like a kid with a favorite teddy bear.
“Here,” Ray said, and held out a keycard to Maddie. “If you’re sure you’re staying.”
Gillian looked up from the shirt. “She’s sure.”
“Be better for you to leave town,” Ray said to Mad-die, making the argument one last time. “Less to worry about.”
Gillian bounced off the bed, dropped the T-shirt over the duffel. “She’s not going home. I need her here.” Gillian put an arm around Maddie, who frowned and stepped away, picked up the T-shirt, and folded it into the bag.
“You just want someone to eat the cheese off the pizza while you snarf all the pepperoni,” Maddie said.
Gillian smiled. “Don’t forget the chili fries.” She looked at Ray. “Maddie’s a sucker for chili fries. And all the little things they put in the minibar.”
“We’re not going on vacation,” Ray said.
“You take your pleasure where you can,” Gillian said.
Maddie sighed and clawed the hair back from her forehead with those sharp purple-black nails. Ray could hear the scrape of the tips on her scalp. “You don’t need me,” she said quietly. “I’ve got things to do back at the studio.”
“What things?”
“Things, stuff. Business.”
“I’ll let you take me shopping,” Gillian said.
Maddie quirked an unimpressed brow.
“I’ll let you watch Ray while he’s asleep.”
“The hell you will,” Ray said.
Maddie pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and cocked a bony hip. “You really know what buttons to push.” She looked over at Ray. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” She stabbed a long-nailed finger at Gillian. “But I’m holding you to the shopping.”
Gillian grinned. She zipped the duffel and threw it at Maddie. “I’ll meet you over there.”
Maddie caught the duffel and staggered. “Meet me? Why? Where are you going?”
“I’ve got something to do.”
“What?” Ray and Maddie both said at the same time.
“An appointment.”
“No, you don’t,” Maddie said firmly. “I don’t have you scheduled for anything until tomorrow.”
“Set it myself.”
“Gillian—” Maddie’s voice held a warning note.
Ray looked between the two women. “What? What’s going on?”
“You’re going fishing, aren’t you?” Maddie said, and the way she said it didn’t make it sound like fun. “No one’s going fishing,” Ray said. “Not
fishing,
fishing,” Maddie said, still gazing hard at
Gillian. “Not for fish at least.” “Okay.” Ray held up two hands. “Would someone please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” “We’re talking about murder,” Maddie said. “Gillian’s going fishing for a killer.”
19
The fishing expedition proved to be a trip to visit Harley Samuels. Detective Harley Samuels, retired. The same Detective Samuels who had been a vet when Ray had joined up. The one who’d retired the year Ray left the job. And the one who’d led the investigation into Holland Gray’s death.
They went in Ray’s pickup, and he drove. Should he have waited for an armored car and driver? Debatable. Armored cars could stop a bullet. Sometimes. But everyone in protective services knew about Leaman Hunt, who was killed in an armored car when a round slipped through a rubber window grommet around the bullet-resistant glass. Freak accident, maybe. But also a cautionary tale. Protection was relative. No matter how heavy the armor, how strong the glass, there was always a weapon that could pierce it if the bad guy wanted to passionately enough.
Plus, armored cars tended to draw attention to themselves. Ray came down on the side of blending in, especially in this instance, where a public appearance and crowds weren’t going to be an issue. Besides, getting a car and driver would have taken hours, and Gillian was halfway out the door.
So he shucked his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and drove her to Center Hill Lake while Mad-die took their bags to the hotel. On the way out, he stopped
“Here,” Ray said, and held out a keycard to Maddie. “If you’re sure you’re staying.”
Gillian looked up from the shirt. “She’s sure.”
“Be better for you to leave town,” Ray said to Mad-die, making the argument one last time. “Less to worry about.”
Gillian bounced off the bed, dropped the T-shirt over the duffel. “She’s not going home. I need her here.” Gillian put an arm around Maddie, who frowned and stepped away, picked up the T-shirt, and folded it into the bag.
“You just want someone to eat the cheese off the pizza while you snarf all the pepperoni,” Maddie said.
Gillian smiled. “Don’t forget the chili fries.” She looked at Ray. “Maddie’s a sucker for chili fries. And all the little things they put in the minibar.”
“We’re not going on vacation,” Ray said.
“You take your pleasure where you can,” Gillian said.
Maddie sighed and clawed the hair back from her forehead with those sharp purple-black nails. Ray could hear the scrape of the tips on her scalp. “You don’t need me,” she said quietly. “I’ve got things to do back at the studio.”
“What things?”
“Things, stuff. Business.”
“I’ll let you take me shopping,” Gillian said.
Maddie quirked an unimpressed brow.
“I’ll let you watch Ray while he’s asleep.”
“The hell you will,” Ray said.
Maddie pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and cocked a bony hip. “You really know what buttons to push.” She looked over at Ray. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” She stabbed a long-nailed finger at Gillian. “But I’m holding you to the shopping.”
Gillian grinned. She zipped the duffel and threw it at Maddie. “I’ll meet you over there.”
Maddie caught the duffel and staggered. “Meet me? Why? Where are you going?”
“I’ve got something to do.”
“What?” Ray and Maddie both said at the same time.
“An appointment.”
“No, you don’t,” Maddie said firmly. “I don’t have you scheduled for anything until tomorrow.”
“Set it myself.”
“Gillian—” Maddie’s voice held a warning note.
Ray looked between the two women. “What? What’s going on?”
“You’re going fishing, aren’t you?” Maddie said, and the way she said it didn’t make it sound like fun. “No one’s going fishing,” Ray said. “Not
fishing,
fishing,” Maddie said, still gazing hard at
Gillian. “Not for fish at least.” “Okay.” Ray held up two hands. “Would someone please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” “We’re talking about murder,” Maddie said. “Gillian’s going fishing for a killer.”
19
The fishing expedition proved to be a trip to visit Harley Samuels. Detective Harley Samuels, retired. The same Detective Samuels who had been a vet when Ray had joined up. The one who’d retired the year Ray left the job. And the one who’d led the investigation into Holland Gray’s death.
They went in Ray’s pickup, and he drove. Should he have waited for an armored car and driver? Debatable. Armored cars could stop a bullet. Sometimes. But everyone in protective services knew about Leaman Hunt, who was killed in an armored car when a round slipped through a rubber window grommet around the bullet-resistant glass. Freak accident, maybe. But also a cautionary tale. Protection was relative. No matter how heavy the armor, how strong the glass, there was always a weapon that could pierce it if the bad guy wanted to passionately enough.
Plus, armored cars tended to draw attention to themselves. Ray came down on the side of blending in, especially in this instance, where a public appearance and crowds weren’t going to be an issue. Besides, getting a car and driver would have taken hours, and Gillian was halfway out the door.
So he shucked his suit coat, rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and drove her to Center Hill Lake while Mad-die took their bags to the hotel. On the way out, he stopped
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