Edge of Sight

by Roxanne St Claire

“I told you I couldn’t have contact with the outside world.”

  That was his excuse? What kind of man couldn’t just say, hey, it was sex. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. She shrugged out of his touch and opened the door. “Bye.”

  She slammed the door behind her before he could answer, breaking into a run toward the stairs before he came after her.

  Yeah, right, dream on, Sam. He’s not the run-after-you-and-beg-for-a-second-chance type. As she navigated the stairs, tears burned. Good God, hadn’t she cried enough over Zach Angelino?

  Wiping a stray tear with her sleeve, she made it to the main floor, hating herself for hesitating when she reached the door. Hesitating… and listening. Was he coming down those stairs to stop her from leaving?

  Silence.

  Of course he wasn’t. And she could get home the same way she got here and talk to Vivi in the morning. It was worth the risk just to get away from him.

  Stepping out of the stairwell, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out the cab driver’s card.

  “Please, buddy,” she whispered as she dialed the number into her phone with disgustingly shaky hands. “Don’t be taking some drunk to the North End right now.”

  A man answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, I need a cab in Brookline. Tappan and Beacon. You dropped me off earlier, remember?”

  “I gotta send someone, sweetheart. Gimme the address again.”

  She did. “How long will it be?”

  “Five, ten minutes. Sit tight.”

  “I’ll be in the front lobby,” she said, heading that way.

  Once more, she glanced at the door to the stairwell, hating herself for hoping Zach would come after her and hating him more for not. Of course Zach had let her go out on her own, even though it was obvious she was scared and in trouble. The only thing that could have gotten her sanctuary with that son of a bitch was sex.

  If he still even wanted it from her.

  Giving the wig a good tug, she headed to the front doors to wait, leaning against the wall, staying in the shadows. What would she do when she got home? There was only one way into her apartment. One door, in the front, where anyone parked on the street could see her.

  What was she thinking to have left Vivi’s apartment?

  She was thinking that one more minute with Zach looming over her and she might have…

  No. Never again. She would never, ever do that again.

  Plus, he didn’t want her even if she were willing to forget what had essentially amounted to a three-week-long one-night stand.

  A yellow cab drove up Tappan, moving slowly. She put her hand on the bar to open the door, waiting to make sure it was hers. He passed the building and continued, moving very slowly, as if he were searching for the address. It might be hard to see in the dark.

  He kept going up the hill.

  Damn, was he going to drive right by? She pushed the door open to see where he was going, not willing to get locked out. She leaned far enough out to catch the driver lowering his window to get a better look at addresses. Yeah, this had to be her cab. If not, she was taking it anyway.

  She stepped out, letting the door lock behind her. At the top of the stairs, she waved, trying to stay in the light so he could see her. But he just hit the gas and zoomed right up the street, disappearing.

  God damn it.

  More mad than scared, she was looking at her phone to redial and plead with her original driver just when a black and white cruiser appeared on the left at the top of the hill, moving slowly toward Beacon Street. For a moment, she thought he stopped, but then he picked up a little speed and got close enough for her to see the colors and lettering.

  Thank God. Not Boston PD but a Brookline cop. If they asked for ID, maybe this guy wouldn’t recognize her as persona non grata in the department. She rushed to the street so she could flag him down, but just as she got to the sidewalk, he flipped on his lights and the siren wailed, sending her back a step in surprise. He never saw her, flying right by and practically soaring over the T tracks to turn left on Beacon and chase some baddie.

  “Oh!” She slammed a fist against her thigh in frustration. For one miserable second, she considered dialing Vivi’s phone and asking Zach to let her back in.

  But no. She had her pride.

  Unfortunately, pride wasn’t going to drive her home. She walked across the street, phone in hand, headed for the lights of the Star Market. Even though it was closed, there would be workers in there, cleaning and stocking. At least she’d be relatively safe under the neon lights of the building waiting for her cab.

  This wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t completely safe either. Her pulse jumping, she walked toward the path she knew ran down the hill from Tappan to the market lot, a path she’d used a thousand times when she lived in the building she’d just left. There was one section of dark in the trees, but faster, easier, and less out in the open than going all the way to Beacon to get from this street to that lot. She didn’t think anyone had followed her here, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  Still, her heart thudded to the same beat as her nervous footsteps as she ran across the street and ducked under the branches of an oak to get to the path. She slipped into that one section where the trees blocked most of the light, dipped her head to see the Star Market sign, and—

  Whoompf.

  The blow to her back came so hard and fast, she couldn’t take her next breath as she fell to her knees.

  A hand slammed over her mouth; a man’s body pressed against her.

  For one insane second, she thought it was Zach. His idea of a—

  “Pretty far from home, aren’t you, Samantha?”

  Not Zach. No. It was him. He’d found her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jesus, he was a lucky sonofabitch. Timing was everything, and Teddy Brindell had a magic touch for being in the right place at the very right time. He tossed the dirty apron in the back bin, glancing around the kitchen to make sure no one was near, then pulled the roll of bills from the front pocket of his waiter’s pants.

  Holy shit. The grass was in bloom at Paupiette’s that night, and he’d mowed it down. Tell the cops… get hassled and dragged downtown. Tell reporters… make a bundle. Who knew a little inside information could pay so well?

  He flipped through the cash, a slow grin growing on his face. There were freaking Benjis in this pile, man. In the darkness of the dining room, he’d thought they were slipping twenties, not hundreds, every time another customer pretended to gesture him closer and ask about a special.

  But the only Saturday Night Special they were interested in was the one that was fired in the wine cellar a week ago. Did you wait on him that night? Did you see the body? How’d his wife act? Did she freak out? What did he eat? What do you know?

  And he hadn’t told anyone a single “real” fact. Yet. His information, his rock-solid, good-as-gold, heard-with-his-own-ears information was too valuable to hand over to some dick customer. No, he wanted the right reporter, one willing to part with thousands, not hundreds.

  He pulled out three twenties and a ten to declare as cash tips, and just as he stuffed the wad back in his pocket, the kitchen doors swung open and in walked the triumvirate of assholes—chef, maître d’, and sommelier—already smoking and getting ready to pour wine and discuss the moutard.

  The little maître d’ stepped closer and looked accusingly down his nose at Teddy.

  “What?” Teddy asked. “I’m not stealing anything.” He waved the seventy bucks. “Just counting my cash tips so I can figure out your percentage.”

  Keegan snapped the money out of his hand. “This will work.”

  “Hey!” Teddy made a lunge for it, but Keegan was too fast.

  “You’ve got ten times this much in your pocket,” Keegan said, looking pointedly at Teddy’s pants pocket. “Unless you’re just glad to see me.”

  He wanted to step on the little worm, but Keegan made the schedule and Teddy wanted g
ood shifts.

  “Just keep that, then, dude,” Teddy said with a quick smile. “You gave me some great tables tonight. And, uh, my station’s clean, so can I go?”

  Rene walked closer, his reading glasses perched low on a ski slope of a nose. “You’re not talking to customers, are you?”

  Teddy did his best to look dumb as dirt. “Only about the specials, sir.”

  Keegan came up on his other side. “You know what he means. About the… incident.”

  “Oh, no, sir. I just tell them I can’t say a word, and I don’t.”

  Rene narrowed his eyes to distrusting slits. “I saw you plenty friendly with the customers tonight.”

  “Just doin’ my job,” he said, giving them his best Boy Scout grin.

  “You know the rules,” Keegan said. “You talk about the incident, you’re fired. We have no intention of profiting from this tragedy.”

  Right. Like the restaurant wasn’t overflowing with curious customers. “Of course, sir.”

  “You have a ride?” Keegan asked suddenly. “The T’s done for the night and I didn’t see your dad out there in front.”

  He hated the rise of color to his face almost as much as he hated the fact that his dad still had to drive him to and from work because he didn’t have a car and still lived with his parents in Chestnut Hill. But with the right person to pay for the information he had, all that could change.

  “I’m cool. I’m taking a cab,” he said. His old man had sounded a little toasted when he called about the pickup, so he figured he’d spend one of his newly acquired twenties on a nice leisurely cab ride for a change.

  But, Christ, he needed that car.

  “See you tomorrow,” Keegan said.

  He nodded good-bye, though the chef and Rene were already deep in conversation. But he’d gotten the message with that little exchange. They were on to him.

  So maybe he couldn’t hold on to his hot information for long. Maybe tomorrow night, he’d find that guy from the Herald again. They loved trashy stories. Or that hot chick from—

  And there she was, as if he’d conjured her up with the thought. The little babe with a nose diamond who was in the bar tonight. They hadn’t talked, but Wendy told him she worked for some investigative website. And Wendy knew everybody and everything. He had no doubt the bartender had made as much as he had in fake information tonight.

  But Wendy didn’t know the one thing he knew.

  He eyed the young woman again, liking what he saw. The rock star short black hair was so sharp at the edges it looked like it could cut… when he slammed his hands on her head and she sucked off his cock.

  Yep. Money wasn’t everything.

  As he got closer, she locked on him with sharp, dark eyes and pale skin. Under her arm, a skateboard.

  Holy shit, that was sexy.

  She wasn’t a kid, either. Probably late twenties, but smokin’ hot. And damn, something told him she was ready, willing, and just standing there waiting for him.

  “Hey.” He gave her a lazy smile. “I remember you.”

  She tilted her head to one side, added a brief smile. “Thought you might.” She reached out her hand. “Vivi Angelino with the Boston Bullet.”

  “You don’t look like the media,” he said, making a show of checking her out. “You look too cute to be much of a reporter.”

  She gave him a vile glare. “Looks are deceiving.” She stepped under the streetlight, and he got a good view of her body. Slender, fit, maybe five foot five at the most, a pair of cargo-style khakis hanging loose, a white T-shirt filled out, but not slutty looking. Not exactly trolling-for-sex clothes, but that little bit of indifference was kind of a turn-on, too.

  “So what’re you doing on St. Botolph Street at two in the morning, Miss Looks Are Deceiving?”

  She moved the board from one side to the other. “I want to talk to you.”

  Oh, yeah. Now they’re getting somewhere. “So, you noticed me, too.” He gave in to a smile. “I thought we had a little eye contact earlier tonight.”

  “Not exactly. I understand you were working the night Sterling was murdered.”

  So she was playing hardass. That was okay. She’d soften up when she found out what he knew.

  “Yep. But I’m not allowed to talk about it.” He started walking down Botolph toward the Colonnade just to see if she’d follow. She did.

  “That didn’t stop you when you told Mr. Alvechio that Sterling’s wife seemed pissed off at him.”

  He slowed his step. “Alvechio?”

  “The older man at the table by the window, the one who nursed a gin and tonic and only had appetizers. And works for Boston Magazine.”

  “Oh, him. Yeah. Well, I did mention to him that she wasn’t, you know, all happy and fun that night.”

  “And how about when you told that nice woman sitting alone near the hostess stand that Mr. Sterling was kind of drunk and loud that night? Does that count as not talking?”

  “She was from CNN,” he said.

  “She was not,” she shot back. “She was just another rubbernecker. How much?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets, letting his fingers close around his wad of cash. “How much what?”

  “Did she pay for that tidbit?”

  He stopped, right under a light that caught the glint of that little diamond. She had more in her ears, and a silver chain with an electric guitar charm at the end. This was going nowhere fast, and if he didn’t start to work her, he’d be in that cab going home to Mom and Dad. Alone.

  “You play guitar?” he asked, letting his eyes linger on the charm and the nice rise of small but firm titties below it.

  “Some.”

  He got a little hard staring at her chest. “You wanna know something, Vivi?” Vee-vee. He liked the sound of her name on his lips.

  “That’s why I’m stalking you, dude. You got anything to tell me you haven’t sold off to the highest bidder yet?”

  He gave her what he hoped was a sexy smile, but it was probably just sweet, like his mother said. “Depends.”

  She didn’t look amused. “On what?”

  “What you’re bidding.”

  “I don’t pay for stories, sorry.”

  He let his eyes drop to her chest. “Not cash, maybe.”

  “Forget it, pal. Wendy the bartender told me you were acting pretty cagey the night of the murder.”

  He stepped back, a different kind of rush going through him. “What the fuck? You think I did it?”

  “I didn’t say that. She said when the cops were there and everyone was being interrogated, you were acting… weird. Like you knew something. Do you know something, Teddy?”

  Wendy noticed that? Why didn’t she say anything? “I might.”

  “Have you told anyone this something you know?”

  One person, but he quit the next day. Like Samantha Fairchild and a couple of other creeped-out servers who didn’t want to work in a place where a guy was killed. Not Teddy; this was a golden opportunity and he intended to mine it. “No,” he lied. “I’ll tell you, though.”

  She looked right at him, and for the first time, she smiled. And, crap, she was really pretty then. “Okay.”

  “If you fuck me.”

  She snorted softly, her eyes closing a little. “Points for honesty, but, no, sorry, can’t do that either. You’re too young for me.”

  “I’m twenty,” he said.

  “I’m thirty-one, and listen, Teddy. Tell me what you know. I’ll keep your name out of it.”

  He considered that for a second. “You don’t look thirty-one.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know, looks are deceiving.” He laughed at his joke, but she didn’t. “But, sorry, I got something worthwhile, and I’m not just giving it away for nothing. Someone will pay for this information.” He started for Huntington, more embarrassed than pissed. “I’m going to catch a cab at the Colonnade.”

  But she stayed with him. He wasn’t dumb enough to think
she was having second thoughts about sex. He’d just dangled that carrot to see what she’d do.

  “So, this thing you know, would it tell me who killed Sterling?”

  “Nobody knows that,” he said.

  “Somebody does,” she fired back.

  “I thought you were following the story,” he said. “The killer was a professional; at least that’s what the police say.”

  “Speculation,” she replied. “And they’re not very forthcoming with information on this case, especially considering the victim was a member of the media.”

  She said it as if they were something special.

  “It was a paid assassin,” he said, unable to keep the certainty out of his voice.

  “No one is sure of that.”

  “I am.” Shit, that was more than he should have said.

  She matched his step as they crossed the back parking lot of the Colonnade, heading toward the covered area of the lobby. Beyond that, only one cab waited in the taxi line.

  “How’s that, Teddy? How do you know?”

  He glanced over at her, fighting a smile as he put his hand on her back. “I just do.”

  She eased out of his touch and switched the board to her other hand, managing the clumsy longboard as if it were an extension of her arm. “I’m just trying to write a story and get something in it that hasn’t been published umpteen times before. Do you have anything?” she asked.

  “How ’bout a blow job?”

  She looked a little amused. “How ’bout you give me what you got, Teddy? Then I won’t tell your bosses how you’re bartering information for sex and money.”

  His smile faded. “I won’t tell you everything, but I’ll tell you something. And if I lead you in the right direction, will you sleep with me?”

  She tilted her head, closed one eye, and assessed him. “You know, you’re a cute kid. Nice eyes, good smile, and a pocket full of money. This town is jam-packed with coeds. You can get laid, Teddy. You’re selling yourself short.”

  The words hit a soft spot and tightened his throat. Damn if he didn’t need to hear that, and from someone who was clearly no bullshit.

  “Meet me here tomorrow night.”

  She blew out a breath and shook her head, ready to drop the board. “Never mind.”