Stripped Read Free Page B

start. Maggie rarely missed an opportunity to remind him that she had seen divorce coming for him like a train wreck, and he had ignored her warnings.
    But old things ended, and new things began. Meeting Serena had changed everything. She was beautiful, smart, and funny, despite the sharp edges that came with a troubled past. He fell for her fast and hard. When the investigation was over, he had followed Serena here, to this wild world, and wound up back on the street.
    Now he had a real partner again, who looked like she didn’t relish the task of playing second fiddle to a Vegas newcomer.
    “Amanda Gillen,” she announced brusquely as he approached her, as if she expected him to challenge her. Her voice was husky. Or maybe she was just half asleep, as Stride was, after the phone call had dragged him out of bed, and out of Serena’s arms, in the middle of the night. His first murder case in Vegas. A body on the street on Flamingo.
    “I’m Stride,” he told her.
    Amanda nodded and began nervously tapping her foot on the street. Her lower lip jutted out, and she glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot. Her face was taut and unhappy.
    “Look, I give everybody one free joke before I get pissed off, so do you want to make it now, or do you want to save it for a rainy day?”
    Stride cocked his head. “What?”
    “You know,” she said sourly.
    “You lost me, Amanda.”
    Her eyes narrowed as she watched the puzzlement on his face. The wrinkles in her forehead went away, and her jaw unclenched. She gave him an odd, sparkling smile that was suddenly friendly and not at all closed off. “All right, maybe you don’t know. Forget it. No big deal. It’s two in the morning, and I’m crabby.”
    “You and me both.”
    ‘That was nice with the hooker. The way you got her to talk. You’re good.”
    “Thanks,” Stride said. He added, “I like your boyfriend’s car.”
    Amanda smirked. “Oh, the Spyder. It’s mine, actually. We were out dancing when I got paged. I told him if he puts a dent in it, I put a dent in his dick.”
    “Yeah, that’s an incentive,” Stride said. “You win it at the slots?”
    “Something like that.”
    Stride watched her swallow hard, and a flush rose in her cheeks. She had a long face that tapered to a slightly protruding chin. Her lips were puffy and pale pink. She had thin black eyebrows and she had taken the time to apply her makeup with considerable care. Her Saturday night look, Stride guessed. Despite the wrestler-chick bravado, she looked pretty when she smiled and vulnerable when she was nervous. Stride figured she was about thirty.
    “Got an ID on the vie yet?” Amanda asked.
    Stride nodded. “Canadian driver’s license. Probably a tourist whose luck ran out. Name is Michael Johnson Lane.”
    Amanda did a double take. “
MJ Lane
?”
    “That’s right.”
    She whistled and shook her head. “Oh, shit.”
    “You know him?”
    “Check your spam folder once in a while, Stride,” Amanda told him. “His bare ass is probably in half of the messages. Not to mention every issue of
Us
magazine.”
    “My subscription lapsed,” Stride said.
    Amanda studied his face long enough to realize he was joking, and a smile curled onto her full lips. “Well, you’re in Las Vegas now,” she retorted. “
People, Us
, and the
Enquirer are
more important reading than a DEA circular around here.”
    Amanda walked over to the body. She wore ridiculously high heels, and Stride realized she was several inches shorter than he first thought. He noticed one of the ME staff look at her nervously and back up to give her space. Amanda didn’t pay any attention. She bent from the waist until her hands were flat on the sidewalk, and she turned her head sideways to stare at the corpse’s dead eyes. Stride found himself noticing her attractive, muscular ass and firm legs as her jeans pulled tight. He looked quickly away as she got up and announced, “Yeah, that’s MJ.”
    “All right