by Jami Alden
Talia unlocked the door to her office at Club One, shed her coat, and walked numbly to the private adjoining bathroom she’d had put in when she was promoted to manager. It was still early, not even four yet, but she couldn’t bear to go home after the afternoon she’d had. Couldn’t pollute the white-picket-fence innocence of the house she shared with her sister Rosario, the house that helped Talia pretend, for the few precious hours that she spent there a day, that she was normal, upstanding, worthy of a lovely, quiet house in a lovely, quiet neighborhood a universe away from the place she and Rosario had been born into.
So she came here, to her private oasis of creamy marble and brushed-nickel fixtures. The bathroom featured a state-of-the-art, multiple-jet shower that doubled as a steam room, something Talia appreciated mightily after long nights on her feet, catering to the club’s customers’ every need.
Not every need. Some things you save just for him.
The ugly thought brought a bitter taste to her tongue as she turned on the faucets to the hottest setting and stripped off her clothes. Tight red dress, black lace bra, matching thong panties, and garter belt hit the floor, followed by black fishnet stockings. He’d been very specific about her outfit today when he’d summoned her. Every once in a while, he liked to send her a reminder of what her place was and what would happen to her if she did anything to try to change that.
Like she had any illusions left.
She could try to whitewash it all she wanted. Girlfriend, mistress, paramour, if you wanted to go really retro. It didn’t matter that she’d once been in love with him and thought he’d loved her back. It didn’t matter that he’d never actually given her cash outright.
They both knew what she’d become.
She stepped under the scalding spray, completely immune to the opulent luxury surrounding her. She scrubbed at her skin with a bar of lavender-scented, French-milled soap, desperate to rid herself of the sins of the day, knowing that even if she fried off the top layer of her skin with acid, his scent, the feel of his hands, had permeated down to her bones.
You’re only doing what’s necessary. You can’t beat yourself up for that.
That had been her mantra for too long, and while it never served to entirely clear her conscience, at least it kept her from becoming paralyzed with guilt and fear over the web of dark sins and darker secrets her life had become.
But lately it had become harder, and with the latest murders, it was almost impossible to keep up the facade.
It’s not like you know anything for sure.
Right, the same feeble excuse she’d been feeding herself for three years, ever since she’d let them convince her to tell part of the truth about Sean Flynn and his relationship with Evangeline Gordon. She’d never lied outright, she’d consoled herself. There had been nothing she’d said on the stand that wasn’t true.
But the other stuff… the things she suspected but didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that if she voiced her suspicions to anyone, she would end up like Evangeline, or Bianca, or Stephanie, or worse.
Which wouldn’t be such a terrible fate, she thought as she turned off the faucets and wrapped herself in a blanket-sized bath towel, if there was only herself to consider. She’d thought of it often, especially in the last few weeks as it all ate away at her. The guilt of standing by, saying nothing as girls were butchered, one after the other, for the sins of wanting more or, even worse, wanting out. She was paranoid from being watched constantly, her every move tracked to make sure she didn’t make a single step out of line.
She didn’t kid herself. She knew every inch of the club; even her supposedly private office and bathroom were littered with hidden cameras, providing a constant feed to the old man and whoever he was using to do his dirty work. Jack Brooks, the security specialist who’d been forced on her a few months ago, was probably in on it, too, and had no doubt jacked off endlessly watching her wet and naked in the shower.
That was why David had called her over today, the second time in as many weeks. He’d seen Megan Flynn and her cop watchdog sniffing around the club, had seen her talking to Stephanie and wanted to give Talia a warning not to get any ideas.
It was enough to have made her consider taking herself out, or letting herself be taken out, dozens of times. Hell, maybe she could even do some good in the process, put someone on the right track for once as they tried to figure out who was killing these girls.
But she couldn’t leave Rosario. Talia knew exactly what they would do to her baby sister if she stepped out of line, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her sweet, beautiful sister who was actually going to make something of herself. If Talia had to sacrifice her morals, her conscience, her soul to make that happen, so be it.
Talia wiped away the steam on the mirror and resisted the urge to look away from her reflection. She barely recognized herself without the full face of war paint. Without the added enhancement of foundation, blush, and concealer, she looked as exhausted as she felt, her olive complexion taking on a sallow cast, dark circles ringing her eyes. Her mouth looked fuller and softer without its heavy crimson stain.
With her hair tumbling damply over her shoulders and her eyes void of liner or mascara, she looked younger, more vulnerable. More like the girl she used to be before she’d been taken in by David Maxwell’s ruggedly handsome face and charismatic charm.
That stupid, naïve girl who believed in true love and happily ever after. She’d fallen for David like a ton of bricks and got caught up in foolish dreams of life with a man who would pamper her like a princess, let her know every day that she was cherished and adored.
Right. She’d felt adored for all of about three months before it became clear what her place really was. Rich man’s mistress. Kept woman. Plaything. By then it was too late; she knew too much, yet not enough. And his reach was too great for her or her baby sister to ever get away.
She had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t just have to compromise, that she would have to sacrifice. And some of those sacrifices would devour her from the inside little by little, piece by piece, until soon there would be nothing left.
Only two more years. Two more years and Rosario will be eighteen, off to college and off on her own. Talia would send her far away, with enough money to set her up for school and anything else she wanted to do.
Far away from here, away from the reach of both the foster system or anyone who might seek to hurt her, Rosario would be free. And so would Talia.
Even if freedom came in the form of a body bag.
She shook herself out of her funk and summoned up the protective numbness that had served her so well over the years. She’d gotten so good at feeling nothing that she could give a heroin junkie a run for their money in shutting out the pain. She started to reach for her makeup case, then paused. She had plenty of time before anyone showed up, plenty of time before she had to become the beautiful, coldhearted dragon lady her staff had all come to know and love. She dropped the towel and pulled on a set of sweats she kept in her office.
She regretted it five minutes later when a knock sounded at her door. Without waiting for her to answer, Jack shoved the door open. He was dressed in all black, as usual, looking big and fierce as he planted himself just inside her doorway. He was exactly the kind of security David Maxwell liked to hire: ex-military, physically imposing, and willing to operate in a moral gray area whenever necessary. A description that seemed to fit Jack to a T and made Talia nervous every time she got in the same room with him.
It it were up to her, she would have never hired him, but it wasn’t like she’d had a choice. Even though David had hidden his involvement in Club One under layers of dummy corporations, there was no argument about who called the shots.
When Jack had been referred by the private security firm underwritten by yet another one of David’s phantom companies, Talia knew she had little choice but to hire him. Though she suspected he’d been sent over to keep an eye on her as much as on the club’s patrons.
All she knew was that she caught him watching her all the time, his steely blue gaze seeming to pierce through the layers of makeup and designer clothes to see too much.
She sat as tall as she could and glared at him from behind her desk. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here?” She hated that he didn’t even flinch, envied the way he walked into a room with quiet authority and seemed to own it.
“I caught these two lurking out front. They say they need to talk to you.”
Talia’s indignant facade cracked when she saw Megan Flynn and Cole Williams in the doorway behind Jack. “Get them the hell out of here,” she said tiredly, pulling her gaze back to her computer screen like there wasn’t a knot twisting in her gut. Like she wasn’t fully aware that every word, every look, every twitch was being recorded, would be evaluated, to make sure she stayed in line.
She darted a look at Jack, standing like a sentinel, not moving a muscle as Megan and Cole stepped inside. “Seriously, Jack, I want them out.” She stood, then came around the desk. “I swear to God, if you two don’t stop showing up here like a bad smell, I’m going to have you charged with harassment.”
“Shut up, Talia,” Megan said. “We saw the pictures. We talked to Evangeline Gordon’s ex-boyfriend. We know she and Bianca knew each other, and we know you were involved in helping them both move to the other side of the business.”
It struck her like a fist to the gut, both that they’d made the connection between her, Evangeline, and Bianca, and the accusation that she had somehow been responsible for getting them involved. Even though Talia existed only on the periphery, she knew it was a world she’d never wish on another human being, no matter how glamorous it seemed from the outside.
This is how it starts, the sweater unraveling. They’d kept it secret for so long, but now the dots were starting to be connected, and pretty soon it was all going to blow up in their faces. David Maxwell, the scarred creep he called a son, and God knew who else because Talia didn’t kid herself that it stopped with just them.
Talia pulled her face into its customary cold mask, careful to give away none of the turmoil churning inside of her. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know you’re hiding something about Evangeline and her relationship with my brother!” Megan yelled.
“You can cut the shit, Talia.”
Though Jack’s voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, the harshness of his tone stopped Megan’s tirade in its tracks. Talia’s gaze snapped to his face, and she found herself mesmerized by those ice-blue eyes, staring at her, through her, seeing everything.
“No one’s watching now,” he said, his tone softening a degree. “You’re safe.”
Megan was stunned by the sudden change in the usually ultracomposed, practically impervious Talia. Her appearance—no makeup, baggy sweats that gave no hint to the kind of body that made men stare and women bleed green with envy—was jarring enough. The look aroused sympathy for the woman whose testimony had helped land Sean on death row.
For a split second, that cold-bitch mask had cracked, revealing fear, hope, disbelief, a woman who had a glimpse of freedom and was desperate to reach for it. “How?”
Jack shook his head. “The how isn’t important. But I took care of yesterday, after the blonde turned up dead and you were attacked,” he said, nodding at Megan.
If he was irritated at her role in having him questioned as a suspect, it didn’t show. Then again, nothing much seemed to show on Brooks at all except for a whole lot of scary.
“Stephanie,” Talia said in a choked voice, her shoulders slumping. “Her name was Stephanie.” She turned to face Megan, her dark eyes full of anger and regret. “And she was killed because they saw her talking to you.”
“Who saw her?” Cole broke in. “What was she going to tell Megan?”
Talia shook her head, the cold, closed mask once again in place. “I’m sorry. I have nothing more to say.”
Megan could see she was scared, but any sympathy she might have felt evaporated in a wave of angry frustration. “Oh, but you had plenty to say at Sean’s trial, when you lied about him and his involvement with Evangeline Gordon.”
“I never lied,” Talia snapped, her mouth pulled tight as she struggled to keep her lips from trembling. “I never said anything that wasn’t true. Evangeline left with your brother that night, and she ended up dead in his house.”
“You claimed Sean was stalking her.”
Talia looked away and shrugged. “Maybe that was an exaggeration, but not much.”
Megan’s hand curled into a fist and every sinew in her body tensed. Sensing she was about to lose it, Cole wrapped his hand around her upper arm in a gentle but inescapable grip.
“Your exaggeration put my brother on death row where he’s going to be killed in four days.”
Talia stared at Megan, her fathomless dark eyes shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low, choked voice, “but we all do what we have to do to protect the people we love.”
Megan exchanged a look with Cole. On the way over here, Megan and Cole had used their contacts in Social Services to dig up more details on Talia and her younger sister, Rosario. It wasn’t in Megan’s nature to fight dirty, but if it helped Sean, she’d go straight for Talia’s underbelly and not stop until she got what she wanted. “This is about Rosario, right? You got custody of her after the trial.”
Talia’s eyes widened and her breath hitched.
“I talked to my friends in Social Services and found out you fought for three years to get custody, and then suddenly, miraculously, you were granted guardianship. Amazing how that happened.”
Talia licked her bare lips. “Amazing.”
“You know, it doesn’t sound like you have the best home environment to raise a teenager. Working all these late hours, possible involvement in prostitution and who knows what else?”
“I’m not involved in prostitution,” Talia said.
“I find that hard to believe, but even if you’re not, you know what’s going on here, and you know why those women were killed. You may have friends who helped you get custody, but your caseworker is a pretty good friend of mine. It wouldn’t take more than a phone call for me to make life a lot more difficult for you and Rosario.”
“Don’t.” Talia’s impervious facade cracked wide open. “You can’t take her away from me.”
“Then talk to us,” Cole said. “Talk to the police.”
Talia sank down on the couch across from her desk. A sound ripped out of her chest, a combination of a laugh and a sob. “If they find out I’m talking to the cops, what they do to me, and what they do to Rosario, will be way worse than her going back into foster care.”
“We can put you both in protective custody,” Cole said, “even get you into witness protection if that’s what it takes.”
“Don’t you get it?” Talia said. “They have eyes everywhere.” She looked up at the ceiling of her office and gestured with her hands. “They have people on the police force, in the court system. They will know, and they will find me, no matter what you can promise. How do you think they’ve gone this long with no one catching on?”
“Who is they?” Megan demanded. “And what exactly are they involved in?”
Talia snapped her lips closed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Use whatever pull you have in Social Services. Do whatever you’re going to do.”
Megan swallowed back a scream of rage. Talia was closed up like a vault, and if the investigation continued, she’d have to give up something to the cops. But not in time for Sean.
Cole knelt on the floor in front of Talia. “Sean Flynn is going to die, and you might have information that could save his life. Can you really live with that on your conscience?”
Talia lifted her desolate gaze to his. “I was already damned a long time ago, Detective. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my sister safe.”
On anot
her occasion Megan would have admired Talia’s devotion. Right now, however, she was darting her gaze around Talia’s office, looking for bamboo shoots to shove under the other woman’s fingernails to get her to talk before it was too late.
“I can help get Rosario somewhere safe.” Jack stepped forward from where he’d been standing sentry by the door.
“How?” Talia said, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“A good friend of mine, my former commanding officer, has a security firm outside of San Francisco. One of the best in the country. It will be handled outside of the system, completely under the radar.”
“Why the hell should I trust you?” Talia said. “What’s your angle?”
Jack shook his head and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “I don’t have an angle.”
Talia gave a sharp laugh. “Everyone has an angle.”
Jack shook his head. “I came to work here because the money is good, and if I kept my head down and did my job, there would be bigger opportunities down the line. I figured it was none of my business if girls wanted to set up meets here to go make a little extra cash. But what’s happening here… I can’t stand by and do nothing.”
“So, what, you suddenly grew a conscience and want to play hero?”
Jack shrugged. “You need help, and I’m offering.”
Talia eyed him suspiciously, as though she couldn’t imagine anyone offering help without an ulterior motive. “Maybe this is all a big trap. You’re probably lying about the cameras, aren’t you, and this is all some fucked-up test to see if I’ll talk or not. I’m not talking,” she yelled up at the ceiling. “I’m not saying anything and I better get credit for that.”
Cole and Jack exchanged raised-eyebrow glances that speculated on Talia’s mental state.
“You don’t have a choice, and you know it,” Jack said. “You’re getting in deeper by the second, and no matter how much you say you’re already damned, it’s eating you alive to stand by and do nothing for girls like Bianca and Stephanie.” Jack pulled Talia to standing and bent so his face was mere inches from hers. “And you know they’re never, ever going to let you—or Rosario—go free.” His low, menacing whisper sent a chill down Megan’s spine and had Talia swallowing convulsively. “This is your best opportunity. Take it.”
