Hallowed Ground by Lori G. Armstrong Page A

didn’t.

    He smiled. “Be careful.”

    Unnerved by his confidence, I blurted, “Why? Think the Carluccis shot Donovan?”

    All the teasing warmth bled from his eyes. “Concentrate on finding Chloe and let me worry about the Carluccis.”

    “They know who I am, don’t they?”

    “Yes.”

    He didn’t lie, another point in his favor.

    Before I asked another question I didn’t want the answer to, I snapped my mouth shut, gathered my stuff and left before I did something foolish and stayed.

    I’d barely made it to my car when I sensed someone behind me.

    I whirled around in the darkness, automatically dropping into a fighting stance. I’d been involved in a brawl in this parking lot before. Although I’d won that particular battle, I wasn’t anxious for a repeat performance, especially in heels.

    Rondelle materialized, her hands held up in surrender. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

    “God, Rondelle. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

    “You sound just like Harvey,” she scoffed.

    Comparing me to her brother was not a wise move. “What are you doing skulking around in the parking lot?”

    “Waiting to talk to you.”

    “About?”

    She sidled closer, fingers twisted in a knot, gaze aimed at the tips of her Keds. “Chloe.”

    I leaned back against my car, crossing my arms over my chest. Didn’t care if it looked belligerent, because I was definitely feeling it. “Excuse me for acting stupid, but weren’t we just talking about Chloe?”

    She raised her wet eyes to mine, firmed her trembling lip. Her despair—whether real or feigned—was quite a performance. “You think I don’t care about her, don’t you?”

    I shrugged.

    “I do care.” Tears trickled out; she wiped them with the heel of her hand. “It’s just when you told me that Donovan had been shot . . . it shocked me and I sorta went crazy.”

    “Bullshit.”

    Her gaze flew to me. “W-w-what?”

    “Don’t play the ‘I-was-so-upset-I-didn’t-know-what-I-was-saying’ card with me, Rondelle.
    Unlike Harvey and Martinez, I can see right through you.”

    The internal debate showed on her face. Continue to act like a spoiled child? Or reveal the real Rondelle? Little girl lost disappeared. “You ain’t very sympathetic, are ya?”

    “Nope. I’m saving my small amount of sympathy for Donovan. It’ll be a miracle if he lives.”

    “I never meant for him to get hurt.” Her sorrow actually looked real.

    “A little late for that now, don’t you think?”

    “Yeah.” Rondelle focused on the bar behind us and said thoughtfully, “Interestin’ that you ain’t still in there with Tony.”

    “Why is that interesting?”

    “You’re out here in under thirty minutes and you ain’t wearin’ that ‘I-just-got-laid’ smile.”

    “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly. “How do you know we didn’t just have a quickie?”

    “He likes to take his time.”

    It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how she knew Martinez’s sexual preferences, but the bottom line was I really didn’t want to hear a second hand answer.

    “That’s why you’re acting like you trust me all of a sudden? Because I’m not screwing Tony Martinez?”

    “That, and because Harvey don’t trust you.”

    So much for my ego.

    “Man.” She dragged her hand through her tangled hair. “I fucked up. I never shoulda let him make me do that job.”

    Who made her do what? Had she been forced into prostitution? “How did you . . . I mean . . .
    Hell, were you really taking money for sex at those parties?”

    Her lips curled with contempt. “Nah. I just like fuckin’ with Harvey’s head. Asshole deserves it.
    Thinks the worst of me anyway. When I wasn’t workin’ the cage I really was just a cocktail waitress.”

    Why would she tell such a big lie?

    A rusted Buick LeSabre cruised right toward us. She watched it cagily, slouching out of sight.

    It braked in front of us anyway. The driver’s side window rolled down. A man poked his head