is this? No questions right in my face? No bitching at me? By God,
could it be that you’re sulking?”
That got her, just as he hoped it would.
“How would you like that nice sticky syrup down the back of
your neck?”
He grinned at her and saluted with his coffee cup. “I wouldn’t
like that at all. At least you’re speaking to me again. Look, Becca,
I’m just trying to find out what’s going on. Everyone is floating a
lot of ideas, a lot of names. Now we have this skeleton.”
He was so slippery, she’d bet if he were a pig in a greased pig
contest, no one could hold him down, but she was tenacious.
“Who were you telling not to smoke?”
“Hatch. He’s my main assistant. He has more contacts than a
centipede has legs, speaks six languages, and is real smart except
when it comes to cigarettes and loose women.That’s the way I
can control his smoking. I pay him very well and threaten to fire
him if he lights up.”
“But I heard you tell him to put out the cigarette. Obviously he’s
still smoking. And he knew you were on the other end of the line.”
“Yeah. It’s more a game now than anything else. He lights up
just to hear me blow.”
“Did he find out anything about the skeleton? What’s this about
DNA testing? They think they know who that poor girl was?”
He stretched, drank down the last of his coffee, carefully set the
cup on the table, then stood up.
She was on her feet in the next instant. Two fast steps and she
was in his face. She was fast, he’d give her that, and she was mad.
He was grinning down at her when she slammed her fist in his
belly. Becca felt her face turning red. “Damn you, you will not treat
me like a cipher, like I’m a moron who isn’t even important
enough to talk to. Who are you?”
He grabbed her wrist. “That was a good shot. No, don’t hit me
again or I’ll have to do something. I want to keep those pancakes
happy.”
‘Yeah, what?” She just didn’t care anymore. She smashed her
other fist into his left kidney.
He held both her wrists now. He knew she’d bring up her knee
next so he jerked her around so her back was pressed against his
chest. He held her arms pressed to her sides. “You’d look better as
a blonde. Usually a woman’s roots are darker than her hair. In your
case, you’ve got all this baby-light hair at the roots.”
She kicked back, grazing his shin. He grunted. He sat back
down on the chair, holding her on his lap. She was pinned against
him and couldn’t move. “Now,” he said, “I’m sorry that we’re playing
only by my rules, but that’s the way it’s got to be unless I’m told
otherwise.”
“You need to shave. You look like a convict.”
“How do you know?You’ve got the back of your head to me.”
“You’ve got as much hair on your face as you do on your chest.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you did get an eyeful in the bedroom.”
“Go to hell.”
Adam’s cell phone rang. “Well, shit. Will you let me answer this
without attacking me again?”
“Actually, I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”
“Good.” He dropped his arms and she jumped off his lap.
He flipped open the small narrow phone. “Carruthers here.”
“Adam, it’s Thomas Matlock. Is Becca there with you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“All right, then, just listen. I sent an e-mail to Dillon Savich, a
computer expert here at FBI headquarters in Washington. I knew
his father very well. Actually, Buck Savich was the only other person
who knew about all the mess with Krimakov. He’s been dead
for a while. I e-mailed his son for help. His job is finding maniacs
using computer programs. He’s good. He managed to track me
down before I could even get back to him. That’s beyond good.
He’s agreed to a meeting. I’m going to see him. We need all the
help we can get.”