Beg for Mercy (25 page)

She laughed silently and shook her head.
You’re out in a club wearing hooker shoes and a dress made with less fabric than a handkerchief. Of course you’re being looked at.

Still, she did another scan, but she didn’t see anyone staring particularly hard at her. The table where Nate and his clients had sat was now occupied by a new group. No Talia Vega glaring daggers at her from behind the bar. No Jack Brooks watching her with his cold, impassive gaze.

Then again, something told her if Jack were watching her, he’d never let himself be seen. Her skin prickled with goose bumps despite the heat generated from hundreds of bodies moving through the club. She tossed her hair down her back and continued up the stairs, telling herself she didn’t give a crap whether Club One’s menacing head of security was watching her or not. If he saw what she was up to, so far he hadn’t interfered.

Still, the thought of him watching her from the shadows made part of her want to turn tail and head for home.

The VIP area was located at the back of the second floor, hidden behind a wall of frosted glass. As she approached, she watched as dozens of people approached the doorway to the inner sanctum. The men were dressed expensively and were of varying levels of attractiveness, but there wasn’t a woman who went through the door who wasn’t model-perfect.

Megan ducked into the bathroom and checked her reflection. More glam than average? Definitely. Model-perfect? Absolutely not.

As she was applying another coat of lipstick, a woman
emerged from a bathroom stall. She was small with short, spiky blond hair. Megan had a flash of recognition. The Web site. The blonde’s picture had flashed up there for a split second; Megan was almost certain of it.

The woman’s thin frame was showcased by a skintight, white satin top and equally tight leggings that looked like they were made of vinyl. She was beautiful in a delicate, elfin sort of way. Megan knew she would have no problem getting into the VIP room.

Megan waited until the woman washed her hands before she shoved her phone with Bianca’s picture in her face. “Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you know anything about this woman.” She watched the woman’s reaction carefully.

The girl drew back in surprise, and her lips moved for a moment without sound. “Uh… uh… isn’t that the girl who—” She broke off, swallowing convulsively, her skin paling.

“She was the latest Slasher victim,” Megan said matter-of-factly. “I’m trying to track down her roommate.”

“Why? Are you a cop?” the girl asked warily.

Megan shook her head with a little laugh. “Hell no.”

“You’re a friend of hers?” The woman cocked a hip and surveyed Megan up and down.

“Not exactly,” Megan conceded. “I have a…” How should she put it? “A personal stake in her case, I guess you could say. I have a theory that the Slasher murders might be connected to another murder three years ago.”

“It’s really scary what happened,” the woman said as she took another look at the photo on the screen. She bit her lip and gave a little shudwidth="2hen lifted her eyes to meet Megan’s again. “Sorry, but I didn’t know her.”

Megan sighed and put her phone back in her purse. “Doesn’t seem like anyone else did either.” She turned to go, but as she put her hand on the door handle, the girl called out, “I saw in the papers they’re doing everything they can to find the guy. Brought in the FBI and everything.”

Megan nodded.

“A lot of effort for a handful of dead hookers.”

Megan’s head snapped back. The police had released Bianca’s identity to the press, but they hadn’t mentioned their suspicions that the victims were prostitutes. “How did you know they were hookers?” Even though Megan hadn’t seen more than a flash of an image, her gut was telling her this was one of the girls.

The woman shook her head, eyes wide. “I just assumed. Isn’t that how it always is on TV?” she said with a forced laugh. “Creepy killer stalking and killing hookers because no one cares enough to look after them?” She rummaged through her clutch purse, avoiding Megan’s eyes as she pulled out a tube of lipstick.

Megan moved behind her until she could see her reflection over the woman’s shoulder in the mirror. “Everyone has someone who cares about them. But unless someone cares enough to tell the truth about what’s going on, he’s just going to keep getting away with it.”

The woman’s gaze flicked to Megan’s reflection in the mirror as she smoothed her lips with slick pink color. “I’m sorry for those girls and all, but I’ve got plenty of my own shit to worry about, you know?”

Yeah, I know all about having other shit to worry about. Like my brother dying of a lethal injection in a week if I don’t find enough of a connection to raise reasonable doubt.
“Fine. But in case you suddenly remember
something about Bianca or anyone else who might know her, here’s my number.” She pulled a business card from her purse and slapped it on the counter. She went to the bathroom door and gave the blonde one last look.

She still hadn’t picked up the card.

Megan knew she should have pressed her harder, but she’d learned from experience with her kids in the system that if someone didn’t want to tell her something, there was no way to force it out of them.

To hell with it. Maybe she should just call the cops and have them deal with it. She could imagine how that conversation would go: “Right, Agent Tasso. Remember how I broke into Bianca’s house and snooped around? Well, I found a Web site for what I’m pretty sure was an escort service which may or may not have featured Bianca, but I managed to crash it before I told you about it. I also found a cocktail napkin with Club One’s logo, you know, the same club where Evangeline Gordon was working when my brother supposedly killed her? And I thought, what a coincidence…” and so on until they hung up or arrested her again for interfering in their investigation.

Nope, she was out on her own, and she didn’t want the woman, whoever she was, to get spooked. And, Megan told herself, chances were if she’d found one person tonight who’d known Bianca—even if she didn’t want to admit it—she was bound to find another.

She stepped out of the bathroom, eyeing the VIP door from across the upper level’s bar area. She stopped at several tables, interrupting couples and groups as she flashed Bianca’s picture. All she got were a lot of head shakes and annoyed looks that she’d interrupted their fun with questions about a dead girl.

At one point she saw the woman from the bathroom slip by her and dart into the VIP room. Megan sighed. Time for her to stick out her tits, lay on the charm, and follow suit.

Cole hung back in the shadows, nursing his beer as he watched Megan move through the crowd with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. He had to give her points for determination. She was, if nothing else, a woman dedicated to her mission as she shoved that iPhone in the faces of anyone who would pay attention. Taking every head shake, every annoyed brush-off on the chin as she moved on to her next target.

Now she was headed for the VIP area. This should be interesting. Even with her heavy makeup and wardrobe from Sluts R Us, Megan didn’t fit in with the crowd here at Club One. She was too sober, too purposeful to fit in with the kind of crowd that had the time and the means to knock back twenty-dollar designer drinks until the wee hours on a Thursday night.

Not that he didn’t appreciate her efforts to blend in. The heavy red lipstick he could do without, but that dress… It was absolutely criminal what that tight, short, low-cut dress did for her legs.

And her breasts.

And her ass.

And Cole was far from the only one who noticed. He’d spent the past hour watching guys’ eyes glaze over, losing focus on the questions Megan peppered at them as their gazes locked on the soft inside curves of her breasts
displayed by the plunging V of her neckline. His right hand felt like it was permanently clenched in a fist as he fought not to slam it into yet another club patron’s leering gaze. And when Captain America had appeared out of the crowd and put his hands all over her, Cole had nearly lost it.

He held himself back, relaxing when Nate returned to the two guys he was with. He tailed Megan through the crowd, making sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble, keeping close tabs to see if it looked like anyone was actually giving up any relevant information.

While he was pretty damn certain this mission of hers—whatever had sparked it—was a bust, there was always a chance she’d come up with something. After all, she had come up with Bianca’s address before he had, he reminded himself with a fresh spurt of irritation.

This time he intended to be there if she managed to uncover any leads.

Watching Megan from behind as she approached the entrance to the VIP area, Cole smiled as she stuck her ass out and tilted her head back, one hand on her cocked hip as she talked to whoever was manning the door.

Next thing he knew,he had disappeared inside.

Huh. Well, this was Seattle, after all. Not like it’s L.A. or even Vegas, chock-full of celebrities and high rollers.

Yet when Cole tried to get in, he was told no dice, no way, no how. He knew he wouldn’t get in without causing a scene, and he didn’t want to ruin Megan’s night—not yet. If this is what she needed to do to get through the night, to give her a sense of purpose while she dealt with the shit sandwich her brother had served up, who was he to interfere?

And now you have an excuse to question her later.
His mouth curved into a grim smile as he let himself fantasize for a moment about some creative interrogation techniques.

Cole found a table near the VIP room where he could sit with his back to the wall and keep an eye on the door. He ordered another overpriced microbrew from a passing server and settled in to wait.

Megan scanned the VIP area, her stomach churning with discomfort. The vibe in here was decidedly different.
Welcome to the land of the beautiful people.

Check that. Welcome to the land of the beautiful people about to have sex.

Everything about the room was sexually charged. Older men held court at tables crowded with beautiful young women willing to exchange a couple gropes or something more for endless free drinks. She watched a server who could have been a model drop off a bottle of liquor, flashing a smile when the fat cat she served gave her a pat on the ass.

Megan wasn’t sure, but she thought she recognized a local athlete at a table with several friends. He whispered something in his waitress’s ear, and within seconds she had recruited two young women dressed like twins to go sit at their table.

Was this how it all started?

Couples, threesomes, even foursomes lounged indolently on plush velvet couches. Even those who weren’t actively kissing or groping leaned in close to one another,
speaking in intimate whispers over the heavy music thumping from below.

Smoky haze filled the dim room, and Megan smelled tobacco, pot, and other things she didn’t recognize and didn’t want to think about. Apparently there was an anything-goes policy here in Club One’s VIP room, and yet again she wondered what her straight-arrow, military-bred brother had found appealing about this kind of indulgence.

It wasn’t the club; it was the girl,
she reminded herself. Then she wondered what it said about Sean that he would go after a woman who ran with a crowd like this.

Maybe you didn’t know him so well after all,
that evil, nagging little voice that liked to chime in when she was nearing rock bottom hissed at the edges of her consciousness.