Double Dealing(107)

“Probably not,” I replied coldly.

Not sparing her another glance, I grabbed my laptop and walked out.



Madeline



“Razor’s on the move!” I snapped. “Find him.”

I paced back and forth in the small living room of our apartment building that sat over a local meat shop as I watched my on-again-off-again boyfriend, if you could call it that, try to track down my most hated enemy.

“Calm down, Maddy,” Andre muttered as his fingers moved with lightning speed across his keyboard. “I’m looking for him.” Andre was a big guy, dirty blonde hair, and massive shoulders. He reminded me of one of those Nordic berserker warriors from an age bygone.

I scowled at the big lout like he was the biggest village idiot on the planet. “What do you mean you’re looking for him? You should’ve already had his location by now!” I screamed.

Andre winced at the piercing sound of my voice and spared an irritated glare my way. “Jesus, Maddy, will you calm the fuck down? You’re bout’ to blow out my fucking eardrum.”

It was difficult quelling the urge to leap across the room and slap him across the face.

Those anger management classes aren’t helping one bit, I thought bitterly.

I knew I was being a bit unhinged, but I couldn’t help myself. I hated Razor. Hated him with a passion.

I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I just don’t want to lose him this time.”

Andre didn’t answer and started typing even faster than before, his face scrunching with intensity. I leaned forward, waiting, hoping. “Damn it!” He shouted suddenly, slamming his hand down on his keyboard. “He’s gone.”

Yelling with rage, I grabbed my purse off of the couch and sent it hurling across the room.

“How could you let him get away you big idiot?” I hissed. “You said you had him.”

“I did,” Andre said, shaking his head at the mess I had made, “but he went off. Don’t worry, Maddy. We’ll find him. He’s a cocky bastard and he’ll let his guard down sooner or later. When he does, we’ll be there.”

“I want that bastard’s balls on a platter,” I growled through gritted teeth, bending my fingers into claws. “I don’t care what it takes.”

Andre grimaced and looked down at his crotch area. “Fine . . . just as long as you leave my balls out of it.”



Chapter 2

Carly



If I don’t get a decent job soon, I may be changing my address to under a bridge, I thought sourly as I looked into my cup of coffee that had conveniently gone cold. I’d get another one in a minute, but right now, I needed to make sure my new blog entry was perfect.

I right clicked my mouse, blew my strawberry blond bangs out of my eyes in frustration, and critically eyed the website on my laptop screen.

The Post



No new leads in the death of local Prostitute.

By Carly Washington



“She was the best daughter a mother could ever hope for,” sniffed Rosemary Collins, a fifty-six-year-old Wal-Mart employee from Woodberry Hills. “I don’t know what kind of monster could’ve done this to my daughter.”

The grocery store clerk and grandmother of four, has grieved over her daughter, Ashley Collins, who was alleged to be a prostitute, for the past several months.

Last fall, the twenty-four-year-old mother of two was found face down in an alleyway with an ounce of cocaine on her person and her throat slashed.

Autopsy results revealed the woman had not been sexually active or assaulted — a strange circumstance considering the young woman’s occupation.

So far, there have been no witnesses or leads in the case.

“I won’t stop until I find whoever did this,” Rosemary sobs as she looks at me with swollen red eyes. “Ashley didn’t deserve this, I didn’t deserve this, and neither did my grand babies.” She stops to wipe away her tears, her expression turning angry. “What I don’t understand is, why hasn’t the authorities stepped up their efforts to find who murdered my daughter? They haven’t shown an ounce of concern since they found her. I call them every day for new information, but they give me the runaround. Ashley might have been a prostitute, but she was still a human being. She deserves justice just like any other citizen in this damn city. Our family needs closure.” She shakes her head angrily. “Thank God that the community has been helpful with donations, otherwise I’d have no hope of ever finding her murderer.”

Frustrated by the lack of action from authorities, Rosemary created a GoFundMe to help with the costs of supporting her grandchildren, hiring a private investigator and a reward fund of $10,000 to anyone who comes forward with information leading to the arrest of the murderer.