Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

“I convinced myself Hannah found some peace,” she told Elena. “I used to imagine she was married to a great guy like our real father, maybe with a kid on the way. That she wasn’t scared anymore. But living like she did… she must have been scared all the time.”

“Look, photos,” Elena said, picking up an album from a small side table. She handed it to Lilith.

Hanging onto the tiger-cat, Lilith stared at pictures of the two of them as kids with Mama and Daddy. Their real father. There were a few other shots of Hannah as she matured with other people, but not many of these.

A publicity photo of a hard-looking woman made Lilith stare.

This was and yet was not the little sister she remembered.

And then she turned the page to find a familiar article from a national magazine, one chronicling a guardian ad litem case handled by her boss, Rita Henderson, and accompanied by a photograph. Lilith had worked hard on the case, and Rita had insisted she be in the shot.

Staring at her own image tucked into her sister’s scrapbook, Lilith said, “She knew I was here for months. Why did she never contact me?”

Elena’s dark eyes were loaded with sympathy. “Maybe she was trying to work up the courage… she probably figured you wouldn’t approve of her lifestyle.”

Lilith shook her head and closed the book. “And I let her know I didn’t.”

“Maybe you ought to come to my place for the night,” Elena suggested. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

A plan was forming in Lilith’s mind. She couldn’t do nothing. Couldn’t wait until the news of Hannah’s death hit the media. No, no! Hannah was still alive, she reminded herself. Pucinski said he kept them.

Knowing what she had to do, Lilith said, “I’m not going home.”

After walking Elena to the bus stop, Lilith returned to Hannah’s place to implement her budding plan. Pucinski’s telling her about the undercover cop working the club had given her the idea.

She went through her sister’s wardrobe, far more extensive and expensive than her own. Not exactly her style, but that was the point. She picked out a lavender dress that she hoped would fit her. The bodice was fairly modest, showing off shoulders rather than cleavage. She popped the heart-half beneath the material. The dress was so tight in the hips she wouldn’t be able to move if it weren’t equally short.

Ignoring the feeling of being a little overexposed, Lilith next found her sister’s scrapbook and removed a glossy of Hannah — one of the publicity shots taken at the club.

Placing it in the corner of the bathroom mirror, she used the photo as a guide to her own transformation. First the makeup. Base, blush, powder, eyeliner and shadow, mascara, lip liner and gloss. She loosened her French braid and brushed it out, then pulled it up into a fancy ponytail trailing over one shoulder.

Lilith was startled by her own reflection, so much more sophisticated and in-your-face than she’d ever seen it before. The resemblance between the woman in the mirror and the glossy of Anna Youngheart was eerie. Thinking about what she was committing herself to, she swallowed hard and stared at Hannah’s photo.

“I promise I won’t do what’s easiest this time.”

She and Hannah could almost be twins, she thought.

Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.

But maybe the man who had her sister would.

HER ENTRANCE into the club caused something of a stir quite different from the one earlier that evening. She heard a few low noises which she assumed were meant to be complimentary. While she put on a good face, strutting into the main room of the club like she owned it, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with her new skin.

No hiding from curious eyes this time.

Heading straight for the bar, she forced her hips to sway to the loud beat of music. She took a quick glance around but didn’t see Michael Wyndham this time. The bartender stopped mixing a drink to stare, and she was certain he thought he was seeing a ghost.

“I’m looking for a job.” Her heart hammered like crazy. “I understand you need a waitress.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he pointed to a man standing a few yards away. “That’s the manager there. Sal Ruscio.”

Thanking him, Lilith approached the man whose flowered shirt belied the expensive cut of his suit. Seeing her, he did a double take and couldn’t stop staring.

The sound of blood rushing in her ears accompanying her, she said, “Sign outside says you need a new waitress.”

“The last waitress I hired got herself in trouble. The permanent kind. Know what I mean?”

Lilith gave him a purposefully haughty look. “I can take care of myself.”

Though she didn’t feel as confident of that fact as she had before. Her stomach was tied in a knot. Though scared, she brazened it out.

This Sal was staring at her face so hard, he might be trying to get inside her head. He was obviously buzzing with the possibilities.

“You kinda look like her. One of my dancers.” Now he eyed her body thoroughly as if mentally taking measurements. “Bet you could fit in her costumes, too.” Sal’s grin told Lilith exactly what he had in mind.

“Dancer? Uh, no. Waitress.”

“Okay, waitress, then. Maybe after you’re here a while, I can talk you into moving up in the world,” he said, looking up at the stage and then at her. Sal’s grin widened. “When can you start?”

WHAT HAD SHE been thinking? Lilith wondered as she brushed her ponytail, standing before the wall-length mirror in the dressing room ten minutes later.

“Damn!”

“You got a problem, child?”

A striking and very tall black woman entered the dressing room. She was wearing a tiny top and minisarong in an island print that barely covered the essentials.

“Name’s Caresse,” the dancer said.

“Lilith.”

“Hey, Lilith. Where’d you work before coming here?”

Lilith said the first thing that came to mind. “Los Angeles.”

“L.A., huh? I was out there two, no, three years ago. What joint?”

Finding a hair clip that obviously met her approval, the black woman “borrowed” it, Lilith noticed, wondering if that was the norm around there. Then Caresse went back to her own seat in front of the mirror.

“You wouldn’t know the joint,” Lilith said. “The club only opened last year.”

Having changed into the waitress outfit — loose pin-striped pants and a backless vest — she checked herself in the mirror and lifted her arms. The material moved with her, exposing the sides of her breasts. Wearing a bra under the top was impossible.

“You might want to use some of this tape on the sides,” Caresse suggested, holding out a roll.

Grinning, Lilith faced the dancer to take the tape. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Looking as if she were seeing things, Caresse said, “Oh, you’re gonna be a shock to some of the regulars. Sal tell you about Anna Youngheart? You could be her twin. Some bastard took her last night. Cops think a killer has her, and it’s just a matter of days before her body turns up.”

Not if she could help it, Lilith thought, even knowing the first forty-eight hours were most important in finding someone who’d gone missing. It was almost that now. If the killer didn’t get impatient, Lilith had maybe a week to find her sister. Or the man who had taken her.

Tick… tick… tick…

“Did you know her well?” Eyeing Caresse through the mirror, Lilith taped the material in place.

“Kinda uncanny.” Caresse murmured. “The resemblance, I mean.”

“I got the definite impression that’s why Sal hired me.”