by Polly Iyer
“You don’t eat meat?” he asked, buttering a roll from the bread basket.
“Nope. Not since I was a kid. Our grammar school took us to a farm in the country. It was also an abattoir. I peeked in back, saw the slaughtered animals, and that was it. I haven’t been able to stomach meat since.”
“Bad field trip. So you don’t eat meat and you don’t drink.”
“Nope again. Not in years. In my business, um, former business, a girl can’t get sloppy on the job. That’s when bad things happen.”
“Sounds like you’re a control freak.”
She relaxed and laughed for the first time. “Yeah, probably. Only about certain things, though.” The waiter brought their drinks, and she sipped hers. “You can tell me what this is about now so I lose my appetite, or you can wait until after we eat when I might lose my dinner. Maybe you’ve changed your mind and decided to keep it a secret.”
“No secret. Sorry.” He took a long, much-needed swallow of his vodka. Maybe Tawny had relaxed, but he was wound tight. “We think Cooper is using his clubs to gather information about his clients, then blackmailing them. If we grilled his girls, they’d tell him, and we’d have nowhere to go.”
“What clubs?”
Linc snorted. “Come on, Tawny. You know what clubs I mean. Maybe you even worked his place a time or two.”
“I told you, I never worked for anyone. That’s the truth.”
“Then cut the crap.”
The waiter came with their meals, and Linc waited until he left before picking up the conversation. He lowered his voice. “You know about the sex clubs. Every class act working the city knows Benny Cooper.”
“Why not get one of them to do your dirty work? I’ve retired, remember?”
“Because we don’t have serious enough bargaining chips with any of them, and we do with you. Drugs would be our only possibility. Cooper’s girls don’t use.”
Linc cut into his meat, but he didn’t eat it. He was having a hard time with this conversation. He liked Tawny. She was smart, at least IQ-wise, and didn’t make excuses about the path she took. He’d always tried to get girls out of the business, and here he was forcing one who’d quit to go back to work. Putting the squeeze on her made him uncomfortable.
“We could pull them in for prostitution, but they’d be out on a misdemeanor charge before the ink was dry on the fingerprint cards. Pros like you―like you used to be―have everything covered. Fake jobs and a client list who couldn’t get involved without dirtying their reputations or their marriages. Besides, word would get out, killing our chances of getting him on the bigger charges we think he deserves.”
Tawny speared a roasted red pepper, chewed slowly, and swallowed. “I could throw myself on the mercy of the court, pay the taxes and penalties. Maybe they’d be lenient and give me a pass.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Your past profession wouldn’t help your case. Judges frown on prostitution.” He watched as reality dawned on her, and she nodded in agreement.
Her fork hovered in midair. “I’m still not sure what you want me to do.”
“We’ve heard rumblings that Cooper’s filming his clients to blackmail them. We’d like you to go to work for him, get us proof.”
“If you don’t have proof, what makes you think he’s doing that?”
Linc swallowed hard. “One of his girls, at least that’s what we assume, called me about something that scared her silly. She didn’t say what but mentioned Cooper’s name. Either he’s into major kink, or he’s doing something even more illegal than running a sex club.”
“Could be another Benny Cooper. I’m sure he’s not the only one.”
“He isn’t.”
“Then what’s the prob―” She stopped and let out a long breath. After pushing aside her plate, she leaned back in her chair. “Oh, I see now.”
“Right. She’s the one we pulled out of the harbor. Sarah Marshall, working name, Serena. She called about a week before she washed up. I checked out all the Benjamins and Bennys, but finally zeroed in on this particular Cooper because of his wife, Eileen.”
“A former call girl. I get it. And now you think he’s involved in murder? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
“That’s what we want you to find out. The Marshall woman could have been killed by a john, a jealous boyfriend. Lots of possibilities. One thing she didn’t do is commit suicide. Women don’t jump into the harbor to end their lives. Off a bridge, maybe, but they rarely drown themselves. They either take pills or,” Linc hesitated, “take a bath with a razor blade.”
Tawny’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before responding. “You’re probably right.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And Benny Cooper would hire me, why?”
Linc closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, expelling a quiet snicker. “An establishment like his would kill to have you. Any pimp dealing in high-priced call girls would.”
Tawny didn’t flinch. Why would she? That’s what she was.
Chapter Five
Three Stupid Words
Tawny picked at her grilled vegetables. She should have insisted Walsh wait until after dinner to tell her what he wanted her to do. Her hunger pangs gave way to nausea after hearing about the strangled girl, thrown into the harbor like chum.
Tawny recalled the murders of other prostitutes over the years. Some were reckless in their choice of customers; others became targets of some psycho bent on ridding the world of immorality as he saw it. Jealous rage by an obsessed john or boyfriend accounted for a few more. Instinct guided Tawny to refuse second appointments with clients who possessed obsessive tendencies. Sometimes it was a tricky call.
Walsh sat quietly. He didn’t eat either. “You know Benny Cooper more than as the husband of an ex-call girl, don’t you?”
She moved a chunk of zucchini around on her plate. “Yes, I know him, but I told the truth when I said I never worked for anyone. If I had, it wouldn’t have been for Benny. It’s not that he skimps on money. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a pimp, so he arranges good jobs that pay well and the clients pay the ladies directly. He never handles their money, only his own.” She met his gaze. “So I’ve heard.”
After sipping her Perrier, she said, “The problem is Benny likes to test his women on a regular basis.”
“What do you mean test?”
“Oh, come on. You know. A freebie. I don’t do freebies. No birthday presents, no Christmas gifts.” Walsh tried to act like her comment meant nothing, but he drew back enough to show it bothered him.
“A real business woman, huh?”
She chose to ignore the snide comment. She ran a business, and the business was her. She wasn’t going to give it away. “You bet. Benny knows how I work…worked. He’d be suspicious if I went to him for a job.”
“Then we’ll make him come to you.” Walsh took a big swallow of vodka. “No pun intended.”
“You’re full of sarcasm. Is that what they teach you at the police academy?” She slapped down her fork. “Look, you approached me. You might not like what I did with my life, but it was my life, and it still is. If you can’t treat me with respect, then get it over with and arrest me on whatever charges you can come up with. Tax evasion? Fine. Prostitution? So be it. Then you can find someone else to do your dirty work.” She pushed her plate aside and got up. “I’m going to my room. I’d prefer you don’t handcuff me in the dining room.”
“Sit down.”
She turned to face him.
“Please.”
She sat down, forcing herself not to act like a petulant child, but it strained her.
“You are one hard woman.”
“What did you expect, Mary Poppins?”
He shook his head. “Someone must have really done you over. Who was it? College boyfriend? Married professor who wouldn’t leave his wife?”
Fire heated her cheeks. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.”
“So I’ve been told. Like y
ou, I’m just doing my job.” He waved to the waiter and pointed to his drink with two fingers―a double―then stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “I apologize,” he said. “I had no right to put you down.”
“That’s twice you’ve said sorry, and it must have hurt both times.”
The waiter came with a fresh drink, and Walsh drained the vodka in progress and handed him the empty glass. “After this one,” he said pointing to the replacement, “I won’t feel a thing.”
“You’re going to find this hard to believe, Walsh, but I had an idyllic childhood with perfect, caring, middle-class parents. No one beat me or threw me out, and no one screwed me up along the way.” Walsh obviously didn’t know about the one time somebody did, and she wasn’t about to unload the story. “It’s not very complicated.”
He put a good dent in his drink. “You seem complicated to me.”
“Actually, I’m rather shallow. I liked excitement, travel, and money. And I liked sex. My college friends were giving it away. I charged and made men happy while I took their money. Most men were intelligent and interesting and knew how to treat a woman. Everything first class.”
“And what did you have to do to make them happy?”
She picked up her water and held his gaze over the rim of the glass. “In my world, I set what I would and wouldn’t do. They either accepted or rejected me on that basis.”
She could tell he was salivating to know the parameters she’d set, but the vodka was getting to him. Though steady, his words slurred slightly. “You must know this stuff, Walsh. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
He surveyed the room. “We have all we can handle with the perverts of the world: sexual predators, child pornographers, sex traffickers. Doesn’t leave much time to go after consenting adults unless there’s a reason.”
“And now there is.”
This time it was Walsh who stared over his glass. “Only to get the man in charge. And yes, murder is a reason.”
“Just because the murdered gal mentioned Benny Cooper’s name doesn’t mean he murdered her. How do you know he’s involved?”
“We don’t. If we did, you’d still be sitting on the beach with a bunch of college boys creaming in their bathing trunks.”
“I’m not an undercover cop. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”
“Ask a few questions of the other girls and listen for anything that sounds suspicious. Find out if Sarah Marshall worked there. That would give us something to go on.”
“Then there’s the real problem. How do you make Cooper come after me?”
“I’ve a few ideas, but I need to mull them over. Right now I’m a little fuzzy.”
“You’ve had a lot to drink. Maybe you should eat something.”
“You’re probably right, but my steak’s cold and a little undercooked.”
Tawny motioned for the waiter, and the guy came running. “Warm this up for my friend, will you? Mine too, please.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” the waiter said, hustling off with both plates.
“That guy would do anything for the pretty lady,” Linc said, slurring more obviously now. “Is that how you take care of your men?”
“You’re drunk, Detective Walsh.”
Linc nodded. “Yes, I am.”
Walsh avoided her eyes, except when he pushed away his drink. He knew he’d drunk too much. The waiter brought their food. Tawny watched him. He ate slowly and methodically, working off his high. His flushed cheeks heightened his olive complexion. A hank of shiny, dark brown hair tumbled onto his forehead. He wore it long for a cop who wasn’t a narc. Everything about Walsh told her he didn’t follow the rules. A non-conformist. And she still found him attractive.
When they finished, she signed her room number, and they left. She stayed close to him in the elevator. Closer than close. He didn’t move away. He still had the key card and slipped it into the door slot. He held open the door and followed her inside.
She turned, trapping him in the small entry. They stood face to face. She moved in until they were body to body. The pace of his breathing increased. She moved closer. Their gazes locked, and she knew what was going to happen. Stop me, Walsh, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Besides, she pushed this and didn’t want it to stop.
He leaned down, hesitating. His dark eyes roamed her face, taking in every feature. She always heard vodka didn’t smell, but the odor of alcohol was unmistakable. The tang of lime. The enticing scent of Lincoln Walsh. She breathed him in, filling her senses. Their lips touched, gently at first, then so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. Their tongues teased in her mouth until his kisses covered her cheeks and her ear and the long column of her neck. Her body tingled in anticipation.
His hardness pressed between her thighs. Before she knew it, he’d whisked her T-shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra. His mouth covered one breast, then the other, sucking hard, causing her to wince from the sheer blissful pleasure, a prologue to what she knew would follow.
She tore off his shirt and ran her hands all over the rippling muscles of his back, biting his shoulder and ear lobe, sucking his neck. It all happened so fast. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before. Men had always been clients, customers. Always business, no emotions involved. Walsh turned her on like no one had in a very, very long time.
After he unbuckled his belt, his slacks fell to the floor, and he kicked out of them. Then she helped him remove hers. Stooping down, he thrust his tongue into her wetness. All she could do was moan, “Ohhh,” in a long breath, weak from the thrill. Bringing her almost to climax, he stopped and kissed and licked his way up her belly to the tips of her nipples, his tongue’s delicate touch sending shivers through her, his gentle nibbling sparking volts of electricity, turning every sense radioactive.
God, he was beautiful. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not after all these years.
Then he lifted her up against the wall, and she wound her legs around him, over his hips, locking him into her. Guiding his slick erection inside her, he whispered softly in her ear, “Business is over for the night.” He stopped, met her gaze. “Or is it?”
It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Pain stabbed her chest. Shaky and disoriented, she unwound herself, set her feet on the floor, and pushed him back with such force he hit the other side of the entry hall with a thud. Her heart started beating again, pounding like a piston. Her throat knotted.
“Get out, Walsh.” The thrill she felt only moments before collapsed like a house of cards, fast and messy, jagged pieces all over her insides. A rushing sound filled her ears, and the room spun.
He stood naked, his empty arms outstretched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She picked up his clothes off the carpet, opened the door, and threw them into the hall. “Get. Out.”
He followed her into the bathroom as she gathered his toiletries off the counter and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around. “It came out all wrong. I made a mistake.”
She fought to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. Fought to keep the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach from erupting. This is what happened when you let down your guard. You got hurt. She knew better. “You’re right,” she managed to say. “Our business is over for the night. You can arrest me in the morning. Going to jail would be preferable to working with you. Now get your hands off me.”
“Don’t be―”
Pushing him away, she snapped up everything of his she could find, stormed to the open door, and tossed them over the shirt she’d flung in the hotel corridor. All that remained was him.
“Out.”
His now deflated member hung in shame as she pushed his sorry hide into the hall, alongside his belongings.
He turned toward her. “I’m sorry, I―”
She glared at him and slammed the door.
He banged on it. “Let me in, Tawny. Please. It came out all wrong.”
Turning back into the roo
m, she saw his satchel on the sofa. She picked it up, opened the door, and threw it at him. “Go to hell.”
A couple walking by stared, but neither Tawny nor Walsh paid them any attention. She kicked the door shut again and turned the lock.
After picking up her clothes, she stepped into the shower, set the temperature of the pelting water to a few degrees below boiling, and scrubbed herself almost raw, first with the washcloth, then with the towel. She didn’t even comb her wet hair.
Naked and flushed with heat, she opened the liquor cabinet and studied her choices. Early in her career, she had taken a bartending course to learn about the different spirits. Although she herself didn’t drink, she could mix a mean cocktail. She selected a mini bottle of bourbon, opened it, and bypassing a glass, sipped, shivering as the caramel taste burned its way down her throat. She carried the bottle to the bed and sat with her back against the headboard. Lifting the remaining alcohol to her lips, she finished off the bottle in two long swigs, scrunching her nose and shuddering again. God-awful stuff, she thought, coughing. She always wondered why people drank. Now she understood one prime reason. To forget. But for the life of her, she couldn’t decide which to forget: the pain or the pleasure.
Chapter Six
Murder Most Ugly
That evening, Benny sat at the desk in his apartment at Upper Eighties, savoring his Macallan’s while going over the books. Melody had performed her usual magic. Although his body and spirit felt rejuvenated, like he’d been pampered at a luxurious spa, he couldn’t ignore the diminished receipts caused by the economic nosedive. One of his higher-priced ladies had a steady patron at the condo on the Lower West Side; Midtown was empty. A few of his younger ladies were entertaining half a dozen men on the fourth floor at a decent night’s rate, and regular clients occupied two suites, including big man Rick Martell playing Daddy with Melody and Cindi as mommy and baby. Not a filled-to-capacity night but a tidy take.
