Page 35 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)

35

SPECIAL AGENT JACK STONE

T he House of Rock is alive with loud banging and thumping; some might even call it music.

The walls pulsate with the heavy bass and it’s a rhythmic throb that makes the floor vibrate underfoot.

Social Disorder is on stage and their lead singer is howling into the mic as groupies throw their bodies around as if they’re possessed.

It smells like booze, sickly sweet perfume, and enough sweat to make any boys’ locker room proud.

We step inside as Buddy trots beside us, wagging his tail in sync with the music. The moment we walk in, women swarm over to him—and, by proxy, toward me. But Buddy soaks it up with his tongue lolling out like he’s the star of the show.

A tall brunette drapes herself over me in an effort to pet him, and Fallon shoots me a look.

“You’re popular tonight.” She sheds a quick smile. Not the I’m so happy kind of a smile, but the you’re going to be in trouble later kind of smirk.

“Must be the cologne,” I say dryly, though it’s clearly Buddy who’s the crowd favorite. But I’ll admit, I seem to be garnering my fair share of sexual attention whether or not I like it.

I used to love it. It was what I lived for. But with Fallon in my life, it feels wrong, as if I’m tempting fate, or fate is tempting me in an effort to see if it can shake me loose from her.

Fat chance.

I’m not straying.

Never have, never will. Not from Fallon. I’d have to be insane to do so.

Deeper in the room reeks of stale beer with an undercurrent of smoke that hangs in the air like a bad memory. We weave through the crowd with the strobe lights flashing overhead, turning everyone into jerky figures as they thrash to the music.

“Over there.” Fallon points toward the bar and I see Nikki sitting next to Rush Simmons, the questionable manager of the band currently tearing up the room.

The guy looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be—holding court with a drink in one hand and a greasy grin on his face. We head over, and as soon as Buddy arrives, a whole new set of groupies gather around him.

“Nice of you to join us,” Nikki says, raising her glass at us. Her hair is teased every which way and her red dress matches her tresses. “And look at you two, bringing the real star of the show.”

“Buddy is always the headliner,” I agree, giving his head a pat as the girls continue to swarm him.

Rush glances down at Buddy, then at me. “Good-looking dog. You’ve gotta love a loyal companion, right?”

“Sure,” Fallon says. “Unless they shed all over your black jeans.”

“And that he does,” I say, shooting her with my fingers. But Buddy is oblivious to the dig as he continues to lap up the attention .

“ Hey .” Fallon nudges me, and I follow her line of sight to Karen Holt, rocking out near the front of the stage. She’s wearing a tight pink dress, her hair is wild, and she’s dancing like she hasn’t got a care in the world. “Look at that,” Fallon says to Rush. “There’s your girl, Karen Holt.”

Rush snorts before draining his shot glass. “She’s a regular. And she might wear a wedding ring, but you know what they say, sometimes it’s just bling.” He flashes a knowing grin.

“Is that so?” I exchange a look with Fallon, already suspecting that Karen’s not just another rich wife looking to blow off some steam. She’s trouble in every arena in her life and the lives of others.

We settle in next to Nikki, never taking our eyes off of the woman of the hour. The lights above shift from blue to red as the song hits its climax, and for a second, it feels like the room is on fire.

Karen is lost in the music, swaying her hips as if she’s doing her best to cast a spell on the crowd. And judging by the looks the lead singer is giving her, her dark magic is working.

“What do you think she’s up to?” Nikki asks the man. “You think she’s trolling for customers tonight? Or for girls to feed the machine?”

“Feed the machine?” Rush clears his throat. “I don’t get it.” His face turns blotchy before he jumps off his stool. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to head up to the office. Band stuff, you know how it is. I’ll be back.”

“Do what you need,” Fallon says flatly. As soon as he walks away, she leans in. “He sure left quickly as soon as we turned up the heat. I’m not sure we should buy his alibi.”

“I don’t know,” I say, settling on the stool next to her. “They’ve got him on security footage sitting here at the exact time of the killings. That’s pretty airtight.”

“Is it, now?” Nikki is already pulling up the footage on her phone, and the three of us huddle over the screen as the grainy video plays. Sure enough, Rush is at the bar, the same spot we’re at now. He leaves a few times, heading to the restroom, but during one of his many exits, he’s gone for over twenty minutes.

“What do you think?” Nikki hikes a shoulder my way. “That’s a long time if you know exactly where you want to go and why—and I’m not talking about the bathroom.”

“I guess we have a little math to do.” I rub the back of my neck as I consider it.

Fallon shakes her head. “Is twenty minutes enough time to slip out, kill two women, and come back looking no worse for wear?”

“Think of the blood,” Nikki says.

“There was no blood trail in the killer’s wake,” I point out.

“There was blood in the sink,” Fallon points out. “They cleaned up before they left, at least themselves.”

I glance in the direction he took off in. “He doesn’t strike me as the neat and tidy type. Especially when it comes to himself.”

“What about her?” Nikki tilts her head toward Karen, who is still gyrating near the stage, blissfully unaware of the scrutiny she’s under. “She’s a real character. Why couldn’t she be the killer?”

“She could definitely be the killer,” Fallon says, eyeing her. “Regardless, she’s going away for a very long time.”

Nikki lifts a glass our way of what looks like ginger ale, but it’s more than likely something stronger. “So how was the meet and greet with death?”

“It was a downer. But we got a free book.” Fallon pulls the blue hardback out of her purse. “ Into the Ether with Love ,” she says and Nikki snatches it from her and proceeds to flip the book open, thumbing through the pages quickly as if it’s a dirty novel she can’t get enough of.

“Sounds like a bunch of sad malarkey.” Nikki tosses it onto the counter and the front cover bounces open, revealing something that makes all three of us lean in hard.

“What the hell is that?” Fallon says, landing her finger right over the incriminating mark.

That’s exactly what I want to know, too.