Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (21 page)

"Hey there, babe," Emmett Larson's deep baritone crooned from the other end of the line. "It's after one in the morning—meaning you're either just getting off work, or you're feeling frisky." He chuckled.

"Maybe both," I said coyly. "How's work?"

Emmett blew out a breath. When he spoke again, he sounded tired. "I wish I had good news for you, but we're still not making much headway. One source claims Stone's in Europe; another says he's holed up at a buddy's place somewhere deep in the woods of Montana. If we get one lead, we get a dozen—and they're always far-spread." He was silent for a moment, no doubt trying to quell some of the frustration that was building in his tone. "We're going to get him, Ame," he said finally. "I promise."

"I know," I replied, but my voice was glum. I turned off of Piedmont Road, pulling into the parking deck for my apartment. "I just wish this whole thing was behind us. I want to see you."

"I wanna see you too, babe."

I parked on the tenth level of the deck and trudged up three flights of stairs to my floor, not wanting to risk dropping the call in the elevator. "Maybe you can sneak away for the weekend," I said breathlessly when I reached the top step. "If y'all haven't found him in the past seven months, what kind of difference would a few days make?"

"I still have a job to do," Emmett reminded me. "But that does sound tempting."

My lips curved upward. "I could make it worth your while," I purred as I unlocked my door and pushed it open. I closed it behind me and turned around, stopping dead in my tracks when I saw the man inside my apartment.

DECEPTION AT CASTLE ROCK

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