Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

Lilith couldn’t get into the Jaguar and out of the neighborhood fast enough.

THE CLUB WAS JUST opening when Lilith raced through it and into the crowded dressing room filled with female chatter and smoke. Some of the dancers were passing around a joint.

“This always makes the men look better to me,” a dancer named Kat said. “It gives me courage to bare it all in a room filled with strange men.”

She would certainly need a dose of that if she really was forced to dance to save Hannah, Lilith thought, wondering how else to get some other than through drugs.

Melinda laughed. “And it gives me the guts to rub it in Paulie’s face.”

“He’d like you to rub your whatever in his face,” a little redhead called Rusty said with a laugh.

“He can’t do it, though.” Admiring herself in the mirror, Melinda adjusted her top so more cleavage showed. “Can’t keep that wankie of his up long enough.”

Irene choked on her hit. “You tried having sex with your own brother?”

“The disgusting rodent has tried having sex with me for years. I know he looks like a little pissant, but he’s strong as hell. One time my breasts were so bruised, I had to take off a week until I could cover them with makeup.”

“You need to punish him, make him sorry he tried messing with you.” Mariko took a puff of the joint and held it out to Lilith, who shook her head. “You know, tie him up, get him up and then leave him to suffer.”

“Paulie is weird,” Melinda said. “I gotta balance torturing him with maintaining my good health. I’m never sure what he will do. He’s got a perverted little mind; once threatened to tie me up and fill me with embalming fluid while he did me.”

Shivering at the thought, more convinced than ever that Paul Ensdorf was the deviant who had her sister, Lilith fled to the rear of the room where Caresse was nearly done with her makeup. Via the mirror, she gave Lilith an approving expression before gluing on an eyelash. Lilith changed in record time, then slid into her seat before the mirror as Caresse finished the second eyelash.

“So what’s so special about the guy?” Caresse asked. “The one I keep seeing you with?”

“You’ve seen me with several.”

“You know the one I mean. Michael Wyndham. You’re not getting involved, are you?”

“What, I can’t talk to a customer? Don’t let Sal hear you say that.”

“I’m not worried about Sal. I’m worried about you. Lots of women think they can get involved with someone dangerous and nothing bad will happen to them. Lots of women are wrong.”

Lilith stared at Caresse, trying to read into her meaning. The dancer was the second person who’d warned her about Michael, and the other was a cop. “I’m only getting as involved as I need to be. Is it one man in particular you’re worried about? Or is it that you don’t like men in general?” She remembered the intimation by the other dancers that Caresse only liked women.

Unexpected anger flickered across Caresse’s features, but she quickly masked whatever she was feeling. “Think what you like.” With that, she pushed away from the counter and left the dressing room as had most of the other women.

Lilith brushed her hair into an off-center ponytail and clipped it. She was already made up but needed to accentuate her eyes and lips again. Her makeup was sitting on the counter, which meant someone else had “borrowed” it. Great.

When she was finished, she pulled open her case to throw the pencils and shadows inside.

Then froze.

There, in the middle of the case was a chain. A very familiar chain.

Lilith’s mouth went dry as she picked it up and found the little safety pin she’d used to fix it more than a decade ago.

“Hannah,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

The chain hadn’t been in the case all week. Caresse had thought the one she’d been wearing belonged to Hannah, so her sister must have been wearing it when she was taken.

The killer had to have left it for her.

Another little game. But what was the point? What did he expect her to do now?

Her hand shook as she stuffed the chain into a pants pocket next to the torn photograph of her and thought about calling Pucinski. Instead, she left the dressing room to look for Gabe.

Halfway there, Rudy Barnes stepped in front of her. “We need to talk, Lilith. About Anna. In my booth.”

His mentioning her sister made Lilith follow. What could he tell her that was new? According to Michael, Rudy had been after Hannah. Her pulse quickened, and her mouth went dry. She barely saw the guy — she assumed he was always buried in his booth — and now he acted like he knew her.

She entered the booth filled with technical audio equipment she knew nothing about. At home, she was still using an old cassette tape deck to listen to music.

He sat in his chair and spun it to face her. His gaze washed over her, and he shook his head.

“What about Anna?” she asked.

“I liked her. She could be a bitch. But she was smart. Too smart to get taken. Are you that smart, Lilith?”

Not the conversation she’d been expecting.

Lilith leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed before her. “What is this really about, Rudy?”

“It’s about you looking like Anna. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s a dangerous game.”

So everyone from every direction had told her. She was getting tired of the dire warnings.

“Is it your game, Rudy?”

“Mine? What the hell! Go fuck yourself! I was just trying to warn you. Anna was the third victim. The police haven’t learned squat about this killer. But every time I see you–”

“What?”

“I figure his juices are already going. He’s salivating, already getting ideas.”

That’s exactly what she was counting on. Not that she would say it. She did ask, “Why do you care?”

“I may not be the world’s most caring citizen, but I’m not a ghoul. I don’t want to see any more dead girls.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Leave my booth, and go play at your game and see where looking like that gets you.”

He turned away from her and starting typing something into his computer.

Knowing she was dismissed, Lilith left the booth wondering if Barnes was really trying to warn her, or if he was playing with her.

More head games.

Again, she wondered if he was on Pucinski’s radar.

Maybe Gabe would tell her.

She found him at the bar, downing a shot, looking like he’d been kicked in the gut, and indicating he wanted another drink. Luckily it was early enough that the place was practically empty. They could have some privacy, not have to worry about who might overhear them. She slid onto the stool next to Gabe, but he acted like she was invisible.

“Problems on the job?” she asked.

“Not the job. My frickin’ ex.” Gabe stared down into his glass rather than look at her. “She’s threatening to keep my kids from seeing me.”

So that’s what the argument had been about. “Does she have good cause?”

He swigged down another shot and popped the glass back on the bar. “Joe, another round.” Finally, he faced her. “Not so’s I’m concerned. A father’s got a right to bond with his boys.”

“Bond how?”

“I’m a cop, okay? I want to teach them about guns.”

Lilith hated guns but tried not to show it. “Like your father taught you?”

“Yeah. Took me hunting a few times. Best dad ever. I want my boys to think I’m the greatest.” He signaled the bartender for another drink. “My ex divorced me because she couldn’t stand my being a cop. It’s not just what I do. It’s what I am. Jennifer never got that. I’m proud to be a cop, and I want my sons to be proud of what I am.”