tall enough to borrow my sister’s clothes when she doesn’t know I’m doing it, cute enough to get a boyfriend until he realizes what a dumpster fire I am. How’s that?”
“So if I can rephrase, you’re a tall, blonde-haired, green-eyed hottie who has good fashion sense and isn’t too full of herself. Fair?”
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh.
“Remind me to have you rework my online dating profile,” she said.
“Please tell me you don’t have one of those.”
“I’m just messing with you,” Hannah allowed.
“Thank god. An inability to feel standard human emotions I can handle. Dating, not so much. You get my point though, right?”
“What’s your point?” Hannah asked.
“You’ve got a lot going for you. You’re healthy. You’re smart. You’ve got a roof over your head. You’ve got a sister who loves you. And you’ve got me. Try to look at the positives.”
Hannah smiled despite herself. Kat was trying so hard. She decided to throw her a bone.
“You know, you’re really turning me around here. I think I may apply to Harvard on one of those runway model scholarships.”
The comment made her flash back to an odd conversation she’d had at school a few weeks ago with a girl who had also suggested that her good looks might work to her financial advantage.
“I got one of those,” Kat said, bringing Hannah back to the present. “But I joined the army instead.”
Hannah could tell the time for serious discussion had ended.
“I’m going to let you go. I’ve taken up enough of your time bitching about my life. Bask in your romance.”
“You’re sure you’re good?” Kat asked.
“Good enough.”
After she hung up, Hannah decided to go lie in the hammock in the back yard. Before that, she slipped into Ryan’s room to open his window so she could hear if he called out for help. He was fast asleep.
For half a second, she imagined herself pulling the pillow out from underneath his head and pressing it against his face, smothering him, and releasing him from the pain of his current existence.
The moment passed and she went outside. As she settled into the hammock, she allowed herself to buy into the image of herself that Kat had described. A picture of her sashaying down a fashion runway, wearing a cap and gown, filled her drowsy thoughts.
For now at least, as she drifted off, the idea of mercy killing her sister’s boyfriend faded away. When she eventually woke up, it was to the sound of Ryan moaning in pain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jessie thought he’d have a nicer house.
As she and Karen arrived at the home of Rance Jensen in their separate cars, she noted that the place was officially impressive. It was a two-story, Spanish mission–style home with elaborate designs on the exterior wall tile. But on closer inspection, the shingles were in disrepair. The grass in the yard was getting shaggy, and the paint job looked worn. For a big TV star, the guy didn’t seem to be keeping up appearances.
Before they went to the door, they went over their plan. This was the only guy on the list of suspects they’d developed at the law firm who they knew for certain had been at the party last night. At least two revelers they’d interviewed by the pool mentioned his name, specifically referring to his body autographing skills, so he seemed like a good choice to start with until Jamil got to look at the security footage.
“Be ready,” Jessie advised. “We already know the guy’s volatile. Whether he did this or not, we’ve seen that he’s capable of violence. That reporter he beat up still can’t see out of one eye and it’s been three years.”
“Got it,” Karen said in a tone that suggested she didn’t need any extra warnings. “Bad man likes to hit. Prepare to hurt.”
Jessie reminded herself that she was dealing with a pro and that her words of caution were not only unnecessary but a little insulting.
“Sorry,” she said.
Karen winked and with the mini-dispute resolved, they walked up to the front door, where the detective rang the bell. She had to press it twice more before the door was opened by a skinny, thirty-something guy in a bathrobe. His blond hair was in full bed head mode and he yawned for a good five seconds before speaking.
“I don’t do autographs at my home,” he said irritably, squinting at them through puffy hazel eyes.
“We’re not here for autographs, Mr. Jensen,” Karen said. “We’re—”
“I don’t give freebies either,” he said. “If I had a dime for