No. That was retarded. It wouldn’t make any difference now. Lauren crammed the phone back in her bag and tried to pay attention in class. If the person who called wanted her badly enough, they’d try again.
***
But no one did, and by that night, she forgot about it. She was busy working the website; it was almost the middle of the week; requests were heating up. Usually she didn’t mind. She liked the online side of the business. Working online made it seem more remote. Cleaner. Derek had set everything up. He’d even created a simple file sharing system for notes and records. She could match up a customer and a girl in less than five minutes.
She opened the incoming messages. Two requests for the next afternoon. She started to check the girls’ schedules to see who was available, then stopped. First Sara was killed. After her, Derek. Was there a connection? Could the PI be onto something? Maybe the crazy guy in the Forest Preserve didn’t do it. Lauren couldn’t see how—the cops were sure he did. But maybe—somehow—it was somebody else. Someone in the business. Did Sara stiff someone? Did Derek? She didn’t know, and not knowing made her anxious.
What if someone wanted them out of the way? She remembered warning Derek not to get too big. That they were inviting trouble. Bigger fish might swallow them up. As usual, he didn’t listen, and now he was dead. Not even a month after Sara. Could Sara’s death be a warning? A warning Derek didn’t any pay attention to? Was it possible they might come after her now?
A knot of fear tightened her stomach. She hadn’t counted on anything like this happening when she started the business. She’d wanted to keep it local. Small. But then Derek got involved, and suddenly they were running a dozen girls up and down the North Shore. Without Derek, though, it was too much. She couldn’t do it alone. Especially if someone had it in for her.
Maybe she should scale back the business. Keep a low profile. Stay out of trouble. At least until things settled down. Sure. That’s what she would do. She’d email her clients. Tell them they would be on a reduced schedule—a few girls were on vacation. Yes. That sounded good. They’d be back in a few weeks, tanned and rested and hotter than ever.
She sent the email to her client list, then plugged her iPod into her computer, and downloaded some Ashlee Simpson. She could hear her mother puttering around in the kitchen. She was on the phone, as usual. Lauren remembered a book—by Dean Koontz, maybe—where people actually melded with their computers. Sentient machines swallowed up the humans—body part by body part—in a morbid, kinky attack. The result was a monster half human, half computer. She imagined a phone growing out of her mother’s ear. Knowing her mother, she’d see it as some kind of achievement, something to lord over the rest of the world.
Lauren transferred the music to her iPod. Usually she could figure out who her mother was talking to by her tone. If it was cold and hostile, her mother was talking to her father. If she was cool and patronizing, to a repairman or a store employee. But occasionally, there was a soft, honeyed tone. Lauren didn’t want to know who that was.
She was lying on her bed, just starting to relax, when her business cell chirped. She considered ignoring it. She didn’t want to do any business tonight. But the ring-tone, ironically cheerful and upbeat, persisted. Reluctantly, she rolled over and grabbed it.
“Yeah?” Derek always told her not to identify herself. As if she didn’t know.
It was a girl’s voice. Halting. Tearful. “I—I need help.”
She checked the caller ID. She didn’t recognize the number. “Who is this?”
“Jj-Ja- Jathmine.”
One of the girls Derek recruited. Korean, she recalled. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m—I’m in trouble.”
A panicky feeling lodged in her throat. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m hurt,” she stammered.
“Where are you?”
A flood of tears kept Lauren from hearing her reply.
“I can’t understand you.”
In between sobs, the girl repeated herself. She was at a motel in Chicago. On the North side.
“What are you doing there?” Lauren said sharply. “You’re supposed to be at—”
The girl’s sobs filled her ear.
“Never mind,” Lauren said. “I’m coming.”
“I’m in Room 254. Hur—Hurry. Pleathe.”
Lauren snapped off the phone. Her heart was pounding. She looked around her room, trying to figure out what she should bring. A first-aid kit? Tranquilizers? Vicodin? Derek usually handled the onsite things. That was their system. She was just back-up. She didn’t even know the girl. Derek had found her at Golf Mill. She was smart, he said. And ambitious. Wanted to put herself through college.
She quickly grabbed some antiseptic, bandages, scissors, and gauze from the bathroom. She wasn’t at all sure that’s what was needed, but she had to take something. She stuffed the things into her bag. Then she crept downstairs, tiptoed past the kitchen, and out the front door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE FAIRVIEW Motel sat just off Clark Street on a seedy, forgotten block near the city line. The view from its windows was mostly fast food places and shabby warehouses. Whoever named the place must have had a sense of humor. The “E” in the motel sign sputtered and the “W” was missing altogether.
Lauren had never been here before; she made sure the girls went to upscale hotels on the North Shore. In fact, she’d only been to one other rescue job, and the girl had been waiting in the bar of the Hyatt. Thankfully, nothing showed, and the girl had been able to blend in.
Lauren got out of the car. The asphalt in the parking lot was cracked and littered with cans, bottles, and food wrappers. The smell of grease from the burger place next door stuck in her throat. She was alone. And she was about to rescue someone she didn’t know. A trickle of fear slid down her back. She took a breath and fastened the buttons on her Urban Outfitters blazer. Room 254 was around the back. She walked up to it and knocked. Twice, then three times. That was the signal.
The girl who opened the door was tiny, with black, shiny hair that hung to her waist. Ordinarily, she would have appeared cute, elfin, but now her hair was tangled and matted, and her clothes, a tight black tank top showing plenty of midriff and a black miniskirt, were torn. She cradled her left arm in her right.
But it was her face that made Lauren gasp. Bruises under one eye made a swollen mockery of her features. An angry red gash streaked across her cheek. Smaller slashes swept across her arms and legs. It looked like someone had taken a razor blade to her skin.
“Jasmine?” Lauren gripped the door.
The girl nodded, swaying unsteadily.
“Who did this to you?” Lauren’s voice was hoarse from fear.
The girl shook her head. Shit. Lauren should have checked the file before she came. But there was no time for self-recrimination, because the girl burst into tears and pitched forward. Lauren broke her fall. The girl screamed.
“I think my arm ith broken.”
Lauren released her and sat her down on the bed. She gently touched Jasmine’s arm. The girl howled. Lauren went to the bathroom and snatched a towel off the rack. Slipping it under Jasmine’s arm, she fashioned a clumsy sling and tied it around her neck.
Jasmine looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then she collapsed against Lauren, as if she’d been hoarding her last ounce of strength until she arrived. Lauren put her arm around the girl’s good shoulder. It felt unfamiliar and awkward. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, listening to Jasmine weep. Eventually, the cries subsided.
Lauren dropped her arm. “Can you stand? We need to go into the bathroom so I can check you out.”
Jasmine stood up and started to walk but stopped abruptly. A fresh round of tears materialized. “Hurths,” she cried. “Down there.” She tried to point to her crotch.
Lauren half pushed, half propelled her into the bathroom, and made her sit on the toilet seat.
“What happened?”
>
Jasmine pointed to the bed. When Lauren looked she saw drops of blood on the sheets. Bright red. Her throat tightened. She forced down air.
“He—he hurt me.”
“Where?”
Jasmine shook her head. “My legth.”
Lauren relaxed fractionally, then realized the girl was lisping. “What’s wrong with your mouth?”
The girl opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Lauren recoiled. Her tongue had been pierced, but someone—or something—had torn the stud from its hole, and the tip of her tongue was a bloody pulp.
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. “How did this happen?”
“He got mad when I took out my tongue stud. He had a razor.”
“He cut your tongue?”
She nodded.
“Oh my God.”
“It hurts,” Jasmine wailed. “Really bad.”
Lauren’s mind raced. The girl needed a doctor. But she couldn’t take her to the ER without answering a lot of questions. And which ER should she go to, anyway? How would she pay for it? She and Derek hadn’t planned for this contingency. Sure, they knew there were perverts out there, but Derek was supposed to have screened them out. Unless Jasmine was freelancing. A strange hotel, not in the prescribed geographical area. Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Who was the john, Jasmine? How did you hook up with him?”
“Derek hooked us up.”
So much for freelancing. “Was this the first time?”
Jasmine shook her head and held up three fingers.
“What about the first two times?”
“He wath fine. Then, I don’t know. He’d been drinking. I didn’t want to come here. The latht time we went thomeplace nicer. But when I told him I’d meet him there, he thaid no. We had to come here.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“He thaid he’d talked to Derek and it wath okay.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I want to go home. I want my mother. I’m—” Fresh tears welled in her eyes.
Damn Derek. And damn Sara. Damn them both for leaving her alone. Things were out of control. Maybe she should just drop the girl at the ER and drive away. No. The police would be there in a heartbeat, and Jasmine would tell them everything. She pressed her lips together. “I’ll take care of you. Just give me a minute.”
“What are you gonna do? Where are we gonna go?”
Lauren looked around the room, refusing to meet her eyes. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know.
***
Georgia watched as Lauren emerged from the motel twenty minutes later. Her arm was draped around a tiny Asian girl. Together they shuffled toward her SUV. The dim light cast patchy, elongated shadows over the parking lot, but Georgia could see the girl was hunched over and favoring her left arm. Both girls kept their heads down, but when Lauren looked up to flash the remote key at her car, she looked shaken.
Georgia, parked about two hundred feet away, threw open the door to her Toyota. “Lauren!” she called sharply.
Lauren froze. “Who’s there?”
The girl couldn’t see her in the dark. “It’s Georgia Davis.” The girl stiffened. Georgia got out of her car and jogged over. For a moment, Lauren looked like she wanted to bolt, but then, as if realizing it was a lost cause, she sagged against her car. The other girl looked fearfully from Georgia to Lauren.
“What are you doing here?” Lauren asked.
“I’ve been following you.” She stepped closer and studied the other girl. “This girl needs help.”
“I know.”
“Where are you taking her?”
Lauren looked at the ground. “I—I was going to call one of my—a friend.”
Georgia frowned. “Why?”
Lauren looked at Jasmine, then back at Georgia. She shrugged helplessly. “I—I didn’t—I don’t know what to do.”
Georgia nodded. She took a step toward Jasmine. “Help me get her into my car.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the ER.”
Lauren cried out. “No! I can’t!”
“This isn’t about you.”
“But—we’d be—the police—it would ruin everything!”
Georgia shook her head. “Too late. She’s got to be seen by a doctor.”
“Can’t I just—drop her off or something?”
“Nooo!” Jasmine started to wail again. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Please.” Lauren turned around and shot Georgia a beseeching look. “There’s got to be another way. Please. I—I’m so scared.” It wasn’t cold out, but she was shivering.
Georgia considered it. Lauren was clearly in over her head. And she was right about one thing. If they went to the ER, it would only take a cursory examination of Jasmine before the police were called. She remembered reporting to the ER for a couple of domestics when she was on the force. She’d filled out paperwork for days.
Georgia weighed her options. Lauren Walcher was at the heart of this case. If Georgia could get Jasmine the help she needed without getting the authorities involved, Lauren would owe her. Big time. She thought about where they were. Not far from Clark Street. A Woman’s Place was just around the corner.
“I know where we’re going.”
“Where?”
“We’ll take my car.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Why should I?”
Georgia stopped and stared at Lauren. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stop talking and help me get her into the car.”
Lauren looked like she wanted to argue, but Jasmine started to cry again. Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay.” She was herding Jasmine toward the Toyota when Georgia intercepted them. “Here. Let me.”
She braced herself, bent her knees, and scooped the girl into her arms. The girl was tiny, but a hundred pounds was a hundred pounds. Georgia felt the strain in her muscles. Still, she carried the girl to the car.
“Open the door,” she ordered.
Lauren did what she was told, and Georgia settled the girl in the back seat. She seemed dazed and limp, but her eyes were open, and she yelled when her arm was touched.
“What’s your name?” Georgia asked her.
“Jathmine.”
“What day is it?”
“Tuethday.”
“Where are you?”
“In your car.”
“Okay.” Then to Lauren, “You get in too.”
She waited until the doors were closed and seatbelts were buckled. Then she keyed the engine, backed out of the lot, and headed down Clark.
Traffic was light, and ten minutes later Georgia turned right onto Diversey. In the heart of Lincoln Park, Diversey Parkway was a street that reinvented itself every few years, evolving from a strip of seedy bars and storefronts to an upscale shopping area. But while the stores catered to the affluent of any orientation, the bars were mostly gay. One of those bars was sandwiched between a bookstore and a florist.
Georgia parked in front of a neon sign of a silver slipper that winked at passers-by. “You two stay here. I’ll be back.”
But Lauren, who seemed to have recovered some of her confidence during the drive, groused self-importantly. “What are we doing here? We need to—”
Gerogia glared through the window. “Not another word, Lauren.”
Lauren glared back. Then she blinked.
A wave of heat, perfume, and beer rolled over Georgia as she pushed through the door of the Silver Slipper. Couples, most of them women, idled at tables and booths. Singles drank at the bar. Georgia went to the end of the bar and looked around. It was well after ten, but she didn’t see the person she was looking for.
A room in the back held more tables. She headed back. A tiny dance floor took up the center of the room. The lights were low, and a jukebox blared out a slow Patsy Cline number. One couple was dancing. Another couple kissed, oblivious to everyone else. Georgia was
curious in spite of herself. What would a woman’s lips feel like? As soft as Matt’s? And a female body—would it feel the way Pete’s did, his limbs weighing her down, making her feel wanton but protected? Pete. Where had that come from? Matt.The way Matt’s did. She felt her cheeks get hot.
She should go back to the bar. As she turned around, Red Sladdick appeared in front of her. She looked just like she did at the poetry reading: dark hair, scarlet lips, thigh-high boots. Tonight, though, she was grinning from ear to ear. “What brings you down this way, sweet Georgia?”
Georgia waved off the grin. “Didn’t you say you were a nurse at Illinois Masonic?”
“I am indeed.” Her smile wavered.
“I need your help. Now. Please,” she added.
“I don’t—what are—”
“It’s important.”
Red’s smile faded, and her eyebrows arched. Then she nodded. “I’ll get my things.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AN HOUR later, Jasmine was resting comfortably in a small room at Advocate Illinois Masonic. Red had sneaked them in through the employees’ entrance and found an intern who agreed to treat the girl, no questions asked. He put a cast on her arm and bandaged the worst of the wounds. Her mouth had been treated with an antibiotic, and the intern promised that of all the wounds, the tongue would heal the fastest—probably within a day or two. Until then, he advised Jasmine to eat plenty of jello and ice cream. That prompted a giggle from the girl, which made Georgia realize how young she really was.
“I’ll be back,” Georgia said. “I’m going to tell Lauren you’re okay.” Lauren was in the waiting room.
“Thank you for everything,” Jasmine said.
Georgia nodded and stepped into a corridor. Red was waiting for her. “So what happened?” Red asked quietly.
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