“I figured that sooner or later, you’d come to me, Max. I decided to make the first move.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered.” She turned, brushed past him, her ass moving across the front of his slacks. She shuddered, but it couldn’t be helped. Unlocking her car door, she gave up the pretense of not knowing who Lance was and said over her shoulder, “I’m not interested in what you can tell me about Lance La Russa.”
“Aren’t you going to ask if I killed him, Max?”
She opened the door. He did step back then, rather than get hit in the chest with the pointed edge. “You knew him, he’s dead, ergo you had something to do with it. But no one will be able to pin it on you. I know it. I’ve stopped beating my head against the wall where you’re concerned.”
She’d stopped trying to get him in overt ways. Instead, she was like a lion in the bushes waiting for the unsuspecting. That’s when she’d get him. The day he wasn’t expecting it.
“I have other things to offer, Max, besides my guilt.”
“I don’t need your money.” She gave him a smirk totally at odds with the way her insides trembled. “And the thought of touching your body makes me want to vomit. Nothing you’ve got interests me.”
He tipped his head. “What about Julia La Russa?”
“Julia La Russa?”
“Lance’s wife.”
Like the devil, the man knew every weakness, knew Max desperately wanted a crack at that woman.
“You suspect her, don’t you, Max?”
“She’s got an alibi no one can shake.” Max shrugged, as though indifferent.
Bud raised a brow. The wind pulled through his hair. It fell back into place like it had never been touched. “Ah yes, her little charity affair. But everyone has to go to the bathroom or sneak away for a cigarette.”
“She wouldn’t have had enough time to leave, kill him, and get back.”
“Maybe someone’s lying about where and when they saw her, Max. A friend? A close business associate?”
“You?”
He didn’t answer that. “I can introduce you to her, Max.”
She thought of the days, weeks, or months it would take to infiltrate the wife’s benefit organization, to find an in with Julia La Russa. Or she could have knocked on the woman’s door asking for employment, secretary, maid, toilet cleaner, anything. Most likely the door would have been slammed in her face.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
He quirked a brow. “What if it’s my way of getting a hold over you, Max?”
“I may take something from you, but I’ll never owe you.”
He smiled, giving her the prickling sensation that she hadn’t thought things all the way through. “Think of it as a gift then.”
The decision took seconds, and she was proud of the fact that neither her revulsion for Bud Traynor nor her fear weighed in on the matter. “When?”
“Now, Max.”
It was a Godiva chocolate dangled before her face. If she didn’t take it now, he’d never offer again. That was part of his game. She reached inside her purse, pulled out Witt’s cell phone, called her temp job, and informed them she was sick.
Tucking the phone back in her bag, she said, “I’ll follow you.”
He wagged a finger, murmured a negative sound. “I don’t think so, Max. You’ll drive with me.”
She tilted her nose, looked down it scathingly. “No. I won’t.”
“Then you don’t go at all.” His eyes sparkled with malice.
She should have known there was a catch. She debated leaving word with Witt about where she was going. And who she was with. She rejected that thought as quickly as it had come. Witt was ready to skin her alive after her little jaunt with Ladybird. If he knew about this? Lord help her.
Slightly nauseous with the decision, Max climbed into the devil’s own chariot beside Bud Traynor.
Chapter Eight
Bud Traynor took her to Hillsborough where the rich lived. She digested the route they drove in order to duplicate it if she needed to. With his hand on the armrest between them, Bud seemed to steal her concentration. The tan leather smelled of his expensive cologne and cigars. She breathed the same air as he did, saw the same things, moved almost within his aura. He was like a parasite she feared would burrow inside her if she ever lost a moment’s control.
Max wished for Cameron’s voice inside her head to keep her sane. There was only silence. This was obviously something Cameron felt she had to do on her own. Or, he thought she was too insane to bother with.
Hillsborough was a few miles outside of San Francisco, but about forty-five minutes from her apartment. There were people who loved the hustle of the city, the noise on the streets, the feeling that you could step outside your door and be a part of Life with a capital L. There were others who preferred the anonymity of the suburbs. They wanted comfort and riches, people on their terms and on their schedules. Somehow she knew Lance had been a city dweller. This house was for his wife, Julia.