“They operate a women’s shelter. When they need a
little to tide them over…”
“You give it to them.” He swallowed hard. “You are a
very generous woman.”
She looked up then, her dark eyes intense. “Fate is
simply circumstance, Noah. The circumstance of birth, of ability, of events.
Choice is what you do with it. I may not believe in fate,” she said, “but I do
believe in choice. And I believe in giving back.”
People need purpose
, she’d told him.
But people also need lives
, he thought,
and
I’ve been without one too long.
And so had Eve. He was trying to think of a
way to say that without seeming self-serving when a stir at the poker table
broke the moment.
She turned back to her screen as a chorus of boos
erupted. Crowd favorite Natalie had lost big. Raking in the chips was a male
avatar, very dashing. “Who is that?”
She scowled. “Dasich. He fancies himself quite a card
shark. He cheats.”
“How do you know?”
“He wins too often and too well. I think he has a
confederate at the table. But being in the virtual world, that’s hard to
prove.”
“He looks like one of your designs. Very handsome.”
“He is, and he proves what I’ve always known. Bad
people rarely look bad. If bad people look sleazy, good people don’t trust
them. Cops like you catch them more easily. But if bad people look normal,
honest…”
“Trustworthy?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Yeah. Then they’re able to worm their way in, find
the vulnerability, exploit it.”
He wondered if she knew how hard her voice had become.
Brittle. “And I?” he asked. “Am I one of those people looking to exploit your
vulnerability?”
She glanced up, her eyes now guarded. “Yes. Not for
nefarious reasons, but you have an agenda.” She smiled, attempting to soften
her words. “You’ve been alone too long, and you want someone again. For some
reason, you’ve decided that’s me.”
She had a way of boiling things down to the bottom
line. “But?” he asked, sharply.
“It can’t be me,” she said simply, then pointed at the
screen. “Natalie’s avatar is pissed off and filing a grievance against Dasich.
Not much chance of justice, but at least she’s here and not meeting a serial
killer somewhere. One more red-zone to go and we’re done for the night. Rachel
Ward, where are you?”
Noah knew she’d tried to let him down gently, as she
had the lonely avatar who kept trying to buy her a drink. He also knew he
should take the hint and walk away. But he’d seen the loneliness in her eyes,
too, and he wasn’t giving up just yet.
She sent Greer to a stage in a dark corner where
dancers writhed more erotically than animated characters should. “Rachel’s
Delilah should be dancing tonight.”
Eve’s face became troubled as she searched the area.
“But she’s not,” he said.
“No, but the night’s still young. Rachel might just be
late.”
“So what do we do?” Noah asked.
“I’ll wait and watch. I’m sure you have other things
to do.”
Noah leaned back, got as comfortable as her sofa
allowed. “I’ve got time.”
She looked up at him, frowning in frustration. “You’re
not taking a hint, are you?”
He tried for smooth even though his heart pounded.
“No. Are you throwing me out?”
Something moved in her eyes. “I made you a sandwich
earlier. It’s in the fridge.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I could
eat.”
She sighed. “You want some tonic water with that?”
“I hate tonic water.”
“You—?” She shook her head. “Then cola or juice or
milk?”
He stood when she did. “Milk. And let’s be quiet so we
don’t disturb your guest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You sneak. You just pretended to
be asleep the whole time.”
He smiled, but grimly. “Like you said, I have an
agenda. Let’s eat.”
Wednesday, February 24, 12:45 a.m.
“Your sister was arrested with a prostitute named
Belle,” Olivia had said when she’d picked Liza and Tom up. They found Belle
pretty easily in one of the bars Liza hadn’t been allowed to enter the night
before.
“Detective Olivia,” Belle said. “How the hell are
you?”
“Wishing I weren’t seeing you here,” Olivia said, but
kindly. “I’m looking for the woman in this picture. Her name is Lindsay
Barkley. Do you know her?”
“Yeah, I know her. We call her Little Red, on account
of her hair.”
“So have you seen her?” Olivia asked. “She hasn’t been
home lately.”
Belle thought. “Not since the weekend. She was working
the Hay.”
The Hay Hotel
,
Liza thought. “I checked there last night. Nobody’s seen her. Please, anything
you can think of.”
Belle’s face was sympathetic. “You might try Jonesy.
He’s been watchin’.”
“Why?” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes. “Why’s he
watching? And who?”
“I s’pose he has his reasons. That’s all I know. I’d
tell you if I knew. I would.”
“Who is Jonesy?” Liza asked when they were back in
Olivia’s car.
“Minor dealer. Don’t go looking. I’ll ask my pals in
narcotics if they know him.”
“All right,” Liza said. “I’ve got to sleep tonight.
Can you call me tomorrow?”
“If I know something, I will.”
Wednesday, February 24, 12:50 a.m.
Rachel Ward noted with bleary-eyed annoyance that her
glass had become empty. “Another, please. Vodka, straight up.”
The bartender shook his head. “Last call was five
minutes ago. I’ll call you a cab.”
She glared at the man, then dropped her eyes to glare
at her empty glass. She’d lost count of how many she’d had while waiting for
that sonofabitch John. He’d stood her up. Got her worked up into a froth, then
had stood her up.
“No, I have a ride.” She pushed away from the bar,
teetering in her high heels. It had been a long time since she’d worn heels.
Five years. The same amount of time since she’d been to a bar. Or had sex. That
hadn’t ended so well, either.
She thought of Bernie, rotting in his cell, and felt a
pang of regret mixed with anger. If he hadn’t gone and fucked everything up…
He’d had affairs on the road, she knew he did. She’d found countless matchbooks
from truck stops and condom wrappers in his pockets. He’d never even denied it.
Patted me on the head and said men had needs
.
It still made her blood boil. And he’d expected her to
be some little nun, just waiting for her man to roll out of his rig into her
bed every two weeks? That hadn’t been what she’d signed up for when she’d
married him. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was.
That he’d been so stunned at her affairs had been a
shock to her. That he’d been so angry made her furious. That he’d been capable
of such brutality still horrified her, down to her bones. And that people had
died in the fire Bernie set was something she still hadn’t been able to forget.
She could still hear their screams in her nightmares.
She’d been good for five years. Done penance. Gone to
church. Tonight was supposed to be a little… reward. Time off for good
behavior. But once again, she’d picked wrong. John seemed so nice online. So
honest. And as horny as she was.
But he’d stood her up.
Maybe he came in, but didn’t
like what he saw and left.
She knew the years had not been good to her. In
the last five years she’d aged twenty. John had seemed straight. A businessman
who was in town for one night and only wanted sex. No ties, no relationship for
Bernie to find out about.
Because Bernie would find out if she got a boyfriend.
He had ways. She knew he kept tabs on her, even from the state pen. His letters
contained sly references to her routine, to any promotions at work. To the flu
she’d just gotten over. Anything to let her know he watched her, that he hadn’t
forgiven her.
Discovering Shadowland had been the best damn thing
that ever happened to her. She could be herself, not worry about what anybody
told Bernie. She could fuck twenty guys in a night online and nobody would ever
know.
Sometimes you wanna go where no one knows your name. Ain’t that the
truth.
Looked like that was where she’d end up tonight.
I should stop
for batteries on my way home
, she thought glumly
.
She searched for her keys, then looked up to find the
bartender giving her a pitying look.
Smug bastard.
“First sobriety test,
ma’am. You gave me your keys when you sat down. That you forgot is a good sign
that you shouldn’t be driving. I’ll call you a cab.”
She knew better than to argue. She also knew she needed
her car to get to work in the morning. She had a key hidden under her car.
“Fine. But I’ll need my house keys.”
“All right.” He fished her keys from a bowl, then
dropped her key ring on the floor. When he bent to retrieve it, she saw
opportunity and deftly grabbed one of the bottles he’d clustered on the bar as
he did inventory and put it under her coat.
Second sobriety test
, she thought smugly.
If the customer can steal from you, they’re
not that drunk
. Besides, the extra booze would help her sleep. She’d
planned to have a man in her bed for the first time in five years. Sleeping
alone wouldn’t be fun.
The bartender wrestled with her key ring. “Here’s your
house keys.”
She took them with a level nod. “Thanks. I’ll wait
outside for my cab.”
“It’s five degrees outside, ma’am.”
“I know. I need the air. Have a good night.”
Wednesday, February 24, 1:02 a.m.
Rachel hadn’t wanted to meet in a coffee shop. She
hadn’t been out on a date in five years, she’d said when they’d made the
arrangements online. She’d suggested this bar and it was fine by him. The
cameras in their parking lot hadn’t worked in years and it was a house of
rather ill repute where patrons liked their privacy, so anybody coming here was
unlikely to talk about anyone they’d seen waiting here.
He’d gotten a good bit of work done, as he’d been
waiting for quite a while. Rachel Ward had outlasted all of his previous
victims at nearly two hours and holding. But it was last call, so she’d be
stumbling out soon.
And there she was. He frowned. She appeared to be
drunk. He hoped she made it home. Having her pulled over for a DUI would be
enormously inconvenient, especially as he’d gone to the trouble of readying her
house for the evening.
Rachel stumbled across the parking lot in a pair of
very high heels. He loved to see women in heels, the higher the better. It kept
them hobbled and, he hoped, in pain. She stooped to fish a spare key from
beneath her car, got in, and pulled onto the highway.
A minute later, he followed.
Wednesday, February 24, 1:40 a.m.
“Is Rachel there yet?” Noah asked and Eve looked up
from the files she’d been reviewing to check her laptop screen.
“No.” Rachel’s avatar was still AWOL from the stage
and Natalie was winning again now that Dasich had quit for the evening. “And
she should be.”
“I’ll send a cruiser to her house,” he said. “Give me
her address.”
Eve found it on the participant list. “And if she’s
not home?”
His eyes sharpened. “Then we assume he’ll be following
her home. I’ll assemble a team and we’ll be waiting to take him down.” He made
the call to Dispatch, then returned to the stack of graphs he’d been plodding
through a page at a time. “Are you finding anything here? Because I’m not,
except that grad students generate a lot of data.”
After devouring a sandwich, he’d asked to see the logs
Eve kept of her subjects’ Shadowland play time. They’d been sitting on her
sofa, poring over data for an hour. Eve stifled a yawn. “You can take this with
you. You don’t have to read them here. Just call me when you get word on
Rachel.”
He frowned, surprised. “You don’t have to stay up. Go
to bed if you’re tired.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re sitting on my
bed.”
He looked incredulous. “You were planning to sleep on
this torture device?”
“I have one bed and David’s in it. Which you knew
because you were awake.”
“This is a two-bedroom apartment. What’s in the other
bedroom?”
“Boxes full of more data. I’m sorry, Noah, but you
can’t stay here tonight.”
“Where were you going to sleep when you thought I was
sleeping?”
“In my chair. Look, you were supposed to change my
deadbolt, then leave. No offense intended and I appreciate everything you’ve
done, but I’m in no danger. David put in a new security system this afternoon
and he’s here with me. And I have my gun. Besides, you promised you’d check on
Kathy, the lady in the wheelchair, and Rachel.”
“A cruiser went by Kathy’s house and could see her
through her front window. She was on her computer, totally alive and safe.”