This girl has either seen a lot of shit or she’s used to handling it, because her expression never falters.
Her lips press together then, and her eyes narrow. “They always come back. You think they’re gone, the law is on your side, but there’s no stopping those motherfuckers.” Her hands tighten around the mug in front of her. “The only good abuser is a dead abuser.”
“Sounds like you have experience with guys like this.”
“Not me.” She shakes her head and looks down. “My step-sister was shot by her ex before they finally put him away. Lylah’s aunt was almost beat to death… If there’s one kind of trouble I do avoid, it’s creeps like that.”
Patrick leans forward as if on cue. “He’s into sex for hire. Our plan was to set the guy up. Use you as sort-of… bait.”
“We’ll be there the whole time,” I add. “You wouldn’t be alone with him ever.”
She blinks down to the table. “What’s in it for me?”
As much as I’m sure we have nothing in common, I’m on her side this time. I wouldn’t ask any woman to play prostitute—even ones with experience, and I’m about to call the whole thing off when Patrick cuts in.
“Five thousand dollars, immunity… and knowing you helped get a killer off the streets.”
Poker face or not, I saw her eyes spark at the mention of money. We didn’t discuss it, but I’m slick with his proposal. I’d gladly pay any amount for the peace of mind Melissa and I will gain knowing this guy is dealt with.
She studies the coffee cup as she appears to be turning the prospect over in her mind. “Why can’t you get him yourself? Without me?”
I answer this one. “He’s not your average, run of the mill lowlife. He’s connected. He’s got money, power, and lawyers who can get him out of anything.”
“Escorts,” Patrick adds. “He uses escorts.”
Straightening her arms out in front of her, she examines her fingernails. “In that case, I’ll need some of that money up front. Mani-Pedi, hair, body makeup to cover the tats…”
“What tats?” Patrick’s brow creases, and she smiles like he’s so naïve.
We both watch as she removes her sweater, and just as I suspected. Sleeves.
“Well fuck me.” He laughs. “I had no idea.”
She laughs, too. “I did fuck you. It was pretty fucking hot.”
“Okay.” That’s the last thing I’m interested in hearing about. Their whole connection still pisses me off. “We can give you a thousand up front. Do the works. Hair, wardrobe—”
“I know my job.” Her eyes flash at me, and her voice is sharp.
I put a lid on it. Patrick’s right. She responds better to him.
“This guy prefers wavy, light brown hair.” He reaches inside the leather bike jacket he’s wearing and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. “Something like this.”
When he puts the sheet on the table, smoothing it open, you would’ve thought it was on fire. Toni jumps back then she stands quickly out of the booth, snatching up the page.
“What… Where did you get this?” She seems panicky now, and Patrick’s out of the booth just as fast.
“It’s the Baltimore police report. It’s who we think is his last victim. It’s what put Derek on the alert.”
“No.” She’s shaking her head, and I can see her eyes flying down the page as she reads. “No…”
The first indication she’s crying are the lines. It’s like an invisible hand draws two black stripes down each of her cheeks from the outer corners of her eyes to her chin.
She straightens up and spins on a mile-high heel, headed for the bar. “Lylah!”
The younger girl pops up at once. “What’s wrong?” She passes over napkins, waiting for a response.
“I need a cigarette.” One of the regulars, hunched over his lunch stretches out a soft pack of Reds, and Toni takes one. Her hands are trembling as she lights up and pulls in a deep drag.