“I doubt it’ll work.” She grimaced. “If the FBI tries to find the anonymous tipper, this game’s over. And anyone we question could pick me out of a lineup.”
“Let’s hope the feds are more interested in coverin’ their own asses, since they had a real public loss. What’s your excuse for being in the area?”
“Tying up loose ends on a case, in case there’s another charge. Though I’m not really good at deception.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a master at it. It’ll seem more plausible if you have another reason to be in the area, like you’re tryin’ to write a vacation off as a business trip or somethin’. I’ll come up with somethin’ juicy.” He’d already been working on some plausible lies, though he doubted Jane would approve.
“Hmm, I suppose it makes sense.”
“What does?”
“That you’re better at lying. Criminals do it for a living.”
Damnation, did she have to make her dislike so damn obvious? Even when Jane agreed with him, Byron still felt like he was losing an argument with her. And here he’d thought he’d made real progress this afternoon in her bedroom. Of course, it was before they found the lady killer’s peep show equipment.
“You’re doin’ it again.”
“Being rude?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He composed himself. “Whatever I say tomorrow, I want you to just go with it. Can you play along?”
“You mean smile and nod?”
“Yep.”
“I can do that.” She didn’t look too certain, but at least she hadn’t fought him.
“Speakin’ of doin’ things, you and me gotta be a bit friendlier with each other.”
“How friendly?” She squinted.
If Byron had his way, very friendly.
“Let’s take some baby steps. Can you at least act like you don’t hate me?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t?” He perked up a bit.
“I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you.”
Suddenly, he felt like the bald boy in the old cartoon—Charlie Brown with the football Lucy never let him kick. It was totally a sexual metaphor if you asked Byron.
“Good to know. And you gotta be nice to the people we’re questionin’ too. We ain’t got badges or any legal standin’, so we’re gettin’ by on charm and good graces.”
“And I’m not pleasant?” He could almost hear the gears whirring in her head as she tried to drill down on instances she’d been ill-mannered, so she could correct the behaviors.
“Not to most folks.” Although he didn’t think it was malicious. “Ain’t you ever heard the old sayin’ ‘you catch more flies with honey than vinegar’?”
“Wouldn’t you catch more insects with garbage?”
“Not the point I was tryin’ to make.”
“Right, I’ll be nicer then.”
“Go on then—give it a try. Pay me a compliment.” Byron leaned back in his seat, smoothed his tie, hoping she’d notice how he’d put on the dog for her.
Jane studied him, then nodded as though she’d up made her mind. “Your suit is tailored and professional-looking.”
It was a weak compliment, but he’d take it.
“Thank you, darlin’.”
“I didn’t mean it, though. Your suit is all about showing off your wealth and privilege. It probably cost a thousand dollars.”
Byron put his head in his hands. “It don’t matter what you really think, long as you sound sincere.”
“Oh, I see, it’s all about delivery. I’ll practice in front of the mirror tonight.”
“Now you’re gettin’ it. Spread honey all over your words because it works wonders. Or, goin’ off your garbage metaphor—think of it as bullshit. Flies love a big ol’ pile of it too. Add a coatin’ to whatever you say.”
“That makes more sense.”
The server interrupted when he arrived with their meals. Jane got a vineyard salad with fresh fruit on the top, while he’d ordered a steak. As they were eating in pleasant silence, Dix sidled up to them with his girlfriend, Belle Nunn, in tow. They must’ve been seated in one of the darkened romantic corners of the restaurant—which is where Jane and Byron would’ve been if he’d been the one who made the seating arrangements.
While Jane and Belle exchanged a few pleasant words, Dix gave him a shit-eating grin.
“What?” Byron asked.
“Enjoyin’ your dinner?”
“I was,” he said pointedly.