hands over his arms, holding on to him, but staring at the wall. Whores must die.
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe she didn’t commit suicide,” she said, her voice strained. “Maybe whoever did this…killed her. Because he thought she was…” She couldn’t say it. “Bad.”
His nod was nearly imperceptible. “That would be the literal translation of the writing on the wall.”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “I think I’ll have that drink now.”
She had to talk coherently to the police, so Johnny brewed peppermint tea while Sage quietly tried to come to grips with the revelation she’d just had.
“You’re a nurturer,” she mused as she plucked the tea bag from the cup and let it drip. “You know that?”
Johnny sat across from her at the table in the portion of the living area that she called a dining room. “I’ve been called worse,” he said with a smile. “By you, as a matter of fact.”
A glimmer of amusement lit her eyes, turning them the deep green color of the herb that matched her name. “And,” she said, training that sage gaze right on him, “you seem to know a lot about crime and investigation.”
“Common sense.” Not to mention a few years with the mob and a few more with the Bullet Catchers. “And, of course, lots of TV.”
The look on her face said she didn’t buy it, but she swirled her tea without comment. After a minute, she said, “The only thing more preposterous than Keisha killing herself is the possibility that it was murder. She didn’t have any enemies, she didn’t have a violent boyfriend, she didn’t ever hang with anyone remotely questionable. She was squeaky clean.”
“Except a little sideline of getting kidnapped and rescued for fun.”
“That doesn’t make her suicidal. Maybe she was just going along with Glenda’s bonding games. I have to look at everything differently now.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “The police are coming. You give them a report, and then you stay behind locked doors and out of harm’s way.”
She scowled at him. “Are you nuts? Not that I want to go in harm’s way, and I won’t, but my story on the Snow Bunnies is more important than ever.” She snapped her finger and pointed at him. “And the computer! Whoever took it now has the links and passwords to takemetonite.com. There could still be a connection.”
“There isn’t.” That was one thing he knew without a doubt, because if Lucy had checked the operation out, she’d done it thoroughly. Although he was dying to call her and throw this new monkey wrench her way. She—and whoever was the client on this job—needed to know what had happened.
“You have to do something for me, Johnny.”
“Anything.”
That made her smile. “You have to get me in to interview everyone who works at that company. I want to talk to whoever kidnapped—”
“She didn’t show.”
“Then whoever didn’t kidnap her,” she shot back. “Whoever was supposed to take her. Whoever set it up. I don’t want to be stonewalled; I want to know. Before, I thought there could be a clue to why she killed herself. Now this could be a murder investigation.”
In point of fact, she was right. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. Maybe he could drop the cover, come clean with Sage, and really do what he was meant to do: protect her from the whacko who sliced the poster, and figure out what had happened the night her roommate died. He wanted to know almost as much as Sage did.
And he couldn’t forget about the van he’d seen that morning. He’d tracked Sage and her follower to the train platform, and witnessed their exchange, and the interruption by the cheerleader. All that time, someone was still in that van…or in her apartment leaving love letters.
“Did they let you see the suicide note Keisha left?” he asked. “I assume there was a standard investigation.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I did see it. I wasn’t here when
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe she didn’t commit suicide,” she said, her voice strained. “Maybe whoever did this…killed her. Because he thought she was…” She couldn’t say it. “Bad.”
His nod was nearly imperceptible. “That would be the literal translation of the writing on the wall.”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “I think I’ll have that drink now.”
She had to talk coherently to the police, so Johnny brewed peppermint tea while Sage quietly tried to come to grips with the revelation she’d just had.
“You’re a nurturer,” she mused as she plucked the tea bag from the cup and let it drip. “You know that?”
Johnny sat across from her at the table in the portion of the living area that she called a dining room. “I’ve been called worse,” he said with a smile. “By you, as a matter of fact.”
A glimmer of amusement lit her eyes, turning them the deep green color of the herb that matched her name. “And,” she said, training that sage gaze right on him, “you seem to know a lot about crime and investigation.”
“Common sense.” Not to mention a few years with the mob and a few more with the Bullet Catchers. “And, of course, lots of TV.”
The look on her face said she didn’t buy it, but she swirled her tea without comment. After a minute, she said, “The only thing more preposterous than Keisha killing herself is the possibility that it was murder. She didn’t have any enemies, she didn’t have a violent boyfriend, she didn’t ever hang with anyone remotely questionable. She was squeaky clean.”
“Except a little sideline of getting kidnapped and rescued for fun.”
“That doesn’t make her suicidal. Maybe she was just going along with Glenda’s bonding games. I have to look at everything differently now.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “The police are coming. You give them a report, and then you stay behind locked doors and out of harm’s way.”
She scowled at him. “Are you nuts? Not that I want to go in harm’s way, and I won’t, but my story on the Snow Bunnies is more important than ever.” She snapped her finger and pointed at him. “And the computer! Whoever took it now has the links and passwords to takemetonite.com. There could still be a connection.”
“There isn’t.” That was one thing he knew without a doubt, because if Lucy had checked the operation out, she’d done it thoroughly. Although he was dying to call her and throw this new monkey wrench her way. She—and whoever was the client on this job—needed to know what had happened.
“You have to do something for me, Johnny.”
“Anything.”
That made her smile. “You have to get me in to interview everyone who works at that company. I want to talk to whoever kidnapped—”
“She didn’t show.”
“Then whoever didn’t kidnap her,” she shot back. “Whoever was supposed to take her. Whoever set it up. I don’t want to be stonewalled; I want to know. Before, I thought there could be a clue to why she killed herself. Now this could be a murder investigation.”
In point of fact, she was right. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. Maybe he could drop the cover, come clean with Sage, and really do what he was meant to do: protect her from the whacko who sliced the poster, and figure out what had happened the night her roommate died. He wanted to know almost as much as Sage did.
And he couldn’t forget about the van he’d seen that morning. He’d tracked Sage and her follower to the train platform, and witnessed their exchange, and the interruption by the cheerleader. All that time, someone was still in that van…or in her apartment leaving love letters.
“Did they let you see the suicide note Keisha left?” he asked. “I assume there was a standard investigation.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I did see it. I wasn’t here when
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