Page 42 of Tell Me (Savannah 3)

“True crime,” Nikki said, extending her hand.

“More like true cash, don’t you mean?” He was a tall man, over six feet, with beard shadow covering his chin, his lean body draped in black leather, his hair pulled back into a scrawny black ponytail. He carried a helmet tucked under one hand and didn’t bother to remove his gloves or boots. “You wrote a couple of other books, right?” One eye was squinting as he considered her for the briefest of seconds, and Nikki thought she recognized him from somewhere, maybe.

“That’s right.”

“You payin’ her?” Hooking a finger at Blythe, he said to his girlfriend, “She payin’ you? Or givin’ you credits or royalties or whatever they’re called?”

“I’m here as a reporter for the Sentinel,” Nikki said, pocketing her recorder.

“I don’t care if you’re here for the fuckin’ New York Times, we deserve a cut. Look at her! Still in a fuckin’ wheelchair because of her fuckin’ lowlife mother. She’s got a disability, I mean, for the fuckin’ rest of her life!”

“I can speak for myself,” Blythe said, stiffening.

He dropped his helmet unceremoniously onto the couch. “Sorry, babe. That’s the way I see it.”

He didn’t sound sorry in the least.

“I can handle this.” Blythe’s lips were taut.

“Hey.” He cocked both wrists, palms out in gesture of surrender, as he took a step backward. “I’m just lookin’ out for us.” Then as if Nikki’s name and face had finally made an impression on what was outwardly a Neanderthal brain, he said, “Wait a sec. You were with Sean Hawke for a while, right?”

Nikki didn’t respond.

“He’s one badass dude,” A.J. added, nodding, as if agreeing with himself, a note of envy evident in his voice, “Can fuckin’ play a guitar, I mean fuckin’ play it.”

“Yes, he can,” Nikki agreed.

“He lives around here now.”

Bully for him. “I heard.”

“How’s that for a fuckin’ coincidence.”

Not much of one. His cell phone must’ve vibrated because he turned his attention away from Nikki and Blythe, while reaching into the pocket of his jeans. Seconds later he was reading a text.

Good. She really didn’t want to talk about the former boyfriend who had dumped her years ago. She’d dated him during her rebellious period, when his bad-boy good looks and irrepressible, irreverent attitude had fascinated her. He’d even taken on her father, not letting Judge Ronald Gillette intimidate him. But in the end, he’d found someone else. When his white-hot affair with Cindy had sputtered out, he’d attempted a reconciliation with Nikki, his rekindled interest concurrent with the Grave Robber’s reign of terror. Thankfully, by then Nikki was over him and his dark side. These days she didn’t want to even think about him.

If Sean hadn’t left her, she might never have met Pierce Reed, fallen in love, and become his fiancée. Oh, crap! She was supposed to call Ariella, the wedding planner.

“It’s really time for me to go anyway,” she said to Blythe, grabbing her keys from her purse, sliding a business card from her wallet, handing it to her. “If you think of anything else, call.”

“She won’t,” A.J. said, not bothering to look up from a text he was writing. “Not unless you think of some way to pay her for her trouble, and even then it’s a big maybe.” He managed to glance at his girlfriend as his fingers flew over the tiny keypad. “I say go with the highest bidder, babe.”

Blythe’s jaw hardened, but before she could say anything, A.J. headed into the kitchen, where he opened the door of the refrigerator and peered inside. “Babe, we got any beer?”

“I don’t know.” Blythe added under her breath, “He’s really not like this when we’re alone, you know.”

“Get the hell outta here!!” he yelled sharply and stomped the floor. Like a bolt of greased lightning, the cat streaked from the kitchen.

“I’m sure,” Nikki said dryly, as she witnessed A.J. hold the fridge door open with his shoulder, grab a carton of orange juice, then open it and start chugging. Yep, a lover if there ever was one. At the door, she said to Blythe, “If he can’t treat you with a little respect in front of other people, then maybe he’s not worth the trouble.” God, she sounded like her own mother, and Blythe shrank back as the hapless cat again vaulted into her lap.

Geez, Nikki, when are you going to ever learn? Now you may have lost a valuable source! “Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s none of my business. I was out of line.”

Blythe didn’t respond.

“I’ll be in touch. Thanks. Good-bye. See ya, J.A.”

Blythe said, “It’s—”

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