Page 12 of Killer Knows Best

“I don’t know,” he says. “The guy told Riley that if she went looking, she’d spook her sister and that she’d probably never see her again.”

I shake my head. Marco told Fallon that Riley had all the info to land Erin at her feet.

I frown back at the falls and soak in the bionic rush of water, flanked with an overgrowth of oaks and pines. The oaks are a brilliant shade of ruby, easily winning out in the attention department.

Erin doesn’t want attention; neither do the Morettis.

“Anything else?” I give Jet another shove as I ask the question.

“Something about Elmwood.”

“Is she living there?” I can’t seem to keep the hint of alarm out of my voice.

“I don’t know. He said Elmwood was part of her hub.”

“Hub.” I squeeze my eyes shut a moment. “What else?”

“That’s it.” He raises his hands as if surrendering. “Don’t worry. I told Riley we needed to let the two of you handle things and she agreed.” His lips twitch at the corners and lets me know he’s lying.

“Okay,” I say, giving him a pat to the arm that could leave a bruise. “Get back to work.”

We head back inside and split ways. By the time I get to the booth, my breakfast is waiting for me, sans the sausages I ordered.

“Don’t look at me.” Fallon fights the smile tugging at her lips. “Buddy prefers sausage and we both know it.” Her expression darkens as she hitches her head in the direction my brother took off in and I quickly relay everything I gleaned.

There’s no point in keeping anything from her. I don’t see myself as her knight in shining armor—more like her partner in wiping out the filth that lives among us.

“Elmwood,” she practically mouths the word to herself as she says it. “Good to know.” She casts a dark look at her mother as she works the register. “Nikki called. She says she nailed downthe location where we can find the dirtbag who rented out that room at the Grand Meadows Hotel.”

“Sounds like our day is taking shape.”

She nods. And judging by that faraway look in her eyes, she’s got more than one person she’d like to track down today. Too bad Erin Baxter is as elusive as a ghost.

But our first suspect in last night’s double homicide isn’t.

We wolf down our food and I drop a wad of cash on the table as we speed for the door.

Rush Simmons has a lot of explaining to do. Only this time he won’t get a chance to skirt around the truth like he did with the deputies last night.

If he wants to maintain his freedom, he’s going to have to sing just like that lousy band he manages.

Here’s hoping there are enough clues in his lyrics to track down a killer.

9

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

We head back to Whispering Woods, drop off my truck, and do a quick change out of the clothes we’ve been wearing for far too long before jumping into Jack’s SUV.

Buddy seems just as anxious as we are to get to the House of Rock in downtown Denver, a rusty brick building set between a bowling alley and an Italian restaurant.

The House of Rock is a large venue with far too little parking to accommodate the masses it attracts on a nightly basis. Inside, it’s dimly lit, the air is as cold as it is outdoors, and the scent of booze and greasy fries lights up our senses.

Rock music blares through speakers as a smattering of customers are being serviced by a waitstaff who looks less than thrilled to be here. Since they serve a light menu during their shows, they’re open for lunch as well, and seeing that it’s coming up on noon, it seems we made it just in time.

But we’re not here to eat, much to Buddy’s dismay, and most likely Jack’s. We’re here to find a band manager whose clientele’s hankering for prostitutes just left him in the deep end of a double homicide investigation.

I make sure with a staff member near the door that Buddy is allowed inside and they make a quip about him being better behaved than most of their patrons. I’d gather they’re correct in that estimation.

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