It was the name she used when she and Isaac were alone, the name she’d like to use when the game was done and they were living the high life. Sylvia was classy, elegant, and Isaac liked class. The cop bitch called her Stella, but Stella was long ago. Another game, but that one had left her more dry than high. Richard Troy. Now that was a name from the past. How had that bitch of a cop known about Stella and Rich? Rich’s flapping mouth, that’s how. It was the only way she could angle it. He must be doing time somewhere, the fucking asshole, and worked some sort of deal for flipping on her. But how had he known to flip? Didn’t matter. Not as long as Rich was jerking off in a cage somewhere. She’d given the son of a bitch her best, too. More than her best. For Christ’s sake, she’d carried that sniveling brat of a kid in her belly for nine months. For Rich. Train it, he’d said.
