by Jami Alden
His dark eyes narrowed. “Because like the guy said, you seem to have a knack for getting yourself into trouble lately.”
“It’s not your job to keep me out of trouble, Cole.”
He flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Since I’ve been suspended for leaking Bianca’s identity before Tasso released it, I have a lot of free time.”
Megan felt a stab of guilt. He must have been going crazy, not being able to work the case and, worse, knowing his career hung in the balance because of her recklessness. “I know it doesn’t help, but I’m really sorry. You know I didn’t mean to mess anything up for you this time.”
“Yeah, we’re all sorry about a lot of things,” he said as he steered her to an empty table near the end of the bar. Megan hung her purse on the back of the chair he pulled out and took a seat. “Now, how about you tell me what the hell you thought you’d accomplish by coming here.”
Megan darted a nervous glance around the club. “Shouldn’t we go? Jack was pretty adamant….”
Cole shrugged his broad shoulders, unconcerned. “I’m not worried about him.”
That makes one of us.
He flagged down a waitress and ordered a round of drinks, a single malt for himself and an extra-dirty vodka martini for her, extra olives.
Megan tried to tell herself there was no significance in the fact he remembered her favorite cocktail.
“How do you know that guy?” Cole said, an edge creeping into his voice.
“I met him here last week, right after Bianca was murdered. I came here to find out if they knew anything. If there was any way…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“If you didn’t find out anything then, why come back tonight?”
Megan shifted in her chair, grateful when the waitress appeared with the drinks. It took two bracing gulps of icy vodka before she could bring herself to meet Cole’s dark cop stare. She leaned across the small lacquered table even though no one was likely to hear her over the music. “I found something in Bianca’s house.”
Cole’s hand smashed down on the table hard enough to make the ice in his glass jump. “Please tell me you told Tasso and Lieutenant Chin.”
“It really wasn’t much of anything, just a cocktail napkin—”
“For fuck’s sake, Megan! Breaking and entering? Removing items from a victim’s residence—”
Megan put a hand up in defense. “I didn’t remove anything, I swear! I was looking through some clothes in one of the closets and found a Club One cocktail napkin.” She held up the one that came with her drink for emphasis. “But I left it there, for you guys to find. And I left the picture of Bianca from the Web site too,” she said, as though it had just occurred to her.
“What Web site?” Cole asked, his voice grim.
“I think it might have been advertising an escort service,” Megan said, “but I uldn’t access it.” She ignored the pinch of guilt for not providing all of the details about the site and her suspicions about the blonde.
“And you didn’t mention this when you were questioned because…”
Megan shrugged. “People tend to clam up once the police get involved, and even if they did talk, the cops aren’t looking for the answers I need.” She tilted her chin up, refusing to feel like a scolded teenager under his censure. “If Agent Tasso and the task force decide those are leads worth following, I haven’t done anything to stop them. Besides,” she said, heaviness settling over her shoulders as she took another drink, “no one here seems to know much of anything.” Or if they do, she thought as the blonde’s face flashed in her mind, they’re not inclined to talk about it. “But maybe Tasso and Chin will have more luck than I did.”
“No matter what, Megan, you’ve got to promise me you’ll stop doing this. If you’re not careful, you’re looking at an obstruction-of-justice charge.”
She looked at him across the table, his expression both frustrated and concerned. For her. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to promise him anything he asked.
“I need to go,” she said, jumping abruptly from her chair. Another sip of vodka and this night was going to end very, very badly.
His big hand clamped down on her arm. “Wait. Promise me you’ll stop.”
She shook her head. “I’m out of options, Cole. If I think there’s any way I can help Sean, I’m going to do it.”
“Then let me help you. I’m a detective. This is what I do.”
She smiled thinly. “Really? You’ll help me prove the innocence of a man you believe with every fiber of your being is guilty?”
His dark gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll help you find the truth, whatever it is.”
She wanted to believe him. She so badly wanted to have someone to help her through this.
Not just anyone, she admitted to herself. She wanted Cole. She wanted to be back in that place with him where she could trust, where she felt safe, protected, and though he’d never said it out loud, loved.
But there was no going back, and as much as she wished she could take him at his word, Cole was a cop, first, last, and always, suspension or not. He would help her only as much as it helped him protect his job.
“Promise me,” he prodded. “Promise you’ll call me before you go off chasing another crazy lead.”
“I’ll think about it.” She paused. “And if I do, will you promise to stop tailing me all over the place?”
His lips curved into a half smile as he rose from his chair. “I’ll think about it.”
He walked her to the front of the club, retrieved their coats from the coat check, and walked Megan to her car. She rummage through her purse for her key, flustered at the way he stood so close, blocking her in, keeping her safe, his gaze constantly scanning for danger that might come from any corner.
He snatched the key from her hand, unlocked the door, and reached for the door handle. This brought his face level with hers, so close she could smell the sandalwood scent of his aftershave, the smoky aroma of scotch on the breath that wafted across her cheek. He paused there for several seconds, and she could feel the coiled tension emanating from his body.
A quarter turn and her lips would be on his…
The door latch clicked, and the door swung open. Megan slid into the driver’s seat. “Drive safe,” Cole said, and closed the door.
Megan wasn’t surprised to see Cole’s headlights tailing her home or to see his Jeep pull up behind her. She shook her head as she got out of the car. Even if she’d been suspicious of him following her, she would have been looking for an unmarked Crown Vic. At least now she knew what to look for.
“You don’t have to come up with me,” she protested as Cole opened his door.
He gave her a hard look and held out his hand for her keys.
Megan handed them over, too tired to argue, and led him up the stairs. He unlocked her door, opened it, and ducked his head in for a quick look around before he moved out of the way.
Her chest went tight at the small gesture of chivalry. It had surprised her at first, that under his hard, almost gruff exterior lived a gentleman who opened doors for her, held her arm when they crossed a street, and never let her walk alone into a dark apartment. She hadn’t realized until that second how much she’d missed the feeling of having someone look after her.
“Well, good night,” she said hastily before her case of the warm fuzzies made her do something stupid.
“Hey,” he said, catching her by the shoulder before she could go inside. His hand rested there, in the curve where her neck and shoulder met. His thumb stroked along her collarbone as he looked at her with an expression of lust… but there was something else there too. Something she knew would send her right into his arms if she thought too hard about it. “You don’t have to do this on your own. But I can’t help you if you keep things from me.”
He bent his head, and she braced herself to push him away even as her lips tingled in anticipation of tasting his. But his lips landed on her forehead ins
tead, warm and comforting and somehow even harder to resist than if he’d gone for all-out seduction.
“You stay safe,” he whispered, and jogged down the stairs before she could reply. She told herself she was glad he left, because she wasn’t sure she would have had it in her to push him out if he was determined to stay.
And yet, she couldn’t suppress a wistful sigh as she snapped on the light and waved to him from the front window. She felt the tug of regret as she watched his taillights disappear into the night and hopelessly wished that she could manipulate the time-space continuum and somehow go bato before any of this had ever happened. Push the reset button and get her life back on the path it was supposed to travel.
Love. Marriage. Kids.
With Cole.
Well, she’d been on that path, she thought. Bitterness chased away the wistfulness as she remembered how she’d been so sure she and Cole were meant for each other that she hadn’t even noticed that Cole wasn’t exactly on the same page.
She shook her head and scrubbed her eyes against the sting of tears. What was it her grandfather said? Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.
Right. That about summed it up.
She sank to the couch, yanked off her toe-crunching heels, and grabbed her evening bag to retrieve her driver’s license and credit card to put back in her wallet before she forgot.
She grabbed the plastic, her phone, and the little stack of business cards she’d brought with her. She put the pile on the table, her heart rate picking up when she saw that one had something written on the back.
Please meet me tomorrow, 1pm, at the Hillside Motel, room 104. Please come alone.
Megan read the polite meeting request twice. It was from the blonde; it had to be. She must have slipped it into Megan’s purse.
Promise you’ll call me before you go off chasing another crazy lead.
She sat back, flicking the card with her thumbnail. Guilt stabbed her conscience, but she resisted the urge to call him. She’d made Cole no promises. And while he was full of reassurance, he hadn’t made any promises not to go straight to Tasso or Chin with any information she brought him.
Besides, she’d tell him everything she found out, providing there was anything worth telling.
Stephanie stared at the door and used the butt of her current cigarette to light the next one. She’d been in the room only half an hour and was almost halfway through the pack. The smoke seared her throat and stung her eyes, but she sucked it down, desperate for the nicotine’s calming effects.
It had been so long since she’d smoked; she was almost feeling high. That was one of the many rules. Clients could do whatever they wanted, but the girls couldn’t smoke. They weren’t allowed to be noticeably intoxicated or use drugs—unless the client insisted.
Some guys couldn’t get off unless they knew you were sharing the high.
They also had to keep themselves immaculately groomed from head to toe, and especially in between, and maintain their appearance in accordance to specifications, which varied from girl to girl.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair. First thing she was going to do after she left todim. Sheas to dye her hair dark, maybe get a weave until she could grow this shit out. Or shit, shave it off altogether. Anything but the platinum-blond, spiky pixie cut that had come to symbolize her role, her part, her character. The edgy, slightly exotic elfin girl who would do anything you wanted with a smile on her face, the one whose delicate, adolescent body let you indulge in fantasies of fucking your teenage daughter’s girlfriends. Or hell, your teenage daughter herself.
It wasn’t her job to judge. It was her job to follow the rules.
And she was about to break the number one, most important rule of all.
Don’t talk. About herself. About them. About what she did and who she did it with.
Because everyone knew what happened to the few who tried to get out before their time was up, the handful who threatened to tell, thinking that would be a ticket out.
It was a ticket out, all right, if you considered being stuffed in a body bag with a cut throat a good means of escape.
Her stomach twisted and she rose from the bed, telling herself she should get out of here before Megan showed up. Hadn’t Stephanie just received a friendly warning to keep her mouth shut just two nights ago?
He just said not to talk to the police. He didn’t say anything about not talking to anyone else.
Right. Try to argue that with your throat sliced.
She was taking an enormous risk, and for what? A bunch of dumb girls with stars in their eyes who knew what they were getting into from the beginning and should have damn well known whether or not they could handle it.
But Bianca… She had been her friend. She’d looked out for Stephanie from the start, taken her under her wing, taught her how to survive with some piece of her soul intact. Bianca was already three years into the business, while Stephanie was only six months into her contract, such as it was. Bianca had seen a lot more shit go down, had girls she knew disappear on her, victims of a fate they all suspected but no one wanted to say out loud.
She couldn’t blame Bianca for wanting to get out, for wishing she could reconnect with her family and start life over. Stephanie rubbed away the sting of tears. Bianca had known the risks, but she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. None of those girls did.
Risky or not, Stephanie couldn’t sit quietly by and let her friend’s killer get away with it. Besides, even if they were watching her, there was no way anyone could have seen her slip that card in Megan’s purse.
There was a knock at the door, and Stephanie stubbed her cigarette out and checked her watch. Megan wasn’t supposed to be here for another ten minutes. She went to the door, rising up on tiptoes to look through the peephole, but she couldn’t see anything. Fingers trembling, she flipped the security latch and cracked the door.
Her stomach flipped when she saw who it was. Shit. She was such an idiot, scheduling the meeting at the motel where she’d been crashing
“Let me in, Stephanie.”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t have time to see you right now, but if you want to come back later—”
He shook his head. “You know that’s not what this is about. Now come on. Let me in. We need to talk before you do something stupid.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “Please don’t rat me out, please!”
“I’m not going to rat you out,” he said, with what looked like genuine concern on his face. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Only a couple people know you’ve made contact, but I can help you fix this. Just let me in so we can talk about it, okay?”
Stephanie weighed her options. If they didn’t know what she was up to, there was still a chance she’d be okay. On the other hand, what would he want in return? He’d always treated her and the other girls pretty decently but…
Screw it. She’d fuck him for free for the rest of the century if it meant saving her from ending up facedown in a pool of her own blood. She flipped the safety latch and opened the door.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said as she turned away. “I’m just so freaked out and sad about Bianca. I felt like I should do something to try to stop it.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. His voice was like an icy hand down her spine. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”
His huge arm wrapped around her neck, choking off her air supply. She struggled, clawing at the sleeves of his shirt. His gloved hand pressed into her right cheek with bruising force, while the fingers of the other dug into her skull.
“I wish I had time to do this right, to take my time. Feel you clench around my cock when I make the first slice.”
Oh God. His breath was coming hot and fast on the crown of her head. Tears stung her eyes, and she let out a choked whimper when she felt his erection bumping against her back.
Adrenaline coursed through her as she struggle
d with every fiber against his hold.
“Unfortunately, time is tight, and I have a message to send.”
A jerk of his hands. A sickening crack of bones and cartilage.
I’m sorry, Bianca.
Megan looked over both shoulders as she got off the bus. She’d managed to ditch Cole back at the coffee place, but she knew he’d get suspicious when she didn’t come out of the bathroom after a reasonable time. She hoped that taking the bus instead of her car would help throw him off too.
She looked around, saw no sign of him. So far, so good. She half walked, half jogged the two blocks to the motel where she’d beeinstructed to go, presumably by the blond woman from Club One.
At least, she hoped the message was from the blonde. Anxiety-induced adrenaline coursed through her veins. It wasn’t lost on her that she could be walking into a trap set by someone who didn’t want her sniffing around Bianca’s murder and whatever connection she had to Club One. She’d quadruple-guessed her decision to ditch Cole, but she was sure if she told him about the card, he would insist on doing the meeting himself. Megan knew she was taking a huge risk going to the meeting by herself, but she was desperate. Sean’s execution was only five days away, and she couldn’t risk scaring off the only person willing to talk to her.
If she’s even the one who set up the meeting.
Megan forced the thought aside. She couldn’t afford to panic now, not with so much at stake.
The Hillside Motel was a squat cinderblock building with rooms that opened to the parking lot. Not exactly a rent-by-the hour establishment, but a few rungs below even a Holiday Inn. Megan approached room 104 cautiously. She slipped her hand inside her pocket and felt the reassuring weight of her phone which had 911 dialed in. If anything went amiss, she told herself, she’d press the SEND button and call the police.
She tapped softly on the door. No answer. “Hello? Is anyone here? It’s me, Megan. From the club.” Still no answer, but the knob turned and the door swung open. She stepped inside and felt a tingling foreboding as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim interior of the hotel room.