Patricia Rosemoor - Skin

“My… what sister?”

“Don’t play coy. She’s working at the club.”

The bitch laughed.

“Yeah, right.”

“She took the waitress job there the night after you disappeared.” He freed the contents of the bag. “She changed her hair and makeup. Could be your twin.”

The laughter faded fast.

“You’re serious.” She hesitated a second, then said, “Let me give you whatever it is you want and then let me leave. I haven’t seen your face, so I don’t know who you are. I can’t tell.”

She’d already tried anger. Now she sounded like she was at a bargaining table.

“I know.” He used the gravelly half-whisper that disguised his voice. “You’ll never tell.”

And then he turned on the battery-operated light he’d brought and grinned down at her. He’d used camouflage makeup to disguise his face.

Though the light was dim, she’d been in the dark so long she was having trouble focusing. When she did, she gasped. “Who is that?”

“An additional enticement,” he said, handcuffing the girl, who was just regaining consciousness, to a radiator. “Lilith thinks she’s going to trap me and find you. Maybe I’ll let her. Then I’ll have you both. She can watch what I do to you… and then I’ll do it all to her.”

“Leave Lilith alone!” Her gaze shot to the girl who was stirring, trying to open her eyes. “Leave them both alone! They aren’t like me–”

“Lilith is exactly like you. A whore who tries to control men. She needs to be taught a lesson, to be put in her place. Then she needs to be finished. Just like you do.”

“What do you want to let us go?” She couldn’t stop looking at the girl on the ground. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything. Anything! Please!”

So she finally resorted to begging. How disappointing.

“I might let this one go,” he said, poking the girl with his foot. “She’s of no interest to me. But doing you and your sister together… nothing I want more. Killing two of her at the same time… I could never top that.”

That would be the ultimate cum.

LEAVING THE CLUB in the middle of the night, Lilith fought her exhaustion with the thought of taking action. Not that she wanted to nail Michael as a killer; she wanted to eliminate him as a suspect. It would be so much easier if she could simply get into Paul’s place and find Hannah’s half of the heart there. She’d tried to wheedle an invitation from Paul, but he’d been adamant about waiting until Saturday. He’d left the club more than a little annoyed with her.

She didn’t know how she could stand the waiting. Maybe when she didn’t find the piece here, she could talk Pucinski into getting a search warrant for the Ensdorf home and mortuary. Gabe had left before she’d been able to ask him about it. And when she’d had his attention, she’d forgotten to ask him if Rudy Barnes was a suspect.

Her pulse rushed a little faster as she ran down the stairs into the alley and looked for Michael, who’d disappeared with Irene halfway through the night. To interview her? Irene had returned looking none the worse for wear.

Thumbs hooked casually into his jeans pockets, Michael leaned against the Jaguar where she’d parked it. Lilith stopped several yards from him. They stood there, silently taking each other’s measure for a few seconds.

Then she asked, “No SUV?”

“If we take your car, you can leave any time. If you need to get away from me this time, that is. I wouldn’t want you taking public trans before daybreak again. I can get mine in the morning. No problem.”

Did he hope she would still be at his place in the morning?

Her pulse threaded unevenly at the thought.

Grateful that she had an easy way out in case things got uncomfortable — or dangerous — Lilith pulled the keys from her bag. Michael put his hand over hers.

“Let me.”

She let him drive without an argument. Better to take the drive time to get her bearings. She needed to play this right. Go in with a plan. No matter how much she hoped Michael was innocent, she had to know the truth. If that heart-half was stashed in his place, she meant to find it.

Realizing the silence had become deafening, she asked, “So what do you do when you’re not at the club?”

“Work.”

“Making documentaries?”

“Sometimes. I mostly freelance with production companies.”

“And that pays enough for your lifestyle?”

He laughed. “Lifestyle? Pretty much all I do is work.”

“The club–”

“Is work. Whether or not you believe it. It just happens to be my passion for the moment. Making documentaries ,” he clarified. “And a couple beers a night isn’t going to break the budget.”

Despite all the negativity Gabe had tried to implant in her, she wanted to believe him. Despite being put off by Michael at first, she wanted to believe that this was the real him. And maybe it was. While she’d seen him talking to women, she’d never seen him pay for a lap dance or for a dancer’s time.

“Do you always do the documentaries alone?” she asked.

“First time,” he said. “I don’t always have a crew. I rarely have a big budget for payroll. It all depends on the project, but I’ve always had someone working with me. Skin happens to be personal, so it’s out of pocket; and I’m flying solo on this one, at least so far.” He paused for a second, then asked, “Will you talk to me on camera again?”

“As long as you don’t push me too far.”

“The second the discomfort gets unbearable, put on the brakes.”

Lilith wondered how long that would take.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, she was sitting in front of the camera, Michael in its shadow once more.

“How do you feel about working at the club now that you’re done with your training wheels?” he asked.

“Since I’m not a dancer, where’s the interest?”

“Waitresses get nearly as much male attention as the dancers. It’s a sexist atmosphere. Usually I ask if this lifestyle was your choice or if you were you forced into it, but I highly doubt you’ve ever stepped foot in a gentlemen’s club before walking into Club Paradise.”

“You’re right.”

“So that makes me even more curious. I still haven’t figured out the attraction for a woman like you.”

So he wanted to know what made her tick. Because he was guilty? Or because he was actually interested in her? She wanted to believe the latter. Maybe if she gave up some information, so would he. Gabe had said his real father was connected, giving her a place to start.

“My stepfather was abusive.”

Michael seemed startled, as if that was the last thing he’d thought to hear, but he picked right up on the revelation. “So you ran away.”

“I got out of that house by going away to college. My younger sister ran because I failed her.”

Michael didn’t respond.

He was waiting for her to open up, something she’d only done with the therapist she’d seen in college. And with Elena. But talking to the camera rather than to a person — once more Michael was enveloped in shadow, almost removing him from the room — freed her.

“Marlon Aldrich hated me from the moment Mama brought him home. First he slapped me if I mouthed off to him when he got drunk and mean. Then he hit me harder if I got between him and Mama. Pretty soon, he used any excuse to beat me. I ended up in the ER numerous times.”

“What about the police?”

“What police? My mother covered for him, backed up his lies about accidents, about my being too clumsy. She used to tell me not to argue with him, that setting him off like that was my fault.” She took a deep breath. Licked her lips. The pain was old and yet fresh. The rest came out in an agonized rush. “I had to leave before it went further. I had some very dark thoughts. I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow. You can understand that, can’t you? I was a terrified seventeen-year-old. When I went away to school, my sister wanted to come with me, but how could I take care of a twelve-year-old? Besides, my sister was so timid, Marlon always just ignored her. I swear to God I didn’t think he would ever put a hand on her.”