Jill asked. Quinn steered the big Lincoln to swerve around a bus stopped for passengers and smiled over at her. “The pesky press, dear. They want to know what’s going on all the time.” Jill winced as the Lincoln’s right front fender barely missed the bus. “Isn’t that their job?” “Sure is. Right now, it’s my job to see that they don’t know about you. Because if they know, the killer will know.” If he doesn’t already. Quinn figured that if Jill’s story was accurate it was possible that the phony Madeline had related the elevator encounter to E-Bliss.org. Jill might already be in danger. A lot depended on whether the woman who’d been found dead in the subway tunnel was the woman in her story. Of course, if Jill didn’t identify the woman in the morgue as the real Madeline, that was no guarantee the real Madeline was still alive. At any given time, there was more than one undiscovered corpse somewhere in New York. Horns blasted as Quinn steered the Lincoln onto Second Avenue, headed the right direction now with the flow of traffic.
