Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

She flashed him a surprised expression. “You don’t look like the type who has to pay for a woman’s company.”

“To talk. I’ll pay you to talk to me–”

“Look, I’m not that kind of working girl, okay?”

“– on camera,” he finished.

Her brows shot up. “Some people would say you’re a pervert.”

“I’m being straight with you. I make documentaries. Honest. You don’t believe me, go ask the bartender. Joe can vouch for me.”

“Right, as if I could trust a bartender’s word. He would probably vouch for any customer for a big enough tip.”

Hitting the street, she walked faster, dodging a drunk and a couple of teenaged boys, who gave her appreciative wolf whistles.

Michael kept in stride and kept at her. “You’re a real puzzle, Lilith. Solving puzzles is a hobby of mine.”

She stopped next to the bus stop sign and glanced down the street. Empty. Her hand went to her neck. “You don’t really want to know me.”

“Sure I do.” His gaze settled on her fingers playing with her chain like worry beads. “I want to understand why you decided to work at the club.”

That seemed to get her full attention. “Maybe I have no choice.”

That was a lie. “We all have choices.” She certainly was uptight, and he guessed he didn’t blame her. “I want to know about yours. You surprised me, and I’m not easily surprised.”

“Maybe I don’t like the idea of your being in my skin.”

“Maybe you’re afraid.”

Lilith gave him a contemptuous look. “I am not afraid.”

“And don’t want to admit it.”

She repeated herself, staring at him hard and stressing the words. “I am not afraid.”

“So you hide it under the tough act.”

She practically shouted, “I am not afraid!”

Michael fell silent, and Lilith stared him down. She was tougher than he’d first thought. Now she really interested him.

“So if you’re not afraid, you’ll talk to me?”

He followed her gaze to where it settled on the other side of the street. Another dancer from the club sat in a window booth of the corner all-night restaurant. The one named Caresse. She was watching them through the plate glass. Lilith suddenly darted into the street, dodging traffic to get across.

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow night, see if you have a change of heart!” he called after her, then stood there, smiling to himself.

Unlike the other women who worked the club, Lilith seemed both vulnerable and tough. And he sensed he got to her as much as she got to him.

Suddenly his time spent at the club became more interesting.

HER SUSPICIONS FLYING HIGH, Lilith entered the greasy spoon, staring out at the street through the plate-glass window. Michael stood there for a moment — she could still feel his gaze on her — then waved and walked off. But now that she was inside…

Inside was narrow with a long counter and stools and booths along the windows. She approached Caresse, who was eating a middle-of-the-night breakfast.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Sit.”

Lilith slipped onto the opposite bench and scooted over some more. She checked out the window. No Michael. He’d vanished. She felt that odd pressure lift from her chest.

Caresse dropped her fork. “I’m glad you took my advice about not getting cozy with the customers.”

When the waitress appeared with a menu, Lilith said, “Just tea.” Then asked the other dancer, “What do you know about this Michael Wyndham?”

Caresse shrugged. “That he usually keeps to himself.”

“So he’s a regular.” Which made him a possible suspect. She figured she’d have to suspect anyone who was around the club a lot and also seemed overly interested in her. “He wants to get inside my head.”

Caresse raised her eyebrows. “Child, you sure that’s all he wants to get into?”

“He offered to pay me to talk to his camera.”

A silent Caresse stared down at her congealing eggs.

“Did he ever make the offer to anyone else?” Lilith asked.

“Couldn’t say. I haven’t been at the club long. Why do you care?”

“I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Be smart. Don’t get yourself into nothing.”

The waitress interrupted, placing a cup of coffee in front of Lilith, who thanked her. She began swirling the dark liquid with a spoon.

“You listen to me, child,” Caresse said. “You gotta look out for yourself.”

“You know something bad about Michael Wyndham?”

“I know none of these jokers care spit for us girls, starting with Sal.” She uttered the manager’s name like a warning. “They’re users is all. When they’re done with their fun and games, we’re disposable. Maybe permanently.”

At the reminder, Lilith turned inward and so didn’t at once realize Caresse was staring at her throat. At the heart-half now lying against the top of the dress. Their eyes met.

“Where’d you get that necklace?” Caresse asked, her voice soft. “Anna always wore it when she wasn’t dancing. Said it had sentimental value.”

Lilith’s hand shot to her throat. Her mouth opened and closed, but she was so startled, she couldn’t think. Caresse was staring, waiting.

Finally Lilith blurted, “I found it in the back of a drawer in the dressing room. She must have left it there.”

Certain the lie was written on her face, she was relieved Caresse didn’t challenge her.

She could only hope the man who was holding her sister would.

LILITH MITCHELL was going to be a challenge worthy of him. More of a challenge than the one who called herself Anna Youngheart, though surprisingly, his current catch wasn’t like the others. She didn’t beg or whine for mercy.

Neither would Lilith.

How to set the right trap for her?

It was obvious she wanted him to, or why else would she have taken a job at the club if not to haunt him? He could be very accommodating. He would give her what she wanted and so much more.

Before Lilith was put to the ultimate test, he would have to do something about her confidence. He hated women who thought they could best him. One woman who had that power was enough. He’d learned how to deal with the others. It was kind of like a game of chess — knowing the right moves to make.

A little warped game playing would go a long way toward undermining Lilith’s confidence.

He was just the man to do it.

NAKED, HANNAH runs through the woods. Runs for her life.

Wearing a hunting vest and cap pulled low, the killer follows. He carries a rifle, and a hunting knife is tucked into a belt. He hesitates a second and listens to thrashing sounds somewhere ahead.

Hannah trips and goes down to her knees, sobbing.

The killer checks for tracks, for broken branches in the bushes.

Hannah flies to her feet and plunges forward through a copse of trees.

The killer follows.

Running as fast as she can, Hannah takes a panicked look behind her. Her shoulder whacks a maple tree and she cries out in pain. Fear wells up in her, threatening to choke her.

The gap is closing — she knows the killer has no mercy. She stumbles again, turns to find her pursuer behind her, rifle pointed at her.

“Please, don’t! I’ll do anything, be anything you want. Please!”

The man in the hunting jacket raises the rifle.

Hannah can’t move. “I am a person! I am not an animal!”

She cries out when the rifle barrel explodes .

Lilith whipped up in bed, her body trembling, her breath choked in her throat. A dream. It was only a dream.