Instead, excitement pumped through her veins. The chase was on, the suspects lining up; the hooker, her thick-necked buddy with the big ears, the wife, and now Baxter Newton. Not to mention the one she’d really like to nail to the wall, Bud himself. Someday, she’d prove how dirty his hands were. Who the hell was Baxter Newton to Julia La Russa? She’d get around to asking after she tackled Bud’s true motive for taking her to meet Julia. That question was of paramount importance to her. “When did you cook up this little assistant charade? Before Lance was even killed?” Even if Bud didn’t actually wield the weapon, there was a damn good chance that he had manipulated the murderer. He’d done it before. He’d damn near admitted that to her. One manicured hand held the wheel loosely at the bottom; the other Bud placed on the armrest between them. “Aren’t you going to thank me for getting you in, Max?” Max refused to scrunch up against the door to get away from him. She wasn’t afraid.
