Page 51 of I'm Watching You

‘What’s that mean?’

‘Name your price.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Cover my book signing at the Book Nook next week?’

Kendall had received and read his press release on the signing of the self-published book of homespun stories. She’d tossed the release and hadn’t given it a second thought. Damn. ‘Deal. But I need my information now.’

‘I want to be on the morning news.’

‘I’ll make it happen.’

‘Swear.’

‘Swear.’

Barry chuckled. ‘What do you want?’

‘Anything and everything you have on Lindsay O’Neil. She would have lived in your area about eleven or twelve years ago.’

‘O’Neil. That name doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘I wrote an article on her forInside Richmondback in May. She’s about thirty. A very pretty blonde.’

‘Oh yeah, I remember her. That article caused a bit of a buzz up here.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t think her name was O’Neil when she lived up this way. Anyway, a few of the old guys at the paper remember when she was tangled up in some murder.’

Kendall straightened. ‘What murder?’

‘I don’t remember.’

Impatient, she tapped her foot. ‘You’ve got to get me more information, Barry.’

‘I’ll see what I can dig up.’

Lindsay was the key to this story. ‘Do that.’

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday, July 8, 5:05A.M.

Jacob Warwick had loved the smell of a boxing gym since he was a kid. The leather. The sweat. The liniment. He also loved the rhythmic sound of gloves hitting the speed bag, the thump against the heavy bag, and the skipping rope scraping the floor.

All conjured feelings ofhome. Not so surprising since he’d grown up in Myers’s Gym.

He drove his fists into the punching bag suspended from the ceiling, savoring the burn in his muscles, the rapid pumping of his heart, and the sweat on his body. There wasn’t anyone else working out at this early hour. The gym didn’t officially open until six, but because Pete had given him a key he could come and go as he pleased. Often he boxed early.

By seven, the place would be full of men training and fighters sparring in the ring.

‘Let me adjust those laces for you,’ Pete Myers’s familiar rusty voice said behind him.

Jacob wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his glove. ‘What are you doing here this early? I’d have figured you wouldn’t get here for another hour.’

Pete flashed a grin. ‘Ah, you know me. I’m not much ofa sleeper and I like it here better than at home.’ Barring a few extra gray hairs, the sixty-nine-year-old man looked exactly like he had the first day Jacob had met him twenty years ago. He stood a few inches under six feet, kept his body fit by sparring daily, and always wore a wide grin. ‘Let me see your glove. The laces look loose.’

The tension in Jacob’s body eased as he held out his gloved hands. ‘Thanks.’

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