TailSpin - Catherine Coulter [60]
Had she been abused before she finally ran away? Savich knew this girl would get counseled here, that there would be a shot at straightening her out.
Sherlock sat forward in her chair. “We need your help, Angel. The waiter you gave your cell number to at the Blue Fox restaurant told us you were with Roderick Lloyd. We need you to tell us about him.”
“Why? What’d Roddy do?”
Savich studied her, her eyes, her body movements. “Thing is, Angel, Roddy’s a very bad man. He’s in a hospital in western Virginia right now because he tried to murder a woman. It’s good for her that she’s smart and fast, got herself a rifle and shot him instead.”
Angel nodded, tapped her fingers on the tabletop, tossed her head, sending all that beautiful blond hair swinging away from her head to settle again on her shoulders and down her back. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Roddy is always blowing hard, bragging, like that, telling me how important he is, how when there’s a problem, he’s the one folks call to solve it. He was all puffed up when he told me he had to go out of town for a couple of days, take care of this situation for a real important dude. He didn’t give me a name, if that’s what you’re wondering.
“I was wondering why Roddy hasn’t called me, then I realized my cell is dead and I can’t charge it since Roddy locked me out of his apartment. Is he going to die?”
“No,” Sherlock said, “but he’s not in terribly good shape. Lost the use of both of his hands for a while.”
“I was thinking he was a hit man, like that,” Angel said, looking over Savich’s right shoulder, her voice calm. “I can see him blowing it, too. I mean even in bed he was always too fast off the mark, didn’t really think things through, you know? No surprise he’d screw up a hit.”
“Did he tell you about this situation he had to handle?” Savich asked. He pulled a pack of sugarless gum from his pocket, offered her a stick.
She took it, peeled the wrapper with long white fingers, stuck it into her mouth. She chewed, then sighed. “Well, this isn’t a Big Mac, but it’s not bad. Thanks, Special Agent.”
“You’re welcome.” They chewed in companionable silence, then Savich said, “About the situation Roddy had to handle—we’d sure appreciate your telling us exactly what you know about it.”
A flicker of alarm widened her eyes.
Savich said easily, “The woman he tried to kill, the woman who shot him instead, she’s still in danger, from the people or person who hired Roddy. Did he tell you anything?”
Angel began tapping her fingers again on the scarred tabletop. Savich wasn’t blind, he saw the gleam in her innocent blue eyes. Ah, so they had a budding deal maker on their hands. “Nah,” Angel began, “he didn’t tell me a thing, and I don’t know anything—”
Savich interrupted her smoothly. “If you help us, I’ll make sure you get the reward. It’s . . . ah . . . I’m not really sure, maybe five hundred bucks, depending on the information.”
“That’s bullshit,” Angel said.
“Well, yeah,” Savich admitted, “but the thing is, it’d buy a lot of Big Macs and a new charger for your cell phone.”
“Hmm,” Angel said. “How do I know I can trust you? I mean, you’re pretty hot, but you’re still a federal cop. It’d take weeks, maybe years before I’d get the reward.”
Savich pulled out his wallet, saw her eyes were glued to it. He slowly peeled out five one-hundred-dollar bills, the entire amount he’d gotten from his ATM that morning. “To prove you can trust me, I’ll advance the reward. It’s yours if what you tell us is useful.”
She never looked away from the stack of bills.
“The first one’s on account,” Savich said, and pushed one of the bills to her, “to prove my good intent.” Angel grabbed it and stuffed it in her bra.
“There’s nothing like green next to your skin,” she said, and gave him a huge smile. “Okay, I can