The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker Page A

better.
    C.J. grinned over her shoulder. “He climbed out of the pool and took off his Speedo. That was pretty wonderful.”
    â€œI’ll bet.”
    â€œI like going over to Billy’s. He keeps a very neat house. It’s inspiring.”
    â€œThat’s the reason?”
    â€œWell, the sex. There is that.”
    Judy swung her foot. Changing the subject, she said, “What are you going to do about Kylie?”
    â€œIf she knows anything, I have to get it out of her.”
    â€œIt’s going to cost you.”
    â€œI’ll send Paul Shelby the bill.”
    Judy smiled. “You admire the kid’s chutzpah. ”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œYou do, admit it.” With a chuckle Judy set her chin in her palm. “Not often someone gets the better of C.J. Dunn. Even worse, a smartass teenager. How much for a year in college these days?”
    â€œShe’s going to school in Pensacola.” C.J. measured coffee into the filter. She turned on the coffeemaker and stared at it, letting out a long breath.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œHow did Kylie get involved with people like this? Drugs, drinking. A fake ID? And she got fired from her job, too.” Pushing away from the counter, C.J. said, “I can’t think about this now. What did you find out on Richard Slater?”
    â€œA couple of things. First, tell me what Shelby had to say.”
    â€œNot much. It was basically a repeat of what I told you last night.” C.J. found some mugs in the sink and washed them. “Shelby hired Slater two months ago. He doesn’t remember where Slater lives or how much they pay him.”

    Judy brushed some crumbs into her hand and sprinkled them into a potted geranium on the windowsill.
    â€œThat was on my list,” C.J. said. “You’re making me feel bad.”
    â€œSorry.” Judy grinned.
    Pouring the coffee, C.J. said, “Billy met Slater once. He thinks he’s basically a muscle-bound dimwit. Now it’s your turn. He’s going to call me at noon. What should I know about him?”
    â€œWell, for one thing,” Judy said, “Billy Medina is dead wrong.”
    C.J. looked at her from across the kitchen as she stirred in the milk.
    â€œI followed the Shelbys’ car from the concert last night. Just curious, you know? Slater dropped the Finches off in Coral Gables and took the Shelbys home to Cocoplum, where he picked up his own car, an Audi with dark tints on the windows. I don’t know when he made me, but he did. Coming back up Dixie, he took off like a rocket and left me stuck in traffic. Very slick move. I was parked on the circle at Sunset Drive, and I bet he read my license plate.”
    C.J. brought the mugs. “It doesn’t matter. You work for me. I wanted to know who my client is. So tell me about him.”
    Judy rummaged in her bag, found an envelope, and took out some pages. On top was an enlarged color copy of a Florida driver’s license. Richard A. Slater. All the charm of a mug shot. The man’s hair was shaved close to his scalp. Brown or hazel eyes—it was hard to tell—stared through narrowed lids. A small scar made a pale line above one of his straight, dark brows. His jaw and lips were obscured by a closely trimmed mustache and short beard. His collar seemed too tight, and his shoulders looked massive. Five-ten, 200 pounds, age thirty-eight, living in a Latino neighborhood west of downtown.
    She grimaced. “My new client.”
    â€œIt’s a driver’s license photo. You should see mine. I think he’s kinda sexy. Check out the birth date. He’s a Scorpio. Same as me. Passionate, intelligent—but secretive and stubborn. You’re a Leo. You might get along with him.”
    â€œI’m sure.” C.J. sipped her coffee. “What else have you got?”
    Judy unfolded a pair of purple-framed reading glasses. “I ran his name, DOB, and social