“Yeah.”
“Was it him—the nut job?”
“Looks like. Safe was robbed, looked like a burglary at first, but the guy left a note similar to the first. This one said ‘repent or you’ll be next.’”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your take?”
“The guy’s no amateur. He was in and out slick as grease, killed her quick and easy, broke into her safe, stole her money and jewelry—very expensive jewelry. That doesn’t sound like a wack job to me, but still. . . .”
“But there’s no reason a wack job couldn’t have taught himself a few tricks along the way. Maybe even decided to make a little money while he was doing his dirty work.”
“Could be. Could also be this isn’t his first rodeo.”
A pause. “You aren’t thinking serial here?”
“Gut instinct? No. Cops will be checking that angle, though, looking for some kind of pattern.”
Dirk sighed into the phone. “I hope to hell the cops can keep this quiet. We get a leak, we won’t just have to worry about the killer. We’ll have half a dozen copycats crawling out of the woodwork, sending notes to those girls on the tour.”
“You got that right. Keep an eye on the redhead,” Ethan said. “Just not too close an eye.”
“Same goes for the blonde.” Dirk hung up the phone.
Chapter Nine
Val showered, washed and dried her hair, perfumed and lotioned her body, fed Snoozie, then did her best to psyche herself up for the important night ahead.
She was ready to leave for the theater with plenty of time to spare. Ethan was pacing by then. She figured she would give him a break and go in a little early. Security would be tight at the Paramount. She would be safe there, and Ethan could do whatever he needed to help find the killer.
In a flirty little short black skirt that fluttered around her thighs when she walked, a peach silk, off-the-shoulder blouse, and a pair of open-toe, black high heels decorated with rhinestones, she was ready to face the photographers and TV media that would be waiting backstage before and after the show.
Val was fairly certain the after-party would be canceled. The murder of La Belle’s top model wasn’t something to celebrate.
A little shiver ran through her. She could have been the victim. Or she could be next. The murderer might go after Megan, or any of the girls who’d received a threatening note.
“You ready?” Ethan asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Val steeled herself; she had a job to do. Pasting on a smile, she grabbed her tote and her purse. “Ready as I’m going to get,” she said.
Ethan parked the Jeep near the rear entrance of the Paramount, came around and helped her down, then started walking her toward the back door.
“Dirk’s already here,” he said. “That black Escalade’s a BOSS, Inc., vehicle. Dirk usually drives his Viper or rides his Harley. The SUV is better for clients.”
She smiled. “A Viper or a Harley. He certainly has good taste.”
“I rode a 750 till I had a kid. I figured I couldn’t risk getting myself killed and leaving her alone.”
Her interest sharpened. “You have a child?”
He nodded. “Little girl named Hannah. She’ll be four her next birthday. Sweetest little towhead you’ve ever seen.”
Val’s stomach tightened. “So . . . you’re married?”
“No. I offered, her mother refused. You might say we weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.”
