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“Nope.” Patrice shook her head.
“You still got that crush on our sergeant?” Lana asked.
Patrice’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t be silly. I respect the guy, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right,” Lana said. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“At least I’m not still hung up on my high school sweetie,” Patrice said.
“I am not hung up,” Lana said. “I just need to find his murderer. Your thing for Rudy will bring you nothing but trouble, girl. He’s already taken.”
“I know that.”
Remaining silent, Kelly shook her head. Trice all but swooned over their married sergeant while Lana couldn’t get over some dead boyfriend from high school. Kelly had no use for romance. In her opinion—only reinforced since she’d been on the job—men did nothing but create chaos in a woman’s life. Her two best friends were proof of that.
“So what’s Trey Wentworth like?” Patrice said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Now, there’s a man who is serious eye candy.”
“Agreed, but I’ve hardly spoken to him.” Kelly leaned forward. “What can you tell me about him?”
Patrice took a swallow of water. “The Wentworths are old money.”
“Legal old money?”
“That’s the word. Their base of operations is Manhattan, and they’re very private. His father rules the family with an iron fist, and it’s rumored he pays a publicist to keep their dirty laundry out of the tabloids. But the antics of Trey’s rock star wife were too outrageous to keep quiet.”
“She was a rock star?” Kelly asked.
Patrice sighed. “I keep forgetting how literal you are. No, a model, a gorgeous girl, but one with a serious drug habit. After she married Wentworth, she quit working, had a kid, began to party and quickly self-destructed. An all-too-familiar story.”
“He told me she was killed DUI.”
“Oh, really?” Patrice sat back. “That’s sounds like a rather intimate discussion for a man you’ve barely spoken to.”
“We’ve had a few conversations about the kid.”
“So come on. Give,” Lana said. “What’s he like?”
“The kid? He’s totally screwed up.”
“You know I mean Trey Wentworth.”
Kelly took a swallow of lukewarm coffee. How should she describe Trey Wentworth? “Arrogant. He thinks his money can solve any problem.”
“Maybe because, hey, it usually can,” Lana said.
“Money can’t get his son’s head unscrambled. So there’s never anything in the tabloids about Trey, just his ex?”
“He is known as a party animal,” Patrice said. “That’s how he met his ex.”
“That much I’ve heard. Anything else?”
Patrice raised her eyebrows. “All these questions from the woman who made fun of my subscription to Celebrity magazine?”
“If I’m going to be living in his house, I need all the intel I can get.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s all it is. Let’s see. Like I say, the family manages to keep most things out of the public eye, but Trey is or was an excellent tennis player. He won some big-time tournament as a junior player—maybe the US Open—and was considered good enough to go on the professional tour. No one was surprised when he went to work for Wentworth Industries instead.”
“Why? Professional tennis players earn a ton of money.”
“That sort of common entertainment was deemed beneath the Wentworths.” Patrice made quote marks in the air around “common.”
“Seriously?” Kelly rolled her eyes.
“How does he act toward you?” Lana asked.
Kelly shrugged. “Most of the time he’s polite enough, but he hates cops. He thinks we’re all incompetent.”
Lana leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Is it true the FBI screwed up the drop?”
“Apparently. Wentworth is grateful that I saved his kid, but he thinks I’m some kind of hick from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Patrice said.
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
