Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (best classic books .TXT) 📗

hell is she doing now?'' Michael asked. He squinted at the computer screen. ``The camera is too damn fuzzy.''

``The lousy camera work,'' I said, ``means there's some- body else in her studio. Someone's running the camera.''

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``It's not her fiance. I hear he's still in jail.''

I didn't ask how Michael knew that information. He had various twisted lines of communication that reached all ech- elons of law enforcement. ``Is Alan all right?''

He hesitated. ``Rutledge isn't great. Somebody broke his nose. He's got bruises that would scare Mike Tyson.''

I forgot about Cindie Rae in a hurry. ``Michael! What happened?''

Unwillingly, Michael admitted, ``Where he's locked up, things can get out of hand very easily.''

``Is he safe?''

``The quicker he gets sprung, the better.''

So I had to work faster, I thought. Alan Rutledge didn't belong in jail, where he was incapable of defending himself.

``So who could the cameraman be?'' I asked.

``Why don't you phone Cindie Rae and find out?'' He pointed at the nine hundred number displayed above Cin- die Rae's now writhing body.

``No way!''

``Why not?'' With a grin at my squeamishness, Michael put his glass of milk on the bedside table and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. ``Here. You want to talk? Or should I do the honors?''

``Michael, don't!''

He laughed at me as he punched in the phone number. ``It's not a crime. She's got a legitimate business going.''

``Your definition of legitimate and mine--''

``It's not very appetizing, I'll admit, but she's earning a living.''

``At what cost? She's perpetuating the perception that women don't have to be treated like human beings.'' SLAY BELLES 63

``The lady is making a buck with the talent God gave her. Okay, a plastic surgeon helped. He ought to be sued, if you ask me. See that pucker near her navel?''

``I thought that was her navel.''

He pinned the cell phone to his ear with his shoulder. ``She's contributing to the economy. For all we know, she could be a member of the Better Business Bureau. Hell, maybe she belongs to the Rotary Club and--Hey, Cindie Rae, great show tonight!''

I stifled a cry of humiliation and flung myself down on the bed. I yanked the pillow over my head so I couldn't hear whatever conversation Michael had in mind. Soon I heard him laughing.

When he disconnected a couple of minutes later, he pat- ted my behind. ``It's safe to come out now.''

I threw off the pillow, but remained prone on the bed. ``What did you learn?''

``I can get three of Cindie Rae's gadgets for the price of two if I act before midnight.''

``What would you do with them?''

``They might make nice roadside flares.'' He shut down the computer and closed the screen. ``And her cameraman is a guy by the name of Calvin. He's camera-shy, though. I didn't see his face. Or any other part of him, thank God.''

``Calvin,'' I murmured, trying to dredge up some kernel of information that niggled in deepest part of my brain. ``I don't think I know any Calvins.''

``You suspect Cindie Rae killed the shopping lady now?''

``Yes. No. Why would she ask me to help exonerate Alan if she was the one who murdered Popo?''

Michael finished his milk in a long gulp and unlaced his boots. ``Can we think about this in the morning?''

I watched him peel off his sweater and start to unbutton the shirt underneath. ``They're not married yet. If Alan is convicted, Cindie Rae won't get his money. She'll have to continue to make her living by that Web site.''

``Not a lot of career options for someone with her back- ground,'' Michael agreed.

Absently, I ran my fingertips along the curve of his bare back. ``Did you have any luck finding Elvis tonight?''

``Who said I was looking?'' 64 Nancy Martin

``You only drink a toddy when you think you won't be able to sleep. I assumed you were working on your Monty Python situation.''

``Monty is my father's problem, not mine.''

So where had Michael been tonight? What problem was so knotty that he needed help to shut off his brain for the night?

The forces of Michael's life had begun to tangle darkly around mine, and no matter how intensely we both wanted to build a future together, there were still circumstances neither of us could control. I didn't want to think Michael's choices might alter the relationship we were still so tenta- tively forging.

If I didn't ask, he didn't need to tell.

Or to lie to me.

Michael got up and kicked off his boots. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and came back a few min- utes later without his clothes. He pulled the cord on the lamp and slid into bed with me, all warm muscle and pep- permint. I slipped into his arms, but Cindie Rae's explicit Web cam antics had cooled all carnal thoughts for one night. It felt good just to hold on tight.

In the morning, Michael woke with his usual ardor and left me weak as a kitten in the bed while he showered. An hour and a half later, my nephew Rawlins showed up to hide from his ``crazy mother'' in front of my television. He volunteered to look after Spike, so Michael and I were free to go into the city unencumbered.

On the highway, I caught him glancing into the rearview mirror more often than usual. ``What's going on?''

``One of us has a tail.''

``A . . . ? You mean somebody's following you?''

``Or you,'' he said, already reaching for his cell phone. He made a call, spoke briefly, and clicked the phone closed a moment later. ``Okay, it's me,'' he admitted. ``Dammit.''

``Is it the police? Are you going to be arrested?''

``I doubt it. But I hate your being in the car when they