Laura Lippman - Charm City

"You've heard of the old newspaper editor with a bottle in his desk? Well, I have bottles secreted everywhere . My nod to tradition."

Tess laughed, reaching for the bottle and cup, silver in the moonlight. Make new friends, but keep the old . Sterling was rubbing his wrist the way he did because of his bouts with carpal tunnel. For some reason, it reminded her of Lea and the way she touched her bracelet, as if it were an amulet that could protect her from harm. One is silver, but the other's gold. You're golden, Wink . So Wink had been gold and Tucci was silver. Well, maybe silver plate. It was a stretch to see him as sterling.

Sterling. He was a good guy. She felt guilty now about ignoring his instructions. What would he say if Feeney did show up? "Look, about Feeney-"

Sterling tapped the cell phone he kept in his breast pocket, beneath his camel's hair coat. "Don't worry, I won't let him miss the big story. I always put the paper first."

Always? Abruptly, Tess dropped the cup and bottle, spilling the drink in her lap while the bottle skittered under the Honda, spilling out the rest of the bourbon before Sterling could retrieve it.

"Dammit," he said angrily, then softened his tone. "I'm sorry, it's just that I tore the knee of my pants leg crawling around on this gravel. And I admit, I was hoping for a little of this, too."

"I guess I'm a little nervous. My hands are shaking."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He opened up his arms as if to embrace her.

"How do you mean that, exactly?"

Sterling looked at her strangely.

"Never mind." She glanced back at the road to see if there was any traffic-deserted, but there was an apartment complex on the other side, not even 100 yards away.

"You know, I bet he's not coming," she said. "If he's not here in fifteen minutes, let's bag this meeting and try it again tomorrow. What do you say?"

"You are a smart girl," Sterling said. He reached out and caressed her cheek with his gloved hand, then leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

"Look, Sterling-" she began. He punched her so hard in the stomach she bent double and fell to the ground, the gravel tearing and scraping her palms.

"Jesus." She wasn't sure if she had spoken out loud, or only cried out in her mind. She tried to rise to all fours, but Sterling kicked her in the ribs, flattening her. On the proper foot, a Bass Weejun could feel like a blackjack.

"But-I-didn't-drink," she panted. And if you didn't drink the drug-laden drink, you didn't pass out, and if you didn't pass out, Jack Sterling couldn't put you in a running car or toss you from a balcony, then page his star reporter. She had figured that much out. So why was she down on the ground, feeling as if there were small fires burning all over her body-in her knees, on her palms, in her side, on her face?

"The Jack Daniels did have a little something in it, to slow you down, but three suicides would have been over-kill-if you'll forgive the expression," Sterling said, straddling her, digging his heels into her waist as if she were a horse he was trying to break.

"However, it is plausible you'd be found murdered, Tess. After all, you had that nasty run-in with those kidnappers. It was even written up in the paper, remember? I told you how worried I was that one might come back. I mentioned my fears to others, too-Feeney, Whitney, even Lionel. Lionel couldn't help noticing how fond I was becoming of you." He kicked her again in the ribs, then bent down and grabbed the collar of her coat, jerking her head back so hard she thought she might have whiplash.

Tess could not believe how quickly he moved, how expertly. Then she thought about the West Baltimore shopkeeper, his heart giving way after a boy, a boy who grew up to be this man, whipped a pistol back and forth across his face. Wink could never hurt anyone , Lea had cried. He never hit me back , Linda had sneered. No, Wink's great shame was that he couldn't hurt anyone, although he could stand by with the best of them and watch a man die.

"You were Wink's accomplice," she said. Her rib, cracked or broken, made it hard to talk. She felt as if she had tumbled down a long flight of stairs and was still falling. " You're the one on the yearbook page. If I had seen it again, I would have known you."

"Actually, I'm on the facing page. And Raymond Sterling was so fat, with such long hair hanging in his face, you probably wouldn't have recognized him. But I couldn't take that chance."

"Raymond?" If she hadn't been in so much pain, she might have laughed.

"Raymond John Sterling. I started using my middle name after my parents sent me to military school in Indiana. That was the deal my father cut with the judge-military school instead of Montrose. After all, I'd never been in trouble before. Wink was the bad boy. Wink was even bad at being bad-the only time I ever got caught was when I was with Wink. That's the real difference between bad boys and good boys, you see. Bad boys get caught."

She tried to rise again and he pushed her down by stomping on her back with his foot, then squatted over her. His mouth was close to her ear, his voice the soft, encouraging voice of the man she thought she knew. "I have to hit you a few times, Tess, to make it look realistic. Just a few more taps, then I'll shoot you, I promise. One quick, clean shot in the head, okay?"

He patted her cheek, then slapped her so hard that her teeth cut the inside of her mouth and blood began dribbling down her face. It was a strange sensation, wet, cold, and hot all mingled on her face.

"Silver and gold," she panted, spitting blood with each word. "Sterling and Wink."

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, not realizing she was still fitting the pieces together. The cell phone in his pocket, and the convenient call to Feeney the night of Wink's death, making sure the Blight got the story. The edge in his voice, when he'd found her at his computer tonight. He had spoken that roughly to her only once before-the day she'd confessed she had been to see Linda Wynkowski. Turkey sausage on Rosita's pizza, his constant quest for low-fat food. Little things, but they had come together in one moment of perfect clarity. If only she could have had that moment in a less deserted, better-lighted place.

Sterling brought a sleek, almost elegant gun out of the pocket of his coat. Even Tess, with her complete ignorance of firearms, knew it was exactly the sort of weapon the greyhound gang would have used on her. Sterling was careful, he thought things out.

"Rosita?" she asked. God help her, but she really wanted to know.

"She jumped," he said. "Honestly. We had been…together for a while, after I first came to the paper. Consenting adults, a no-fault break-up. But she tried to use that to get her job back, said she'd go to Lionel and complain I had harrassed her. Another blackmailer, like Wink. She crawled out on the balcony railing, said she would jump if I didn't get her reinstated. As if I could, after all she had done."

After all she had done ?

"All I want to do is get on with my life," he said, almost as if he expected some sympathy. "That's all I've ever wanted."

High beams from an oncoming car swept across the parking lot and Sterling dropped his left hand to his side, so the gun was out of view. Feeney, Tess thought, at once hopeful and despairing. Sterling would simply kill him, too.

But the car that idled fifty feet away was an expensive utility vehicle, something Feeney wouldn't be caught dead driving. Tess heard its door open and slam, heard a key clicking in a lock, a trunk's springs yawning.

"Fancy meeting you two here." It was Whitney's voice, as clear and obnoxiously self-assured as if they'd met at some restaurant or museum.