“The mom and bride have been booked for months, but no one thought to make an appointment for the sister,” Jordan murmured in Courtney’s ear. “Can you believe it? The poor thing needs help.”
The teenager stood glumly off to the side, nibbling a hangnail while her mother and sister debated something.
The bride was beautiful—in an underfed Texas debutante sort of way—while her sister looked mousy at best. Their similar height and dark coloring only emphasized the differences between them. Courtney pictured the girl standing beside her older sibling, being scrutinized by a church full of people. She sighed.
“See what I mean?” Jordan asked.
Courtney mentally canceled her plans for the evening. The rock climbing, like the hot date, had been fictitious, but she’d really been looking forward to a soak in the tub and some Project Runway reruns.
She turned to Jordan. “This is the last time. You know I despise wedding parties.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Courtney tossed her bag on the nearest empty stool. “And my makeup kit’s at home. You’re going to have to lend me your stuff.”
“No problem.” Jordan flashed her Naomi Campbell smile. “I’ve got everything you need. You’ll be done in a blink.”
Will tracked her down at a high-end beauty shop that looked like it had been decorated by King Midas. A gold chandelier hung over the entranceway, where an old-fashioned gold phone sat on a big glass table. The receptionist stationed there eyed him with naked curiosity as he walked in.
“May I help you?” She wore a low-cut white blouse over a pair of breasts that probably cost half his annual salary.
“I’m here to see Courtney Glass.”
“She’s with a client right now. Do you have an appointment?”
He flashed his creds. “Nope.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Right this way,” she said, and sashayed out from behind the table.
She led him past a purple sofa thing that was shaped like a mushroom and littered with hair magazines. Giant mirrors framed with gold froufrou leaned against Roman columns all over the room. Will smelled something fruity he couldn’t identify, along with the unmistakable scent of singed hair.
He spotted Courtney crouched in front of a barber chair, talking to a teenage girl. The girl nodded, apparently riveted by whatever Courtney was telling her. Courtney held a little jar of something in her hand. She dabbed at it with a paintbrush, applied it to the girl’s lips, and then passed her a hand mirror. The kid broke into a big grin, displaying a mouthful of braces.
“Courtney? There’s someone here to see you.”
Courtney glanced over her shoulder and froze.
He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops of his jeans. “You got a minute?”
The receptionist hovered, obviously hoping to catch some gossip.
“Thanks, Jasmine.” Courtney stood up and gave her a phony smile. “Would you mind ringing up this client for me? She’s with the Bennett wedding.” Then she turned to the girl. “Have fun tonight. You look beautiful.”
The girl mumbled a thank-you and let Jasmine lead her away.
Courtney turned her back on him and started dropping makeup into a metal tackle box. “My attorney advised me not to talk to police outside his presence.”
She wore a stretchy black T-shirt that stopped about an inch shy of her hip-hugger jeans. She had nice, round hips, and her back was turned, so he let himself look.
“Did you hear what I said?” She spun around. “No more interviews.”
“I’m not here for an interview.”
She rested her shapely butt against the granite counter. “Oh, I see.” She pumped some liquid sanitizer into her palm and rubbed her hands together. “You’re here for what? A cut and color?”
“How about just a cut?”
“You want me to cut your hair?”
“You know how to do men?”
She tilted her head to the side, smiling slightly. “Uh, yeah.”
“Great.” Will plunked himself down in the cushy chair that had just been vacated.
“You can’t afford me.”
“Sure I can.”
She was smiling fully now. Or maybe it was more of a smirk. She pushed away from the counter and stepped toward him. “You’re really serious.”
“Sure. Gimme a trim.” How bad could it be? In the army, he’d practically been sheared like a sheep.
She stepped on a pedal, and the chair sank a few inches, putting him directly at eye level with her breasts. He looked up. She reached out to touch his head, and he felt the first stirrings of alarm.
“You don’t have a whole lot to work with here.” She frowned down at him as her fingers combed through the hair above his ears. “I can crisp up your lines, though.”
She smelled spicy—different from the rest of the room—and he pulled back slightly. Maybe this wasn’t such a smart tactic.
“Just a trim.”
“You’re the boss.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “But I’m warning you, you start giving me the third degree, and that’s it. You’re at Supercuts.”
She pulled open a drawer and whipped out a black cape, which she swished over him. Then she lifted some clippers off a hook beside the mirror.
“Use the twos.”
She sent him a scornful look. “These are trimmers. For your neck. I’m not using clippers on your hair.”
She moved behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“What do you mean you’re not using clippers?”
She buzzed over his skin with brisk downward strokes. “This isn’t the mall. You’re paying for a custom cut, and that’s what you’ll get.”
When his neck was shaved smooth, she put the trimmers away.
“Where do you usually get your haircut?” she asked.
Supercuts.
“Wherever,” he said. “What about you? You do your own hair?”
She smiled down at him. “Hairstylists have one cardinal rule: never cut the back of your own hair.”
“Oh.”
“I let Jordan do it, usually. And I do hers.” She moved in front of him and adjusted his shoulders. “Put your feet flat on the floor. You’re screwing up my reference points.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flattened the soles of his work boots on the tile floor. She had reference points.
A pair of shiny silver scissors appeared in her hand and she moved around to the side. Her fingers combed through his hair again, and the scissors made a shh-shh sound.
“You ever thought about a new look? This is very Be All That You Can Be. I could update it for you.”
Shh-shh. Shh-shh.
Maybe if he opened up some, he could get her talking. “I used to be in the army,” he said.
“No kidding. Iraq?”
“Afghanistan.”
She didn’t say anything. Military service was a conversation stopper for some people.
“I’ve never been overseas,” she said. “That must have been a trip. You should tell me about it sometime.”
“Yeah.” But he knew he wouldn’t. He never talked about it with anyone, not even his brothers.
“You know, with a thick neck like yours, you might be better off with rounded lines.”
“Rounded.”
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “Instead of square.”
He shifted in his seat. This wasn’t going well. He wasn’t here for a makeover; he was here on reconnaissance. “Just keep it the way it is.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“So how’d you get into this?” If he got her talking about her background, he could lead her around to Alvin and their history together.
She shrugged. “I’ve been at it since I was a teenager.”
“What, cutting hair?”
“Hair, makeup, manicures. All of it. I had a couple friends in high school who let me try anything on them.”
“And you like it?”
“Love it.” She smiled at
him in the mirror. “I think everyone deserves the chance to reinvent themselves.”
Interesting philosophy.
She moved in front of him now and scrutinized his hair. He looked down at his boots.
“Anyway, I got my license in California, which has some of the strictest requirements. So it transferred down here pretty easily.”
He remembered the case file. She’d had a Texas driver’s license for nearly three years. Prior to that, she’d been in L.A. Devereaux had said she’d moved down with Fiona, and Will wondered now what had prompted them to leave.
Courtney’s fingers glided through his hair. Shh-shh. Shh-shh. She was very efficient. And she seemed relaxed, too—the opposite of how she’d been at the police station.
“You get many men in here?” he asked.
“Sure, sometimes. Legislators mostly. Some lobbyists. A few lawyers.”
“That how you met Alvin?”
Her hands paused, and she locked gazes with him in the mirror. She wasn’t going to answer that.
“No,” she said, surprising him. “We met on South Congress. You ever been to the Continental Club?”
“Nope.”
“You must be new in town.”
“Yep.”
“I thought so. It’s kind of a legendary live-music venue. David told me he was in Austin on business. He was working on a big case.”
“He tell you what the case was?”
She pursed her lips and continued to clip his hair. He was definitely pissing her off now. He could tell by the set of her shoulders.
“Courtney?”
“Look down.” She tilted his head forward, so his chin rested on his chest. The cool blade of the scissors scraped his neck. Then he felt her fingers rubbing the back of his head.
“You’ve got two cowlicks,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get them to lay flat.”
“I haven’t had a cowlick since I was ten.”
She made little circles on his scalp, and he was grateful suddenly for this cape thing draped over him. She had to know the effect she had on guys sitting in this chair. Maybe that’s why she’d agreed to this. He was on a mission to gain information, and she was on a mission to distract him.
“Cowlicks don’t go away,” she said. “And they’re hereditary. Your dad probably has some, too. Right here.”
She rubbed his head again, and he started to get annoyed. He looked up and watched her in the mirror.
“I believe you, you know.”
Her gaze snapped to his in the glass.
“I know you lied about some of it, but I don’t think you killed him.”
She lifted an eyebrow. Then she moved around the chair and stood in front of him. She wouldn’t look at his eyes as she reached out and combed her fingers through the sides of his hair.
He’d conducted hundreds of interviews, but this was a first. She had a beautiful body. She had to know that. She had to know what she was doing to him, standing so close and touching him and smelling the way she did. He kept his gaze on her face, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to pull her into his lap.
She moved around and started on his sideburns. “Straight across, right?”
“I want to help you,” he said.
She scoffed.
“I mean it.”
“Gee, you’re such a nice guy. Let me guess, though. You want something in return.”
“I want to know who did this. If your story’s true—”
“You said you believed me.”
“I do.” Shit. “So that means there’s someone out there right now who killed Alvin and tried to blame you.”
“It was a setup.” She moved behind him and worked on the part behind his ears.
“A setup?”
“I don’t think David was the one who asked me to meet him.”
CHAPTER 6
What makes you say that?”
She stared down at his head. She didn’t want to look him in the eye. God, what was she doing? Her lawyer was going to hit the roof.
“It was all text messages and e-mails recently,” she said. “We never had a live conversation.”
“But they were coming from him? The messages?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I assumed so. But now I think they weren’t. Maybe someone else got ahold of his phone. Someone who was trying to get me to meet him that day.”
Courtney’s pulse pounded. She was doing it. She was telling him the truth. And he was hanging on every word.
“When David got in my car,” she continued, “he said something—I can’t remember the exact words—but it was like, ‘Stop harassing me,’ or something like that. So maybe he was getting the messages, too.”
“Mind if I have a look at your computer?”
She tucked the scissors into her apron. To cover her nervousness, she reached for a brush and concentrated on dusting off his shoulders and his neck.
She wanted to trust him. She wanted him to help her. He had all sorts of resources she didn’t—maybe he could figure out what was going on. Courtney had been trying to make sense of it, but it didn’t make any sense. She didn’t have all the information. And the information the police had all pointed to her.
“Courtney?”
“My attorney would tell you to get a warrant,” she said.
“I’m not asking your attorney.”
She finished dusting him and peeled off the cape. Then she leaned back against the counter and looked down at him. He had warm brown eyes. Trustworthy eyes. But they looked old, much older than the rest of him. She wondered if that was from being a soldier.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
This wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“How many messages did he send you?”
“I don’t know. Five or six? He’d started to get pretty intense. After I blew off the first meeting—”
“What first meeting?”
Damn it. She hadn’t meant to say that.
But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she should tell him everything, let him use all those police resources for her instead of against her.
“What first meeting?”
Or maybe she should get a brain and consult her attorney.
Shit. She was going to cave into impulse again. She could feel it.
He leaned forward in the chair. “Courtney?”
“He’d set up a previous meeting. At the Randolph Hotel.”
“When?” Will’s gaze sharpened.
“A couple weeks ago. July twenty-fifth.”
“And you blew him off?”
“I told him I’d be there, and then I didn’t show.”
“And this was all through e-mail?”
“Yeah at first. After I skipped the meeting, he sent me a couple text messages.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
She bit her lip, feeling childish now. “I never intended to go. I was just screwing with him.”
“Screwing with him?”
“You know, getting him all psyched up. So I could disappoint him.”
His eyebrows tipped up.
“I guess you could say I have a vengeful streak.”
The smallest trace of amusement flickered across his face, then disappeared. “So why’d you go to Zilker if you didn’t really want to see him?”
She sighed. “His messages got more insistent. And then that last one just freaked me out.”
“Why?”
“He said he planned to leave his wife. For me.” She remembered how she’d felt, reading it. Her whole body had gone cold. “I just couldn’t stand it. I agreed to see him so I could talk him out of it. The whole thing was nuts. I hadn’t even laid eyes on him in six months.”
Will leaned back in the chair, absorbing everything she’d said.
“Guess you really hit the mother lode, huh? Coming in for a haircut?”
He just watched her.
She looked away from him. “You caught me in a weak moment. I’ve had a really
crappy week. I can barely sleep—”
“You need to be careful. You threw a wrench in someone’s plan, you know.”
She couldn’t look at him. “I know.”
He stood, and she cleared her throat, trying to clear away the lump. She needed him to leave now.
“Courtney.”
She looked up at him, and the concern in his eyes brought the lump back. She’d never been one to lean on a man—that was her mother’s specialty. But Will made her just want to lean into him and feel protected.
“I’m going to need access to your computer. One way or another.”
She turned away from him and pulled open a drawer. She wrote up a bill, trying to compose herself.
“Here.” She thrust it at him, and enjoyed his look of shock when he got a glimpse of the number.
“Fifty bucks?”
“I gave you the GI Joe discount. Feel free to tip me if you liked the service.” This was better. She could do banter.
He shook his head slightly, then reached for his wallet.
“Don’t pay me. Pay Jasmine.”
He paused and stared at her a minute.
“I’ll be back for that computer.”
“I know.”
“Be careful,” he said firmly.
“I will.”
The Randolph was a small but upscale hotel nestled on the north shore of Town Lake. Given its proximity to the business district and the capitol, Will expected a mix of executives, lawmakers, and other muckety-mucks, which was pretty much what he found when he tossed his keys to the valet and pushed through the Randolph’s beveled-glass doors.
The hotel was decorated in the style Will thought of as Texas Bucks. A giant chandelier made of deer antlers hung in the lobby above an expensive-looking rug. On the west side of the lobby was a huge limestone fireplace with oversize leather furniture arranged in front of it. A couple of guys dressed in golf clothes lounged there, reading the Sunday sports section.
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