by Janie Crouch
“We know that Club Paradise, on the northern side of Phoenix, is where the party is heading next.” She took a deep breath, then continued in a rush. “I’ll go undercover. Get a job there as a stripper. Try to lure the killer o—”
“No.” The word was out of his mouth almost before his brain had processed what she was saying.
“Brandon, it’s a good plan—”
“No.”
He could feel the warrior inside him rising up and fought to keep hold of the logical, reasonable side of his mind.
There was no way in hell she was getting up onstage naked in front of strangers and trying to lure out a killer.
No. And no.
He couldn’t drag her away and lock her in a room to keep her safe—and away from prying eyes—so he fought to find the logical words to make his case.
“First of all, you’re not a trained agent. You don’t have the skills or experience to work undercover. Not to mention, what if the killer does come after you? You don’t have the hand-to-hand or weapons defense training you need to protect yourself.”
“But—”
“Not to mention, as someone who holds a doctorate in psychology, I cannot even begin to list the ways it would damage your psyche to go back into a situation like that. To put yourself back into the club scene where you were objectified by men could have a truly damaging effect on your state of mind.”
Brandon began pacing back and forth.
“You’re just beginning to come out of your proverbial shell, connect with other people—me in particular—and to place yourself back into the exact situation where you found such shame and—”
“Brandon.”
“Fear will only set you back emotionally, which is not what...”
“Brandon.” She said his name again, but this time she stepped in front of him and touched his cheek, stopping his pacing.
He stared down at her clear green eyes. There were no shadows in them now, as there had been so often in the past. No fear. Just determination.
“You’re frightened for me. I can feel it.”
He wanted to deny it, to argue that he was just being reasonable—especially if she couldn’t seem to be—but he knew it was the truth.
He was terrified at the thought of her doing this. Of the damaging effects it could have on her on multiple levels.
“Thank you,” she continued. “For caring enough to be scared for me.”
“It’s not a good idea for you.” He put his forehead against hers. “It will hurt you in ways you’re not really considering right now.”
“I know it’s not the best plan for me. But right now I need to think about whether it’s the best plan for Jillian Spires and Noelle Brumby, and the other women who will come next if we don’t stop this guy.”
Brandon straightened. Objectively speaking, for the case and stopping the killer, it was actually a pretty good plan. But he still didn’t like it one bit.
“But what about you not having training?”
“I was a stripper for a year and a half. I think I have all the training I need.”
“No, law-enforcement training. Self-defense training.”
“I have some. Drackett required me to have some.”
Brandon planned to make sure she had more. Not just for this case, but because Andrea needed to know she could take care of herself, that she never had to be a victim again.
“Some is not enough in a situation like this. Especially when you’re trying to capture the attention of a killer.”
Brandon could feel another plan formulating in his brain. Within just a few seconds he had run a dozen pros and cons mentally and had come up with some plausible alternates to her plan.
“I need to do this, Brandon. It’s the best way. You know that.”
He held up a finger to get her to wait a moment more as everything fell into place in his mind.
“Fine. But you don’t go undercover as one of the main performers. You go under as a waitress. One of our victims wasn’t a dancer at all, so that can’t be the only link. You’ll be able to get up close with the patrons, especially when DJ Shocker is there. See if you can get any readings of anything unusual.”
Andrea nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“I will also be in the club at all times when you’re there. I’ll come in as a customer, but under no circumstances are you to leave with anyone except me.”
“Okay, that’s probably for the best.”
“And I’m going to call Steve and tell him we need out of the hotel and into a rental house. One that has a lot of space in the living room.”
“Why?”
“Because if you’re going to set yourself up as bait for a killer, I’m going to make damn certain you know more than just some defense tactics. We have four days. Anytime we’re not interviewing suspects or investigating the case, you’re going to find yourself going hand to hand with me.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Can’t you arrest him for something?” Andrea leaned over and muttered under her breath to Brandon. “Anything?”
They’d been in the lobby of DJ Shawn “Shocker” Sheppard’s radio station for the past thirty minutes. Unfortunately, because DJ Shocker was doing a live show, they hadn’t been able to question him yet. They’d also been forced to listen to his show.
Distasteful would be the most polite word for it. Less polite terms would be vulgar, juvenile and ridiculous.
“Unfortunately, being an idiot is not currently a crime in this country. So, no, I can’t arrest him.” Brandon looked as disgusted as she felt.
The radio program catered to college students—men in particular—and the humor was rowdy and raunchy. At least one word every second would have to be bleeped out over normal airways, although most of the audience was probably listening to the station over the internet, where no censoring was needed.
Andrea had listened for the past half hour, teeth grinding, as DJ Shocker had attempted to make a case for the banning of all women’s sports bras. He’d used every obnoxious tactic from “that’s how God would want it” to trying to compare the bras to illegal performance-enhancing drugs.
The entire premise was asinine, but that was the point. DJ Shocker wanted to live up to his name.
They could see him through the large window that separated the waiting room from the radio booth. DJ Shocker wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Probably in his late thirties, way too old to be saying the ridiculous stuff he spewed. His show was on the air three hours a day, five days a week. And it was not only one of the most popular radio talk shows in Arizona, but a top-twenty across the whole country. People couldn’t wait to hear what he would say next.
Andrea couldn’t wait for him to shut up.
He finally did, tying in the topic du jour with his Devils and Angels pilgrimage tour. He invited everyone out to Club Paradise in four days. It would be the focus of much conversation in next week’s shows, he promised. Not something any red-blooded Arizonian would want to miss.
The On Air sign finally flipped off. DJ Shocker was finished for the day. He took a moment to talk to his production crew, who’d gotten him through the past three hours. When an assistant came up to him and said something, pointing at Andrea and Brandon, he looked over.
“Hi. I’m Shawn Sheppard,” DJ Shocker said as he walked out of the large radio booth, his voice sounding different than it had on air. “Megan told me you’re law enforcement?”
“I’m Brandon Han.” Brandon shook the hand the DJ offered to him. “I’m with Omega Sector: Critical Response Division. This is Andrea Gordon.”
Andrea shook his hand also, although she really didn’t want to. At least he didn’t come across quite so obnoxious in person. Although he was much shorter than she would’ve thought. Shorter than Andrea’s five feet eight inch
es. Much shorter than Brandon’s six feet.
“Has there been another threat against my life?”
Brandon looked over at Andrea. She hid a snicker in a cough. It was no surprise to her at all that someone would like to get rid of DJ Shocker permanently.
Brandon shook his head. “Not that we’re aware of, Mr. Sheppard. Do you get a lot?”
The man shrugged. “Please, call me Shawn. I get a couple a year. Most of them we don’t take seriously, although my lawyer has reported them all to the police.”
Andrea watched him closely as he said it. He didn’t seem to be hiding any fear about the threats.
“No, we’re not here to talk about that. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the Angels and Devils Pilgrimage.”
Shawn opened a bottle of water. “What about it?”
“Who came up with the idea for a strip-club tour?”
He answered as he led them down the hall toward his office. “My producers and I last summer. Something to do this winter where we could announce the best club around spring break—the end of March. College students make up my primary audience.”
Andrea was content with letting Brandon ask the questions. She would just watch and try to gauge Shawn’s feelings.
“Would you consider it a success so far?” Brandon asked, sitting in a chair next to Andrea. Shawn sat on a sofa.
“Yeah. Enough that we might do it again, or something similar, next year. The clubs seem to love it—I’m bringing in a lot of extra revenue for them. And I can’t complain about the gig.” He smiled at Andrea as he said it. She didn’t smile back.
“Have you had any problems? Anything weird?”
The DJ’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We’ve had a rowdy bunch sometimes. Once or twice it’s gotten a little out of hand. A couple fights. A couple of guys getting a little too fresh with the dancers. Cops were called.”
“Were any of these women involved with those situations?” Brandon laid out the pictures of the four victims, shots of them before they’d been killed so Shawn could see how they really would’ve looked. The DJ studied them.
He definitely recognized the first, Yvette Tyler. Andrea caught his slight change in breathing as well as a stiffening in his posture.
“What’s this about?” Shawn asked. “Are these women suing me or something?”
“Do they have reason to sue you?” Brandon asked.
Shawn sat back and rolled his eyes. He was now aware that he was being accused of something here, rather than potentially being the victim as he had first thought. His posture became more defensive, less open.
“Have you heard my show? I offend everyone. I’m surprised there’s not a lawsuit every week. Of course, I do have the First Amendment on my side.”
“Do you recognize these women?”
“They’re all dancers at the clubs, right? But I don’t know which was at which. It’s all become a blur of pasties and pole dances.”
Andrea pointed at Yvette’s picture. “But you definitely know her, right?”
Shawn fidgeted. “Look, yeah. She was at one of the clubs a few weeks ago. Cute girl. Sexy. Great dancer. She cornered me in the hallway when I went to use the bathroom. Wanted to do some private dancing with me at home, if you know what I mean.”
“And did you go home with her or vice versa?” Brandon asked.
“No. This was business for me. I was a celebrity. Leaving with her publicly wouldn’t have been a good idea.”
“What about leaving with her privately?”
“No. I didn’t leave with her at all. She was irritated at the time, but when I saw her later after closing, she had moved on to some other guy. Was all over him at his car.”
“Did that make you mad? Make you think she was some sort of slut or something?” Brandon asked.
“No. Honestly, I didn’t care. I get a lot of women who throw themselves at me, if you know what I mean.”
He glanced sideways at Andrea as if he expected her to do just that at any moment. She rolled her eyes.
“You’re safe from me,” Andrea said.
“What is this all really about? Not me going home with these women.”
“No,” Brandon said. “Unfortunately, all of these women are dead, Shawn.”
“What?” He shot back against the sofa, eyes wide.
As far as Andrea could tell, the shock flowing off DJ Shocker was completely authentic. He had not known the women were dead.
Brandon looked over at her and she gave him a slight nod. He nodded back, agreeing.
“When— What— How did they die?” Shawn looked back at the pictures.
“They were all murdered. Within a day or two of your Angels and Devils tour stopping at their place of business.”
Shawn’s face lost all color beneath his ginger hair. “Oh my God, are you serious? I’m sorry if I was flippant before. I had no idea they were dead. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
Brandon nodded. “We’ll need your whereabouts at certain days and times, but we believe you. You’re not actually a suspect, although at this time we’re in the process of successfully eliminating as many people as possible.”
“Okay.” He buried his head in his hands. “Sure, sure. I’ll provide you with whatever you need.”
“Thank you.”
Andrea leaned a little closer toward him. Now that he wasn’t acting like a complete jerk, it wasn’t so difficult. “Were there any people you remember seeing at all the clubs that showed a lot of interest in these women?”
“There’s a number of guys, mostly from competing fraternities, that have come to most, if not all, of the tour stops.”
“Do you remember anyone in particular?” Brandon asked.
Shawn thought about it for a long time. “No. I’m sorry. The clubs are pretty crazy and I just wasn’t paying attention. More focused on other things.” He started to move back into sleazeball shocker mode, but stopped himself. “There were a lot of people around. A lot of women. A lot of guys. I don’t remember anyone in particular. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Thanks for your assistance.”
“Do we need to cancel the tour?”
“No. As a matter of fact, we think your tour is our best chance at catching the killer.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Brandon stood and Andrea followed suit.
“We’re probably going to be at all your club appearances, from now on. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t draw anyone’s attention to us.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever will help.”
Brandon shook Shawn’s hand. The other man looked pretty shell-shocked. Andrea didn’t blame him—it was a lot to take in. They left him and walked back out the way they’d come.
“He seemed pretty legitimately surprised,” Brandon said, once they were outside.
“Yeah. I think he was definitely authentic about that. He’s not our killer unless I’m way off.”
“I agree.”
They were almost to the car when Andrea turned back toward the building, sure that Shawn or someone from inside was calling them. But she didn’t see anyone in the doorway.
But she knew someone was studying them.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asked, coming up behind her.
“Nothing. I don’t know. I thought—” She looked around. That feeling from this morning was back. As if someone was watching her.
“What?” She felt Brandon’s hand slide down the arm of her blazer. Having him near helped her shake it off. She was overtired. Had been bombarded by too much over the past few days.
Andrea shook off the feeling and leaned into Brandon. “Nothing. I thought I heard someone call me from back at the building. Must be the lack of sleep getting to me. You know any reasons why lac
k of sleep might have been a problem for me last night?”
Brandon smiled down at her. “Hmm. Maybe. Can’t promise that won’t happen again tonight.”
Andrea hoped so. She would take a repeat of last night any way she could get it.
But there was a lot of work to do before either of them could think about sleeping—or not sleeping.
“We need to go back to Jaguar’s so I can talk to the girls. See if they know or remember anything. Warn them to be careful.”
“If the killer follows the pattern and keeps going with the tour, then the other women at Jaguar’s should be safe,” Brandon said.
“Well, we already have one discrepancy with the pattern. Victim number two wasn’t a dancer at all. So I don’t want to take any chances that the pattern gets changed and the killer comes back to Jaguar’s.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Absolutely. Drackett is already making sure that the club owners are aware of the issue. He knows the local police department is also notifying them, but maybe hearing it from two different law-enforcement sources will make sure everyone is taking it seriously.”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Andrea looked around again but didn’t see anything that made her suspicious. The only thing she needed to be suspicious of was her tendency to see the boogeyman everywhere she looked.
Chapter Fourteen
At nine o’clock the next night Brandon was almost ready to exit his car and enter Club Paradise. Somehow he doubted very much that was what it would turn out to be.
Andrea was already inside, had been there for the past two hours working as a waitress. They’d cleared it with the club manager, “Big Mike,” who’d been happy to keep the women who worked for him safe as well as have free help during the Saturday-night rush.
Big Mike, despite his name, was considerate and businesslike, the opposite of Harry Minkley at Jaguar’s.
Brandon had been happy to spend a couple of hours putting the fear of God and law enforcement into Harry yesterday as Andrea talked to her friends.
Brandon hated the shadows that overtook Andrea’s eyes whenever they were near Jaguar’s. The shadows worsened around Harry. There were a number of scenarios Brandon could envision that would make Andrea react that way even four years later. None of them good.