."

Gabby stepped closer to Rebecca. "Look." He handed her his phone.

Rebecca could not believe her eyes. "Where did this money come from, Gabby?"

Big Bill interrupted. "It's your payoff, Rebecca. For killing Mrs. Cinaway."

"And who is supposed to have paid me?"

"My guess would be Harvey Hamstel. He was worried that Carly would sue the company into bankruptcy over my relationship with her daughter."

"Relationship? You were raping her."

"So, apparently Harvey paid you to kill her. And now he's dead."

"Harvey Hamstel is dead?" said Rebecca. "Oh, and I suppose I killed him too."

"The police will think so—after they find a little silver charm on the floor of his kitchen, among the broken glass—you know, from a charm bracelet, like the one you're wearing."

Rebecca held up her left arm, checking each charm on her bracelet. The pistol charm was missing. "You son of a bitch. You took it off while I was passed out."

"But what I don't understand is why you killed Calvin."

"I didn't," said Rebecca.

"No, not you, Rebecca. Gabby killed him."

"Huh?" said Gabby.

"Maybe Calvin suspected Rebecca had killed his wife, Carly, so in order to protect Rebecca, you shish kabobbed Calvin with that big screwdriver. It must have taken a lot of rage to jam it all the way through his body."

"I didn't do that."

"Tell it to the cops. They received an anonymous tip that Calvin had been murdered."

"From you, no doubt," said Rebecca.

"And they found somebody's fingerprints all over the handle of the screwdriver. And I happen to know they're Gabby's."

Rebecca turned to Gabby. "Did you touch that screwdriver?"

"No. Of course not." He thought for a moment. "Unless..."

"What?"

"Unless that was the screwdriver I accidentally knocked off the workbench this morning. I picked it up and put it back."

"Crap, Gabby."

"Crap, indeed," laughed Big Bill. "But that's a great story for the cops. Be sure to practice it, so you'll sound believable."

Rebecca whipped out her pistol and pointed it at Big Bill. "Laugh at this, you son of a bitch."

"Take it easy, Rebecca. You should be thanking me for sending the police out to that marina to pick you up before Bobby's guys had a chance to kill you."

"The cops couldn't find us," said Rebecca.

"Yeah," said Big Bill, "congratulations. You did a great job of hiding from them. I don't know how you pulled that off."

"But how did you know Bobby took us to the marina? Did you have a camera on Bobby's van?"

Big Bill grinned. "No. Just a tracking device—thanks to a loyal employee at Café Nue."

Rebecca took another quick scan of the wall displays. "So, you saved all the incriminating videos, and deleted the ones that would prove our innocence."

Big Bill grinned. "We didn't do much deleting. But we did a good bit of editing. Daniel is quite a wiz at it."

"Any reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head?"

"If I really thought you were capable of murder, I wouldn't have let you in here. Oh, and if you're having any crazy thoughts about erasing my little video collection, forget it. All of my videos are automatically backed up to a remote server. Not only that, Daniel is prompted for his password every four hours. And if he doesn't enter it, a prewritten email will be automatically sent to the cops with a password and link to my remote backup database."

Rebecca studied the display of Kimberly in her bedroom. "So, I guess you know what your lovely young wife has been up to. And Joey Ketrousie."

"Yes, I do. And they're going to pay dearly for their disloyalty. Believe me."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Daniel moving. He was going for a pistol in the drawer. But she kept her gun pointed at Big Bill.

Gabby was on top of Daniel immediately. He jammed the electrodes against his neck and pushed the fire button.

Daniel lost control of his muscles. He dropped the gun, and fell out of his chair.

Gabby snatched the pistol, and stored it in his waistband.

"Be careful with that thing," said Rebecca. "And tie him up."

Gabby looked around for rope.

"Use one of those cables in that box over there."

He went to the box and picked out one.

Daniel was attempting to stand up.

Gabby zapped him again, and used the cable to tie him up like a rodeo calf.

"Nice job," said Rebecca. "Now you can tie up Big Butt."

"You little bitch!" Big Bill stood up, ready to lunge at Rebecca from his platform.

She cocked her pistol.

"We've already been through this. You won't shoot me."

Rebecca fired just about his left shoulder, shattering one of the computer displays on the wall.

Big Bill sat back down.

Gabby brought the cables over and tied Big Bill to his chair with several cables.

Big Bill said, "Now I need to take a piss."

"Who's stopping you?" said Rebecca.

Big Bill's face turned bright red with anger.

"Let's go," said Rebecca.

Big Bill said, "Are you crazy? In less than four hours the system is going to prompt Daniel for the password. If he doesn't enter that password, all of my videos are going to the cops."

Rebecca picked up the box of cables. "We'll be back." She and Gabby began to walk down the hallway.

Big Bill yelled, "What if you don't make it back in time? You're gonna be so dead. Be reasonable. Come back here and untie us. Let's work out a deal."

Rebecca pushed a release button beside the door and it opened.

Big Bill screamed, "You're both gonna get the death penalty!"

Rebecca blocked the door open with the box of cables. They stepped outside.

As they walked toward Gabby's car, Rebecca said. "You got a handkerchief?"

"Yeah."

"Can I borrow it?"

"Sure." He took it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Now, the gun."

"Aw, come on, Becca. I need my own gun."

"Give me the gun."

Gabby pulled it out of his waistband and gave it to her.

Rebecca wiped it clean with the handkerchief and threw it into the darkness. "We don't know where that gun's been or who it might have killed."

"I hadn't thought of that. Thanks for keeping me out of trouble."

"Oh, yeah. I'm doing a great job of keeping you out of trouble."

They laughed.

"Have you got a plan?" said Gabby.

"I'm working on one."

"Good. Because I think our time is about to run out."

CHAPTER 37 - Wednesday, 12:03 a.m.

Kimberly recognized the ringtone as Wiley's.

"I told you not to call me again tonight. It's after midnight."

"I just had to talk to you, Baby."

"Okay. What is it?"

"I need you."

"Wiley."

"No, really. I want you so bad I ache."

"Not tonight."

"Please."

"All I can do is...you want to play the game?"

"Come on, Baby."

"I'm sorry, Wiley. Do you want to play or not?"

He did not respond.

"Well, okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"No. Wait."

"What?"

"I want to play."

"Okay," said Kimberly. "Get loaded."

"I'm already loaded."

"You know what I mean."

"Just a second. I'll be right back."

Within thirty seconds he was back to the phone.

"Okay, this time, get ready for a double orgasm."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm loading two bullets."

"Oh, yeah, Baby. That will give me a double orgasm. Do it."

Kimberly could hear the chamber spinning. The click. "Oh, Baby. I'm already wet."

"I told it was going to be great."

She heard him spin the chamber again. And again the hammer hit nothing. "Keep going, Lover. I'm almost there."

She heard the spin...and a big bang. Then a thud.

"Wiley? Wiley, are you okay?"

No answer.

CHAPTER 38 - Wednesday, 12:07 a.m.

On their way to the car, Rebecca said, "Did you see Phillipa Thagery on one of those monitors?"

"Yeah. It looked like she was in her lab."

"Right. And she had this rat—it was either dead or sedated, because I saw her put this silver, gun-looking thing up to its head and shoot it a couple of times."

"That could have been the thing that was used on Carly's head," said Gabby. "Maybe Phillipa was the one who killed her."

"That's what I'm thinking."

They jumped into Gabby's car. He turned it around and drove down the dirt road toward the highway. "Oh, did you notice that man in the lab with Phillipa?"

"No."

"A big black guy came in and started making out with her. He was wearing a uniform. Maybe military."

"Okay. So, there's another possibility," said Rebecca. "This military guy—whoever he is—might have killed Carly for Phillipa."

"How are we ever going to figure all this out, Becca? We've got too many might's and maybe's. Just too many questions."

"Well, we're about to get some answers."

CHAPTER 39 - Wednesday, 12:19 a.m.

Gabby drove up to the security gate. "We're here to see Phillipa Thagery."

The guard leaned out over the half-door. "I'm sorry, but visitors are not allowed after 5:00 p.m."

Rebecca slid over close to Gabby and looked up at the guard. She saw the name on his badge. "Henry, we're old friends of Phillipa. Couldn't you please make an exception?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm sorry. It's a very strict rule. I'd lose my job if I let you in."

"We understand, Henry," said Rebecca. "It's not your fault."

Gabby was about to back out of the gate and leave when Henry said, "I shouldn't tell you this, but Ms. Thagery usually makes a fast food run at about this time. She'll probably be driving out of here at any minute."

Rebecca said, "Oh, that's great. Maybe we'll grab a bite with her. Thanks so much, Henry."

Gabby backed up the car and drove away.

"Let's park somewhere in the dark. We don't want to spook her. If we're lucky, Henry will forget to tell her about us," said Rebecca. "Oh, and did you notice Henry's uniform?"

"Yeah. It was like the one Phillipa's friend was wearing."

"Right. He's not military. He works here as a guard."

They sat in the car waiting for twenty minutes.

Gabby said, "Maybe she's not going tonight."

"There she is."

They saw Phillipa walking to her car. She got in and drove out the gate. Henry could not have told her anything, since she didn't even slow down.

Gabby followed her car at a distance. He and Rebecca bet on where she would go. Gabby chose McDonald's. Rebecca went with Wendy's.

But they were both wrong. Phillipa drove into a ritzy neighborhood.

She pulled into a gated driveway, rolled down her window, and swiped a key card. The gate opened and she drove in.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" said Rebecca.

The name on the gate: Smotherburn.

CHAPTER 40 - Wednesday, 12:36 a.m.

"Are you sure you want to climb this fence?" said Gabby.

"Yes. We've got to see what's going on in there."

"Here comes a car."

They snuggled up to the metal fence, hiding in the shadow of a brick column.

It was a taxi. A man wearing a hooded sweatshirt got out, and the cab drove away. The man took out a key card and swiped it. He walked through the gate and up the driveway toward the front door.

"Now's our chance," whispered Rebecca.

She and Gabby slipped in just before the gate closed. They stayed back a few yards, hiding behind a tree.

The man rang the doorbell and waited.

He rang it again.

Finally the door opened. It was Kimberly. "What the hell?"

"You thought I was dead, didn't you? You hoped I was dead."

"No. Of course not. I was worried about you."

"Then why didn't you come over to check on me. Or call the police."

"Well, I..."

The man walked into the foyer, and the door closed.

Rebecca turned to Gabby. "That sounded like Wiley."

He nodded.

They ran up to the door and listened, but couldn't hear anything. Rebecca tried the door. It was unlocked. She opened it a couple of inches.

The distance of their voices convinced Rebecca that Kimberly and Wiley had walked out of the foyer into another room. She pushed the door open further and peeked in. Looking back to Gabby, she whispered, "They won't see us. Come on."

They slipped inside and closed the door.

Kimberly and Wiley were in the living room.

"You keep saying you want me," said Wiley, "but you won't ever let me come over here."

"What are talking about, Wiley? You were here last night."

"I was here for five minutes. Once you got the stuff you wanted from me, you pushed me out the door."

"I had a headache."

"You know what I think, Kimberly? I think you've got another boyfriend."

"No, I don't, Honey. I promise you I don't."

"And now you're afraid, aren't you? Afraid I'll go to the police and tell them how you planned my dad's murder."

Rebecca shot Gabby a raised eyebrow.

Kimberly said, "Why would you go to the cops? You're the one who killed him."

A more distant-sounding female voice said, "Baby, what's taking you so long?" Phillipa stepped into the rear archway, and flinched when she saw Wiley.

"Phillipa!" said Wiley. "Now I get it. So, you were telling the truth, Kimberly. You don't have another boyfriend. You've got a girlfriend. You slut."

"Don't be silly. Phillipa and I are just friends."

"Then why is she wearing a negligee?" said Wiley. "Is this how all your female friends dress when they come over for coffee? Or, only the ones who come after midnight?"

"Okay. I'm sorry," said Kimberly.

"You were hoping I'd blow my brains out," said Wiley, "now that you've got everything you wanted from me. You're nothing but a user."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"She's probably using you too, Phillipa," said Wiley. "What did she talk you into doing? Did you have to kill somebody too?"

Phillipa said, "Kimberly..."

"Phillipa, don't listen to him," said Kimberly. "He's just jealous."

Wiley said, "You turned out to be exactly what I thought you were when my dad married you: a manipulative bitch."

Rebecca stepped into the doorway and began speaking—which shocked the threesome. "That's exactly what she is. She talked you into killing your father. Then she made a deal to sell Café Nue to Joey Ketrousie in exchange for him having you murdered."

Wiley stepped back, drop-jawed, shaking his head at Kimberly.

"So, you'd better be careful, Wiley," said Rebecca. "There's a bullet or a knife out there somewhere with your name on it. And you won't even see it coming. But it's coming."

"Get out of my house," yelled Kimberly to Rebecca.

Rebecca ignored her. "And, Phillipa, Kimberly convinced you to murder Carly Cinaway with one of your experimental TENS units, so she couldn't sue the company."

Phillipa blurted out, "I didn't kill her. Harvey Hamstel did."

"Shut up, Phillipa," screamed Kimberly.

Phillipa said, "You talked him into it, didn't you, Kimberly? Harvey didn't think I would ever get it perfected anyway. He told me that. He had no respect for me or my work. So, it was probably easy for you to convince him to steal a unit out of my lab and use it to murder Carly Cinaway. Then you told me what he'd done—like you had nothing to do with it."

"He was framing you for the murder," said Kimberly. "That's why I told you about it."

Rebecca said, "Yes, Phillipa, and that's why you talked your lover into killing Harvey."

Kimberly frowned at Phillipa. "Lover?"

Rebecca said, "Yeah. He's a guard at Smotherburn Technologies. A big, handsome black guy."

"Mandibul?" said Kimberly. "You've been humping that big oaf and then coming into my bed?"

"He didn't kill Harvey," said Phillipa. "He's a damn coward. I had to do it myself."

"Stop talking, Phillipa," yelled Kimberly.

"I thought you loved me, Kimberly." Phillipa stormed out through the hallway, back toward the bedroom.

Kimberly glared at Rebecca. "You don't have proof of anything."

"No," said Rebecca, "but I have confessions."

"Confessions?"

"That's right," said Wiley, as though he had just remembered. "Cameras. Dad had cameras installed all over the house."

"And guess what, Kimberly?" said Rebecca. "Your husband is not really dead. He and Wiley set you up."

Kimberly turned pale. "Is this true, Wiley?"

"Yes, it's true, Bitch."

"So, he's been watching the whole time? Even the bedroom?"

Rebecca said, "Especially the bedroom. And now the cops will know what really happened. They'll see how you planned everything."

"You never really loved me at all!" Phillipa was back in the hallway, pointing a pistol at Kimberly.

Kimberly turned around. "Phillipa..."

Phillipa shot Kimberly three times, rapid-fire, in the center of her chest, and she collapsed.

She immediately pointed her gun at Rebecca.

"Die, Bitch!" It was Gabby's voice—coming from somewhere across the room.

Phillipa lost focus for a moment, trying to locate the source of the voice, giving Rebecca enough time to reach for her gun.

Just as Phillipa's eyes returned to Rebecca, a bullet ripped into her right shoulder. She stumbled backward, dropping the pistol.

Gabby ran across the hallway and picked up the gun.

Wiley rushed to Kimberly's side, and held her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Kimberly. I'm so sorry."

Phillipa said, "She never loved you, Idiot."

Wiley screamed, "Why did you have to kill her?"

Rebecca holstered her pistol, and took out her phone. "Good job, Gabby. I'm calling the cops."

Gabby looked at Phillipa's bloody shoulder. "Better ask for an ambulance too."

CHAPTER 41 - Wednesday, 1:59 a.m.

"I hope this doesn't take too long, because I am so hungry," said Gabby, driving away from the Smotherburn home, following the caravan of police cars to the station.

"Yeah, me too," said Rebecca. "But we'll have to hang around until they run out of questions."

"I know. But first, I've got some questions."

"Like what?"

"Like when you accused Phillipa of killing Carly. Did you really think she did it?"

"I wasn't sure. But I was hoping her reaction would give me a clue."

"You got a lot more than a clue," said Gabby.

"No kidding. But Harvey Hamstel was on our suspect list."

"Yeah, but I loved the way you tricked her into admitting she murdered Harvey."

"That wasn't a trick," said Rebecca. "I really thought the guard had killed Harvey. Sometimes you just get lucky. She was so angry with Kimberly, she didn't care what she said. Clearly, Kimberly was using Phillipa. Whether she also was in love with her...we'll never know."

"I'm not sure Kimberly was capable of loving anyone other than herself."

"But she was very good at making people think she loved them," said Rebecca. "I guess even Big Bill believed it when they first got married."

"What about Joey and Bobby? If Big Bill deleted the video of Calvin's murder, we don't have anything on them."

"Yes, we do. I can give the cops a detailed description of the Impala that was chasing us."

"The one we torpedoed with a piece of lumber?"

"Yeah. They should be able to track down the owner, who is probably dead. But hopefully, that will lead them to his two buddies."

Gabby hesitated. "And you think they'll give up Bobby?"

"Oh, yeah. And Bobby will give up Joey."

"But why did they want Calvin dead?"

"I suspect he was blackmailing Joey. He may have threatened to hit Café Nue with a civil suit for Big Bill's rape of his daughter. Because, remember—Big Bill required Megan to have sex with him in order to get a job at Café Nue."

"But you're just guessing, right? You don't have anything to base that theory on."

"Actually, I do," said Rebecca. "Remember that brochure on Calvin's workbench?"

"Sure. The Porche brochure."

"Well, Calvin got very nervous when you found it."

"Yeah, I remember that," said Gabby. "So, you think he was planning on buying a Porche with his blackmail money?"

"Maybe. But he didn't know who he was messing with. Joey is not the kind of guy you want to be threatening."

"I'm glad the police are going to pick up Megan at the airport. She may need protection for a while."

"And she's gonna need a lot of counseling."

They rode in silence for a few moments.

Gabby smiled. "Wiley thought he was home free. He hadn't killed anyone. But when you told the detective you suspected he had burned down my shop, the expression on Wiley's face was priceless."

"Yeah. I feel sure they'll find some evidence to link him to the fire. I really didn't think he had done it at the time, since he was drunk when I left him at his house. I guess he's a pretty good actor after all. But I'm still not sure why he did it. Unless he was afraid we were about to discover the truth—that Big Bill was alive."

"We weren't even close to figuring that out," said Gabby.

"Wiley's not very bright. And I'll bet he didn't consult his dad before he did it."

"What makes me sick is that Big Bill is gonna get off scot-free. Once he realized Kimberly was plotting to kill him, he used Wiley against her, and then watched while she manipulated everybody else."

"Yeah, Big Bill was smart. He didn't kill anybody. He didn't even frame anybody. And I'll bet Wiley was the one who pulled out some of my hair and removed the pistol charm from my bracelet. Then he gave them to Kimberly. Harvey planted my hairs in Carly's hotel room, and Phillipa left my pistol charm at Harvey's house."

"Big Bill had you right where he wanted you—until we went to his house, and you used his own surveillance system to clear yourself."

"Yeah, that was fun." Rebecca thought for a moment. "I wonder if Big Bill has pissed himself yet?"

They laughed.

Gabby said, "The cops should get there soon."

"Big Bill thinks he's free and clear. And I'm gonna let him think it for a few days."

"And then what? Are you going to file charges against him for breaking into your office?"

"No. I've got something much better than that," said Rebecca.

"What?"

"The video of Big Bill having sex with Megan."

"But you don't have the video. You said you were sure Big Bill stole it from your office while you were passed out."

"True. And he probably searched my car and my house, looking for copies. But what the big bastard didn't consider...is that I might have stored one at my bank—in a safety deposit box."

Gabby started laughing his head off.

Rebecca joined him. It felt like high school.

"So, once the police are done with us," said Gabby, "where do you want to go eat?"

"IHop. I want a tall, tall stack of pancakes—lathered with butter and maple syrup. I'm starving."

"You couldn't be as hungry as I am," said Gabby.

"I'll bet I can eat more pancakes than you can."

"Not this time, Baby."

"Ten bucks!"

"You're on!"

THE END

###

Thanks for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it. And please connect with me on my website: RobertBurtonRobinson.com

Table of Contents

Books by Robert Burton Robinson

(Book 2 - coming in Feb. 2011)

(Book 3 - coming in May 2011)

CHAPTER 1 - Monday, 5:43 p.m.

CHAPTER 2 - Monday, 10:09 p.m.

CHAPTER 3 - Monday, 10:21 p.m.

CHAPTER 4 - Monday, 10:47 p.m.

CHAPTER 5 - Monday, 11:25 p.m.

CHAPTER 6 - Monday, 11:52 p.m.

CHAPTER 7 - Tuesday, 12:03 a.m.

CHAPTER 8 - Tuesday, 1:16 a.m.

CHAPTER 9 - Tuesday, 1:37 a.m.

CHAPTER 10 - Tuesday, 1:40 a.m.

CHAPTER 11 - Tuesday, 1:50 a.m.

CHAPTER 12 - Tuesday, 2:25 a.m.

CHAPTER 13 - Tuesday, 2:31 a.m.

CHAPTER 14 - Tuesday, 8:48 a.m.

CHAPTER 15 - Tuesday, 10:45 a.m.

CHAPTER 16 - Tuesday, 11:36 a.m.

CHAPTER 17 - Tuesday, 11:44 a.m.

CHAPTER 18 - Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.

CHAPTER 19 - Tuesday, 2:18 p.m.

CHAPTER 20 - Tuesday, 3:56 p.m.

CHAPTER 21 - Tuesday, 4:27 p.m.

CHAPTER 22 - Tuesday, 5:55 p.m.

CHAPTER 23 - Tuesday, 7:00 p.m.

CHAPTER 24 - Tuesday 7:32 p.m.

CHAPTER 25 - Tuesday, 7:38 p.m.

CHAPTER 26 - Tuesday, 7:49 p.m.

CHAPTER 27 - Tuesday, 7:57 p.m.

CHAPTER 28 - Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

CHAPTER 29 - Tuesday, 9:14 p.m.

CHAPTER 30 - Tuesday, 9:26 p.m.

CHAPTER 31 - Tuesday, 9:40 p.m.

CHAPTER 32 - Tuesday, 10:19 p.m.

CHAPTER 33 - Tuesday, 10:39 p.m.

CHAPTER 34 - Tuesday, 10:52 p.m.

CHAPTER 35 - Tuesday, 11:15 p.m.

CHAPTER 36 - Tuesday, 11:48 p.m.

CHAPTER 37 - Wednesday, 12:03 a.m.

CHAPTER 38 - Wednesday, 12:07 a.m.

CHAPTER 39 - Wednesday, 12:19 a.m.

CHAPTER 40 - Wednesday, 12:36 a.m.

CHAPTER 41 - Wednesday, 1:59 a.m.