TV a time or two.” She paused a beat. “Cameron Starr.”
“Cameron Starr,” he said, eyes sharp and focused on Bud. “Wasn’t he the fellow looking into Walter’s death, Traynor?”
“Yes, he was, I believe.”
“And wasn’t he the one who got—” For the first time, Baxter Newton faltered, his gaze flip-flopping between Max and Julia.
Max felt sorry for him. He obviously wasn’t used to blundering. “Yes, he was.”
Cameron’s murder hung heavily in the air. Even Julia seemed to swallow with difficulty.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Max. We don’t mean to remind you of it.” Julia was gracious in her expensive black mourning dress.
Max clenched her teeth. Words were no easier to accept today than they had been two years ago. But she could be no less gracious in this refined house than her hostess had been in accepting Max’s platitudes. “Thank you.”
Bud saved her. Not that she’d owe him anything. Ever. “That’s why I think Max’ll be able to help you, Julia. In more ways than one. And now we really must be going.”
Bud led the way, Julia at his side. The skirt of the dress swayed as she walked, brushing his checked golf pants.
Baxter Newton fell into step with Max, but at a leisurely pace. Max slowed with him, suspecting he had something to say.
“I’ll get right to the point, since we don’t have much time. Why does he want you to spy for him?”
Damnation. Baxter Newton knew Bud was a fraud. By default, so was she. Her cover had been blown.
Chapter Nine
Back in the car, with Bud Traynor far too close, Max should have felt claustrophobic. Instead, excitement pumped through her veins. The chase was on, the suspects lining up; the hooker, her thick-necked buddy with the big ears, the wife, and now Baxter Newton.
Not to mention the one she’d really like to nail to the wall, Bud himself. Someday, she’d prove how dirty his hands were.
Who the hell was Baxter Newton to Julia La Russa? She’d get around to asking after she tackled Bud’s true motive for taking her to meet Julia. That question was of paramount importance to her.
“When did you cook up this little assistant charade? Before Lance was even killed?” Even if Bud didn’t actually wield the weapon, there was a damn good chance that he had manipulated the murderer. He’d done it before. He’d damn near admitted that to her.
One manicured hand held the wheel loosely at the bottom; the other Bud placed on the armrest between them. “Aren’t you going to thank me for getting you in, Max?”
Max refused to scrunch up against the door to get away from him. She wasn’t afraid. He was just a man, even though there were times she’d swear she saw the devil glowing in his black eyes. “What you do you do for yourself. You ought to thank me for playing along with your little game, whatever it is.”
Maneuvering into the freeway traffic, he headed south. “You’d like to know what I’m up to, wouldn’t you, Max?”
“Yes.” Asking wasn’t succumbing to him, it was simply playing without knowing the rules.
“Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Despite the cars flowing all around them, Max suddenly felt trapped, alone, unprotected, exposed to all manner of evil. “I’m busy.”
“Afraid, Max? Or perhaps you have a hot date with Dudley Do-Right?”
How the hell did he know that was her endearing term for Witt and his ridiculously adorable cleft? Perhaps Bud didn’t, but he was definitely taking a dig at her. She refused to let it get to her. “Neither. I’ve got another lead I’m going to follow up.” She shook her head when he turned slightly toward her. “And don’t bother asking what, because I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
The car had gotten stuffy, the air blowing out the vents oddly foul as if the system had sick-building syndrome. Max wrinkled her nose, and Bud reached for the air conditioning controls. Cool air
“Cameron Starr,” he said, eyes sharp and focused on Bud. “Wasn’t he the fellow looking into Walter’s death, Traynor?”
“Yes, he was, I believe.”
“And wasn’t he the one who got—” For the first time, Baxter Newton faltered, his gaze flip-flopping between Max and Julia.
Max felt sorry for him. He obviously wasn’t used to blundering. “Yes, he was.”
Cameron’s murder hung heavily in the air. Even Julia seemed to swallow with difficulty.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Max. We don’t mean to remind you of it.” Julia was gracious in her expensive black mourning dress.
Max clenched her teeth. Words were no easier to accept today than they had been two years ago. But she could be no less gracious in this refined house than her hostess had been in accepting Max’s platitudes. “Thank you.”
Bud saved her. Not that she’d owe him anything. Ever. “That’s why I think Max’ll be able to help you, Julia. In more ways than one. And now we really must be going.”
Bud led the way, Julia at his side. The skirt of the dress swayed as she walked, brushing his checked golf pants.
Baxter Newton fell into step with Max, but at a leisurely pace. Max slowed with him, suspecting he had something to say.
“I’ll get right to the point, since we don’t have much time. Why does he want you to spy for him?”
Damnation. Baxter Newton knew Bud was a fraud. By default, so was she. Her cover had been blown.
Chapter Nine
Back in the car, with Bud Traynor far too close, Max should have felt claustrophobic. Instead, excitement pumped through her veins. The chase was on, the suspects lining up; the hooker, her thick-necked buddy with the big ears, the wife, and now Baxter Newton.
Not to mention the one she’d really like to nail to the wall, Bud himself. Someday, she’d prove how dirty his hands were.
Who the hell was Baxter Newton to Julia La Russa? She’d get around to asking after she tackled Bud’s true motive for taking her to meet Julia. That question was of paramount importance to her.
“When did you cook up this little assistant charade? Before Lance was even killed?” Even if Bud didn’t actually wield the weapon, there was a damn good chance that he had manipulated the murderer. He’d done it before. He’d damn near admitted that to her.
One manicured hand held the wheel loosely at the bottom; the other Bud placed on the armrest between them. “Aren’t you going to thank me for getting you in, Max?”
Max refused to scrunch up against the door to get away from him. She wasn’t afraid. He was just a man, even though there were times she’d swear she saw the devil glowing in his black eyes. “What you do you do for yourself. You ought to thank me for playing along with your little game, whatever it is.”
Maneuvering into the freeway traffic, he headed south. “You’d like to know what I’m up to, wouldn’t you, Max?”
“Yes.” Asking wasn’t succumbing to him, it was simply playing without knowing the rules.
“Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Despite the cars flowing all around them, Max suddenly felt trapped, alone, unprotected, exposed to all manner of evil. “I’m busy.”
“Afraid, Max? Or perhaps you have a hot date with Dudley Do-Right?”
How the hell did he know that was her endearing term for Witt and his ridiculously adorable cleft? Perhaps Bud didn’t, but he was definitely taking a dig at her. She refused to let it get to her. “Neither. I’ve got another lead I’m going to follow up.” She shook her head when he turned slightly toward her. “And don’t bother asking what, because I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
The car had gotten stuffy, the air blowing out the vents oddly foul as if the system had sick-building syndrome. Max wrinkled her nose, and Bud reached for the air conditioning controls. Cool air
Similar Books
