Back in the car, with Bud Traynor far too close, Max should have felt claustrophobic. Instead, excitement pumped through her veins. The chase was on, the suspects lining up; the hooker, her thick-necked buddy with the big ears, the wife, and now Baxter Newton.
Not to mention the one she’d really like to nail to the wall, Bud himself. Someday, she’d prove how dirty his hands were.
Who the hell was Baxter Newton to Julia La Russa? She’d get around to asking after she tackled Bud’s true motive for taking her to meet Julia. That question was of paramount importance to her.
“When did you cook up this little assistant charade? Before Lance was even killed?” Even if Bud didn’t actually wield the weapon, there was a damn good chance that he had manipulated the murderer. He’d done it before. He’d damn near admitted that to her.
One manicured hand held the wheel loosely at the bottom; the other Bud placed on the armrest between them. “Aren’t you going to thank me for getting you in, Max?”
Max refused to scrunch up against the door to get away from him. She wasn’t afraid. He was just a man, even though there were times she’d swear she saw the devil glowing in his black eyes. “What you do you do for yourself. You ought to thank me for playing along with your little game, whatever it is.”
Maneuvering into the freeway traffic, he headed south. “You’d like to know what I’m up to, wouldn’t you, Max?”
“Yes.” Asking wasn’t succumbing to him, it was simply playing without knowing the rules.
“Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Despite the cars flowing all around them, Max suddenly felt trapped, alone, unprotected, exposed to all manner of evil. “I’m busy.”
“Afraid, Max? Or perhaps you have a hot date with Dudley Do-Right?”
How the hell did he know that was her endearing term for Witt and his ridiculously adorable cleft? Perhaps Bud didn’t, but he was definitely taking a dig at her. She refused to let it get to her. “Neither. I’ve got another lead I’m going to follow up.” She shook her head when he turned slightly toward her. “And don’t bother asking what, because I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
The car had gotten stuffy, the air blowing out the vents oddly foul as if the system had sick-building syndrome. Max wrinkled her nose, and Bud reached for the air conditioning controls. Cool air bathed her face, the old, musty smell hidden beneath the air pulled in from the outside. Bud Traynor’s facade, like the air conditioning, masked something old, musty, and rotten.
“You do amuse me so, Max. Tell me, are you fucking the good detective yet?”
She jolted as if he’d slapped her. Not because he hadn’t intimated the same thing before, but because it sounded so hollow coming from his mouth. Fucking. A physical act. A dirty, debasing act. She’d used the same word with Witt last night to make a point. Instead, she’d hurt him, and now she knew why.
But Witt had tried a power play on her, and she’d had to smash him down or lose her self-respect.
She moved on to her own agenda, ignoring Bud’s, which, obviously, he wasn’t going to tell her. “So how does Baxter Newton fit? You knew he’d be there, didn’t you?”
“I want to give you all the suspects I can, Max. I want to help solve Lance’s murder.”
If that was true, Bud had his own nefarious reasons. “Why?”
“Once you solve it, you’ll know why. Patience is a virtue, Max. I have an abundant amount. That’s exactly why I’ll have you in the end. Because one day there’ll be something you want from me so badly that you’ll do whatever I ask.”
Chills walked up her arms like someone had stepped on her grave. “There’s nothing you have that I’d want that much.”
Without turning to her, he smiled. “Yes, there is, Max, oh yes, there is. And you’ll do anything to get it.” He chanced a quick look at her, a smile quirking his lips. “Anything, Max.”
God, she hated the sound of his smug voice, hated the fear that burrowed into her bones like some all-consuming parasite. There could be nothing that important. Nothing. Could there?
“Baxter Newton.” She almost stuttered trying to return to the subject. “You were going to tell me what he has to do with all this.”
“Come now, Max, being Lance’s father-in-law automatically makes him a suspect.”
“Father-in-law?” she repeated dumbly.
“Julia’s father.”
“You’re kidding. They don’t look a thing alike.” Perhaps before turning gray, Baxter’s hair might have been the same brown as Julia’s and his eyes did have something of the same chocolate brown cast. “But he’s an inch shorter than she is.”
“She was wearing heels. I must admit, though, that if I didn’t know better, I’d say Baxter found her under the proverbial gooseberry bush, or his wife was fucking the garbage man. But I assure you, Max, they are father and daughter.”
His fingers moved on the seat between them. Wanting no surprises, Max put her back to the car door and faced him.