Unknown - 16_Cat_In_An_Orange_Twist

“Call girls have counselors? And Molina believes her?”

“Has to. Their conversation stopped suddenly and the cell phone was found when the police checked the counselor’s story.

Carmen’s hands are pretty much tied.”

” ‘Carmen,’ huh?” Temple was miffed enough about that to not spare Matt her next question. “You do lead a charmed life. So your close encounter with a call girl had her phoning for help the minute you were gone. I assume you left, covered in glory, if not success.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Matt said, flushing slightly. Temple thought it was more from annoyance than embarrassment, which was a new mode for Matt.

“Great! Then I’d really be in the dark. If your friendly neighborhood stalker weren’t out of the picture, I’d almost make her for this Maylords attack.”

“Assault rifles? Come on! She was just one woman, no mat-ter how warped. And she is out of the picture. Permanently.” He flinched a bit, reminded of someone else. “I’m thankful I didn’t have to see that poor call girl dead. Listen, it’s true that someone could have come along and pushed the woman over the edge, but the social worker didn’t hear anything but the phone cutting out … no sounds of surprise or struggle. Nothing.”

“Why would she fall?”

“Deborah, the counselor, says Vassar was … agitated, hyper, probably pacing on those sky-high heels of hers. That rail is only four inches wide. Maybe she’d perched on it to talk. Just lost her balance. It’s a mystery!” he finally said, exasperated.

“You can’t solve them all.”

“It seems to suit everybody to lay one poor dead call girl quietly to rest. What I don’t understand-”

“What?” Matt asked, coming around the car.

She lurched a little with fatigue, but that was her body, not her mind. “I don’t get why Vassar felt like calling a therapist immediately after an assignation with you.”

Matt’s footsteps stopped cold. She immediately regretted being petty at a time like this, but she was so exhausted she felt surreal and annoyed at everyone who told things to other people behind her back.

Matt grabbed her upper arm to steady her. “Maybe you should try it sometime and find out.”

Whoa! What had they just been talking about? Maybe Matt the churchly celibate had made more time with the late call girl than he had let on to anyone.

Temple blinked, then found it hard to open her eyes again. “You’re dead on your feet.” It sounded like an apology. He turned her toward her car.

“Better than being dead off your feet, like Vassar.”

“Temple, just shut up. You don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

She sighed and nodded. “I’ll put the top down. My mind could use some fresh moving air.”

Then she realized something, almost with a sense of panic about something, someone, totally forgotten.

“What about Janice?” She looked back to the cool beige building, glowing faintly pink in the dawn.

“We left early, remember? I followed her home before I went to WCOO. She’s fine.”

“And you came back here? Why? It’s almost morning.”

“I wanted to make sure you got home to the Circle Ritz. Temple, we’re neighbors, like you said. How am I going to head home and wait to see when, or if, you make it? I don’t have to drive.” She needed control of something tonight.

“I just said that to get rid of the cop,” he explained. “Apparently everybody is ready to get rid of me tonight.” He came

around the car, opened the door, and waited for her to get into the driver’s seat.

“You probably shouldn’t drive, Temple, but maybe you need to concentrate on something.”

“I speed.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“We might get arrested all over again.”

“If they didn’t arrest you here, they’re not going to bother now. At least not for a while.”

She turned to settle her tote in the Miata’s vestigial backseat. “I suppose you think this car is impractical, and uncomfortable.” She glanced over as he settled into the passenger seat. “Nope. Can’t quite stretch my legs out, but otherwise it feels fine.”

Temple switched on the ignition and had a momentary blank about exactly where the drive position was.

She shouldn’t be driving, but she’d be damned if she let on. She pushed the shift into reverse and made a sudden arc out of the parking space before hitting the brakes. Matt put a hand on her knee. “Relax.”

And how the heck-?

Temple shifted into drive and roared out of the lot, passing several parked squad cars and the SWAT van.

No one bothered them, though, and the cool night wind whipped through their hair and sinuses.

The streets and highways were still occupied, but not crowded. Temple settled down and drove like a sedate schoolteacher until she reached the turn into the Circle Ritz parking lot. She screeched up the small incline and whipped the Miata into a sharp ninety-degree turn to occupy its usual spot under the big old palm tree.

The headlights flooded the palm tree’s crusty trunk with Hollywood-bright glare.

She pushed the shift into park, then shut down. Her hands remained on the steering wheel. They were shaking.

After a while, Matt reached over and turned off the ignition. He had to reach past her to push the headlight button off, and his arm brushed her body like an erotic push-broom.

She shivered and crossed her arms to hold the heat in, or maybe keep the cold out.

“Yeah,” Matt said. “A taste of battle fatigue, right here in Las Vegas. I feel like I’ve been up for five days straight.”

“Somebody shot at us. Again and again.”

“Not us, specifically.”

“Whoever shot didn’t care who they, he, it hit. So they were shooting at us.”

Matt’s fingers touched her upper arm. “I think you keep a mediocre bottle of whiskey in your kitchen cupboard.”

“I do.” She tossed off some of the shock by shaking her head slightly. “Only it’s not mediocre anymore. Max left me the

bottle of really good stuff you and he started.”

Temple didn’t add that was the last time Max had visited the Circle Ritz, and her. Several nights ago. Where was Max?

When he should be here with her? Protecting his turf. Keeping her from feeling uncertain and lonely. Was he involved in new mysterious missions of counterterrorism, Mr. Magician-cumspy … or was he just not interested in her enough anymore? They’d gone from months of living together to months apart and now to meeting clandestinely for almost six months. Wasn’t that all backwards? Shouldn’t the clandestine come before the flagrant?

Matt was watching her, surprised that she knew about the two men’s recent midnight tete-a-tete.

“You remember,” she told him. “Max showed up on yourbalcony with an irresistible invitation: a bottle of Bushmill’s Millennium, which I gather is the whiskey of the gods. Imagine. You and Max sharing a drink instead of glaring whenever each other’s name is mentioned. Remember that night? When you were both mourning your lost youths and opportunities. He brought me the dregs. Of the bottle. Not of your wasted lives. Actually, the bottle was almost full. Guess you two are too mutually suspicious to even booze together.”

Matt looked away. Out the window. Mentioning Max had made for three’s-a-crowd in the Miata’s cozy seating arrangement.

Temple had to wonder if some reflexive impulse of survival instinct had made her do that deliberately.

“He started that bottle without me:’ Matt finally said, getting out to put the top up.

Temple still couldn’t move, just sat there like life was a dream and she was sleep-walking through it.

Matt opened the driver’s-side door and put out his hand. “Wait a minute:’ she said. “What about your car?”