She wanted to jump up and down, high-five someone, explode. She had him right in her scope. All she had to do was pull the trigger.
But damn. What if she failed? Like the last time, with Wendy. What if she had him right there, then made a stupid move, like underestimating him? She’d lose him. Again.
Or worse. He’d turn on her. She’d gone up against him once. That time he’d let her get away unscathed. They’d both come out intact. But the stakes were higher now. Two deaths. Oh God, oh God, what to do?
She grabbed the portable phone and punched in a number. Witt’s cell phone. She hadn’t even known she’d memorized it. It rang. He answered on the third ring with a clipped, “Long here.”
Max hung up. She was crazy for calling him. He didn’t entirely understand about Bud Traynor. Yeah, he thought the guy was suspicious and said all the right things way too easily, but Witt hadn’t seen the vicious predator beneath the neat polo shirts, golf shoes, and respectable lawyerly facade.
All she had was a name on a chewed-up computer label. It wouldn’t be enough.
Witt couldn’t help her. No one could help her. She was on her own.
Except for me. Cameron’s sweet peppermints scented the air around her. Finish the labels and put them on the mailers. Act like nothing has happened. There’s work to be done tonight, and you need a clear head.
God, he was right. Heart still pounding, she glanced around the shop. Small bits of tin foil covered the head of Larry’s client like an umbrella against alien rays. Moe spiked the shocking pink hair of a teenage girl. Curly was stuck with a no-nonsense elderly gentleman who wanted little more than a neat bowl-cut. Ariel washed her new client’s frizzy mass behind the lattice divider separating the rear of the salon from the front.
Everything had gone on around her. Max was the only one who realized something momentous had just occurred.
Something psychic.
The phone rang. An appointment changed. She finished printing the labels and affixed them to the flyers between more calls. The hum of a hairdryer filled the shop. Voices. Water running. The sounds isolated her, and yet their very normalcy eased the tension along the back of her neck.
But six o’clock couldn’t roll around fast enough.
Cameron was right. They had work to do. Tonight was Bud Traynor’s big gala at the San Jose Fairmont. That’s what the newspaper article said, the one Witt had shown her. Traynor was guaranteed to be out of his house. A perfect opportunity for Max to do a little B&E and search.
She’d have to make sure she avoided Witt.
At a quarter to six, Max went back to knock on Pippa’s office door. Walking down the hall sent shivers racing along her skin. Passing the laundry room gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Pippa opened the door a crack to look out, her hand securely on the knob as if Max might try storming the door. “We’re busy.”
Max wondered exactly who was busy with exactly what. Jules had also disappeared. Hmm. She had the desire to fluff her short, dark hair before bouncing into her blond routine. “I really need to talk to Miles. Is he in there? I looked everywhere else.”
“He’s busy.”
Max’s forced smile seemed as brittle as glass. “Well, I’ve got to take off a couple of minutes early and Dolores,” the evening receptionist, “isn’t here yet. I want to make sure it’s okay with Miles.”
She should have just left. It was Cameron who’d urged her to get permission. For the sake of the keeping her position near Tiffany’s coworkers.
The woman’s lips thinned, her eyes narrowed. Max thought perhaps there was a bit of spite there, too. “Your day ends at six, not a minute earlier.”
Miles suddenly appeared. Pippa faded quickly back into the office interior. He, at least, opened the door more than a sliver. “Of course, it’s okay, Max.” Pippa now merely an unfocused blur behind Miles, her gaze still scorched like hot coals down the front of Max’s black blazer. Miles seemed unperturbed as he went on, “How good of you to ask. Most employees would have just taken off.”
I told you so.
Her lips felt ready to crack with her fixed smile. There was nothing worse than an I-told-you-so from a ghost. Especially when he was right. “Oh, that’s terrible, Miles. I’d never do anything like that. Thank you so much. I’ll see you on Monday then, if there’s nothing else you need,” she simpered.
He pulled on an almost non-existent earlobe. “Well, now that you mention it, there is something. Would you be willing to work this weekend if we need you?”
“Why, of course.” She could search for more clues involving Traynor.
“I’ll call you.” Something about the way he said it sent a shudder straight down her spine. It was as if he’d made a sexual suggestion. What the hell had she just agreed to?
“Ta-ta for now, then.” He waggled his fingers, then closed the door. The inside lock clicked.
She felt the shiver again.
“Someone walk over your grave, Maxi?”
“Sure did, Cammie.”