He hesitated, then shook his head. "Just a hunch. Wait, you're taking her to dinner? Are you out of your mind?"
"No. Also, as far as I know, we don't take care of people based on a hunch. If you're going to kill someone, you better have proof."
Realizing I wasn't going to let him murder her tonight, he put his knife away. "Fine. I'll let you take her out to dinner. You can find the evidence I need. When you tell me she's guilty…" He shrugged. "We can do whatever needs to be done."
"And if she's not guilty?" I wasn't naive. She seemed sweet, but that didn't mean she wasn't capable of murder. I'd met Harlow St. James, after all. Not to mention others. Many others.
"She is," Woody insisted. "We've both seen this a thousand times before. Someone marries someone else for the money. Then they kill them. It's asshole behavior one-oh-one."
"I thought that was killing innocent people," I said darkly. Something I didn't condone and never would.
His jaw worked, his stare stubborn. "Asshole behavior one-oh-two then. Whatever. Still makes her an asshole."
Marrying someone for money wasn't even in my top one hundred of asshole behaviors, but I wasn't going to have that conversation with him right now.
"You should get out of here before I stabyouin the asshole," I said.
He leaned towards me and said, "Don't threaten me with a good time." His breath smelt like coffee and a hint of basil. No sign of alcohol. Just as well. He was reckless enough without being drunk.
I snorted. "You wish."
He smirked and stalked off toward the elevator. I waited until the car was gone before I stepped back into Sable's apartment and closed the door.
"Are you all right?"
She was standing in the corner, her hands clasped together as if she was hoping not to be noticed.
As if I'd fail to see someone as beautiful as her. I couldn't look anywhere else. She could have been surrounded by a million other women, and I wouldn't have seen a single one of them.
"Yeah, I'm absolutely fine," she said with what was clearly mock cheerfulness. The pitch and slight manic tone gave her away. "Masked men break into my apartment and threaten to kill me at least once or twice a week." Her voice squeaked on the last couple of words.
I stepped over to her and took one of her hands, watching her carefully for any sign of discomfort at my touch. "If that's thecase, I insist you hire a team of burly bodyguards. That, or you can move in with me."
That sounded appealing. I could easily picture her on my bed, her hair fanned out across my pillow. Legs parted, waiting for me to dive down between them and taste her.
"You knew him," she stated.
"He's an acquaintance." Trying to explain exactly what we were would be complicated and potentially dangerous.
I was part of a group of vigilante killers who, as Woody said, took care of people the authorities couldn't. People I had to let walk out of my courtroom because the law couldn't do its job. Because I couldn't domyjob.
"You know some interesting people," she said carefully. "Should I be calling the police?"
"Don't worry about Woody. I'll take care of him," I assured her.
She stared at the door as if he was on the other side.
"I had no idea Wolfgang had a son." She left no doubt of her sincerity. She really hadn't had a clue. No doubt there was a million other things the man never told her.
Things I wasn't going to enlighten her on either. Not tonight anyway. She had enough on her plate without worrying about things a dead man did.
"They have a complicated relationship," I said. "I mean,had. Do you know why he believed you killed his father?" Did Woody not know there was a line of people eager to do just that? If he missed his father, he was the only one.
"If I was guessing, I'd say he was looking for someone to blame and figured it might as well be me." She glanced down toward the dark hardwood floor. Floor that might have glistened with her blood if I hadn't walked in when I did. I pictured her lying there with her throat cut, but forced the image away. That hadn't happened. It wouldn't. I wouldn't allow it.
"But you didn’t," I said.
Something about her responses made me uneasy. Did I think she drove a knife into Wolfgang's chest? No, but something else was going on here. She knew something and she wasn't telling me.
