Think Twice

“That doesn’t mean he had anything to do with your son’s murder. Maybe Bo is dead too. Like you said. Maybe Joey got revenge—”

“No. If Joey murdered Bo, why would he be so obsessed with finding him? He’d already know where he was.”

Good point.

“Maybe it’s like you said before,” Myron tried. “Bo was scared. His boyfriend gets murdered. He testifies against the killer. Maybe Bo thinks he’s next.”

“Maybe. Okay, sure, I doubt it, but who knows? It’s possible. And when we find him, Bo can explain all that. But either way, you, Myron, gave us the first big clue in a long time.”

“That being?”

“Greg Downing.”

“I’m not following.”

“Bo’s a good-looking kid. My top dancer for a while. Sexy as all hell. But — how to put this — Bo’s belt doesn’t go through all the loops, if you know what I mean. He’s not that smart or resourceful, certainly not enough to pull off murdering my son and framing someone like Joey the Toe for it.” She leaned forward now. “But if someone like Greg Downing was in the picture, if Greg fell in love with those six-pack abs and that tight little ass...”

Win sat in the empty prison visiting room across from Joey the Toe.

“Jazz is your cousin,” Win said to him. “That’s why I let him live.”

Joey sat with his arms crossed. He wasn’t cuffed or manacled. There were no barriers between them. It was long past closing hours, but that didn’t matter with Joey the Toe. He ran the place.

“So you let him live,” Joey said with a shrug. “Is that supposed to mean I owe you a favor?”

“It does not. You sent men after my friend.”

“Clearly not my best men.”

“I would hope not.”

“I should have sent more.”

“I don’t think it would have changed the outcome,” Win said.

“No, I guess not. You had a locator on Bolitar’s phone.”

“Yes.”

“But we moved his phone.”

“There’s one on his watch too.”

Joey the Toe shook his head. “How did my morons miss that?”

“There was also the car.”

“What about it?”

“Your guys drove my friend in the limo driver’s SUV. The limo company tracks all its cars.”

“To make sure none of the drivers takes a little side action,” Joey noted with an approving nod. “Smart. So what do you want?”

Win leaned back and steepled his fingers. “You’re searching for Bo Storm.”

“Duh.”

“I can hurt you. You can hurt me. Neither of us needs the headache. So let me explain the situation: We will find Bo Storm. And when we do, we will notify you.”

Joey the Toe gave him the stink eye. “Notify me.”

Win said nothing.

“Why do you want to find him?” Joey asked.

“He may be connected to another murder.”

“Really?” Joey the Toe found that amusing. “Interesting, eh? Then this Jordan Kravat kid, he isn’t the only one Bo murdered? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Joey the Toe leaned back and stroked his beard. “This other murder,” he said. “Do the cops like someone other than Bo for it?”

The question caught Win off guard. He considered how to answer the question and decided to go with the truth. “Yes. How did you know?”

“And let me guess. Someone you know — a friend maybe — is about to go down for it?”

“More of a client than a friend,” Win said. “But yes.”

Joey smiled.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t murder Jordan Kravat. Yeah, yeah, I know you hear that all the time, but I got no reason to lie to you, do I?”

“You don’t.”

“I got framed. This other murder you’re talking about, your client, friend, whatever, he’s also being framed. Like me. What kind of evidence do they got on him? DNA? Fingerprints?”

“DNA.”

Joey shook his head with a grin. “Hot damn. He’s done it again.”

Chapter Ten

Win’s penthouse suite at the Wynn wasn’t as palatial as one might think. Oh, it was pretty fantastic and it had the mirror on the ceiling and all of that, but the biggest ones were more homes near the golf courses and Win didn’t like that. He wanted to be inside, where the action is.

“I have a lead,” Win said to Myron.

“Oh?”

“Correction: Esperanza found the lead. I came up with an inspired idea with what to do with the lead.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Win blanched. “Never say that again.”

“Right, my bad. The lead?”

“Esperanza didn’t find anything on your Brian Connors.”

“That’s the lead?”

“Does that sound like a lead? As you know, she ran that image search for our friend Bo-Storm-né-Brian-Connors over the last five years.”

“And nothing came up.”

“So she ran it the other direction.”

“Going further backward in time?”

“Yes.”

“So photos more than five years old.”

“This one is more than ten. Here.”

Win handed Myron an 8 × 10 glossy photograph. Myron looked at it. He felt his pulse pick up a step.

“Whoa.”

“Always a way with words.”

There were two people in the photograph. One was a very young Bo Storm. Myron would guess that he was sixteen, maybe seventeen. He wore a tank top. His muscles were big but not as defined as they would later be. Bo was tall from what Myron could see. Myron was six four and he’d guess that Bo was about the same.

The other man in the photograph made Bo look small.