Witt tugged on the neck of his T-shirt. “She was observed having ... ahem ... in the public restroom.”
Max tapped her fingers on the edge of her plate and shot him a quizzical look. “Having ahem? I don’t believe I’ve heard of that.”
He put his fork down. “Sex, Max. She had sex in the men’s bathroom,” he said with a straight face.
She hid her smile behind a broccoli flower. “Oh. And the police think that man killed her?”
“Him. Or someone who was watching. Helluva fight broke out afterwards. Trashed the place. According to witnesses, Tiffany disappeared. So did the guy.”
“Did they get a description of him?”
It was Witt’s turn to smile. “Got fifteen detailed descriptions of the woman. Not one of them could remember what the man looked like.” He pushed his plate away. “Tell me, Max, why so interested in visiting the Round Up? And remember, you said I don’t believe in coincidence. So don’t bother with any crazy stories.”
Busted. Once again, she’d underestimated the man. “I read about the riot and figured there was a connection.”
“Riot?” Witt’s narrowed eyes could become the most piercing blue when he was onto something. “I never said riot.”
“Disturbance then.”
“You used the word riot. Something you’re not telling me? Because I know you didn’t read about any ‘riot.’”
“Would you believe I overheard the girls at the salon talking about it?” It was worth a try.
He didn’t dignify that one with an answer, but sat back with his arms crossed and ran her through with an blue-ice gaze.
“All right, you asked for it. I dreamed a blonde woman—who I now know was Tiffany—picked up a man in the bar. She had sex in the restroom while a bunch of guys were in there listening to her. Then the place broke out in a riot, at which point she vanished, only to be murdered later in a twelve-by-twelve foot, blue-walled room by Frankenstein and Dracula. Then the two monsters dumped her body in the alley. And the dump was witnessed by my wino.”
He relaxed his arms, regarding her with as much pride as interest. The look warmed her. Damn, this was getting really scary.
“More like it, Max.”
She stared, her pulse drumming. “You actually believe me?”
“Shall I enumerate the things you shouldn’t have known about Wendy Gregory’s murder, but did?”
“And you wanted to arrest me for knowing too much.”
He quirked his brow. “In my defense, no one but Wendy’s killer knew about that note found on the floor of the car.”
“The green one with the flight number written on it?”
“Yeah. Flight 452. Same number as the locker key your wino supposedly had. No one knew about that note except Wendy’s killer. And you. Which you claimed to have seen in a dream.” He leaned forward, blue eyes intense. “Now you’ve seen a key in a vision. And I’m still willing to suspend my disbelief for the time being.”
She snorted softly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I know you didn’t kill Wendy because if you’d helped, believe me, that murdering asshole would have made sure you went down, too.” His lips were flat-lined, grim.
“Goodness, I thought it was your faith in me.”
He shot another icy, penetrating gaze at her. “You don’t recognize faith when you’re looking at it. I’m a cop. I deal in logic. But nothing about you is logical.”
“Logic was how I nailed Wendy’s killer.” And a few visions.
He tipped his head like a curious cat. “Tell me how it works.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms. “We covered that.”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “More. I want more.”
So did she, and the need got stronger the more time she spent with him. “They’re just like dreams.”
“Then how do you know they’re real?”
A damn good question. “I ... they’re ... the visions are very linear, like real time. No weird or funny stuff like in normal dreams. I’m not myself, and I’m aware of that. But, the same as with dreams, by the time I wake up, I’ve forgotten a lot. I sometimes think things are held back on purpose, so I’m forced to search.”
She didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until his finger trailed across her hand. She pulled back immediately, pushed her plate away, and crossed her arms in front of her.
Witt looked at her, one corner of his mouth up as if he was laughing at her. “What about the visions when you’re awake?”
“Same thing. I’m someone else. It’s just a scene. I don’t always know what it means at first. Details just seem to pop into my head later. Stuff I noticed but didn’t really pick up on.”
He still smiled.
It made her nervous. “Are you humoring me or something?”
“Unsure of yourself?”
“I’m unsure of you.” She wondered belatedly if that was a real smart thing to admit. His interest, however, warmed her.
“Just curious how you did it, that’s all.”