Chapter Six: Doubting Alex
The scintillating allure of the Renaissance Hotel was not simply the fact that it catered to the famous and exclusive. There were numerous hotels nestled in Hollywood through Beverly Hills that could have claimed that. But the Renaissance Hotel prided itself on its privacy. It's ability to lure beautiful young women who in turn hoped to lure older bachelor millionaires. Even in the crisis following September 11th, when the rooms were empty and the lobbies sparse, the crowds would come to the Hotel bar, dressed in tight black dresses and diamond studded necklaces, Armani suits and thousand dollar Rolex watches.
Here, in the bar known for its obscurity, a beautiful blonde with breathtaking blue eyes and a sparkling gown of shimmering white lounged against the piano. Her heels -- tall, stiletto -- never made a sound as she made her way around the baby grand.
She wore a sinful smile and a smoldering glance, and the microphone, clasped in her long, elegant fingers, seemed to reach for her.
Her song was sweet, seductive, and almost mesmerizing.
The blond bombsell smoothed a palm over her dress, leaning forward, fingers rubbing into the scalp of the piano player before shimmying alongside of him.
Natalie's rendition of 'Daddy-0, I'm gonna teach you some blues' was always a crowd-pleaser.
Alex's passive expression slowly formed into a smile.
Even in a tense operation, with a team member missing and the reputation of the Agency at stake, not to mention Jason's life and countless others, Natalie still found joy in her dance, in her song.
The ability to lose herself in something so completely, find the thrill that Alex only found in a puzzle, in danger, made Alex envy her.
Natalie was one-of-a-kind, a true Angel with beauty, brains, and just enough ditz in her to make her adorable beyond comparison.
A snap of fingers drew her out of her admiration, and immediately, Alex pulled hard at the little skirt. Weaving around the tables, Alex ignored the catcalls and whistles of the group of young stock brokers in the corner booth.
Yes, she was wearing a cocktail dress. Yes, those were garters she was wearing. Yes, she looked hot.
It didn't matter right now.
Pasting on a dazzling smile, she stopped at the table of a man wearing a ridiculously large diamond ring on his pinky. He was currently engrossed in Natalie's show.
"What can I get for you?"
"Apple martini," he said mechanically, never taking his eyes off the stage.
Abruptly dismissed, Alex didn't bother to nod. "Coming right up, sugar," she said deftly, picking up the abandoned Pina Colada and heading toward the bar, scanning the room as she went.
The room was full of wealthy, gray-haired men, but none were the one she was looking for.
Tossing the tray on the bar with a clatter, Alex leaned casually against it, eyeing the patrons one more time. The faster they got out of here, the faster they found Dylan.
"Apple martini," she tossed over her shoulder. The bartender was currently bent under the bar, gathering another batch of limes.
"Shaken, not stirred?" she asked, coming up with two handfuls.
The voice, tinged with amusement and teasing familiarity, caused a sudden rush of intense emotion. Jerking back, Alex was startled to discover Dylan Sanders, dressed in black leather pants and the tight black vest of the bartender, pulling out the martini glass.
"I find it's a chicken and the egg kind of problem," Dylan continued. "See, things are always fun when you stir them up, but shake 'em around, they kinda go boom."
"And we know how you like the 'boom-boom'," Alex clipped quickly, getting the joke over with before rushing into, "What happened to you?!"
Dylan's face was impeccably made up, but there was the faintest trace of a bruise forming under her cheek, another going purple just over her eye, and a small line of a split lip that had been covered carefully with lipstick.
Dylan grimaced, hands moving fast as she prepared the drink. "Don't ask, or better yet, do- just not right now. Bosley filled me in." Her eyes on the crowd, she motioned with a quick jerk of her head. "That our guy?"
Turning, Alex immediately spotted a dark middle-aged man seating himself in the center of the lounge. "FBI Special Agent James LeGros. That's him, allright." A quick, subtle thumbs up at the stage alerted Natalie.
The blonde lingered a second on Dylan. When the red-head waved back, Natalie's smile widened, gave a sly wink in their direction coming forth before her eyes closed and she began to belt out the chorus.
"Do you hear me Daddy-o," Dylan sang low, keeping the tempo. Raising the martini glass, and putting a chocolate martini on the tray beside it, she smiled meaningfully at Alex. "I'm gonna teach ya some blues."
With an air kiss, Alex took the tray, shaking her butt ridiculously for a laughing Dylan's benefit before dropping off the apple martini and heading for the FBI agent.
At her approach, his eyes drifted from Natalie and focused on her.
Breasts, that is.
"Good evening," he said, voice a rich velvet baritone.
"Good evening," she replied, smiling. "Heard you were coming today."
He smiled. "Did you?"
"Things must be really bad for you, what with that guy killing those actors and all."
"Don't worry, we'll find the bastard."
She smiled. "Well, just to keep your spirits up, here ya are." Depositing the chocolate martini in front of him, she motioned behind her. "Just something from me and the girls."
Following her line of sight, he discovered Dylan smiling, twiddling her fingers in greeting. His eyes widened.
Alex grinned. "And there."
He looked to where she pointed. On the stage, Natalie winked.
And he fell for it.
At first he seemed slightly amazed. With a chuckle that shook his shoulders, he reached for the flute. "I tell you, they don't give you service like this in Ohio."
"Don't they?" Alex clucked her tongue. "Well, we're just gonna have to treat you extra special then, aren't we?"
Winking, she turned, allowing him a nice view of her ass (not that it wasn't already there for all the world to see, thanks to the miniskirt with the ruffled underskirt), before shaking her hips as she walked away.
"Hey!" she paused, turning back. James LeGros tipped his martini at her. "Maybe I'll see you later?"
Lips pulling into a seductive smile, Alex let her voice drop an octave. "Count on it."
Moving back to Dylan, she dropped the tray and the attitude, giving Natalie a scissors motion before moving retreating behind the bar.
James LeGros, eyes on Natalie, took a sip of the martini.
Elbows keeping her weight on the wood, Dylan mused, "Just how many laws are we breaking here?"
"At least ten, not counting jurisdiction violations," Alex said quickly, untying the apron and tossing it on the counter. "Why?"
"I'm keeping track," Dylan muttered, pushing back from the bar and pulling at her own apron. "This year I think we're up to three thousand."
--
James LeGros had a hard week ahead of him, he knew. The death of both Sandy Chin and Annabeth Torres, now being billed in the press as an unfortunate coincidence, was a top priority with the FBI, and even he knew the big deal it meant to get put in charge of the case.
A killer who killed with different weapons, different genders, different everything.
He still wasn't sure they were related.
Still, it was best not to think of work. He was here to get away from that, and already, things were starting to look up.
The hot little waitress was a delicious way to get his mind off of things, this was a hotel after all. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could convince her to get her cute bartender friend to come play, too. Maybe get the lounge singer to join in for dessert.
For the good of the country and all.
It was a silly fantasy. He would be lucky if the cute Asian one even came back, but it was a nice place to visit, mentally, and even as he laughed, he took another sip of the martini, clapping as the blonde lounge singer gave a wave and a gracious smile before stepping off the stage.
It was only after about the fifth sip that he started to get queasy.
It was just an uncomfortable ache at first, a wave of dizziness that made him clench the edges of the wood table just a little harder.
Easy to ignore at first, barely perceptible.
The second wave hit just a little harder. He blinked, and blinked again, but nothing seemed to want to come into focus.
Then the chocolate of the chocolate martini started to gurgle in his stomach.
The sound that came from his abdomen caused more then one disgusted glance in his direction.
"Sorry," he said, palm slapping to his mouth, cutting off his words.
Uh-oh. Problem.
Stumbling up, he managed to upset the couple in the corner and a booth full of irate young stockbrokers, who all called him 'buddy'.
"Bathroom," he managed to the concierge.
The young man in the suite wrinkled his nose at him, and pointed the way.
It was by some God-send miracle that he was able to push open the door to the bathroom.
Unfortunately, he didn't quite make it to the stall.
What he did get, however, is a face full of white marble, refreshingly cool against his cheek.
It was almost okay, he figured, to just lie there, not moving at all.
At first, the clicks of heels on marble didn't quite register.
When his eyes opened, and he managed to push himself over, he was sure he had somehow passed out and was now dreaming.
The three women from the bar: the bartender, with her too tight white shirt and the red-lipped smirk, the cocktail waitress, running fingers through her hair, and lastly, coming alongside of him, still dressed in the beautiful silver gown, the sunlight coming through the window, lighting up her hair like an Angel come to save him, was the lounge singer.
His vision was growing increasingly blurry, but he fought as much as he could against it, trying to keep his eyes on the three Angels.
It was an effort he didn't win. The blonde knelt down, and he felt the soft caress of heaven on his face before she whispered, "We're really sorry about this, Mr. LeGros."
And then he passed out.
--
"WHAT?!"
The coffee cup in Bosley's hand fell with a clatter to the floor. Dark liquid spilled on the plush carpet, his shoes, and his pants.
He didn't seem to care.
"You did WHAT?!" he repeated. "You told me you were just gonna bug him!"
Despite the circumstances, Dylan couldn't resist a smile.
"Well..." Natalie began methodically. "Not exactly. Alex did say it was bugging her."
"We couldn't risk getting caught, Bosley," Alex said. "We needed all the help we could get."
Bosley, now stuck in a stammer, looked helplessly back at the speakerbox . "Charlie, you gotta help me out here, man. I can't handle these girls."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Charlie," Dylan said.
"While I agree with Bosley on the extreme nature of the job, at least you got it done," Charlie said. "Just be more careful next time."
Alex nodded dutifully, but Dylan had to cover her mouth to cover her smirk. Natalie pinched her in response. Dylan pinched back.
"Now," Charlie continued. "Back to the important issue. Are you sure it was Seamus O'Grady, Dylan?"
The mischievous expression immediately fell from Dylan's face. "Yes. I'm sure. I mean, he beat me up and left me for dead. I'm pretty damned sure."
Natalie sighed. "We should have gone looking for you."
"It's my fault. I shouldn't have left like that."
"Dylan..." Alex looked prepared to say something, and the grim frown on her face tinged with hesitation. Dylan nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry," she said gently.
Alex's mouth tightened, and she seemed to struggle with her frustration, before letting it go. Fingers tangling with Dylan's, her head moved to rest on her shoulder.
"I'm just glad you're all right," she answered. Dylan's cheek rested on her forehead. She squeezed back.
"I'm a little nervous about the idea of the O'Grady clan still intact," Charlie continued. "Especially with the vendetta Seamus seems to have against you, Dylan."
"Yeah, I'm not too hot on that fact either," she muttered back.
"When we finish this case we should go after them," Alex said methodically. "Get to them before they try to bring us down."
"That definitely is a priority, Alex," Charlie agreed.
Dylan found herself swallowing hard, tension causing an ache in her lower back. She shifted on the couch, hissing slightly.
"Ribs hurt?" Alex asked in a low voice.
Catching her glance with a startled one of her own, Dylan smiled quickly. "Something like that."
"Wait a minute..." Natalie's brow tilted with confusion. "Dylan, how did you get out of the alley?"
That question was going to come up eventually, it had to. Everyone was staring with genuine curiosity, concern, and Dylan knew that she had to tell them the truth.
And then they would know the Thin Man saved her, and they would go after him, just like she told him they would.
Her throat suddenly began to ache, and she had to force herself to swallow, twice, before she shrugged unwillingly, and found herself saying, "Standard Good Samaritan. And dumb luck."
Why the hell did she say that?
Still, the truth stuck in her throat, and she settled for glancing at Bosley.
"You're a lucky girl, Dylan," Charlie noted.
Natalie immediately nodded, but Alex wasn't looking at her face.
Shit. Shit.
Quickly, as subtly as she could, Dylan pushed the medallion further into her cleavage, hiding it within her blouse.
Alex caught her glance, and at the first her face was filled with befuddlement.
Then Alex's expression closed, and her mouth pursed.
Her fingers moved away from Dylan's hands.
"Alex," Dylan began in a whisper.
"Ooh! Guys! Check it out! LeGros is on the move!" Natalie said, hopping up in her seat as she pointed to the screen.
There, in a window on the right, there was movement, up the stairs into the FBI headquarters, through hallways.
"And the others?" Charlie asked.
"All fine," Natalie said with a smile. She nodded to the two other windows taking up the screens. "We got Mary this morning in the sauna-"
"I don't even want to know where you bugged her," Dylan said with a smirk.
"-And we got James Huntoon, the head of the CIA, in the Lava Lounge," Alex said, ignoring the comment.
"They can't do a thing without us knowing about it," Natalie finished. "We'll have all their resources, and ours. If they're going to blame us for this, we're going to make sure they help us get him."
"Are we recording all this, Bosley?" Alex asked, voice harder than normal.
"Got it all, Angels," Bosley answered. "Don't you worry about nothing."
"Great," Dylan said, moving quickly away from Alex and her unspoken accusation. "We'll examine the footage-"
"And use that, and our own investigation to find the Thin Man," Alex finished. "We still don't know who he's working for, but we'll find out by the end of today."
"Good work, Angels," Charlie said. "It sounds like you're on the right track."
It was a great idea. In Theory.
Unable to keep silent anymore, Dylan sighed, rubbing just under her nose in a frustrated gesture. "I have to admit guys, I'm still not sold on the idea."
Alex's stare was pure frost. "All the proof is pointing to him, Dylan. We have no other suspect. There is no other option."
Dylan struggled with the statement. "I just don't think it's him. Why would he do this? There's no motive. What if... I don't know he's being framed or something-"
Natalie gave her a frown. "Dylan, that's the one thing we do know. We don't make mistakes."
Sure. Only she did. Eric Knox. Seamus. The Thin Man.
Dylan's eyes closed. Dammit.
"Unless there's something you want to tell us," Alex said crisply. Dylan's eyes opened. Her friend's almond eyes were staring at her, as if giving her one more chance.
It was now or never.
Dylan tried. She did.
"No," she said finally. "You're right. It's... it has to be him."
Alex stared at her a beat longer than necessary, and Dylan couldn't keep the eye contact.
Blowing her breath out, she looked away.
"Well, here's what we do know," Natalie said. "Everyone on the list is an A-list actor. The two that have died so far have been at public events."
"Which means Jason's safe at home," Dylan added, tone indicating it was back to business as usual.
Alex didn't look at her. Instead, her eyes were on the list that Natalie had printed.
"Well, the funeral for Annabeth is tonight. Guaranteed media coverage on all major stations, and anybody who's anybody will be there."
"Which means another public place..." Natalie continued.
"Another opportunity to kill somebody," Dylan finished.
"Angels, put on your mourning wear," Charlie ordered.
Alex nodded heavily. "Guess we're going to a funeral."
--
Annabeth Torres had grown up in Glendale, California.
It was hardly the ghetto, but still, it was enough of a city dwelling to make Mary Briggs more than a little alert.
Forest Lawn Mortuary was used to large crowds, thanks to the museums, sculptures and gardens that populated it, but the LAPD wasn't about to trust the entire event to a bunch of bored security men.
Standing at the gravesite, she surveyed the area.
Police squad cars were parked everywhere, painting the landscape red, white and blue. Cops in uniforms, some laughing, some eating doughnuts, milled about.
She shook her head.
"This is a funeral, not a government function," she clipped to the man behind her. "Get them out of here."
The seargent looked startled. "But Mary-"
"Get me some plain clothed officers and get those sirens out of my sight." She swallowed hard. "It's going to be enough of a circus with all the damned paparazzi. We're better than this. Let's have a little respect."
He stared at her for another beat, but finally nodded. "Whatever you say, Mary."
Near the area where the gravesight had been selected was a nest of Pines. Coupled with the crowds that were surely going to arrive, it would be next to impossible to keep security tight.
"Another couple hours, Mary," she told herself. "You can breathe then."
Still, breathing still seemed harder than usual. The tons of officers and their peppering of questions had given her a headache, and since the trees were the only area clear, she moved in their direction.
As she moved past the diggers, her steps faltered. Standing under the trees, a man watched. He was dressed in pure denim, hair scruffed up in a make-shift Mohawk.
Mary's eyes narrowed. Great. This was the last thing she needed.
With a shake of her head, Mary went to meet him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she clipped.
The punk took a long drag of his cigarette, shrugging uncaringly.
"Checking out the scenery," he said, blowing a whiff of smoke in her face.
Coughing, she waved it away from her face. "Get out of here."
The smile on his face grew smile, almost malicious. "Whatever you say, lass." In an exaggerated mockery of her command, he tossed the cigarette to the ground, mashing it out with a big black boot. Immediately, he pulled out another, offering it to her with the same polite sarcasm. "Smoke?"
"I don't smoke," she said crisply. "I'm not going to ask you again. Get out of here."
"My, someone's got a crick in their arse," he quipped. "Fine, fine." With a graceful sweep, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, snapping at the flint easily. He took his time lighting his cigarrette, before finally pulling it from his mouth, winking devilishly at her. "Have fun at the funeral."
He pounded into her side with his. Mary felt the push of something being inserted into her pocket. She almost reached for her gun, but the punk Irishman was already walking away.
Reaching inside, she pulled out the lighter. Inscribed on the silver case was an American Flag.
"Sick fuck," she whispered.
Shaking her head, she moved back to the funeral.
Two hours.
--
"You look evil," Dylan had once told her.
It wasn't really Alex's fault. She gravitated towards black, and the fact that without her smile, and her warm eyes covered in shades, the all black ensemble made her look like something out of the Matrix, wasn't something she could do much about.
The cover was a Secret Agent, and she looked the part. Still, the black slacks, black blazer, black shades, seemed to personify her mood.
It seemed her entire world had tipped into turmoil, and Alex, a glutton for control, still wasn't able to understand how it happened.
"My lighter," Dylan said suddenly. Immediately, she stopped, eyes sweeping the ground for any trace of the silver trinket. "I've lost my lighter."
Natalie, currently having issues with her heels sinking into the grass, didn't look. "Did you just drop it?"
Considerably bothered, Dylan bit her lip. "I don't know. I can't remember when I last grabbed it..."
"Go look for it," Alex countered quickly. "I'm sure you just dropped it coming out of the car." When both Dylan and Natalie threw her bewildered glances, she shrugged. "You know how she is when she doesn't have her lighter," she told Natalie.
"But I don't even know if I dropped it here or if-"
"Just check," Alex said again. "We'll stand guard here. It'll be better if we fan out anyway."
It wasn't part of the plan. They were supposed to be in the middle of it, the thick of the crowds, in hopes of spotting a killer who liked to take his victims within fifteen, twenty feet. Dylan was torn between the need to stick to Plan A and the need to find her lighter. Her steps hesitated, and she bit her bottom lip in hesitation before finally looking toward Natalie for the final okay.
Natalie shrugged. "Check the perimeter while you're at it," she suggested.
Still, Dylan was smarter than that. The glance she threw Alex was a hesitant stare. Alex gave her nothing back. All Dylan caught was her profile, as Alex kept her face on the crowds in an effort to hide her face.
"Sure," Dylan said finally, throwing a thumb behind her. "I'll be right back."
"Take your time," Alex responded. "We'll be fine."
Once again, the tone disconcerted Dylan, but she obediently nodded, giving them both a quick smile before jogging back across the lawn, maneuvering around the throng as she went.
Still in eyeshot, but fifty feet away, Alex waited until Dylan was a speck against the lawn before she grabbed Natalie's elbow, moving into a particularly crowded patch of mourners.
"Alex, what are you-"
With a tap on Natalie's palm, she began to tap, quickly. The morse code was quick, no nonsense, but Natalie didn't understand why.
'Take out your molar mike', Alex beat again. Natalie frowned. Immediately, she took Alex's palm in hers.
'Why?' she signed back.
Alex put a finger into her mouth. With a wince, she clipped the molar mike from her tooth, stuffing it into her gloves.
"Alex?!"
With a quick shake of her head, she tapped Natalie's cheek. Natalie's mouth was wide open, so Alex went in to do it herself.
"Okay, okay!" Natalie pushed at her hands, reaching into her mouth and plucking it out. "Fine," she said after it was done. "What is it?"
"Dylan lied."
The slight irritation on Natalie's face immediately gave way to surprise. "What?!"
"Dylan lied. At the Agency."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes!" The outburst made more than a few people viewing the procession glance over. Alex swallowed, and leaned in closer. "At the Agency, she had the medallion on. The one she said the Thin Man took?"
Natalie froze. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, Natalie."
"But it could have been any-"
"It wasn't." Alex was angry. It had taken her about four hours to come to terms with it, but it was true. She was angry. Beyond angry. Dylan lied. Dylan LIED. "If she had it on, then she must have gotten it back, and if she must have gotten it back-"
"Then she knows where he is."
"And she didn't tell us," Alex finished.
The static in her ear caused a small spark.
"Hey guys?" Dylan interrupted. "There's a bigger crush of people in here. I probably should stay out here; scan the perimeter to see what I can."
Natalie, too overwhelmed to respond, crossed her arms, and straightened, still processing what she heard. Alex took a breath, opened her hand, and spoke crisply into it. "That works, Dylan. We'll keep an eye-out over here."
"Sounds good, guys."
Alex covered the mike again. Natalie looked visibly stricken. Pulling at the sunglasses that framed her face, her head shook minutely. Chin dropping, she whispered, "I can't believe Dylan would lie to us."
Alex looked away, heart aching. "Just promise me, when funeral is over, that we'll talk to her."
Natalie, beautiful and lost, finally just nodded. "Yeah. We'll talk to her."
Alex took in a breath. "Thank you."
Natalie said nothing as she clipped the molar mike back in her mouth.
--
Dylan had lost her lighter.
She never lost her lighter.
What the hell?
Shaking her head, Dylan kept her eye on the crowd. Annabeth Torres, beautiful, charismatic, just a little bit nutty, had been paid twenty-five million to make Cash Craze, more than any actress had ever before been given.
She had been loved by many, and even in death, she had her fans.
Lining the security tape, throngs of civilians clamored, watching with candles and rosaries. Some were openly crying. The funeral was open to many in the industry, and every minute, more and more people wearing black and sunglasses were making their way across the lawn to the gravesite.
There was just too many for three women to find one assassin. It was a nightmare.
In an effort to sharpen her vision, Dylan took the frames from her face. This was important. If they found the guy here (and he had to be. Most serial killers always returned to the scene of the crime to relive the fantasy of it all, and the killer certainly wouldn't want to miss this), then Dylan could have something other than instinct to prove it wasn't Anthony.
Anthony. When did he start being Anthony and not 'The Thin Man'?
"Shit, Dylan," she whispered. "Don't do this. He's our guy. He has to be our guy."
But his expression haunted her, the stricken look in his face, the 'no' that came so unwillingly from his lips. He had almost died in an effort to save her before.
Maybe it made them even. For all the times he had tried to kill her...
So why did she still feel she owed him one?
"Focus, Dylan," she whispered.
Dylan shuddered, shoulders shaking to get him away from her thoughts, and refocus herself back to where she should have been. Finding the killer.
The funeral procession was a virtual who's who of the entertainment industry, and since the entertainment industry was full of weirdos anyway... it wasn't going to be easy.
Alex and Natalie were in the thick of it, and judging from the silence in her ear, it seemed they were having no better luck.
The heat burned down on her, scorching her like she was in a rich man's hell. She sighed, unbuttoning her blazer, fanning herself to keep cooler.
One by one, celebrities moved by her. No one noticed the Secret Agent who stood stock still, and it was what Dylan wanted. They weren't supposed to be looking at her, but at the gravesite. It allowed her to observe each face without suspicion, filing away profiles and gaits.
But there was someone watching her.
It was a sixth sense at first, the kind everyone got. But quickly, it emerged into a shudder in her spine, nerves tingling, causing a shortness of breath.
Her head jerked, and suddenly, she saw him, coming out of the crowd like some sort of Lance Burton, almost a mirage.
Great. She could FEEL him now?
"Oh, this cannot be happening," she whispered, gaze frozen on him as he kept coming, a cigarette in his hand, a cane in the other, black suite molded to his lithe frame.
"What's up, Dylan?" Natalie chirped in her ear.
She didn't answer. Her body was stock still, and Dylan had the suspicion that even if she tried to move, she would have been unable.
Anthony's mouth was a scowl, as usual. His eyes, however, were different. They vibrated with something, brimmed with an emotion she had only glimpsed in his flat.
He put the cigarette to his mouth, took a long puff, and now, only a foot away, he placed it gently at her lips.
"Dylan?!" Alex said.
Her gaze locked with his, Dylan's lips opened. He waited, and she sucked her breath in, taking in the nicotine, letting it settle in her lungs.
His mouth twitched, before he pulled the cigarette from her mouth, ignoring the stinging acrid smoke that made her eyes water.
Now, mere inches away, his palm slid from her face, to her throat, down her shoulders, her arms, until fingers tangled with her own.
The Thin Man pushed something flat and cold into her palm.
Not letting go, he moved closer, until they were barely touching, thighs to thighs, groin to groin, chest to chest- a caress on her face, and his breath on her throat...
Fuck.
She closed her eyes, suddenly unsure of what she wanted, too bewildered to make sense of anything.
There was the slightly sense of the silkiness of lips sliding against her jawline.
Sucking in her breath, Dylan clenched his fingers.
Just as quickly, he let go. When Dylan's eyes opened, he was gone, and Jason Gibbons was in his place, dashing in a black suit, his trademark befuddled expression on his face.
"Jason!" she began immediately, glancing dizzily around him. No sign of Anthony. Of the Thin Man.
"Dylan," Jason greeted. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Our job," she answered quickly. "We're just... making sure everything's okay."
"Jason's there?" Alex asked in her ear.
"Yeah," Dylan answered. With a wave of her palm, she motioned to the crowded gravesite. "Alex and Nat are up there."
"I'm not here to see Alex," he clipped grimly. "I'm here to pay my condolences to a friend."
Yeah. Someone died. And they still didn't know who did it. Dylan smiled sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently.
Jason blinked, eyes moist in their emotion. Stepping forward, he gave her an awkward hug. "See you up there," he said.
"Sure..."
Turning, Jason walked away from her, moving with his entourage up the lawn.
Left alone, Dylan finally remembered the cold metal object she was still clutching in her palm.
With a ragged sigh, she spread her fingers, looking down.
The Thin Man had given her back her lighter.
--
"There he is," Alex said, gripping Natalie's elbow as Jason Gibbons moved past photographers to the small group of celebrities sitting next to the grave.
"All right," Natalie said softly. "You go closer, and I'll take the middle circle. Dylan's on the outside. We should catch whoever's..."
But he was there. Just as she knew he would be.
With a hard squeeze, she stopped Natalie mid sentence, nodding subtly.
"There," she whispered. "The Thin Man."
He looked as creepy in daylight as he did at night. Black suit, hair slicked down, he was unmistakable, cold blue eyes on the ground before him, moving away from the funeral, in his hand the ever present cigarette.
"Oh my God," Natalie whispered. "Dylan-"
"Let's go," Alex whispered.
The crowds were getting thicker, and it was nearly impossible to keep him in sights.
Alex lost him almost immediately, but Natalie, taller and quicker, kept moving.
"Jason," Alex whispered.
Natalie immediately nodded. "I lost him," she said. "I'm going to go up. You go watch Jason."
Alex was already moving, pushing past bodyguards and celebrities as the flash of lights starting getting brighter.
The music started with an obnoxious beat of electric guitar. It was almost inappropriate for a funeral. But KISS had been Annabeth's favorite rock band, and they were here, paying their respects with their rendition of 'Beth'.
Natalie broke away, moving as quickly as she could away from the funeral, trying vainly to find where the Thin Man had disappeared.
Alex kept her eyes on Jason.
Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen now. She could feel it.
And then it did.
So fast, and too soon, she couldn't stop it. She couldn't see with the crowd, and there was nothing but the shot that came out of nowhere and the cry of crowds as they began to run.
Alex's heart burst as she broke into a run.
"Government Agent," she snapped. "Out of the way!" She pushed as hard as she could, the crowd now in chaos making her stumble against the crush of bodies. "GUYS! NOW!"
"We're on our way!" Natalie yelled.
"I'm coming!" Dylan screamed in her ear.
Alex's logic had run away from her, and any reason was pushed away with pure instinct, pure need. Her heart beat erratically with fear, and she only ran, dropping her sunglasses away from her, squinting in the sun.
It was too late. It was too late.
She burst through the crowd to find the victim on the ground.
It was too late.
"JASON!"
Alex dropped to her knees, suddenly overcome, voice crackling with pain, splintered with tears.
With a sob of panic, she crawled, ignoring the officer's warnings, pulling Jason to her, as his head dropped back into her lap.
His eyes were closed.
A red stain was quickly spreading on his stomach.
It was too late.
End chapter