28“You need me if you want to find the killer quickly.” I spoke in a rush, a frail lasso of words flung by a lone roper desperate to stop a prize animal from running away.
Chaka’s forward motion slowed.
“As for the money,” I said hurriedly, “I can call some people. Set something up.”
He halted.
“What’s your price?” I asked.
He pivoted to face me, his smile haughty. “One million dollars.”
I felt as if I’d touched a live wire, the shock of that seven-digit figure as electrifying as one hundred and ten volts pulsing through me. As soon as I’d linked the murders of Bjørn and Gerry to the attack on me, I’d known the underlying motive had to be greed. Now, Chaka was showing me that the stakes were higher than I’d dreamed.
Unless he was bluffing.
I laughed, the sound full of derision. “A
