Hostile Makeover by Ellen Byerrum Page B

but it seemed to get them really hot. She cut him off.
    “Focus, Damon. Your buddy, code name Turtledove? I need to get ahold of Forrest Thunderbird. Is that his real name? And before you get carried away, it’s just for background on a fashion story. He’s bodyguarding for Amanda Manville.”
    “Amanda Manville, the human Barbie doll?”
    “Yes, Damon, the same.”
    “Is she missing? Dead? Kidnapped? A sex slave to a senator or a Saudi prince?”
    “Chill, Damon. She’s alive and well.” So far.
    “Have you heard she’s a guinea pig for the government? They’re turning out bionic combat superbabes under the guise of a tawdry plastic-surgery reality show, right before our very eyes. Manville is the prototype. I got an anonymous e-mail—”
    “It’s a theory,” Lacey conceded. “Are you having fun?”
    “I like it. There are rumors. And where there are rumors, there is some truth. So tell me what this is all about.”
    “How can I talk to you seriously, Newhouse? You take my words and twist them into something completely different.”
    “I improve them.”
    Unrepentant idiot.
    “Are you going to give me the information?” He hesitated. “I’ll call Brooke and she’ll break your resistance.”
    “Indeed, I am Brooke’s love slave. And she is my blond goddess.” Damon gave Lacey a cell phone number for Turtledove. “But I get first Web links on any sensational stuff you unearth. And I’ll follow up for my readers.”
    “I was afraid of that. But you get nothing until after The Eye Street Observer gets it.” She signed off and pondered where to start on the Amanda story.
    Who was Amanda Manville anyway? A plastic supermodel, a butterfly caught in a net, waiting only to impaled on a spike by the media and added to their collection of beautiful dead things? It was a dismal thought, and Lacey chided herself for it. She left a voice message for Forrest, a.k.a Turtledove. As soon as she hung up, the phone rang. Wow, that didn’t take long, Lacey thought. Not expecting a call so soon from Turtledove, she was betting the call was from Brooke, and The Eye ’s new caller ID confirmed it.
    “Lacey, what’s the story? Damon said you called.”
    “No court today?”
    “Just doctoring some briefs. Boring. You’re writing about Amanda Manville?” There was an air of expectation in her voice.
    Lacey started keying in her notes on her computer while listening to Brooke. “A fashion story. She’s unveiling a new line of clothing at Snazzy Jane’s in Georgetown.”
    “Well, I’m sure you’ve already heard the wicked rumors about her.” Brooke purred like a cat hoarding a bowl of juicy information.
    “What rumors?” That she’s crazy? It’s not a rumor. “Tell me.”
    “About her old boyfriend. You know, the ugly one that was on that TV show.”
    “Caleb Collingwood?”
    “Umm-hmmm. They say she killed him. As in murdering him, depriving him of life.”
    “Oh, that rumor. Sure, but she denies everything,” Lacey said. “She says he killed himself. After meeting Amanda, I can see why he would.”
    “So the notorious supermodel can torment men to their death?”
    “I think he ran away from her as fast as his long, tall legs could carry him. She’s a mean girl, middle-school scary. If she’s a killer it’s in the grand tradition of Lucrezia Borgia.” Lacey leaned back in her chair, knowing it would be a few minutes before Brooke would let her get back to her keyboard.
    “She probably is a killer, and I bet it had something to do with the Bionic Babe Project.”
    “The Bionic Babe Project? Is this that conspiracy theory Damon was ranting about?”
    “Why do you suppose she was never prosecuted for his murder?”
    “Maybe because there was no body?”
    “A technicality.”
    “Are we in ‘Smoking Gun’ territory?” Lacey knew that Brooke was also a devoted follower of that muckraking Web site.
    “I’m afraid the rumors are not that reliable. But it’s supposedly top