Flash

the inside of my mouth up a little. It won't show in the morning."
    She could have sworn that she saw him wince when he switched on the ignition.
    "I'm not worried about how it will look," she said crisply. "I'm concerned about how much damage has been done."
    He glanced at her as he pulled away from the curb. "I appreciate that."
    His blasé attitude fueled her ire. She opened the glove box, found the small pack of tissues she kept inside, and yanked one out. She handed it to Jasper without a word.
    "Thank you."
    There was a short silence as he wiped the blood off his chin.
    "He could have had a gun," Olivia said finally.
    "Yeah."
    "You could have been killed."
    "I don't think he was any more of an expert at that kind of thing than we are."
    She recalled the quick glimpse she'd had of distorted features. "He was enough of an expert to wear a mask made out of half a pair of pantyhose."
    "He could have picked up that handy burglary tip by watching television," Jasper said. "I don't think it qualifies him as a pro."
    A beat of silence passed.
    "He could have been the hit-and-run driver who killed Melwood," Olivia said.
    "Could have been." Jasper sounded thoughtful now. "Hit-and-run doesn't seem like a real professional way to murder someone. Too uncertain. The victim might survive."
    "Even if he did, he would be seriously injured," Olivia said. "And very likely confined to a hospital for a few days, which would give whoever had tried to murder him some breathing room."
    "Good point. But either way, I think we can assume we're not dealing with a professional hit man."
    "I guess a real pro wouldn't have left his windbreaker behind." She picked up the black microfiber jacket that Jasper had tossed down onto the seat.
    Jasper gave it a sidelong look. "I don't suppose there's anything useful in the pockets?"
    "No. They're empty." She leaned forward and held the inside of the collar in the dash lights. The label was decorated with the logo of a familiar New York designer. "Whoever he is, he likes expensive clothes." She sat back "So what was he doing there?"
    "Two options spring to mind," Jasper said. "Either we ran into the local neighborhood prowler looking for a stereo and a VCR he could fence for drug money or—"
    "Or else he was there for the same reason we were," she concluded unhappily. "Looking for a blackmailer's files."
    "That about sums it up as far as I can see."
    "Good grief. I wonder how many people Melwood Gill was blackmailing?"
    "We won't know the answer to that until we find those damned files of Rollie's." Jasper slowed for a red light. "But I think we can assume one thing."
    She looked at him. "What's that?"
    "The other guy had more time to look around inside Gill's house than we did. The upstairs was torn apart. But whoever I tangled with on those stairs wasn't carrying anything except that brass planter. I don't think he found whatever it was he was looking for."
    "In other words, Uncle Rollie's files are still missing."
    "Yes."
    "But the blackmailer is dead. Surely that takes some of the pressure off all of us."
    Jasper shook his head once. "This thing won't be over until we find those files."

    Fifteen minutes later, stripped to the waist, Jasper leaned over the sink in Olivia's tiled bath. He splashed more cold water on his face, rinsing off the last traces of blood.
    When he was finished, he raised his head and studied his reflection in the mirror. His mouth was not a pretty sight, and he knew he would have a few bruises on his ribs from the stairs, but all in all, not too bad. With luck, the swollen lip would return to its normal size and shape by morning. He would have to be careful about what he ate for a couple of days, but he would not cause any undue comment in the office,
    "What's the verdict?" Olivia asked as she walked back into the bathroom with the roll of paper towels he had ordered.
    "The good news is, no black eye in the morning. With luck, I won't have any explaining to do." He ripped off one of the towels and used it to dry his face. "And I didn't even get any blood on your nice white towels."
    "I told you not to worry about the towels." She put the roll of paper towels down on the counter. "Are you sure you're all right?"
    "Yeah." He wadded up the used towel and tossed it into the waste can. "I'm okay."
    She opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and took out a small bottle. "Let me put some of this on your lip."
    He eyed the bottle warily. "What is it?"
    "Antiseptic." She already