James Conway - In Cold Blonde

Without ever taking his eyes from Anne, Ryan nodded again and walked into the bullpen.

“That is one beautiful woman,” Hanrahan said.

“She sure is,” Syd said, hating her.

Ryan reached Anne and gave her a polite hug. Same cologne, he thought. When she left him, Ryan used to smell her pillow at night to get a whiff of that cologne. It made him ache. “This is a surprise,” he said.

“I was in the station on business, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello,” she said, her eyes taking an inventory of his face. “God, you look great. You’ve really been taking care of yourself, Ryan.”

His eyes went from her brown eyes to her patrician nose and lingered on the small cleft in her chin. “You, too,” he said. “How’s Rick?” Ryan asked, hoping Anne’s husband had choked to death on a chicken bone or gotten stomach cancer and died a horrible death.

“He’s great. And you, are you with someone now?”

“No,” Ryan said, feeling guilty about Syd, but he could hardly admit to sleeping with his partner.

“I’d love to catch up, Ryan, you got a few minutes for a cup of coffee?”

“Not now, no. I’m in the middle of something. But I’d like that too; maybe in a day or so. Can I call you?”

“Absolutely,” Anne said, handing him her card. “And if you don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Anne leaned forward, kissed Ryan on the cheek. “Till then…”

Ryan watched her walk out the door. “Nice ass,” Syd said, joining Ryan.

“Not really,” Ryan said. “It’s riddled with cellulite.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, she’s got a great ass, and the rest of her ain’t too bad either, but she’s got one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s not you.”

Syd smiled. “You’re sweet. I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t get us fired.”

Ryan looked into Syd’s adorable freckled face. “It would almost be worth it. Now come on, we’ve got a murder to solve.”

Adam Devlin was going to die today.

He didn’t know it of course; he was firmly entrenched in his typical Tuesday routine. The day had started with the alarm waking him at five forty-five. He rolled over on his 1020 thread count, 100% spun Egyptian Cotton Sateen Jacurard sheets and looked into the sleeping face of his wife, Emily. Emily was cheerleader pretty, blonde, athletic, perky. They’d been college sweethearts at USC and gotten married the same June they graduated. And after seven years of marriage, they were still happy. Well, L.A. happy. She was having an affair with the eighteen-year-old boy living next door and Adam cheated regularly with an array of willing participants.

They lived in a five-million-dollar house in Brentwood, bought with the money Adam made as a wildly successful sports agent. Adam’s best friend in college was the USC quarterback, who went on to win the Heisman trophy, and then signed an eighty-million-dollar contract with the Washington Redskins. The quarterback signed on as Adam’s first client and after a blizzard of commercials and endorsements, other clients soon followed.

Adam rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of Nike workout shorts, Under Armor tee shirt, Reebok socks and Adidas running shoes, all gifts from his many sponsors, and walked down the hall to his home gym. He jumped on his Precor treadmill, did twenty minutes at 4.5 miles an hour at 5% elevation, and then did twenty more minutes on his Parabody weight machine, also gifts from sponsors. He checked his email on his Samsung Galaxy then watched a 32 inch Sony LCD flat screen as he worked out, switching between ESPN and CNBC to catch up on two of his favorite things, sports and money.

Next he shaved with a Gillette Fusion razor, brushed his teeth with Crest toothpaste, showered with Irish Spring soap, shampooed with Pantene and dressed in his usual blue Levi 501’s, a pale yellow Tommy Hilfiger dress shirt, then slipped, barefoot, into a pair of Kenneth Cole loafers. Emily was up by then and had poured Adam a bowl of Grape Nuts, sliced him a Chiquita banana and made him a Starbucks decaf latte with nonfat Alta Dena milk and half a pack of Splenda. And yes, they were all sponsor gifts.

Adam and Emily chatted about their upcoming day. Emily had her tennis league at Riviera and a lunch at Geoffrey’s with Ellen and JoAnne.

Adam had a meeting with an NBA official in the morning, lunch with a golf pro client at Mr. Chow’s, then a meeting at the Bel Air Regent Hotel with some execs from BMW who wanted his clients in their cars.

So, with exactly eleven hours left to inhale oxygen, Adam steered his Salsa Red XKR 4.2 Supercharged Jag convertible into the parking lot of his Santa Monica office building. As he spun the wheel to pull into his assigned parking spot, a white Prius suddenly backed out of a spot in front of him and they collided.

“God damn it,” Adam said leaping out of his car to inspect the damage. It was minor, a small dent on his bumper, a bigger ding on the Prius, but he was still pissed. As the door to the Prius opened, he prepared a verbal assault that died in his throat when he saw the driver.

She was blonde, tall and beautiful. She wore a white halter-top, red shorts and sandals. She was more skin than cloth and Adam wasn’t complaining. This girl was hot.

“I’m so sorry,” the blonde said. “I’m such an idiot. Oh, and look at your beautiful car, it’s ruined.”

“Not at all, it’s just a scratch,” Adam said. “Your car took most to the damage.”

“I hope we don’t have to call the police or involve the insurance companies,” she said, her green eyes locked on his face. “My rates are already sky high and I couldn’t afford another hike.”

Adam could feel this woman’s sexuality. It practically radiated off of her. He had to have her, so he pulled out one of his favorite lines. “Are you an actress, or something,” Adam blurted out. “I mean, you are just so beautiful.”

The blonde blushed, embarrassed. “Me? No, no; I’m, well, to be honest, I’m out of work at the moment. I was hoping to find a job, something in fashion or advertising, but I just moved to town, so I don’t know anybody, and I’m having a hard time getting started.”

“I have a lot of contacts in advertising,” Adam said. “Maybe I could help you. My name is Adam, by the way…” Adam extended his hand.

The blonde took it, gave him a firm handshake. “Susie,” Alice said. “My name is Susie.”

Adam loved the feel of her skin, he let the handshake linger, and then reluctantly let go. “Tell you what, Susie, I’ve got a meeting at the Bel Air Regent Hotel this afternoon but I’ll be done about five-thirty. If you’ll meet me in the bar, we can talk and I bet I can help you get that job.”

“That’s fantastic! Adam, thank you so much,” then her eyes dropped to the damaged fenders. “But what about your car?”

“Don’t worry about it. In fact,” Adam said, pulling out a thick roll of hundreds and peeling off five. “Use this to get your bumper fixed. If I hadn’t been going so fast, you never would have hit me.”

“I can’t take your money.”

“You can and will,” Adam said, closing her hand around the handful of bills. “And that’s just the beginning. You’ve got a friend in L.A. now, me. So will I see you at the Bel Air Regent?”

Alice scrunched up her face pretending to think about it, and then nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Adam.” She stuffed the money in purse. “Thank you so much.”

Adam had a smile on his face as he got back into his car. A smile and a hard-on.

The Crown Vic smelled like pepperoni pizza. Ryan and Syd were sharing the car with a team from the vice squad that had been staking out a strip club waiting for a certain pimp to show up, and each morning Ryan and Syd knew what the team ate for dinner. They had eclectic taste, Chinese, Mexican, and last night, Italian.