Bad To The Bone Read Free

and
pretended to rummage in one of his junk food drawers for a snack.
We both hated domestic cases involving children. Parents will do
things to each other in front of kids they claim to love that will
make your faith in mankind shrivel up and die.
    "Your husband beat the shit out of you,
kidnapped your kid and you just want me to find him?" I asked, to
be sure I understood. "That's all? You don't want me to snatch the
kid back or anything?"
    "That's right," she said, and her accent
made it sound more like "That's rat"—which was probably closer to
the truth. "Just find him."
    "I assume you're separated?" I asked. "You
mentioned the courts?"
    She nodded, waiting for my answer. Her left
eye twitched. Probably permanent muscle damage.
    "Come back to my office and we'll talk about
it there," I said, aware that Bobby was starting to sweat like a
hog roasting over an open fire. Bobby hates crying women, and the
fact that this one had yet to turn on the faucets was a minor
miracle. Tawny Bledsoe must be one tough cookie, even if she had
lost her last bout by a knockout.
    She followed me without a word and took a
seat in the visitor's chair after lining it with her fur coat. I'm
not on a first-name basis with domestic pelts, so I had no idea
what kind of critters died to make her fashionable. But I could
tell that her coat had wiped out a generation's worth of some poor
species. Underneath it, she wore a pink cashmere sweater and black
designer jeans. This was no thrift shop junkie sitting before me,
the lady invested in her wardrobe big time.
    She sat with perfect posture and daintily
crossed her legs. It was impossible not to stare. She was built
like a five-foot Barbie doll, with perky breasts jutting out above
a waistline so narrow I fought the urge to ask her to lift her
sweater so I could count her ribs. Surely a few had been sacrificed
for size.
    “Tell me about yourself," I said.
    "What do you want to know?" Her plucked
eyebrows arched. It was difficult to tell, given the current state
of her face, but I was pretty sure she was a stunner beneath the
bruises and makeup. Her facial proportions were perfect and her
eyes were almond-shaped pools of pale blue. Some people have all
the luck.
    Not that she looked too lucky at the
moment.
    "General stuff, like where you come from.
That sort of thing," I explained. "I like to know who I'm
representing."
    "Oh." She stared at the wall. "I was born in
Kannopolis, that's near Charlotte. My daddy worked for Canon Mills.
In upper management. I went to UNC-Wilmington for a while, but I
dropped out to get married."
    I examined her more closely. Minute lines
were starting to form around her eyes and mouth. The lady was well
over thirty, though she wore it well.
    "How long ago was that?" I asked. I was
being about as subtle as her perfume, which was starting to make me
sneeze.
    "A lady never tells her age," she said,
holding her chin high. "But that was another husband."
    "I see." I was starting to sound like a
shrink. "Any kids with the first hubby?"
    "No." Her lower lip trembled. "That's one
reason my first husband left me. The doctors told me I couldn't
have children. My frame was too small. That's why it was such a
miracle when I had Tiffany." Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't
care what it costs. I fear for Tiffany's life. You must find her
for me."
    "I'm sorry, but I haven't decided whether or
not to take on your case." Especially if she had a daughter named
Tiffany. Despite her claims about Daddy being in upper management,
I'd already gotten a whiff of white-trash-meets-money from Tawny
Bledsoe. The kid's name confirmed it. No one with a lick of class
would name her kid Tiffany. Still, that made no real difference to
me when it came to whether or not I would help her. Seeing a beaten
woman like that evoked every protective instinct I had, regardless
of social position. What I was really worried about was the fur
coat and expensive clothes. When a lot of money's at stake, the kid
is