car in a languid motion he had never seen on her before.
Women.
However, she was right about Alexandra Kennedy, and his balls were something that he always had under protection. You never knew when someone would come along and try to cut one of them off.
20
A fter getting rid of those two damn pests of detectives, Tracie definitely needed to run. If she didnât blow off some of her pent-up energy, she was going to hurt somebody.
When she reached the park, she pushed her body through hurdles and then broke out in a fast run, whizzing past trees, other joggers, roller skaters, and skateboarders.
She was breathing harshly from the sheer speed of her run, but she didnât care; she pumped and pumped, and pumped. She ran until she felt like dropping.
She couldnât pace herself. She needed to feel the pain. The muscles in her legs screamed in protest as she pushed herself to an astonishing degree never before reached in her running. The sweat dripping, the focus, and the discipline were exactly what she needed.
When she was finished running, she headed home. She spotted the ice cream truck. She just waved to Anthony. Disappointment flashed across his face when he realized she wasnât coming his way. She wasnât in the mood for any frozen refreshments or the banality of a conversation with Anthony. She didnât want to cool off her body; she wanted to feel the suffering. In fact, she was slightly dazed and confused. She wasnât even sure she could string together two sentences properly.
So, it was best to avoid Anthony today. Besides, she didnât want to hear one more word of sympathy about Randiâs death. If she did, she was going to scream. She just couldnât stand to hear it anymore. All it did was ram home the reality to her that he was gone. She was having a hard time dealing with that.
As she walked along, she could hear the killerâs voice. It reverberated in her memory as though it were on automatic remote. She remembered him saying he would send clues to the police. Just this very morning they had shown up with Randiâs Karl Kani boot, a note, and that damned silver heart.
There was only one person she knew who could be connected to the silver heart. The thought was just too incredible. She wouldnât even consider it. What was wrong with her?
Tracie pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail, letting her hair fly free. She ran trembling fingers through it, trying to think. Her thoughts were all over the place. How the hell could she be expected to think when her world was crashing in? This was crazy.
She stood up and stretched. She knew what she needed. She needed some good old girlfriend chatter to calm her nerves. She had to talk to somebody, or she would go crazy. Renee was just the person she needed, and she was trustworthy. She hadnât really been able to talk to her at Randiâs services. Maybe she wouldnât go home after all.
Tracie punched in her number, willing her to be home. She was probably caught up in the throes of some brainstorming or otherwise hot concept. Tracie knew she would either be on top of the world or totally down in the dumps, depending on the circumstances.
Renee was one of Tracieâs closest friends. She was a screenwriter. Her workplace was at home. Renee answered on the third ring. âItâs your quarter; speak,â Renee said flippantly into the phone.
âRenee, itâs Tracie. Listen, I wanted to stop by for a few minutes. Can you spare the time?â Tracie was respectful of her schedule because she knew Renee hoarded time the way some people would hoard gold pieces.
The flippant voice changed to instant warmth. âGirl, you know Iâll make time for you; get your behind on over here. What are you waiting for?â Renee was a fast talker, partly due to her Hispanic heritage.
Her father was Hispanic and her mother was African-American. She spoke fast and fluently, and whatever came to her mind
Women.
However, she was right about Alexandra Kennedy, and his balls were something that he always had under protection. You never knew when someone would come along and try to cut one of them off.
20
A fter getting rid of those two damn pests of detectives, Tracie definitely needed to run. If she didnât blow off some of her pent-up energy, she was going to hurt somebody.
When she reached the park, she pushed her body through hurdles and then broke out in a fast run, whizzing past trees, other joggers, roller skaters, and skateboarders.
She was breathing harshly from the sheer speed of her run, but she didnât care; she pumped and pumped, and pumped. She ran until she felt like dropping.
She couldnât pace herself. She needed to feel the pain. The muscles in her legs screamed in protest as she pushed herself to an astonishing degree never before reached in her running. The sweat dripping, the focus, and the discipline were exactly what she needed.
When she was finished running, she headed home. She spotted the ice cream truck. She just waved to Anthony. Disappointment flashed across his face when he realized she wasnât coming his way. She wasnât in the mood for any frozen refreshments or the banality of a conversation with Anthony. She didnât want to cool off her body; she wanted to feel the suffering. In fact, she was slightly dazed and confused. She wasnât even sure she could string together two sentences properly.
So, it was best to avoid Anthony today. Besides, she didnât want to hear one more word of sympathy about Randiâs death. If she did, she was going to scream. She just couldnât stand to hear it anymore. All it did was ram home the reality to her that he was gone. She was having a hard time dealing with that.
As she walked along, she could hear the killerâs voice. It reverberated in her memory as though it were on automatic remote. She remembered him saying he would send clues to the police. Just this very morning they had shown up with Randiâs Karl Kani boot, a note, and that damned silver heart.
There was only one person she knew who could be connected to the silver heart. The thought was just too incredible. She wouldnât even consider it. What was wrong with her?
Tracie pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail, letting her hair fly free. She ran trembling fingers through it, trying to think. Her thoughts were all over the place. How the hell could she be expected to think when her world was crashing in? This was crazy.
She stood up and stretched. She knew what she needed. She needed some good old girlfriend chatter to calm her nerves. She had to talk to somebody, or she would go crazy. Renee was just the person she needed, and she was trustworthy. She hadnât really been able to talk to her at Randiâs services. Maybe she wouldnât go home after all.
Tracie punched in her number, willing her to be home. She was probably caught up in the throes of some brainstorming or otherwise hot concept. Tracie knew she would either be on top of the world or totally down in the dumps, depending on the circumstances.
Renee was one of Tracieâs closest friends. She was a screenwriter. Her workplace was at home. Renee answered on the third ring. âItâs your quarter; speak,â Renee said flippantly into the phone.
âRenee, itâs Tracie. Listen, I wanted to stop by for a few minutes. Can you spare the time?â Tracie was respectful of her schedule because she knew Renee hoarded time the way some people would hoard gold pieces.
The flippant voice changed to instant warmth. âGirl, you know Iâll make time for you; get your behind on over here. What are you waiting for?â Renee was a fast talker, partly due to her Hispanic heritage.
Her father was Hispanic and her mother was African-American. She spoke fast and fluently, and whatever came to her mind
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