Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,103
a look over her shoulder, like she was just waiting for him to say something about joining her.
He said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Will, why didn’t you use your key?” She didn’t have to crane her neck to look at him and he realized she was still wearing her high heels. She said, “You still have your key. Why did you sit out here in the cold?”
He smelled alcohol on her breath. “Have you been drinking?”
She sighed, giving him another whiff of what had to be whiskey. “Come in,” she said, shoving her key into the lock. “My neighbors get enough of a show with me flashing my cootch every time I get out of the fucking car.”
Will followed her inside and closed the door behind him.
She kicked off the stilettos by the couch and slid into a pair of pink flip-flops. Angie hated going barefoot.
“You don’t need to be here.” She flipped on the hall lights, talking and undressing as she walked toward the bedroom. “I’ve had the shittiest day of my life. All the girls are freaked out about Aleesha and they just kept fucking crying all night, as if my day wasn’t bad enough already.” He saw her naked back, the slope down her spine that disappeared into her pink panties, right before she slammed her bedroom door. “Three o’clock, I got a call from Lieutenant Canton,” she continued, her voice muffled through the door. “He made me come in early and work with that fucker Ormewood all afternoon to find some stupid files from back when he was in Vice.”
Will remembered that Michael had said he’d go through the files, but he was surprised the man had followed through, considering the state he was in the last time Will had seen him.
“I had to spend two hours sitting in this God damn skirt”—he heard something thump against the wall and assumed it was the skirt—“with that asshole breathing down my neck, joking with me like he was my best fucking friend.”
Will had used his key about an hour earlier to put Aleesha Monroe’s mail on the coffee table so he didn’t have to hold it all night. He sat down on the couch now and went through it, stacking the letters into neat piles for Angie.
“I swear to God, Will,” Angie began, coming back up the hallway. “Some days I look at those girls and think they get better treatment from their pimps than I do from these cocksuckers I have to work with.”
The flip-flops slapped against her heels as she walked into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator door open, then ice hitting a glass. She opened a bottle and poured something, then slammed the refrigerator again. Seconds later, she sat on the couch beside him, kicked off the shoes, and took a healthy swig from the glass.
Will couldn’t help it. His spine straightened like a Catholic schoolgirl’s. “Are you going to drink that in front of me?”
She pushed her bare foot against his leg, saying, “Just until you start to look pretty.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” she teased, nudging him again.
He turned to look at her, which was exactly what she had been waiting for. Angie was lying back on the couch, her foot still pressed against his leg. She had put on a short black robe and nothing else. The belt was tied loosely around her waist and he could see a tuft of hair between the folds.
Will felt his throat tighten. His mouth was so full of saliva that he pressed his lips together to keep from drooling.
She said, “I guess you found out my guy’s a pedophile.”
Will stood up so quickly he got a head rush. “What?”
“Shelley,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m assuming you pulled his sheet?”
Will put his hand to his eyes, like taking away his ability to see her would change what he had just heard. “He’s a pedophile?”
She gave him a funny smile. “You realize you’re yelling?”
Will lowered his voice. “You asked me to check up on a pedophile for you?” He walked to the fireplace, wanting to punch his fist through the brick. “What the hell are you thinking? Is that who you’re seeing now? Jesus, I was worried about Ormewood and now you’re—”
“What did he say?”
Her tone had changed, and the air in the room seemed to turn cold along with it.
He asked, “What did who say?”
She sat up on the couch, crossing her legs, covering herself with the robe. “You know damn well what I’m