Page 160 of Blue Moon

“An eye?”

“Possibly his hands too. She’s pretty in a girl-next-door way. Anyway, Carole-Ann says Hebert has dissociative personality disorder, and he’s been off his meds for at least three months.”

“We already thought that.”

“Well, now we know for sure. Keep me updated, okay?”

45

TULSA

“Thanks for your time.”

Thanks for nothing. I dropped the phone onto the table in the dining room we’d co-opted as a base of operations. Opposite me, Dusk was click-click-clicking a pen, a habit of hers that annoyed everyone, and she wasn’t having any more luck than I was. I glared at her, and at least she stopped the clicking.

We were working our way down the list of men Hebert had served with. There were common themes—he was secretive, he was a know-it-all, oh, and he had an unhealthy obsession with Cleopatra. Other grunts kept pictures of their girlfriends next to their beds. Hebert had a replica bust of an Egyptian queen, and he used to get pissed if anyone else picked it up.

Nobody had liked him much.

Speaking of unpleasant personalities, my phone rang, and I groaned when I saw the name on the screen. What the hell did Romeo want? A gold star for keeping our op quiet? Our involvement was still going unnoticed, although the cops were slowly catching up. They’d picked out Hebert as a possible suspect, and they were all over his apartment.

“What?”

“Are you always so delightful when you answer the phone?” he asked.

“Only when the biggest dick in Vegas is calling.”

A pause. “I can’t work out whether that’s a compliment or not.”

“Really? Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“So do you want me to bring Luna’s earrings over? Or are you late for your appointment at the grooming salon?”

“My what?”

“Bitches need to get their claws clipped regularly.”

“Fuck you.”

“Any time, Juliet.”

My blood boiled, and if he’d been standing in front of me, I would’ve bitten his admittedly impressive cock clean off. Which, okay, I might have regretted later, but he rubbed me the wrong way every time he opened his mouth. And he rubbed me the right way every time he slipped a hand into my panties. Why couldn’t he have a less annoying twin?

“That will be never. What earrings?”

“Never? Sure.” He chuckled, and I wanted to throttle him. “The costume technician for the show brought a pair of earrings in. Luna gave them to her, and her niece lost them, but then she found them again. They look pretty fancy. Aren’t you missing a gift from Anton?”

Yes, we were, but whether the earrings would be useful was another question. The other pieces of jewellery had led nowhere.

“I’ll send someone to pick them up.”

Marcel could go. He’d been baking in the kitchen with Elene all morning while the rest of us worked. At least Caro hadn’t tried to kill Miss Georgia again. We’d been keeping her busy hunting for background on Omnia Inc., the company that owned the house in Berkeley, and Amor Inc., which had sold the place in Elk River. Dan had come up with the second name half an hour ago. But Caro hadn’t gotten very far. It looked as though both were shell companies registered in Panama.

“No need—I can bring them to you.”

“No, you can’t.”

Romeo Serafini didn’t know where I lived, and that was the way I wanted it to stay. After one of our trysts, he’d had an investigator try to follow me home—asshole—but I’d lost the douche near Desert Shores.

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