Read Evil to the Max for Free Online

Appliances.”
    He rolled his eyes. “That’s what worries me.”
    She’d only taken the job to help him find a killer. “What happened there wasn’t my fault, you know.”
    “Promise me one thing.”
    She eyed him warily. “What?”
    “That you won’t drive anyone at that hair place to attempted murder in less than a week.”
    “Actually, it took a little under two weeks the last time.”
    She flashed him a bright smile, then munched on an unappealing piece of broccoli while pretending fascination with the surroundings. A hanging lamp covered with cowhide provided muted illumination. The mustard-colored vinyl chairs were hideously out of fashion, and the indoor-outdoor, urine-yellow carpet tiles were frayed around the edges. Plexiglas divided the booths, insulating them while at the same time allowing Max an impressive view of masticated food in the mouth of the man seated at the next table.
    Witt’s beeper had gone off twice so far during dinner, and despite the privacy of the Plexi walls, he’d excused himself to make the return calls on his cell phone. Thank God he’d returned each time. She couldn’t have tackled the Round Up on her own, not with champagne fizzing in her veins.
    “And how is everything, you two?” The waitress had a perky face, perky breasts, perky butt, and the most annoyingly perky attitude.
    “Just perky, thanks,” Max said. Witt had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. When the waitress left, Max returned to talk of their investigation. “I visited the bus station.”
    He narrowed his gaze. “And just what did you find?”
    Nothing. Zippo. Nada.
    “I ruled it out as a home for key 452. I also ruled out the YMCA, and the local gym.” She’d spent the afternoon canvassing the neighborhood within a four-block radius of the Round Up. No snake-tattooed wino. No lockers numbered higher than sixty-five.
    Witt sighed, picked up his fork. “Guess there’s no point in asking you not to approach this guy on your own.”
    “What choice do I have since you won’t sic the cops on him?”
    Another long-suffering sigh. He pulled a pad from his back pocket, wrote, then tore out the page and handed it to her.
    She eyed the phone number warily. “What’s this?”
    “My cell number. Call if you see him. I’ll do the rest.”
    She folded the paper precisely in half. “So, what? I’m supposed to run to the nearest phone booth and put everything on hold until The Man arrives?” Did he know how hard it was to find a working payphone these days?
    His blond brows went up, but he ignored the verbal male-bashing. “No cell phone?” The tone indicated it was something akin to not having a car, or a job, or a laptop, and a DVD player.
    “There isn’t anyone I need to call with such urgency.” There wasn’t anyone to call at all. Except Cameron. But then mental telepathy worked just fine for him.
    Witt just shook his head. “I’ve got an extra in the truck.”
    The idea almost popped the blood vessels in her eyes. “I don’t need your phone. I can afford one.” And she could damn well take care of herself.
    He drummed blunt fingers against the tabletop. “I am trying not to lose my patience. If you want my help, it’s my way or no way.”
    Max pursed her lips. She hadn’t laid into anyone in at least a week. Not since that mother of all fights with Cameron—for which she still hadn’t quite forgiven him even if he had returned with his ghostly tail tucked between his legs.
    The problem was, she needed Witt. She aped his exaggerated sigh. “You win. Your way, your phone, this time.” She cocked her head. “It’d be more macho if you gave me a gun.”
    She had the satisfaction of watching his jaw drop. “A gun in your hands, Max, is a very scary thought.”
    She made a face. “Have they got any suspects?”
    He recovered quickly. “Ex-husband. She left him three months ago. Got a quickie divorce in Reno. No alibi, but no motive, either. The two were supposedly still the best