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Her jaw dropped before she remembered her mouth was full of toast “Why the hell not?” She wanted to scream in frustration

“Because our boy hashe’s about to et hi a lohistle, he pulled out a chair and sat down “What can you tell -lovely pics acco the vile posts

Looking at the High-Heeled Wonder’s bloodied carcass made the toast rhumba in Sylvie’s sto she’d spent years building Her audience would rebel Advertisers would abandon her Worst of all, her family and everyone she loved would pay the price, too Guilt by association was practically a bylaritten into the fashion world’s social contract

Whatever it took, she was going to hunt this weasel down andtime

She pointed at the wo cake “This is Estelle Vance She’s the prereat personality, and smart as hell She’s walked in several of my fathers’ shows” She pointed to the next picture “That’s Bob Shneizer, head buyer for Dylan’s Departht butt cheek”

“How can you tell whose ass it is?” He stared at the screen showing a woman’s body but not her face She couldn’t blaht ar off her cellulite-free behind to perfection as she lay on the glass coffee table

“Tattoo on her elbow” Sylvie touched the screen, an inch below the Olys tattoo “She won a silver medal in archery”

Tony grunted and leaned in for a closer look Close enough that his breath practically steamed up the screen

Sylvie fought the urge to kick him in the shins Hard

“Hot damn” His voice had risen an octave

“What?”

“There’s soht…here” His pointer finger landed three inches up from the crack of Mila’s ass

Squinting, she could alive up What is it?”

Tony clicked a camera icon on the desktop and opened the photo to full screen Mila’s butt took up seventy-five percent of the space He scrolled upward until the blur took center stage A few more clicks and he zooles appeared

An answer tugged at her subconscious, taunting her While she tried to yank the truth to the forefront, Tony grabbed his phone and dialed