She was naked as a needle when they found her with her skull bashed in, but the police figured it didn't really make much difference who'd murdered the sultry Silvia. She had it coming. The killer wasn't her first lover, nor even her tenth, and anyone who wrote the searing, passionate letters she wrote, anyone who pranced naked with any guy she could lay her hands on had it coming. What difference did it make to the cops whose hand held the bloody blunt instrument.

To the kid with the edgy temper and the blonde in the tight leopardskin, it made a hell of a difference, for out of this sordid tabloid murder were to come blackmail, rape, and sudden death.