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shoulders slumped. Her hair was the same silvery blond as her mother's, but her roots didn't show. |
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'Come on back here,' Trev said, 'and we'll talk.' |
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He led the way toward the interrogation room. 'We don't want to end up on the news,' Francine said to his back. 'We don't want it all over town.' |
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He opened the door and held it for them. |
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'Is that understood?' Francine asked. |
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'We'll try to keep it between the three of us.' Trev said. |
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The girl gave him a wary glance as she stepped by. She'd been crying, and her face looked freshly scrubbed. Trev imagined that she might be a beautiful young woman if she ever smiled. She was shorter than her mother, but had the same buildhips and breasts that seemed too prominent for her otherwise slim figure. She probably kept the high school girls in a constant state of envy and the boys in heat. |
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She wore a pullover sweater that might have fit her a couple of years ago. She'd probably bought it too small, just as she'd probably bought the blue jeans pre-faded and pre-slashed. The legs of her jeans, fashionably ripped and frayed, made it look as if she'd been attacked by a knife-wielding midget. |
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A cloying odor of perfume swept past Trev as she stepped through the doorway. |
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A more exotic perfume followed Francine. Not as sweet, dark and wanton, mixed with odors of whiskey and stale smoke. |
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Trev stepped into the room. 'Please, sit down. Could I get you some coffee? We've got a soda |
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