“You should do it full time.”
Wilde considered it.
“There isn’t much money in it.”
“You can say that about almost anything.”
He shrugged.
“Next time you see me there, flag me down and I’ll buy you a drink.”
She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other direction.
“Okay.”
Five minutes later Wilde found himself in Bluetone’s office with the door closed. He tossed the map on the lawyer’s desk.
“What London gave you before was a fake,” he said. “She didn’t know if she could trust you. That’s the real one. She doesn’t want it anymore. It’s all yours. All she wants is to be left alone.”
Bluetone unfolded the paper and studied it.
“How do I know this isn’t another fake?”
“You don’t,” Wilde said. “Here’s the deal. London won’t be back to the law firm again ever. She’s staying in Denver though. You’re going to leave her alone. You’re both going your separate ways.”
The lawyer shrugged.
“Sure.”
Wilde hardened his face.
“Let me be as clear as I can on this,” he said. “Don’t hire anyone to hurt her. Don’t tell them to make it look like an accident. Don’t even look at her if you pass her on the street.”
A smile slowly worked its way onto Bluetone’s face.
“I feel sorry for you,” he said. “It’s no fun to be in a woman’s spell.”
Wilde got up and headed for the door, turning long enough to say, “This is your only warning. Be smart and take it.”
Then he was out, walking quickly down the hallway that suddenly seemed too dark and narrow. As he rounded the corner into the reception area, the redhead looked up from a magazine, startled that someone was there.
Wilde looked down at what she was reading.
What he saw he couldn’t believe.
The woman flicked it shut and shoved it in a drawer. “Our secret, okay?”
“Can I see that for a second?”
Yes.
He could.
It was a fashion magazine, one of those expensive ones with glossy paper that showed styles from New York and Paris and London. Wilde flipped through until he found the page that had been open before. On that page was Secret St. Rain, dressed to the nines with a devious smile as she sprayed perfume on her neck from an ice-blue bottle.
It was her.
There was no question about it.
Not even a little one.
His heart raced.
“Can I take this page?”
Sure.
No problem.
He ripped it out and shoved it in his pocket.
“Thanks.”
Then he was gone.
92
The heavy pounding of feet continued up the stairwell towards Waverly’s frozen body. Two seconds later the 29-year-old lanky frame of Miles Rocket bounded around the landing and almost knocked her down. A cigarette fell from his lips. He picked it up and replaced it.
“You’re not dead,” he said.
“Why would I be?”
He shook his head.
“Damn, I thought for sure-, I mean, first you drop off the face of the earth, then that guy shows up and trashes your apartment.”
Waverly narrowed her eyes.
“What guy? Did you see him?”
“Yeah, I saw him.”
“Tell me.”
The man retreated in thought.
“I heard all this noise,” he said. “At first I thought you were back and were having a fight with someone or something like that, but then I didn’t hear any arguing so I figured you were alone. The longer it went on, the more I got to thinking that it wasn’t you. When it stopped, I looked out the peephole of my door to see if someone walked by. Someone did, a man.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Scary, that’s the best way to describe him. Damn scary.”
“Give me specifics,” Waverly said. “Tall, short, fat, skinny, what?”
“Well, he was wearing a black T-shirt, although I don’t suppose that helps very much,” he said. “He had a scar that ran down his forehead towards his eye and then down his cheek. He was tall-over six feet-and strong too, not in a thick Gorilla kind of way but more in a taut way. Oh, he had a tattoo, too. It was on his forearm. I didn’t get a real good look at it on account of how fast he was moving, but it could have been a red rose or something like that.”
“Did you ever seen him before?”
“No that was it, just that one time. That was enough. There was something about the guy’s eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “They were just, I don’t know-wrong, if that makes any sense.”
Waverly nodded.
“Yeah, it makes sense. When did this happen?”
“Last night, about ten. No, wait, not last night, Monday night. Right, Monday night, about ten.” A beat then, “What was he doing there?”
“Good question.”
“You don’t know him?”
“No.”
“He was probably just a robber then,” Rocket said. “You’d think he’d be a little more quiet though. Was anything taken?”
“I don’t know.”
