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Chapter Twelve

“I tell wo they read about fashion”

—Geoffrey Beene

Using his sunglasses as a shield, Tony peered at Carlos Castillo’s clothes while they waited for Ivy Rhodes to answer her door Maltese Security’s IT guru looked like he bought all his clothes at a Coh-tops, dark-wash jeans, and a black Firefly T-shirt A leather strap angled across his chest, leading down to a brownwith a blue telephone booth airbrushed on the flap

“’Los, ith the fashion industry, we’ve got to get you some decent clothes”

“No way, uy in a nice suit, run the other way, because he doesn’t know jack shit about what he’s doing”

Okay He ht have a point

The door opened the two inches Ivy’s chain lock allowed

“You don’t look like any of the Jehovah’s Witness or Morlanced at her watch—“eight o’clock on the dot Man, theearly”

Carlos smiled at his shoes “Ivy Rhodes?”

The IT guy’s light Spanish accent softened her nairls did when Carlos hit them with the rolled Rs—she relaxed and smiled coyly Tony had seen it a million times ’Los never noticed

“Uh-huh?” Her eyelashes fluttered

“Carlos Castillo with Maltese Security” ’Los held up a black business card “Can we come in?”

The fluttering stopped abruptly “We?”

Tony stepped into her two-inch-wide field of vision “Hi, Ivy We need to talk about Sylvie”