Shade Me

by Jennifer Brown

  “Stop,” I said. “If you’re smart, you will just stop.”

  “God,” he wailed. The blood poured from his nostrils down the sides of his face.

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby. It’s a broken nose,” I said. “But if you touch me with your free hand, this knife is going in.”

  “What the—what the hell?” he yelled. I could see him consider swatting at me, so I pressed the knife harder into the skin of his neck. He sucked air, his hand going slack at his side. Sweat had joined the blood on his top lip, though it appeared his nose had stopped bleeding some. “Are you going to rob me now, is that it? I thought Hollywood Dreams was careful about white-trash criminals like you. Fine. My wallet is—”

  “I don’t want your wallet,” I said. “I want information.”

  He blinked, swallowed. “What kind of information?”

  “Rainbow. I want information about Rainbow. Who hurt her?” I growled, gripping the knife so tight my hand hurt. “Was it you?”

  “I don’t understand,” he blubbered, his stubbly neck jiggling. “Is this part of your shtick? I don’t like it.”

  “This is not shtick,” I said, breathing heavily, half out of exertion and half out of adrenaline over finally getting to pin this freak down. “There is going to be no shtick. I’m not an escort, and this is the closest you will ever get to me.” Colors burst around me, taking on the fireworks quality of adrenaline but with a kaleidoscope of hues—gold, neon green, ragemonster red. Had I not been so in the moment, I might have been distracted, even dazzled, by them. “Someone hurt Rainbow, and I think you know who it was.”

  “Which one? There were two,” he said.

  “What do you mean there were two?”

  “An older one and a younger one,” he said. “They looked like twins. Sisters, at least.”

  Half sister, my brain nagged. Hadn’t I had the same thought not that long ago, that Luna could have been Peyton’s twin?

  “The older one. The one who’s almost dead now,” I said.

  He shook his head. A bead of sweat dripped down toward his ear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And that’s just a table knife.”

  “You knew her. You’re a regular here, so you knew her. You were with her. Did you beat her up? Did you decide to play rough and go too far?” I dug the knife deeper into his neck, puckering the skin around the rounded tip. “And don’t you dare doubt my ability to pop your jugular with this table knife.”

  “I never slept with her,” he said. “I never got the chance to.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I pushed harder, and his face pinched with pain and rage. Three lambent flashes of green—pop, pop, pop. I blinked them away.

  “The little bitch wouldn’t put out, okay? I tried, but she got all sloppy drunk and started in on some sob story about how she was supposed to be an actress and she refused to whore herself to get there. You’re hurting me!” I dug my knee into his groin.

  “I’m trying to hurt you, you idiot. Keep talking.”

  He made a face. “Jesus, you smoke, don’t you? I can smell it in your hair. I told them no smokers.”

  I punched his ribs. He made a hissing noise. “I said keep talking.”

  “Okay. Okay. I tried to at least get dinner out of the deal, but the bitch got into some daddy bullshit and then walked out on me. I asked for a refund, and they told me they’d send me someone else next time, on the house. I thought it was a joke, because the next time this other blond chick shows up, and she’s clearly trying to look exactly like the first one. She even sounds just like her. And she called herself Rainbow, like I wouldn’t notice the difference. But she had Molly at a discount, so I went with it. That’s all I know.”

  “She sold you Molly?”

  He swallowed miserably. “Could you let up on the knife? Usually I can get it from Brigitte, but Brigitte said they were out, and this new Rainbow chick showed up with it and was selling it at a good price. Every time I saw her after that, she sold it to me cheap. Said she had a big plan.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. Double Rainbow, the photo had been titled. The other photo that depicted a drug deal with Luna’s hand. Peyton had known Luna was pretending to be her. She was trying to lead me to her.

  But Stefan had said she had some sort of big plan. What was Luna’s big plan?

  “Can you let up on the knife now, please?” he asked angrily.

  I squinted at him. “And that’s all you know about her?”

  He nodded as best he could without poking himself. “I swear.”

  “Did she ever tell you her real name?”

  He thought, his eyes roving wildly, and I could see panic budding in him again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I had until he began to fight me again. “Something that starts with a P. Paige? Peggy?”

  “Peyton?” I interrupted.

  “Yeah. That’s it.” He picked up his hand and waved it in the air weakly. “And she had a little charm on her pinkie finger.”

  Luna. Yet she’d told him her name was Peyton. She looked and sounded just like her, used the same call name, and sold him stolen Molly. Was she trying to set up Peyton?

  Stefan started to buck underneath me, and I had to push my weight into him harder than ever. “Stop moving.”

  He let his head flop back onto the bed. “I’ve told you everything, okay? I bought a couple of whores and some Molly, but I didn’t beat anyone up.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “Wait. You said the first Rainbow talked about daddy bullshit. What did you mean?”

  “Jesus, you are relentless,” he hissed, a bead of spittle flying off his lips and landing on my chest. I resisted the urge to wipe it away. But the revulsion of it being there made me loosen my grip a little, giving him a chance to take a deep breath. “It apparently really bothered the poor little whore that Daddy is a client.”

  Of course. The photo of the man coming through the front door of Hollywood Dreams. The well-shined shoe. I’d seen it before. On Bill Hollis the day he picked up Dru from the police station. No wonder his license plate said DREAMS. He was a regular. How did a man hire girls from the same place where his daughter worked as an escort? Or did he not know? I pulled the knife away from Stefan’s throat but kept my knee in his groin to keep him in place.

  “I don’t know why, though,” he said, huffing and clawing at the space where the knife had just been. “With her mom being the madam. Where the hell did she think the two of them met?”

  “Whoa, back up a minute,” I said. “What do you mean her mom being the madam here?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Get your knee off my balls.”

  “No.”

  “Vanessa is Rainbow’s mom, you stupid bitch, now get off me!”

  There was a knock at the door, and both of us looked toward it. I shook my head at him. “You make a noise and I’ll kill,” I whispered. I readjusted my grip on the knife to show I meant business, even though I was trembling, my insides feeling like liquid at the very thought of doing anything more than I’d already done.

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” he whispered back, foam collecting on his teeth.

  There was another knock, and we both froze.

  “I’ll say you tried to rape me and it was self-defense,” I warned.

  “I hired you. It’s not rape if I hired you.”

  “Also illegal, dumbass,” I said. “Just be quiet and they’ll go aw—”

  A third knock interrupted me. And then a familiar voice from the other side of the door. “Nikki? It’s Detective Martinez. You in there?”

  Stefan’s eyes got big and alarmed. “You brought the fucking cops here?”

  I shook my head, shushing him. “He must have followed me here.”

  Holy Christ, what had I walked into?

  “He followed you? Jesus, are you a cop? You have to tell me if I ask you directly, right?”

  There was another knock.

  “Technically, I never paid you,” Stefan said. “Nothing eve
r happened.”

  I backed off him. “Okay,” I said, smoothing the front of my dress, which had gotten wrenched up into a wad during the scuffle. “No, I’m not a . . . Just shut up, would you?”

  “Nikki? Answer the door.”

  Stefan scrambled to his feet much faster than I ever would have guessed he could move. His broken glasses hung askew on his face, but he was too busy tucking in his polo and fumbling with his belt to notice. “You’re going to turn me in to the police. I should’ve known not to trust you. I saw it on you the moment you walked in. Prism, my ass. I have a family. A family, damn it.”

  “Chill out,” I said. I picked up my purse and headed for the door, smoothing my hair and wiping the mist of blood off my chest on the way. “I’m going to take care of this. Trust me, if he was here with other cops, they would have busted in by now.”

  I bent to pick up my shoes on the way to the door. I couldn’t even fathom putting them back on, especially not as sweaty as I was feeling at the moment.

  “You’ll ruin my children’s lives,” Stefan was saying, as if he hadn’t heard me speak a word.

  “Shut up,” I snapped, and he did.

  I opened the door and stepped through it before Chris Martinez’s angled neck could see Stefan inside.

  “What’s going on in there?” He scanned my face with worried eyes. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding. Did someone hit you?”

  “Is this a good use of taxpayer money?” I pushed past him and headed toward the elevators.

  “I asked you a question,” he said as he followed me down the quiet hotel hallway. “What happened in there? Are you okay?”

  I turned and faced him. “Why?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Is that a real question?”

  I turned my palms up, my shoes hanging off the fingertips of one hand. “Yeah, actually, it is. Why do you care so much? I’ve told you everything I know. I haven’t done anything wrong. You said I was free to go, but you keep showing up in my life. From what I can tell, being followed by you isn’t exactly freedom. I didn’t realize the police were so into harassment.”

  “I’m not following you as a cop. I’m following you as someone who is interested in seeing you not get killed.” He gestured toward Stefan’s door. “What was going on in there?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Not true.” He got a serious look on his face, his cheeks even reddening a little bit. He scratched the back of his neck, nervous. I could practically smell the dark lemon radiating off him. “You haven’t—you’re not—”

  I grinned. “Having sex? It’s okay, you can say it. And no, everything but the shoes stayed on.”

  “I could arrest you. Prostitution is illegal in this state,” he said.

  “Not a penny changed hands,” I said. “And no sex. So what about this was prostitution? I was just having a conversation, that’s all.”

  He stepped closer to me, dropped his voice. “Then this was about Peyton Hollis, wasn’t it?” I didn’t answer. “Come on, Nikki, help me out here.”

  “Miss Kill,” I reminded him. He planted his hands on his hips and lifted his head, tilting his chin to the ceiling in exasperation.

  “Right.”

  I pushed the elevator button with my free hand. “Yes,” I said. “It was.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And what do you know?” He stepped toward me, whispering. How many times had Dad asked the police that very question over the years? What do you know, what do you know, what do you know? And never, not once, did they know anything.

  “I don’t know who did it,” I said sourly.

  He shifted, put his hands on his hips, and once again I noticed his badge. So very truth, justice, and the American way. He was a good cop. He deserved better than I was giving him.

  So why was he following me? I thought the answer might have been the bite to his bottom lip outside the dojang. It might have been the way his voice quavered when he said he wouldn’t stand back and watch something happen to me.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “You’re a very by-the-book kind of guy, Detective Martinez. But you’re breaking all kinds of rules here. I think you’re hiding something. You keep letting me get by with stuff you shouldn’t.” I stepped closer to him. “This is personal, isn’t it? Tell me, Detective, is there a little bit of trouble in your golden past?”

  His eyes narrowed, got serious. “We’re not talking about me,” he said.

  I laughed, just as the elevator arrived and the doors opened. I took two more steps toward him, so close I could smell his aftershave. “Well, I’ll tell you what. You spill your secrets, and I’ll spill mine.” I tugged his collar to straighten it. He followed my fingers with his eyes, the intensity never fading. I leaned close to whisper in his ear. “In the meantime, step off.”

  I turned and got into the elevator, leaving him in the hallway. Just as the doors began to slide shut, I pressed the button to keep them open. “Oh, and Detective?” His eyes flicked up to meet mine, but he didn’t say a word. “The guy in that room? Total john. Figure out who he’s buying from, and you’ll know some of what I know. You might even find your connection to Arrigo Basile.” The doors began to slide shut again. I waited until they were almost closed, smiled big, and waved. “You’re welcome.”

  I WAS WAY too ramped up by my run-in with Stefan to go home. I had so many questions and so few answers. Peyton was an escort, but she didn’t want to be. Luna had been pretending to be her, had been selling Molly, and, judging from the photo I’d found in the suitcase, Peyton knew it. Brigitte had said Vanessa had been having “things, pharmaceutical enhancements” go missing from her office, and Stefan had been certain that Peyton’s mother was the madam of the business, which would mean Vanessa Hollis had a big secret nobody knew about. Peyton’s situation was starting to look a whole lot more complicated than just a few song lyrics and a haircut and tattoo.

  Chris Martinez was busy at the hotel, which left me safe to go wherever I wanted without being tailed. I headed toward where I thought some of the answers I needed might be: Hollywood Dreams.

  The front door had been left unlocked, so I walked right up the stairs, leaving the high heels in my car. To my surprise, the door to Hollywood Dreams was unlocked, too, but the front office was dark, the only light coming from Vanessa’s office. I crept inside and slowly made my way down the short hall. If I could hide under Brigitte’s desk, maybe I could wait out whoever was in here. But just as I tiptoed into the office, a file drawer slid closed with a bang. I saw movement by Brigitte’s desk. I gasped.

  “Hello?” a voice said. I squinted into the darkness. It was Vanessa Hollis. “Who’s there?”

  “Sorry,” I said, letting out a breathy laugh, feeling the tingle of adrenaline rush through my veins. “You startled me.”

  She came around the desk, her blond hair a fluffy halo around her head. She wore painted-on leggings and a puffy-sleeved sweater that showed her midriff.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “I recognize you, don’t I?”

  “I don’t think so,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t put it together that I’d been at the hospital. “I’m Prism. I just started here.”

  “Prism? We have to do something about that. Sounds like a common hooker. Did Brigitte give you that name? I’ll have a chat with her.”

  “No, I came up with it on my own,” I said. “Sorry. Maybe Stormcloud is better?” There was a part of me, though, that was incredulous that the owner of an escort service who also sold “pharmaceutical enhancements” to her clients was worried about one of her escorts having a “common hooker” name.

  “Well, Brigitte is gone for the day, so why are you here, Prism?” Vanessa said. “I don’t have all the time in the world.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “Of course,” I said, fantasizing for just a moment about r
oundhousing her to the back of the head. “I just forgot where I was supposed to meet Stefan tonight.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked me up and down. “You have a date?”

  I nodded, shifting, uncomfortable. “With Stefan.”

  “You’re a bit of a mess for a date, wouldn’t you say, Prism?” Again she scanned me. “Your dress is ripped, your makeup is smeared, you’re bleeding. And where are your shoes?”

  My hand automatically went to the cut under my eye. I’d tried to wipe myself up as best as I could while sitting in a dark car, but apparently I hadn’t done a great job of it. “The date’s later,” I said. “I’m going home to clean up first. I . . . fell.”

  She gave me one last long stare. Her expression said she didn’t believe a word of what I was saying, but she checked her watch again and seemed to shake off her doubt. Apparently her plans were more important than trying to get the truth out of a new hire. “Brigitte should have written the address down for you,” she said.

  “I lost it. Sorry.”

  She blew out a gust of air and marched to Brigitte’s desk, acting very put-out. “We can’t hold your hand, you know,” she said. “You’ve got to learn to figure this stuff out for yourself. And present yourself like someone with class. Stefan is one of our best clients. If you didn’t show up, I would be very angry.”

  “Understood,” I said.

  She searched through several papers, scribbled the hotel address on a Post-it note, and handed it to me. “You’re late,” she said. “Lucky for you, Stefan is easygoing.” She hooked her finger in the neckline of my dress and tugged it downward. “A little word of advice, Prism. You can’t expect to get ahead in this world if you hide your assets. Show them off. Use them to your advantage. I don’t care if a man is sixteen or a hundred and sixteen, he will do things for a peek at a little skin. He will do just about anything if he thinks he can own it. I didn’t get my beach house in Monaco by wearing turtlenecks, if you get my drift.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said, resisting the urge to pull the neckline of my dress back up. Up close, Vanessa was a lot more calculated than she’d seemed in the hospital. “And sorry again.”