“From someone with at least half a brain,” he surmised. “I had no idea this had gotten so out of hand. You said you wanted to talk to her for background stuff for your story.”
“That’s true enough.” But Bess remembered the bruise on Rosalie’s face too well. “Is it so impossible that I might be able to make a difference in her life? Has being a cop made you so hard you aren’t willing to give someone a chance to change?”
He gripped her hands, hard. “This isn’t about me.”
“No,” she said, and smiled. “It’s not.”
He swore and let go of her to pace to the coffee maker. “Okay, point taken. It’s none of my business. But I’m going to ask for a promise.”
“You can ask.”
“Don’t go out on the streets with her. Don’t go anywhere near Bobby’s territory.”
She thought of the man with the silver hair and the vicious eyes. “That I can promise. Feel better?”
“I’m not through. Don’t let her up here unless you’re sure she’s alone. Meet her down at your office, or in some public place.”
“Really, Alexi...”
“Please.”
She said nothing for a moment, and then, because she could see how much it had cost him to use that word, she relented. “All right.” Bess scooted away from the counter, then opened the bread drawer. “Want a bagel?”
“Sure.”
She popped two into the toaster oven before going to the refrigerator for cream cheese. “There’s something I should tell you.”
“I’m hoping there’s a lot of things.”
With a puzzled smile, she turned back. “I’m sorry?”
“I want to know about this personal life of yours, McNee. I want to know all about you, then I want to take you to bed and make love with you until we both forget our own names.”
“Ah...” It didn’t seem to take more than one of those long, level looks of his to make her forget a great deal more than her name. “Anyway...”
“Anyway?” he repeated helpfully as the toaster oven dinged.
“I was going to tell you about Angie Horowitz.”
The lazy smile vanished. His eyes went cool and flat. “What do you know about her?”
“Boy, it really does click off,” Bess murmured. “I feel like I just stepped into one of those rooms with the two-way mirror and the rubber hoses.”
“Angie Horowitz,” he repeated. “What do you know about her?”
“I don’t know much of anything, but I thought I should tell you what Rosalie told me.” She got out plates, then began to spread the bagels generously. “She said that Angie was really happy to have hooked up with this one guy. He’d hired her a couple of times and slipped her some extra money. Treated her well, promised her some presents. In fact, he gave her this little pendant. A gold heart with a crack down the center.”
Alex’s face remained impassive. There had been a broken neck chain wrapped in Angie’s hand when they found her, just as there had been with the first victim. That little detail had been kept out of the press. There hadn’t been a heart, he thought now. But someone had broken the chain for a reason.
“She wore it all the time—according to Rosalie,” Bess went on. “Rosalie also told me Mary Rodell had one just like it. She was the other victim, wasn’t she?” she asked Alex. “She had it on the last time Rosalie saw her alive.”
“Is that it?”
Bess was disappointed that he wasn’t more pleased with the information. “There’s a little more.” Sulking a bit, she bit into her bagel. “Angie called the guy Jack, and she bragged to Rosalie that he was a real gentleman, and was built like...” She trailed off, cleared her throat, but her eyes were bright with humor, rather than embarrassment. “Women have colorful terms for certain things, just like men.”
“I get the picture.”
“He had a scar.”
