Midnight Masquerade

by Nancy Gideon

  "Aliens. That's an amusing way to put it.” He laughed softly at his own joke, well knowing that Nick missed the punch line. “The truth is, I don't care as long as the money's good, and neither should you, my friend."

  "But I do."

  "Since when?"

  Since Rae, was the answer he wouldn't give the other man, but he saw it in Nick's face anyway.

  "Ah, for the woman. Nick, Nick, Nick. My foolish friend. You try to do the decent thing for once in your life to impress a woman. And you think she'll thank you when the tape of the four of us in the Noir is released to the press. You think she'll give up her career and reputation as quickly and easily as you seem to be? You think she'll be grateful that you ruined her?"

  The fact that he had the tape in his possession was one Nick didn't care to share. But all the same, Zanlos's statement puzzled him. Something was askew with his logic, and it wasn't like Zanlos to make such a miscalculation.

  "How could the release of a sex tape ruin the reputation of a prostitute?"

  Zanlos's laugh was filled with dark amusement. “Because, my friend, your lover isn't a prostitute. She's a policewoman."

  The news hit like a twelve-gauge pattern to the chest. Nick reeled back from the unexpected impact.

  "Now, dear boy, if you want to survive this with your career intact, you'll want to rethink your loyalties. Just as my previously faithful secretary will be rethinking hers after passing information to her cop boyfriend. What is it with the two of you? Can't you see you're being used? I like you, Nick, so I'll give you time to reflect on your foolishness. I haven't decided if Miss Bright will have the same opportunity. The two of you have hurt my feelings, and now you will apologize or be punished."

  Nick was only half listening. A policewoman! His thoughts scrambled to assimilate that information, seeking a reason to deny ... finding none.

  Damn. She was a cop.

  "I'm sorry to put a damper on your little romance, Nick, but think how your girlfriend would receive this tidbit of information."

  Zanlos set a small newspaper photo down on the desk, turning it so Nick could read the caption. He didn't have to read it. He recognized the face as the one that haunted his nightmare. The face of the woman in the fog. A cold brick of dread and dismay sank in his belly as he read the fine print.

  Young Baton Rouge mother killed in hit-and-run.

  "So you see, Nick, we aren't so different after all. And you'll find me much more forgiving than Detective Borden regarding this little indiscretion. Think about it, Nick. You weren't willing to risk your future over that woman you didn't know. Why would you do so now for the sake of a woman who will betray you? You're a smart boy, Nick. Figure the odds. You're no longer an acceptable risk to Ms. Borden, but you're just the sort of man I need. Men like us don't let people like this get in our way.” His fingers spread over the news photo then crumpled it upon closing into a fist. He tossed the tiny ball. It bounced off Nick's shirt front before he caught it instinctively.

  "Don't disappoint me, Nick. Be smart."

  * * * *

  He didn't come back as promised, nor did he call.

  Rae paced her apartment as the daylight waned, and she grew tired of waiting. What kind of man said “I love you” then didn't come back? Her experience with men was a little too jaded for a logical answer.

  If she told him the truth, she'd have to trust him with it. Could she do that? He might hold a non-threatening passion for a prostitute, but would he be similarly enthralled with a police detective? One who'd deceived him and used him and manipulated his emotions to an unfair degree? Would he walk away from everything he struggled for, or would he dig in his heels and go down with Zanlos rather than lose his prestigious position? Or worse, would he turn her over to his employer so that she could become another statistic like the Grovers?

  She'd given Nick a chance to choose, and he hadn't taken it. He could have confessed everything to her that morning, and she wouldn't now be faced with this dilemma. But he hadn't. He'd hedged around his knowledge of Zanlos's wrongdoings, and in doing so was equally guilty for covering them up.

  How could she do her job without embroiling the man she loved in the middle of it?

  The man she loved.

  The idea was still so new it surprised her. But would it also cripple her investigation? Only if she allowed it to.

  The hour grew later still and no call, no show from Nick Flynn. She opened her closet to select an appropriate costume for the evening. Something short and black and simple, she decided. Almost like funeral garb.

  Kaz Zanlos's funeral, she hoped and not her own.

  * * * *

  He sat at his desk, numb from the heart up as the hours lengthened into late afternoon.

  A cop.

  The news threw him hard, just as Zanlos had intended. How long his boss had known of this particular deceit didn't matter. Long enough to have a good laugh at his expense, to give him just enough heart string to hang himself.

  A cop.

  While part of him rejoiced that she wasn't a woman of the night who made her money off men, another coldly assessed the facts. She'd played the role to perfection with him. She'd slept with him and taken his money.

  But hadn't kept it.

  What game was she playing, and where did he fit into the rather loosely-woven rules? He didn't like the answer he received. A pawn. Unimportant except for the nature of the piece. An insignificant man meant to be sacrificed to advance the aggressive plan of the queen. And she had, hadn't she? She'd used him to get close to Zanlos, to Anna Murray to avenge the death of her friend and her father figure. And now, she was leaving him out to dry, with the tatters of his career flapping in the merciless breeze.

  He glanced down at the news photo he'd meticulously smoothed out on the desktop before him. The woman's cheerful smile beamed back at him. An innocent like Naomi Bright, who had no business being a part of his tangled quest for fame and glory. He'd never meant to make that climb over the bodies of the blameless.

  How had Zanlos known about this particularly ugly secret? No one knew. Not the police, not his father. Only him.

  How had he found out?

  The truth was, it didn't matter how he knew, only that he knew, and what he would be able to do with that information.

  He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of that pretty face, of those clear and clueless eyes looking toward a future he'd snatched away. And then he'd run away. He could see her now as he had then, just a brief frozen image appearing out of the fog. And then the sound, that awful hollow thump of impact that obliterated that face from view. Again, he felt the clawing horror tearing within his chest as his mind fought what his heart knew immediately. He experienced that same breathless agony as he'd sat in the restlessly idling car with the weight of his conscience dragging down the shooting star of his future. The celebratory alcohol from his partying in the city in honor of his soon to be secured success curled like acid in his belly, rising up in his throat to sear and choke off all the sweet times that lay ahead. He knew the instant he heard that fateful thump that his life was over.

  No. It doesn't have to be.

  That denying whisper snaked about the burn of regret and responsibility and squeezed slowly, relentlessly, until it cut off the natural progression from guilt to accountability. He'd glanced in the rearview to the empty roadway bathed in the red of his brake lights. No broken body caressed by the cold ribbons of mist. Could he have been hallucinating? Had the woman been induced by drink and a self-destructive need to sabotage his good fortune?

  What was a woman doing out on a lonely highway at this time of night?

  He checked his side views. Nothing. His rearview again. Only empty road leading back to where he'd already been.

  Drive away. Just drive away.

  His hand clutched, wet and shaky, at the four-on-the-floor, but the muscles in his arm refused to comply.

  His breath shuddered up past the sickness of fear and culpability br
inging a flash of clarity to the goading panic that cried, Run. Get away. Who'll know?

  He'd gotten out of the car on legs nearly too weak to hold him. Clinging to the car for support and direction, he stumbled back to that pooling of red upon pavement marked with the frantic streak of his remorse. Too late. Too late to take it back. The drinking, the arrogant pleasure, the flush of accomplishment. All crushed beneath that smear of rubber on the road.

  So where was she? He'd wobbled through the wisps of fog, searching for the evidence of his careless deed. No body. No blood on the bumper of his car.

  Could he have imagined it? Hope seeped through the paralyzing anguish clogging his airways.

  Or had the glancing impact thrown her over the side and into the murky bayou waters below? He leaned over the guardrail but could see nothing in the void of darkness below. Could hear no cries for help or moans of pain. Only the fractured cadence of his own breathing.

  He wasn't aware of slipping back behind the wheel. He wasn't fully cognizant of the drive that took twenty minutes to get to the nearest chance for assistance. He dialed beneath the revealing glow of the phone booth, careful to keep his head down and his features obscure as he reported a possible accident on Highway 10 then quickly hung up as they asked for his name.

  Help would come. He'd done everything he could.

  Not everything, his wretched conscience cried as he sped away from the booth after meticulously wiping off the receiver. He hadn't stayed to admit responsibility for what he'd done in a moment of inexcusable carelessness. And consequently, because of an anguished sense of accountability he'd never known he had, he'd never gone back over that lonesome stretch of road to claim the brass ring of success. He hadn't been able to take it, knowing what he'd done to earn it. Instead, he'd allowed himself to try to forget in a guilty haze of alcohol and self-abuse.

  Until Meeker, Murray & Zanlos jerked him from that wallow of blame and self-pity ... and, ironically, saved his life.

  How desperately he'd wanted to leave his sins behind. That was impossible now. His fingertips traced the shape of the unfortunate woman's face. His secret was exposed for all its shameful cowardice.

  And if he couldn't forgive himself, how could he expect that miracle of absolution from Rae Borden? Rae Borden who had coldly and cleverly included him in her plot to exact revenge. Was it more than he deserved?

  What inevitable irony that he should lose all in such a fashion.

  How he accepted that loss would distinguish him from Kaz Zanlos.

  He picked up the phone and dialed.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  The fresh-faced Naomi Bright was the last person Rae expected to see as she approached the entrance to the Noir. A girl like Miss Bright seemed more the library than the lap dance type. But there was no mistaking the identity of the young woman shivering in the sudden D.C. downpour.

  "Miss Borden? Please ... can I talk to you?"

  Struggling with the collapsible umbrella that threatened to invert itself with each gust of cloying wind, Rae glanced from the pathetic waif to the beckoning shelter of the club. “Come inside then."

  Naomi shrank further back into the shadows, her big eyes rounding with dismay. “No, I can't go in there."

  "Not twenty-one, or just below your moral standards?” She couldn't help the wry remark. The girl's condescending attitude irked her because she was so right to hold it.

  Naomi shook her head. Strands of wet blonde hair stuck to her cheek, her brow, the corner of her mouth. She didn't brush them away. All her focus was on Rae. “It's below everyone's moral standards,” she whispered with an odd emphasis that was more fear than judgment. “Over here. Please, for just a minute."

  Taking pity on the trembling creature, Rae angled her umbrella into the force of the rain and stepped around the corner to confront the girl in the narrow alley running between the buildings. She started when Naomi seized her hand. Her grip was cold and desperate.

  "Have you seen Gabriel?"

  Ah, a lover's quarrel. Rae really didn't have time for it and impatiently was looking back toward the sidewalk. Her tone reflected her mild irritation with both the delay and with her absent partner. “I thought he was with you, sharing secrets."

  "I have to find him. You don't understand, Detective Borden."

  That brought Rae's wandering attention to heel with a sharp yank of the leash. “What did you call me?"

  "I know who you are. I know that Gabriel is working with you. I won't tell anyone. I have no loyalty to Mr. Zanlos. In fact, I've been helping Mr.—” She broke off, sensing that she'd said too much. “I've got to find Gabriel."

  Rae took a long, hard look at the young woman and didn't like what she saw. Behind the shaking and the wide, pleading eyes, there was an aura of fright, of something beyond fear. It clung to her, a palpable perfume on the dank, darkening night. Panic. Terror. But those things couldn't explain the sudden swirling lack of orientation that wafted over her as she swayed as if buffeted by a brutal gale. Rae gripped her elbows to steady her, but for a long moment, Naomi seemed beyond reach. Her eyes rolled back, her head lolled ragdoll limp upon the slender column of her neck. She had an angry mark on the side of her throat, a savage sort of bite that made Rae wonder if the girl and her partner were into some kind of kinky sex. The notion shouldn't have surprised her, but somehow it did. And more than that, it made her uneasy deep down to her soul, as if that mark was indicative of a greater disease. Drugs, perhaps. She didn't know. But there was something wrong with Naomi Bright, and she didn't have time to address it now.

  "Naomi, I haven't seen him since...” Since he was hiding in the trunk of his car. “Since this morning."

  That news sapped the girl's strength like a sudden purge. Rae held tight as her knees buckled and she fell forward into a semi-swoon. Her body was as cold as death. Alarmed, Rae started pulling her toward the front of the Noir. “Let's get out of this weather. I'll make some calls. I'll find him for you."

  Naomi's energy returned like a bolt of lightning. She surged back, out of Rae's grip and backed into the alley. She shook her head, the dazed look compounding with abject horror. “I can't go in there. You don't understand. He knows. I had no choice but to tell."

  "Who knows? What did you tell, Naomi?"

  The harder she tried to speak, the more the words eluded the increasingly confused girl. She was panting, shivering like an addict hours beyond the need for a fix. Rae no longer thought it was a drug problem. But exactly what kind of problem was eating away at the lovely young secretary?

  "I've got to get away from here before they find me. Before they call me. There's more I haven't said. More I daren't say. I need to hide. I need to rest. I need Gabriel."

  Impulsively, Rae pressed her apartment key into the curl of the girl's cold fingers. “Here. You'll be safe at my place. Get a cab, lock yourself in, and I'll bring Gabriel to you as soon as I can."

  Tears of relief and resignation quickened in the other's gaze, but Rae didn't want her gratitude. She wanted to know what the hell was going on, and Gabriel had those answers.

  "I'm going to go inside first, then you flag down a cab and get yourself away from here. Do you understand? Can you do that?"

  Naomi nodded but in her disoriented state, Rae began to have her doubts. If Naomi had crossed Zanlos, she couldn't afford to be linked to the girl, lest her own cover be blown. And she was too close, had made too many compromises both personal and emotional, to back down now. She needed to get Naomi under wraps so she could get behind the truth of the girl's babblings. Tonight might be her last night at the Noir, her last chance to peg Zanlos and Company with their misdeeds. She would look for answers in the club then she would see what secrets her partner had been holding from her. With Naomi safely tucked away at her place, she could continue to do her job. Perhaps for the last time.

  She gestured down the alley. “Go through here to the next block. Don't let them see you. Do you know my address?” How else h
ad she appeared to pick up Gabriel? At the girl's bobbing nod, she braced her with a slight shake. “Be careful, Naomi. I'll find Gabriel. Okay?"

  The girl supplied a wan smile. It beamed of hope and trust, and Rae prayed she wouldn't fail either.

  "Go."

  She gave Naomi a directing push and waited until she was wobbling away into the cloaking darkness before she herself returned to the front of the building. Tonight, she would find Gabriel and she would demand to know everything. Damn his secrets when they could very well get her killed.

  The peppering sting of rain against her stockinged calves prompted Rae to get out of the weather and back to work. There were answers here at the Noir, and she had the hours until dawn to find them.

  From the crowded lobby, with the pumping beat of the night wending its way from the club below, Rae found a secluded corner to shake out her umbrella and slip out her cell phone. She punched in Gabriel's number and gave a frustrated sigh at the sound of his recorded message.

  "Gabriel, I'm at the Noir. Naomi's under my wing. You've got some explaining to do, my friend."

  After disconnecting, she decided to double her chances of reaching him by dialing the station. Palmer's gruff tone responded to the call.

  "Gabe? Haven't seen him yet tonight. He should be checking in any time now. Can I give him a message?"

  "Just let him know I'm holding him to his promise. He'll know what I mean."

  A pause, then Palmer's almost earnest appeal. “If you're in some kind of trouble, Borden, maybe I can help."

  "No trouble ... but thanks."

  Maybe Palmer was human after all.

  She tucked her phone away and took a deep breath as she watched the power suits pass by on their way to the delights Anna Murray offered. Tonight she would find a way to get into the offices upstairs to find out what else the enigmatic Ms. Murray offered besides sex for sale. If Naomi Bright had spilled the beans on her boyfriend's association with the police, her own chances were dwindling. She didn't want to be caught in this place of pleasure, pants down. Figuratively or literally.