Deal Breaker Read Free Page B

scared child huddled in a corner, a child whose parents were dead, who had no real family, probably no real friends, just hero-worshipers and those who wanted a piece of him (like Myron himself?).
    Myron shook his head. No way. Other agents, yes, but not him. Myron wasn’t like that. But still something akin to guilt stayed there, poking a sharp finger into his ribs.
    “I never really believed Kathy was dead,” Christian continued. “That was part of the problem, I guess. The not-knowing gets to you after a while. Part of me—part of me almost hoped they’d find her body already, anything to end it. Is that an awful thing to say, Mr. Bolitar?”
    “I don’t think so, no.”
    Christian looked at him solemnly. “I kept thinking about the panties. You know about that?”
    Myron nodded. The lone clue in the mystery was Kathy’s ripped panties, found on top of a campus Dumpster. Rumor had it that they were covered with semen and blood. To the world at large, the panties had confirmedwhat had long been suspected: Kathy Culver was dead. It was a sad though not uncommon story. She had been raped and murdered by a random psychopath. Her body would probably never be found—or maybe some hunters would stumble across the skeletal remains in the woods one day, giving the press a great eleven o’clock commercial teaser, bringing the cameras back into the story with undying hopes of catching a grief-stricken relative on film.
    “They made it seem like it was a dirty thing,” Christian continued. “‘Pink,’ they said. ‘Silk,’ they said. They never called them underwear or undergarments or even just plain panties. It was always pink silk panties. Like that was important. One TV station even interviewed a Victoria’s Secret model for her comment on them. Pink silk panties. Like that meant she was asking for it. Trashing Kathy like that …”
    His voice sort of faded away then. Myron said nothing. Christian was working up to something. Myron only hoped it wasn’t a breakdown.
    “I guess I should get to the point,” Christian finally said.
    “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
    “I saw something today. I—” Christian stopped and swung his eyes toward Myron’s. They looked at him, pleading. “Kathy may still be alive.”
    His words hit Myron like a wet slap. Whatever Myron had been preparing himself for, whatever he imagined Christian was leading up to, hearing Kathy Culver might still be alive was not a part of the equation.
    “What?”
    Christian reached behind him and opened his desk drawer. The desk too was something out of
Leave It to Beaver
. Completely uncluttered. Two cans, one with Bic pens, the other with sharpened number-two pencils.Gooseneck lamp. Desk blotter with calendar. Dictionary, thesaurus, and
The Elements of Style
all in a row between two globe bookends.
    “This came in the mail today.”
    He handed Myron a magazine. On the cover was a naked woman. Calling her well-endowed would be tantamount to calling World War II a skirmish. Most men are somewhat mammary obsessed, and Myron was not above having similar sentiments, but this was positively freakish. The woman’s face was far from pretty, kind of harsh looking. She was giving the camera a look that was supposed to be come-hither but looked more like constipation. Her tongue was licking her lips, her legs spread, her finger beckoning the reader to come closer.
    Very subtle effect, Myron thought.
    The magazine was called
Nips
. The lead story, according to the words emblazoned across her right breast: “How to Get Her to Shave Dat Thang.”
    Myron looked up sharply. “What’s this all about?”
    “The paper clip.”
    “What?”
    But Christian seemed too weak to repeat it. He just pointed. On the top of the magazine Myron spotted a glint of silver. A paper clip was being used as a bookmark.
    “It came with that on there,” Christian said by way of explanation.
    Myron fingered through the pages, catching quick glimpses of