Awakened (14 page)

There was no telling if Jane or Malcolm had done the chewing, though Barrett’s money was on Jane. Into the fridge it went.

There were scribbles about mean teachers, snobbish girls, dumb boys. Even veiled insults about Malcolm’s lack of intelligence; it had probably given Jane a kick to leave that type of thing in plain view of the guy. So far, normal enough. But almost too normal. If Jane was missing her mother—a given, since she and Sarah had been very close—she was keeping it well hidden. Maybe Prescott was editing the clutter. Maybe he’d deliberately left her alone to go into the convenience store.

There were school assignments. English, math—Jane got mostly A’s. And other miscellaneous stuff. The girl seemed to be in the habit of cleaning out her backpack in the car. Malcolm Prescott’s four-wheeled garbage can didn’t get emptied out much. Some of the dated items were months old.

He must have done most of the chauffeuring. Unless Jane had her license and was allowed to use his car.

Barrett started a separate pile for Malcolm. There wasn’t much. His business cards, a couple of reprints of his articles, and—why was she not surprised—several flyers for gentlemen’s clubs.

One offered a discount strip package for groups, Tuesdays only. A white box had been filled in pen:
Prescott, party of four, table 9
. She looked more closely, recognizing the sign in the photo. She’d driven past it. It was a local joint, really sleazy, that had closed last year. He must have come in from Maryland with pals. Lecherous
and
cheap. She felt even more sorry for his wife.

Barrett sat back. Kind of a bust but not a total waste of time. She’d learned a few more things about Jane and Malcolm, but found nothing that might lead her to the girl or cast suspicion on her uncle. She polished off the last of the crackers while looking absently at the piles.

Whoa. She sat up straight and put the empty box aside. There was something. She’d missed it the first time around.

She picked up the flyer on top of the nearest pile, for a luxury club opening in New City. It touted the coming attractions in great big letters. Hot girls. Strip shows. Top-notch bands. She looked more closely at the overall design.

The background was patterned with a distinctive motif of intersecting triangles. Could be just a coincidence, but the motif seemed suggestive of fangs.

A subliminal message to vampires everywhere? Could be.

Club Red. Even the name kinda fit that theory.

She checked the location info and the directions on the other side of the flyer. The club appeared to be somewhere near the hotel she and Nick had stayed at in New City. Barrett felt a tingle of excitement.

She could start there. She had to start somewhere

First she had to get in. She studied the flyer again.
We cater to discerning gentlemen of means and distinction. Ladies welcome. Ask about our private rooms
.

It was true enough that women went to strip clubs intended for male customers. Some were gay. Some were curious. And there were straight women who didn’t mind their guys turning into sex monkeys if they got to come along and keep them from spending too much money.

It was a way in. But she wanted to talk to Justine first. This was her area of expertise.

Her colleague didn’t seem to mind working after hours. Justine was a night owl, never saying a word in morning meetings unless she’d downed several cups of strong black coffee.

Long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, she made her entrance in an oversized slouch sweater and narrow jeans. Neither hid the spectacular figure of the exotic dancer she’d been before being recruited for Belladonna.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Barrett said.

“Oh good. I’m starving.” Justine slid her black leather tote off her shoulder, and sauntered in.

The microwave beeped. Barrett went into the kitchen to take out the plate. She carried it to the table where Justine had zeroed in on the club flyers, an untouched glass of wine in front of her.

“Drink up,” Barrett said. “That chardonnay cost big bucks.”

“Nine? Ten?”

“Seven and change.” Barrett put the plate on a trivet as Justine took a sip of wine and tried not to make a face. The food seemed more to her liking.

“Ooh, fish sticks,” Justine cooed. “I always had a thing for that captain in the rain slicker. I like my men wet.”

Me, too, Barrett thought, thinking of Nick when they’d been in the pool, out of the pool, in the shower, and out of the shower. She felt a small quiver run through her body and shook it off. The man had so much power over her, whether he was close by or not. She wished he was close. That it was him drinking wine with her instead of Justine.

Which raised the question of where he was and what he was doing. Not a topic she was going to discuss with Justine. Barrett didn’t need to be teased.

They nibbled at the quick meal while Justine continued to look through the stuff on the table.

“Are you sure this girl’s abduction is connected to the sex-slave ring you were trying to break into?” Justine asked after a while.

“Not positive,” she said honestly. “But I have to find her. I knew her mother, among other reasons.” Barrett left the promise she’d failed to keep out of it.

“Got it.” Justine rifled through Malcolm’s pile of stuff one last time, studying the small photo of him on one of the articles. “Okay. Here’s my two cents on this guy.”

“Whoa. Don’t tell me you met him.”

Justine snorted. “I met a thousand guys just like him, put it that way. Middle-aged. Affluent. Looking for one last chance to run wild. The smarter ones keep their horndog bullshit out of their workplace because they’re afraid of sexual harassment suits. But they all think strippers are up for anything.” She cleared her throat. “Some girls are.”

Barrett was willing to let it go at that.

“Not me,” Justine said quickly. “I never fooled around with customers.”

“I’m not judging you. I just want to know if you think he might’ve had something to do with her disappearance.”

Justine didn’t answer right away. When she did her tone was thoughtful. “That’s hard to say. But right now, Malcolm Prescott is your only connection to Jane Small.”

“That’s true.” He was also the last person to have seen her alive, Barrett thought. Several days ago.

“Listen, Barrett, there has to be more going on. Once a closet freak gets started, he can’t stop. The way you describe him, he sounds like a boring guy who tries to be cool and craves excitement. He can afford it, obviously. What does his wife do?”

“Apparently nothing. I didn’t ask.”

Justine shook her head. “She probably knows about his extracurricular activities. Wives usually do. Maybe she just doesn’t have the bucks or the backbone to dump his sorry ass.”

“Jane saw through him.”

Justine shrugged. “He’s a whole lot older and more experienced at lying. She had him pegged for a jerk, but that doesn’t mean she could predict what he could do to her.”

“Maybe she wasn’t forced.” Barrett picked up the sleaziest flyer and waved it at Justine. “Do you think he talked her into something like this? I’m playing devil’s advocate here. Maybe she thought she could beat Prescott at his own game. Lie about her age, make a ton of money, and use it to run away. That was the tag on her SexFlash vid.”

“The money is real. It’s what you have to do to get it that does damage,” Justine said bluntly. “Young girls underestimate that part of the life. A lot of them get used up and burned out before they can blink. Or strung out on drugs. Or dead.”

Seemed like Justine had said all she wanted to on that subject. Despite her smart mouth, there was pain in her eyes. For friends and acquaintances, Barrett assumed, who hadn’t gotten out. Not everyone had Justine’s knack for self-preservation.

The two women fell silent. Barrett got up and used the remote to switch on the TV just for background noise, keeping the volume low. Justine stared at a reality show without really seeing it. Another set of housewives in heels, scratching and spitting.

“There’s more than one way to sell yourself,” Justine said after a while. “Meow, meow,” she said, referring to the catfight on the screen.” She shut off the TV. “Anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“Yes. But I’m sorry if I pushed it.”

“Someone has to. Time is obviously a factor.”

Barrett still hesitated but only for a few seconds.

“So. Theoretically speaking, if I had to, ah, infiltrate a place like that, how would I do it?”

Justine finished her wine. “In disguise. Loud getups, tinted contacts, minky-winky false eyelashes, wigs—maybe red hair for a swinger wife looking for cheap thrills with her husband, platinum for the pole dancer—”

Barrett gulped. “I’m not ready to go that far.”

“Whatever you decide, go all out with it. You gotta be convincing. Any crooked club owner has a sixth sense for undercovers. But keep in mind that the girls don’t get paid to chitchat at the tables. You’re going to need a man to come along unless you want to stand out as single or play gay.”

“You have a point. No to both.” Barrett automatically thought of Nick.

Now that would be weird. But he might do it.

He was willing to do a lot of things.

For her. To her.

And once again it freaked her out how much she thought of him. How much she wanted him. One night with him had only made her long for more when all of her focus should be on finding Jane.

That was Nick’s power over her and always had been. The power to make her forget everything but him.

And no one could have that kind of power over her. No one.

No matter how much she wished otherwise.

CHAPTER
TEN

The next morning, Nick, Kev, and Aura went hunting
.

Unfortunately, they found no hint of Murphy.

On their way back to the bunker, however, Aura froze and indicated. After visually sweeping the area and finding nothing, Nick knelt down beside her.

He spotted something on the ground beside her and bent down to pick it up.

“What’s that?” Kevin asked. “Hope it’s not my watch. Couldn’t find it when I woke up.”

“A lump of something that is definitely not a watch.”

“Add it to your rock collection,” Kevin said without interest.

“I don’t have one.” Nick held up the lump. Its pebbled surface gleamed dully as he brushed off the dirt.

Nick took out a pocketknife. He pressed it hard into the lump, making a bright slash. Brighter than the sunlight. “Whaddya know. Gold. Solid. And close to pure, if it’s soft enough to cut.” Nick held it out for Kevin to look at.

Blond eyebrows went up. “You think Murphy had it? Intended to melt it down and make some jewelry?”

“Don’t know,” Nick murmured.

“Well you can keep it. I don’t want anything that touched his ugly skin.”

“Okay.” Nick folded the knife and tried to slip it and the lump of gold into a pocket. He picked the wrong one. He took out a thin wallet that was in the way and held it in his hand, half open.

Kev spotted the photo of Barrett before Nick could close the wallet and shove it back into his pocket with the other things.

“Cute. Who is she?”

“You ask too many goddamn questions.”

The other man shot him an amused look. “That the friend who visited you yesterday?”

Nick tried to sidestep that line of inquiry. Let Kev fill in a few blanks if he wanted to. “Yeah, she’s a friend. We were both stationed in Europe, operated out of the same base,” was all he said.

He glanced at the photo. He’d taken it, had it printed, kept it ever since.

Barrett was laughing, her blond hair tucked under a camo cap and her gorgeous body still revealed to advantage in fatigues. They had made love less than an hour before, then shared a field shower when no one was looking and scrambled back into their clothes.

Her blue eyes sparkled and there was high color in her cheeks. Nick had enjoyed making that happen. They hadn’t had many chances to be together. Then somehow they’d used up every last one and it was over.

But maybe not. They’d gone at it in the hotel as if they had never said good-bye. He’d made sure to throw in every hot move they’d ever dreamed up together. Done it her way, all the way. One night. He wanted a thousand more. With her.

Kev chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“A gearhead like you carrying around an honest-to-God actual picture of some gal in your pocket. I don’t get it.”

“Smartphones get stolen. Laptops get hacked.” Nick glanced at Kev. “Gotta have a girl in your pocket, right? For good luck.”

“True love is what I was thinking.”

Nick put away the wallet. “Nothing like that.”

But the words felt forced. He’d never actually thought he’d been in love with Barrett. Attracted as all get out. Protective certainly. Cared about her without a doubt. But love? To Nick, love had always been a flowery cover-up for chemistry. But when he looked back now, when he thought about how hard it had been to let Barrett walk away from him and how right it had felt when they’d made love in New City—well, fuck, if love was a flowery cover-up, then he was buried in the stuff.

Of course he’d loved her. And he still did. Kev was right. Why else would he have carried her picture around with him? Why else was he chomping at the bit to get off this mountain and get back to her?

Make sure that whoever had sent Murphy after him or even her hadn’t gotten to—

Nick frowned, realizing that his subconscious had been working overtime to process all the possibilities. It obviously thought Murphy hadn’t been acting on his own, and while there was no real evidence of that, his intuition told him he was on to something. That meant Murphy wasn’t the only potential threat to Barrett.

He needed to finish up here, talk to his contacts at the NSA, then get to Barrett.

“Want some lunch?” Nick asked, mainly because he wasn’t about to tell Kev he was going to call Barrett.

“Sure.”

Nick went back in and slapped cold cuts and bread together on paper plates, grabbing a squeeze bottle of mayonnaise on his way out.