Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

“Lots of changes took place in my life about then. A friend of mine was a closet sommelier, and he taught me all I know. We took a methodical approach, working through French wines and then Italian and even nudged around California whites, though he was quite the snob about that. For him, reds were where it was at.”

“Hmmm, I wonder if you’re the only wine connoisseur who’s killed people? I mean they just don’t seem to go together, do they?”

He lowered his glass and looked at her with an amused expression. “What, does a love of wine seem prissy to you? Do you know how much blood has been spilled over wine?”

“Do you mean while drinking it or talking about it?”

“Does it matter? Dead is dead, isn’t it?”

“You would know that better than I do.”

“If you think it’s a simple matter of notching your gun after you do the deed, it’s not.”

“I never thought that. More like notching your soul?”

He put down his glass. “How about an information exchange?”

“I’m game, within reason.”

“Quid pro quo. Relatively equal value.”

“Judged by whom?”

“I’ll make it easy. I’ll go first.”

Michelle sat back. “I’m curious. Why?”

“I guess we can put it down to the fact that you’re as unwilling a participant in your nightmare as I was eight years ago in mine.”

“Yes. You called us blood brothers.”

“Joan Dillinger was at the hotel that night.”

“In your room?”

King shook his head. “Your turn.”

Michelle thought about this for a few moments. “Okay, I talked to one of the maids who was working at the hotel when Ritter was killed. Her name is Loretta Baldwin.” King looked puzzled when she said this. “Loretta says she cleaned your room that morning. And she found a pair of black lace panties on the ceiling light fixture.” She paused and then added with a perfectly straight face, “I’m assuming they weren’t yours. You don’t seem like the lace type.”

“No. And black’s not really my color in underwear.”

“Weren’t you married during that time?”

“Separated. My wife had an annoying habit of sleeping with other men when I was out of town, which was basically all the time. I think they even started bringing their own pajamas and toothbrushes. I was feeling really out of the loop.”

“It’s good you can joke about it now.”

“If you had asked me eight years ago, I wouldn’t have been so glib. Time doesn’t really heal, it just makes you not give a crap.”

“So you had, what, a fling with Joan Dillinger?”

“It actually seemed a little more than that back then. Stupid when you think about it. Joan’s not that sort of woman.”

Michelle leaned forward. “About the elevator—”

King interrupted. “Your turn again. I’m getting tired of reminding you.”

Michelle sighed and sat back. “Okay, Dillinger’s not at the Service anymore.”