LITMIR.BIZ

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do you propose I do that?”

      “Omit, omit, omit.”

      “What if I screw up?”

      “You won’t. And if you do, you’d better hope to hell you get that other reporter instead of Pauline Kirby because she’ll eat you alive.”

      The news came on at five and Auggie, who’d flopped himself on the bed and gone channel surfing the last ten minutes, switched to Channel Seven’s News at Five. His antennae were very aware of Liv Dugan, who had settled on the couch as if she were done for the day.

      He called out to her. “You want anything to eat? You missed lunch.”

      “I’m not hungry,” she called back.

      “You should eat something.”

      He heard her rustle around and then she was standing in his doorway. There was something elfin about her large eyes and pale face, but her chin was stubborn, and her arms were crossed.

      “Wanna go get something to eat?” he asked. “I just was going to check the news.”

      “I don’t want to show my face anymore than I have to.”

      “But food . . .” He tried on his most winning smile. “It’s how we stay alive.”

      “I don’t think I could eat anything. I’m just . . .” She looked over her shoulder as if she’d heard something. “I’m just not hungry.”

      “There’s a deli about two miles away with the best soup around. I’ll go get some after the news and bring it back.”

      “Maybe I could go and wait in the car,” she said, looking worried.

      “Sure. Whatever . . .”

      The lead story was a murder from the night before. Auggie looked at the screen as the young male reporter was saying that the shooting had happened around nine o’clock. The camera revealed a parking lot and then led them up to the second story where it zeroed in on a length of balcony toward one end of the building.

      The gasp from Liv was almost a shriek. Her hands were at her mouth, and she was gaping at the television. Auggie’s gaze slammed from her back to the screen.

      “. . . Laurelton police are waiting to notify next of kin before releasing the male victim’s name. If anyone has information, please contact the authorities. . . .”

      “What?” Auggie asked her. “What?” But he was getting that strange feeling, like electricity running beneath his skin, that said something momentous was about to happen.

      “That’s my apartment.”

      He jumped off the bed, wishing to high heaven he had a DVR at this place. “Your apartment?” he snapped. He’d seen her apartment from the backside, but then she’d appeared on foot with her backpack and he’d followed her, never actually turning off the main road and into the drive of her parking lot.

      “Who . . . who . . . oh, my God . . . Trask? Is it Trask?” She swayed on her feet, and he took two large steps and grabbed her by the arms, steadying her.

      “The neighbor? The one who saw the photos?”

      “Maybe it’s someone else. Maybe it’s . . .” She couldn’t come up with another alternative.

      The news had moved on and suddenly there was Pauline Kirby, standing in a bright blue dress outside a two-story glass building with a large wooden door and thrusting a microphone toward Lieutenant Aubrey D’Annibal. The image caught Auggie unawares and he stood there in frozen surprise, his hands still clasped around Liv’s shaking shoulders.

      “That’s Zuma,” Livvie choked out.

      “Lieutenant, can you give us an update on the mass murder that took place here yesterday? Do you know what precipitated this deadly slaughter?”

      D’Annibal winced a bit at the word “slaughter.” “We’re still sifting through evidence and interviewing employees.”

      She jumped on that. “Has the missing employee been found? Ms. Dugan?”

      The faintest hesitation and Auggie held his breath. D’Annibal said, “As soon as more information’s available, we’ll make sure the public’s made aware. Zuma Software’s owner, Mr. Kurt Upjohn, is through surgery, as is the other injured employee, Ms. Jessica Maltona.”

      “We understand they’re both critical,” Pauline said.

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Aaron Dirkus, one of the deceased, was Kurt Upjohn’s son. Is Mr. Upjohn aware his son is dead?”

      Auggie sucked air between his teeth while D’Annibal did something similar on the screen. “Yes,” he stated flatly.

      “He suffered bullet wounds to his abdomen, whereas Ms. Maltona was shot in the chest?”

      “We hope to have some good news about their recovery soon,” D’Annibal deflected.

      “Is it true Zuma Software was creating software for the military?” Pauline leaned forward, trying to create a fake kind of tête-à-tête.

      D’Annibal didn’t buy it for a minute. “As soon as we learn something definitive, we’ll let you know. Thank you.” And he moved away. The show cut to Pauline staring directly at the camera as she wrapped up with comments about how she hoped good news would be forthcoming about capturing the gunmen so we could all sleep more soundly in our beds.

      Liv had collapsed against Auggie, and he’d wrapped his arms around her. He led her to the bed and had her sit down. She seemed to be boneless, so he told her to lie down, and she did so with a blank look on her face.

      “Trask,” she said. “It’s Trask.”

      “What’s his last name?”

      “Um . . .” Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t . . . Martin, I think.”

      “I’m gonna go find out what happened,” he answered, already moving, already planning.

      “I’m going with you.”

      “Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll get some more information and I’ll bring back some soup.”

      “I don’t want you to leave,” she said, swallowing hard.

      He’d been halfway out of the room, but now he crossed back to the bed. Looking down at her, he said tautly, “I’ll be back. I promise. Do you believe me?”

      She hesitated. “Yes. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but yes, I believe you.”

      “Stay put. Try to relax. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

      “An hour . . .”

      “Or so,” he said. “Don’t panic. Trust me.”

      She nodded, and he was gone.

      He phoned the lieutenant as soon as he was out of view of the house. D’Annibal answered on the second ring, as if he were waiting for his call, which he probably was.

      “Where the hell are you, Rafferty?” D’Annibal demanded as an intro.

      Auggie shot back, “What happened to this Trask Martin? Who’s on that? He’s Liv Dugan’s neighbor.”

      “We know that. Did she tell you his name?” he asked suspiciously. “We didn’t release it.”

      “Yeah, she told me. She nearly fainted when she saw that he’d been gunned down!”

      “You know, the only reason we’re not chasing her down like a dog is because supposedly she’s been with you,” he returned levelly.

      “She

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