Free Kiss of the Blue Dragon by Julie Beard Page B

enough not to call my birth mother a con artist, but that’s what he meant.
    I sighed, leaning forward. “What if Lola was reading Gorky’s fortune and made up something that intrigued him?”
    “If he believed in her talents, he could have hired her to be his personal psychic. The Russian culture is steeped in superstition.”
    “Do you suppose she might have blurted out something that made him think she’d actually had a psychic vision of something he wanted to keep secret? He didn’t know she was a scam artist or he wouldn’t have paid her for a reading.”
    Henry sipped his tea then wiped his silver mustache. “I don’t know, Angel. If he was worried that she had unearthed something important, he would have simply had her assassinated. Maybe she said something that made him think she could help him.”
    “So, how do I contact someone in the R.M.O.?”
    Henry raised a silver brow. “You’d better call Hank. If anyone would know what Gorky’s mob is up to, it would be Mr. Producer. If your little brother doesn’t know, he can hook you up with someone who does. They have researchers down at the TV station who do nothing but keep tabs on the mobs.”
    I smiled. “Yes, Hank does love to dig into corruption. Just like his dad. Thanks, Henry.” I stood and kissed his forehead, adding before he could, “And I promise I’ll be careful.”
    Just before I closed the oak-paneled door to Henry’s study, he called, “Angel?”
    “Yes?”
    “What if Lola really does have psychic powers? That might explain Gorky and the R.M.O.’s interest in her. Have you ever considered that possibility?”
    “No.” I willed my features to remain impassive. It would explain much more than Henry had evenconsidered. Like why I always knew what was coming around the pike. I was, after all, my mother’s daughter. “No, Henry, that’s not possible.”

Chapter 9
    What’s Wrong With This Picture?
    W hen I exited the bullet train station on Southport in Wrigleyville, I was assaulted by the odors of my neighborhood—whiffs of trash that tumbled on the broken pavement, stale beer wafting from dingy taverns and the pleasant aroma of plump and juicy beef hot dogs from corner vendors. The hot dog was practically a city mascot. Needless to say, the pleasant atmosphere of elite Evanston evaporated from my mind by the time I reached my block.
    I studied the intricate cracks in the sidewalk with my hands stuffed in my pockets, mulling over my conversation with Henry. I’d taken his advice and called Hank on my lapel phone on the ride back.Hank was going to look into the R.M.O. on the newsroom database and get back to me.
    Just before I reached the trees growing out of the pavement in front of my two-flat, something made me look up sharply. I saw Detective Marco leaning against a lamppost with his hands in his pockets. He was poised and graceful, yet solid and masculine. Defiantly so in a way I couldn’t quite get my hands around it. Something in his demeanor made a chill run up my spine. He was the kind of a man who would who never be happy just going to bed with you. He wouldn’t be happy until he’d crawled under your skin. Or inside your head.
    My chest tightened and I couldn’t get a full breath. I continued on and stopped when I was just close enough to inhale his pheromones. If he could bottle the stuff he’d make a million bucks.
    “What is it? Did they find Lola?”
    He shook his head. “No, but they’re looking. I’ve handed your case over to Detective Hoskins,” he said.
    I frowned. “What?”
    “I don’t think I can be objective about your mo—about Lola’s case. Hoskins is a good man. He’ll be contacting you today.”
    He handed me Hoskins’s card. I glanced at it, but refused to process the information. I didn’t want a stranger coming in at this point. It would be like starting from scratch. Besides, Marco and I had come to an understanding…I thought.
    I forced a bright smile. “I understand. You got