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Elise’s voice shakes, and her hand comes to cover her mouth. “That’s Donnie’s car.”
My phone buzzes again, and I look to see I’ve got a text message. Upstairs, sixth floor. Front’s unlocked.
Elise reaches out, and I take her hand as we go inside, the empty, nearly dark lobby making things even more foreboding. We take the elevator up to the sixth floor, stepping off and following the only light visible, a dim glow that brightens as we approach. “Is this . . .?”
“My office,” Elise whispers in reply, pointing at the etched glass. “At least, the lobby.”
We open the door and follow the glow to another office, where inside, we find a round weasel-looking man sitting behind a large desk. Even before he speaks, the crystal bowl of jellybeans on the corner of his desk tells me exactly who he is. “Donnie.”
Donnie doesn’t look surprised, but instead his ruddy face glows, obviously pleased. “Keith! You don’t mind if I call you Keith, do you? That whole Mr. Perkins shit is for people who aren’t friends, and I think you and I are going to be very good friends. Elise . . . so good to see you too. I wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you tonight.” He pauses, a comical sneer on his face. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I knew you were at Keith’s tonight!” He claps his hands twice, like he’s overjoyed at our being here, as if this is some twisted fucking social call.
I don’t respond, keeping my gaze on the man. I don’t trust him. He’s too at ease here, delighted at calling the shots as we come running to his territory when he beckoned. I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, wanting to show that I don’t perceive him as a threat. Elise follows my lead, sitting in the other chair, but she looks scared and disgusted at the same time.
As we sit, there’s a sound behind us and Francesca walks in, shutting the door behind her and going over to Donnie’s side to perch on the narrow built-in bookshelf behind him. Putting a well-manicured hand on Donnie’s shoulder, she sneers at Elise, smug satisfaction rolling off her in waves.
Donnie looks over his shoulder for a moment, patting Francesca’s bare knee like you’d pat a strange dog on the head. “Thank you, Fran. We’re just getting started.”
She smiles wanly at him, but I catch the flash of disgust in her eyes at his touch. His eyes stay locked on her leg so Donnie doesn’t notice her reaction.
Donnie turns back to Elise and me. “So, Elise. I have to say, I’ve been mostly pleased with your work. It’s well-written and if I was running Country Music Weekly, you’d probably be getting a raise. However, this is the goddamn Daily Spot, and your articles are decidedly lacking on . . . juiciness.”
He says the word juiciness with emphasis, spittle pooling at the corners of his mouth. Reaching over, he picks up a small handful of jellybeans and pops a few in his mouth.
Elise starts to speak, but Donnie waves her off. “Don’t bother telling me there’s nothing again. You’ve already said it enough, and I’m well aware that you’re lying. After all . . . you’ve given me all the dirt I need.”
Elise’s eyes snap to me, but I keep my eyes locked on Donnie, trying to get a read on him. Looking at Elise, he smirks, chewing his jellybeans like a cow with its cud as he grins smugly. “I suspected there was more, that you were holding out on me. So I assigned my favorite reporter to investigate.”
I let my eyes tick up to Francesca, remembering how we’d run into her at brunch. I’d dismissed it to reassure Elise, but it hadn’t been a coincidence at all.
For her part, Francesca adjusts herself self-righteously, like the cat who just got the cream. She even seems to preen a bit as she re-crosses her legs, an obviously practiced move designed to look sexy.
I look back to find Donnie still eyeing Elise with a leering appraisal. “You’re quite good at following a mark, Elise,” he continues, his jaws never stopping as he smacks his way through another candy. “Seems you’re quite a bit less adept at being followed. Usually, you never even noticed.”
Donnie smiles at Elise like she’s prey he’s preparing to devour, but even though he’s insulting her, I’m the real target here. I know that with every bit of dread running through my blood right now. My fingers tighten on the arms of the chair, and it’s only thirty years of self-control that prevent me from grabbing him and jacking him up right now.
Francesca interrupts, puffing up even more as she giggles, but the sound is more mean-girl than sweet. “You really should be more aware. I followed you for days . . . to Keith’s, to the cabin, to dinner, to the mall. The cabin was a little hard, but nothing a good telephoto lens couldn’t fix. And you never suspected a thing!”
