Dangerous (12 page)

“Is she still in the city?” Drago asked.

“She is, but I don't even know where she lives. She's afraid if she tells me he'll find out somehow.” She shook her head.

“Do you at least have her phone number?” he asked.

Her expression guilty, Alleen said, “I-I can't give that to you. She would never forgive me.”

“A fourteen-year-old girl's life may be at stake,” Camille reminded her. “Angel has killed twice before. That we know of. Your daughter saw him and where he was keeping her. She might give us a description that will help us identify him. Or maybe we can figure out where he's holding Sandy.”

The woman's mouth opened like a fish sucking in air. It was obvious that she was torn. “I can call her, see if she'll talk to you.”

“What if she says no?” Which Camille thought was more than likely since the young woman was living in fear. “That'll be the end of that. If we can talk to her face-to-face, we have a better chance of getting her cooperation.”

Alleen didn't say anything for the longest time, long enough to make Camille sweat. Finally, she sighed and said, “I'll tell you where you might be able to find her.”

“Did you ever think of becoming a cop like your brother?” Camille asked when they left his car parked in front of the Ravenswood office less than an hour later.

Drago started. “What? Where did that come from?”
As if!

“It's just that…well, maybe not…but you're good at this. It's because of you we found Alleen Peyton.”

“
You're
good at this. You're the one who convinced her to give up her daughter.”

The reason he'd taken a step back. A sleep-satiated Camille was pulled together and made a formidable investigator.

“If she's psychic and we actually find Noreen at that club. She just had that pack of matches to go on.”

“Mother's instinct,” Drago said. Camille didn't argue the point. “Surprisingly, we make a good team.”

“Why surprisingly?”

“Because you
are
a cop.” He guessed she hadn't yet figured out his aversion to the system. He opened the entry door and indicated she should go in.

Eva sat at the front desk, using the computer. Where was the receptionist? “You're doing double duty now?” he asked.

“Oh, hey, you're back.” Eva shrugged. “Lois wasn't feeling well, so Justus told her to go home. I said I'd cover the phones. So what are you two doing back here?”

“Killing time.” Tension she couldn't hide laced Camille's words. “Unless you have a lead for us.”

“Sorry. I got the word out but no return yet. You?”

“We got something. Another victim.”

“One that got away,” Drago clarified.

“Holy hell! What did she tell you?”

Drago waited for Camille, but apparently her mind had wandered away from them and back to the case. She'd parked herself in front of one of the windows and was staring out, brooding.

“We haven't met this Noreen Butler yet,” he told Eva. “Her own mother doesn't know where she lives. She did tell us her daughter is using the name Tara Hunter and that we might be able to find her at Night Moves, a dance club in Uptown that doesn't open for several hours. And she gave us this.” He held out the wallet-size photo of a pretty redhead for her to see. “I'm going to scan it and add it to the electronic file.”

“Wow. Oh, wow. What a break!”

“Yeah, wow,” Camille said, her back still toward them. “A real break finding another woman Angel raped and held prisoner for who knows how long. If only she had reported it, two women might still be alive. And Sandy would be home with her mom.”

“You're sure she didn't report it?”

“Positive.” Camille turned to face Eva. “Two sources. Her friend LaShonda told us Noreen was afraid of the police because she'd been in trouble with the law before. And Justus checked with an old friend in the department and backed it up. I'm surprised he didn't tell you all about it.”

“By the time I got back here, he was in a hurry to leave. Said he was meeting a potential new client.” Eva checked her watch, then looked to Drago. “Hm, now that you're here, I might as well go. If you don't mind.”

“No problem. It's nearly time to lock up anyway.”

“There's some leftover pizza in the back office.” Eva gathered up her purse as she made her way to the entry. “If I get anything, I have your cell numbers.”

“Thanks,” Camille said, turning back to the window.

Why was she so down? Drago would have thought she would be ecstatic that the lead paid off, that in a matter of a few hours, chances were good that she would be able to talk to the victim who'd gotten away from Angel. Obviously, all the waiting was getting to her.

And she was getting to him.

If the need he sometimes recognized in her eyes when she looked at him was any indication, the feeling was mutual. She was fighting it, though. Just as he was fighting wanting her.

He locked the front door.

“I thought you said it was
nearly
time to lock up.”

“I doubt anyone is going to walk through those doors this late.”

“So what now? Just sit around and wait?”

Unable to help himself, he arched one eyebrow. “We could find other ways to pass the time.”

As if she had a comeback, she opened her mouth, but in the end closed it and walked over to the front desk. “Exactly. I need to check my email.”

She sat and woke the computer.

He was directly behind her. His mind was whirling with things he wanted to do to her, but he'd told her she would have to make the first move. How probable was that?

“What do you think you're going to find?” he asked. “You've checked your cell often enough.”

“Looking for something from Jackson.”

As if the detective wouldn't simply text her if he had something. Drago guessed the computer was a distraction. From having to wait again or from him? He moved behind her and bent over her as if looking at the monitor, when he was really testing her to see what she would do.

“Don't you find it's odd that it's been so quiet on that front?” he asked, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “Could Jackson be squeezing you out?”

“That did occur to me.” She twitched as if with discomfort. “I guess I can't blame him. He has to protect his job.”

“What about your job?” Drago asked, noting her fingers had frozen on the keys.

“I don't know. No regrets, though. I did what I had to.”

He twirled her chair around so she was facing him. “That doesn't sound like CPD black-and-white thinking.”

“Maybe not. I couldn't just back off. I had to do something.”

“So what have you got against my sources?” He really wanted to know. “Don't tell me you've never made deals with criminal types to get information.”

“When I've had to, but I don't consider them personal friends.”

“Because you've never been inside.”

That was the sticking point between them. They might have some things in common, but in that respect, they were on opposite sides of the court. She didn't know what it was like to be incarcerated, to have to watch her back every moment, to make deals just to have a chance of getting out of the place in one piece.

Apparently not wanting to continue the conversation, she twirled away from him and started typing, though she was using the search bar rather than calling up her email.

Sighing, he gave up for the moment. “I'll be in the back office if you want me.”

“Can't resist cold pizza?”

“That's more than I'm getting in here.”

No Morrigan. Angel signed out of the chat room. He'd been looking for her on and off since taking the kid, but she'd been eluding him. At least he knew where to find her. Her and that damned dog. A problem that could easily be rectified, he reminded himself. And would be later that night.

But what now?

On a whim, he typed “Camille Martell” into the search engine. Maybe she had a social media site where he could find out more about her. When the results came up, he simply stared and scanned them with disbelief.

A cop!

He focused in on the headline: “Double Murder Case Conviction.” And there, in print:
Camille Martell, Area North homicide detective, cracked the three-month-old case, providing enough evidence to put murderer Ron Singer away for 60 years with no chance of parole.

What the fuck! The woman he'd thought of as Morrigan was a homicide detective!

Adrenaline sluiced through him as he thought it out. What would a homicide detective be doing on a dating chat site?

Looking for a date?

Looking for her next collar?

Looking for
him
?

That had to be it, the reason she'd been so friendly. She'd approached him. More than once. Now he got it. She'd been chasing him down, trying to trap him. But her plan had boomeranged on her.

He was on fire with a new need.

Time to teach her a lesson.

Time for the chase to take a deadly different direction…

Night Moves proved to be a below-street-level dance club in one of the area's century-old buildings that housed a couple of restaurants, a coffee shop, and an electronics store on the main level, offices of various kinds on three floors above. The club itself was large, taking up the entire footprint of the building, thousands of square feet filled with a sea of bodies in motion. Giant bars filled wall space on three of the four sides of the room. The fourth wall was electronic, the tall, leather-clad female DJ backed by flashing lights and static photos mixed with videos of dancers. Small table areas filled every nook and cranny around the bars, but the crowded dance floor took up more than half the club's square footage. Though it was still early, hundreds of couples had already begun partying.

Camille leaned into Drago so he could hear her above the music and raised-voice racket echoing throughout the room. “So how do we find Noreen Butler?” Thankful they'd gotten the photo from the woman's mother, Camille gazed around at the sea of bodies on the dance floor but didn't see anyone with bright red hair. “Assuming she's here.”

“Ask?”

“You don't think being direct will end up scaring her off?”

He put his mouth to her ear, making her flesh quiver as he said, “I think I can manage a little workable deception with anyone who might know her.”

Deception? She steeled herself against her very normal reaction to his being so close. “As in?”

“My saying I met ‘Tara' last time I was here, and that I'm looking to hook up with her.”

“Hmm.”

“No comment?”

Again, his breath laved her ear. Again, she refused to let it affect her. Well…at least refused to let him see that it did.

“I'm good,” she insisted.

Deception. How good was Drago at it? Four years ago, Camille had convinced herself there was something between them, that Drago would come back for more. Had she allowed him to fool her into believing that? Why was she even wondering anymore? Their time had passed.

Her body didn't know that, though, when he slid an arm around her middle and pulled her toward the dance floor. Her flesh went soft. Quivered with need.

“What are you doing?” she choked out.

“Getting up close and personal with the patrons.”

He was getting up close and personal with
her
.

On the dance floor now, Drago swung her around and into him. Face to face. Flesh to flesh. The music was hot, their contact steamy. Feeling him against her made her tremble. She tried to control herself. Her body. Her mind. But where he was concerned, she had little control. She quickly felt herself falling into the past…

He holds her like he owns her, and for the moment, he does. From the oldies radio station, “Hungry Eyes” from
Dirty Dancing
fills the room. The hunger in his eyes spreads like wildfire. Swaying to the music, he grinds his hips against hers. She reciprocates and feels him stir against her belly. The camisole and panties she'd donned in an attempt to dress and escape this sensual prison are soft and silky against her skin. Each movement seduces her further and further from wanting to leave the room.

Ever.

He sways and dips so that her back arches over his arm. Her long hair flows in a tangled river of satin that nearly touches the floor. He follows the movement, his mouth finding her breast through the camisole. He slips his hand beneath the material against the silk of her stomach. She gasps and presses against his fingers, tilting her hips, urging his fingers lower, gratified when they slip inside her panties where she awaits them already full and wet. He slips inside and suckles a nipple through the satin camisole. Within seconds, unable to control her reaction to his erotic strokes, she cries out. Boneless, she would fall to the floor without his arm supporting her.

His mouth on hers, he lays her on the bed. Over her, he strokes her with his body so the passion never ceases. Regaining her power, she flips him on his back and climbs on top of him, slipping her panties to the side to make room for his entry. With a sucking sound that cuts through her, she surrounds his tip and slides down his length, then rides him to the music…

Gasping at the memory, Camille frantically pushs Drago away from her.

“What's wrong? Did I step on your foot or something?”

From his amused expression, she knew the memories had him in their grip, as well, and that he was merely baiting her. “If you're going to game the clientele, we'd better split up before everyone thinks we're together.”

His smile faded. “We wouldn't want that, now, would we?”

The moment Drago stepped away from her, Camille took a relieved breath. And realized that women all over the room had him in their radar. Female eyes from every corner were glued to him.

Not that it should bother her…

Shrugging off the idea that it did, she turned her back on Drago and forced her mind to finding Noreen. Rather Tara Hunter, as the woman now called herself. As if a name change could really protect her against Angel. Better that she'd physically removed herself from his sphere. This area was out of Angel's hunting ground.

Now to find the woman who'd escaped him and convince her to talk.

Camille played the casual club patron, wandering back off the dance floor and slowly touring the room, her gaze sliding across every table, penetrating every corner. No familiar face. She stood at the edge of the dance floor. The beat was decidedly hot, and she couldn't help imagining being in Drago's arms again, her body pressed against his.

The victim!
she told herself.
Forget Drago and concentrate on finding Noreen Butler!

So many people filled the area, twisting, turning, hair flying, hiding faces, that identifying anyone from the sidelines was pretty much impossible.

So when she felt a tap on her shoulder and heard a male voice say “Dance?” she automatically nodded, gave the guy wearing a manufactured smile a quick once-over—pleated pants, an elegant long-sleeved, buttoned shirt, shoes with Cuban heels—and elbowed her way toward the center of the dance floor.

“Hey, whoa. Where you headed?” her partner asked.

“I like being in the middle of the action.” The only way she was going to get a good look at some of the dancers. Earlier, she'd had no eyes for anyone other than Drago.

“Okay.”

He pulled her into his arms and started moving. She let her body follow, but her attention was all over the place as she searched for the escapee who might help break the case. If her partner noticed her inattention to him, he didn't make a big deal out of it, not until she misstepped and tromped on his toes.

“Hey, pay attention!”

“I am,” she insisted. Just not on him or what he wanted from her. “Sorry. My first time here. Just taking it all in.”

He moved in closer. “You came alone?”

“I'm supposed to meet someone.”

“Oh.” He loosened his hold on her. “You're meeting a boyfriend?”

“Not exactly. A friend of a friend.” As close to the truth as she could manage under the circumstances. “Her name is Tara Hunter. She hangs out here. Maybe you've met her.”

He shrugged. “Who knows? I don't collect names.”

Nice.

Camille went back to scanning the dancers to no avail. And then suddenly the music ended, and her partner let her go. By the time she turned back to ask him if he wanted to keep dancing, he was gone. Apparently he'd realized she wasn't into him.

An old rock tune had everyone moving fast and with more than just a single partner. Everyone seemed to be dancing with anyone in touching distance, so Camille simply kept dancing, switching partners, winding her way through the morass, checking faces, finding not one that looked familiar. Not even Drago. She suddenly realized she hadn't seen him since she'd basically told him to take a hike.

Which made her wonder if
he
had found Noreen.

Spotting the closest bar, she let the music move her toward it and away from the dancers. No Drago, but the bartender was free for the moment, so she stepped up to his station.

She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “Seltzer with lime!”

“Coming right up.”

When he set it in front of her, she slipped him a five. “I'm looking for a friend.”

“Good luck.”

“Maybe you know her. Name's Tara Hunter.”

“Yeah, sure I know Tara. She's on shift tonight.”

On shift? An employee!
Camille's pulse suddenly thrummed unevenly. They hadn't even considered the woman might actually work here.

“Do you know where I can find her?” she asked.

“Over there.” The bartender pointed to a dark-haired waitress serving a tray of drinks at a table not twenty feet from where she stood.

Dark hair? Alleen Peyton hadn't said anything about her daughter dying her hair. Maybe she hadn't known. No wonder Noreen had been impossible to spot. Camille had been looking for a redhead.

“Thanks.”

But the bartender was already busy with another customer.

How to approach Noreen was the question. Trying to make some rational explanation as to why the woman should speak to her while competing with this noise seemed impossible. Maybe she could follow her, corner her at the bar. Or Noreen would have to go to the restroom sometime, and Camille could follow her there, though more than likely, the place would be crowded with women.

Caught up in trying to make a plan, she wasn't aware that she was no longer alone until she heard “No luck, either, huh?” directly in her ear.

She jumped back. “Drago!” Heat flushed through her middle to her limbs.

“You were expecting someone else?”

“You just startled me.” It was more than that, of course, but she tightened her hold on herself. “And yes, I've had some luck but don't know what to do with it.” She glanced to where she'd seen the waitress. Holding her empty tray, Noreen/Tara was heading toward them. “That's her.”

Drago's double take was as genuine as hers had been. As the woman drew closer, Camille stared directly at her face. The same face as in the photo her mother had given them, but experience had aged her, and her expression had darkened. She'd grown wary with good reason.

“How do we get her somewhere we can talk?” Drago muttered.

“Just what I was wondering.” If she tried to get Noreen away from all this, she might freak on them and run. “Maybe direct is best.”

“That worked with her mother,” he reminded her.

The DJ chose that moment to switch to something slow and sweet. Camille could actually hear herself think. Her nerves calmed and her stomach settled. “Let's do it.”

“I'll follow your lead.”

That was a change in attitude, one Camille appreciated. She stepped in front of the other woman. “Excuse me?”

The wariness didn't leave Noreen's eyes, but her lips curved in a deliberate smile. “What are you drinking?”

“Seltzer with lime.”

She glanced at the glass in Camille's hand. “Something wrong with that one?”

Thrown for a second, Camille opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Is something wrong?” Noreen asked again, her brows furrowing, the wariness deepening.

“Something is very wrong.” Camille sped through it. “This time, he took a fourteen-year-old girl. He's already had her for two nights.”

Was it the lighting or did all the blood drain from the other woman's face? Camille hadn't even named Angel, but Noreen knew. Not saying anything, she started to back away as if afraid.
Of them.

“Please…”

If she'd done this wrong and they lost Sandy, she would have no one but herself to blame. Again.

Drago put a solid hand in the middle of her back and said, “We have to find the girl before it's too late.”

Camille quickly added, “You're our only hope.”

Seconds of silence. Noreen's expression changing from fear to disbelief to determination. Not daring to breathe, Camille waited her out.

“Not here.” Noreen indicated they should follow her.

Camille locked gazes with Drago even as they set off toward a door in the back wall to the left of the DJ. This was it, then, the break they'd been praying for. Surely Noreen would give them the lead they needed to get to Angel and rescue Sandy before it was too late.

Once they got behind the scenes, the noise level cut in half. Quite a jolt. But Noreen kept going down a long hallway, didn't stop until they reached a room filled with lockers and benches and a mirrored wall. No other employees. And no noise.

It was obvious that though she was still uncertain, Noreen was calling on an inner strength. “Tell me.”

Camille gave it to her in shorthand. Two women dead. Her taken off the case but working on her home computer to find Angel. Him finding Sandy instead. Drago stood at her side in silent support through her account.

Noreen's eyes filled with tears that overflowed. “Poor kid.” She swiped at her cheek and sniffled.

Camille's eyes stung in response. She could only imagine the things Angel had done to the other woman. She couldn't think about what he was actually doing to the fourteen-year-old. Not and stay strong.

She said, “At least Sandy's still alive. Like you are.”

“Me? I live in the shadows. Every time I go out, I expect to turn a corner and he'll be there, waiting for me, wearing that horrible grin…”

If only she'd reported her abduction to the authoritie
s…not that Camille was going to so much as mention it. She was certain Noreen already knew she'd made a serious mistake by not doing so.