by V. K. Powell
A dog barked in the lot next to the facility and the hairs on her arm prickled. She ducked into the shadows and pressed her back against the inside wall of the unit. All she needed was to get caught in a storage bin with a shipment of weapons—by the suspects or the police. She crouched on her hands and knees, peeked around the corner, and scoured the area, but didn’t see anyone. She cocked her head to the side and listened for anything unusual. Breathing a bit easier, she dusted her palms on her jeans and stood.
Using her small flashlight and cell phone, she took pictures of the weapons. Not that she could show them to anyone without incriminating herself, but still she had proof. Maybe the storage manager would be helpful again and provide the renter’s name. She’d bet money that it wouldn’t be a Torre. She carefully replaced the container lids, slowly lowered the unit door, and slipped over the fence.
On her way back downtown, she looked at the missed calls on her cell phone. Eve had phoned a few times and Tyler once. She dialed her brother first. “Ty, what’s up?”
“Hey, sis, a couple of things. Some woman called here looking for you. Wanted to know where to find you or how to get in touch. She didn’t leave a name and I didn’t offer any information. Sorry.”
“Probably someone from the police department. I left you as my contact.” She dismissed it as unimportant. “What else?”
“I’ve been snooping and got a look at the autopsy on Simon Torre.”
“How did you manage that?” Her pulse quickened. She was so proud of her brother for going against the flow and trying to help her. Better late than never.
“Hey, I’m not without resources, and I’m kind of handsome, too.”
“Yeah, you are. So, anything interesting?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Simon Torre had more than a trace of phencyclidine in his system at the time of death.”
“That shit causes hallucinations and paranoia. Why would a man his age take PCP?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Thought I’d mention it since it was unusual.”
“Thanks, Ty. Everything else okay?”
“Pretty much. The wife’s still gorgeous, the kids are driving me nuts on my off days, the PD still sucks, and you’re still gone.”
“Sounds normal. See you later…and thanks again.” Wealthy, elderly men weren’t normal users of PCP. It usually appealed to a younger set that snorted it or laced their marijuana cigarettes with it. Another odd factoid of this case that she filed away.
She hung up and dialed Vi’s number. She needed answers, and either Vi would give them to her or they’d part company. She’d had enough of unreliable people and their well-meaning secrets. When she got Vi’s voice mail, she hung up and decided to find her downtown. She parked in the parking deck and strolled past the park, but saw no sign of the wisecracking kid.
After picking up a coffee, she walked Elm Street, checking the few places she and Vi had met in their short acquaintance. She didn’t even know where Vi lived or worked, much less where she hung out. And you told her about Abby. Not very smart. By the time she’d covered the eight-block central business district twice, she’d given up finding her.
As she passed the Sky Bar on her way home, she decided it couldn’t hurt to put in another short appearance. After being thrown out the other night, she might not be welcomed like a high roller, but this place was connected to the case and she meant to find out how.
*
When Abby got back to the club, Kinsey was walking out the door. Her mind was still at the museum with Eve Winters, but she shook off her preoccupation. “Hey, slipping out early?”
“Not really. Finished some of it and left an analysis program running.” Kinsey’s grin was childishly innocent, with a touch of pride thrown in.
“Finished?”
“It’s easy if you know what you’re doing—not that you don’t, M.”
“I don’t. If you have a second, I’d love to see what you found.”
Kinsey followed her back into the office and clicked a couple of keys on the computer. She pointed to a small icon at the top of the screen. “See that?” Abby nodded. “That means the program I installed is running in the background. When the little wheel stops spinning, it’s finished and I’ll be able to pull out the data.”
“Okay…”
“Basically, I don’t know anything yet.” Kinsey’s tone indicated that she had suspicions about something but wasn’t ready to commit. “I’d rather wait.”
“Wait for what?” Tiny stood in the office doorway glaring at them like they were trespassers.
Abby moved toward him to shield Kinsey and block the computer screen. The less he knew about what she was doing, the better. “I’m computer illiterate. I hired Kinsey to handle the club accounting.”
“That’s my job.”
“Not anymore. Carl authorized me to hire any staff I needed. Besides, the way business is picking up, you’ll be more valuable to me on the floor.” She tried to massage his ego and downplay Kinsey’s involvement so he wouldn’t see her as a threat. “I want somebody to keep up with income and expenses, nothing too complicated.” Tiny twisted his ponytail like a distracted first-grader. Maybe he was trying to wind up his brain.
“Yeah, I guess that’ll be okay. If you need anything, kid, let me know. But don’t change the password. I need to get in sometimes—payroll stuff.”
We’ll see about that, Abby thought. “Tiny, what happened to the furniture I drove in? I haven’t seen anything new in the club. Did you unload it yet?”
“Nah, they sent the wrong stuff. Had to take it back.”
“Too bad. We could use some new tables and chairs.” Abby stalled until Kinsey signed off the computer. “See you tomorrow, Kinsey. Have a good night.”
The young woman smiled at her and pushed past Tiny on her way out.
“I’ll be here a while tonight, Tiny. How do I contact you or Ray if I have questions?” He scribbled two cell numbers on a Post-it and handed it to her. She walked out with him, locked the office door, and followed him into the club.
She watched in amazement as bartenders mixed drinks, waiters slung orders, and dancers enticed patrons of every description. If the very existence of places like this didn’t insult her sensibilities, she’d be impressed with the simplicity of the operation—large open space, add booze and babes and open the doors. The bar seemed to operate at maximum efficiency with minimal problems. By midnight, she was emotionally exhausted from her talk with Eve, the run-in with Tiny, and hours on her feet. She wanted to go to the hotel, have a very hot soaking bath, and sleep.
As she headed toward the back door, she heard a yell from the front of the club and circled the floor behind a group of spectators egging on some sort of activity. The crowd broke into periodic cheers and she pushed in for a closer look. Two people stood against the wall, lost in the moment, undulating with a rhythm that broadcast their intent.
She recognized the woman facing her, an attractive, petite dancer with long brown hair and a curvaceous body. Abby couldn’t see the other person’s face. His hands were splayed against the wall on either side of the dancer’s head, corded muscles bulging along his tattooed arms. His jeans-clad quads rippled with contained energy. The dancer knelt in front of him and teased her fingers up his calves, along his thighs, and toward his crotch, barely skirting the apex.
Abby shivered with excitement and immediately felt embarrassed. Sex was a private matter. She wasn’t used to intimate public displays, and this one was against club rules. She called Ray and worked her way through the crowd toward the couple.
The dancer straddled the man’s thigh, her slender legs pressing against his like a rider on a horse. She bucked back and forth, rubbing their centers together. Then she cupped her breasts and offered them to him, withdrawing before his lips closed over an erect nipple. The dancer pressed her body tightly against the patron and ran her fingers through his close-cropped white hair—hair so similar to the color of Loane’s.
> Abby sighed as she remembered their last lovemaking session. Her mouth dried and her skin felt hot and sticky. She was tired, and fatigue made her susceptible to her real feelings and to mistakes that could blow her cover. It would only take a few minutes to help Ray break up the scene. Then she could leave. As she reached the couple, Ray grabbed hold of the man’s shoulders and pulled him off the dancer. The guy turned around swinging, made contact with Ray’s jaw, and sent him stumbling into the crowd. She moved toward the man, unsure how to stop someone almost twice her size. As she reached for him, someone grabbed her from behind.
“Not a good idea.” Loane. Undeniably her lover’s silky voice. Before she could respond, she was deposited like a sack of potatoes on top of the bar away from the ruckus.
The scene played out in slow motion. Loane stared at her for a split second, her crystal blue eyes haunted, hurt, and gouging into her soul. Then she turned and rejoined the fray. Abby squinted into the dim light desperate for another glimpse. It was Loane. She looked different, much thinner, with tight muscles close to bone. Her beautiful platinum hair color was the same but cut close and styled differently. The lovely shoulder-length locks that had feathered around her face were gone. And her face was marred by silver-studded piercings, hollow cheeks, and eyes dimmed by pain. But her lips were still full and kissable. She reached out, but Loane was already across the room.
She’d waited months for this moment, to see Loane again, to know she was all right, but now she couldn’t move or formulate a single coherent thought beyond how much she wanted to hold her. Abby’s heart raced as she struggled for an appropriate segue from this melee to love. The months of crying, waiting, and worrying flooded in and she ached—ached to go back in time and erase it all, back to that night and the decision she’d made that changed everything. Loane was here, safe, within arm’s reach, and she was paralyzed with fear.
Across the room, Loane assumed a defensive stance and waited for the man to attack. When he advanced, Loane’s arms and legs moved with the speed and grace of a master. She delivered one sharp kick to the side of his knee and he collapsed. Ray and Tiny gave Loane an appreciative nod, grabbed the man’s arms, and dragged him to the exit.
Dancers and patrons immediately surrounded Loane, patting her on the back and standing way too close. Without even a glance in her direction, Loane backed up and made her way to the front door, followed closely by a busty brunette. Abby jumped off the bar and waded through the crowd after her. The music started again, dancers closed in around her, and she lost sight of Loane. By the time she got to the street, Loane and the brunette were nowhere in sight.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey, where’s the fire, lover? Slow down.”
Rachel’s high heels clip-clopped behind Loane as she sprinted toward the condo. Tonight she didn’t care who saw her, who knew where she lived, or who followed. The only thing on her mind was getting far away from Abby. She couldn’t believe she was in the city and hadn’t contacted her. But she hadn’t bothered to call for months, so why was Loane surprised? Still, when she’d thought Abby was in danger at the club, she hadn’t hesitated to act. What a sucker. She called back to Rachel. “Hurry.”
It was the second time in as many nights that she’d left the club too fucked up, for one reason or another, to blow off some sexual steam. Well, not tonight. Rachel had offered her services and Loane wasn’t too proud to say yes anymore. She needed to erase the image of a living, breathing Abby and to exorcise painful emotions that reignited with the slightest breeze.
Loane fluctuated between rushing to Abby and never seeing her again. How could she reappear as if nothing had happened? Didn’t she know how much her leaving had hurt Loane, how much it still hurt? Perhaps she’d moved on with her life and for some perverse reason came back to put a period on their relationship. Maybe Abby had never truly cared about her.
She pulled Rachel into the elevator, pressed the button to the penthouse, and backed her against the wall. Rachel raised her skirt and lifted one leg onto the railing, revealing only a thong. Pulling Rachel’s naked leg between hers, Loane rubbed against her from her knee to the apex of her thigh, then cupped her sex. She was already wet. Loane looked into her brown eyes and saw Abby’s staring back at her. Desire vanished.
When the elevator door opened, she considered sending Rachel back to the lobby. Don’t be stupid. You need this. She refused to let the past ruin her night. “Want a drink?”
“All I want is you. I’ve been waiting for this.”
Soft illumination from outside flooded the condo, and Loane didn’t bother to turn on a lamp. Too much light and she’d have too clear a picture of Rachel and what she was about to do. Besides, darkness suited her mood.
Rachel grabbed the waistband of Loane’s jeans and pulled her to the white flokati rug in the center of the room. When she unzipped her jeans, unbuttoned her shirt, and shucked her clothes to the floor, Loane didn’t object. Abby was alive and safe and here. Loane’s heart raced. Abby was so close, but Loane hadn’t deserved even a phone call. She looked out across the eastern skyline, willing her body to cooperate and her mind to disengage.
Streetlights twinkled in varying shades of white, yellow, and gray. Stoplights changed intermittently from red to yellow, then green, and back again. The muted sound of enthusiastic passersby and the steady thumping bass from the club wafted up from below. She struggled to connect as Rachel knelt in front of her. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed to feel alive and whole again, wasn’t it?
Rachel grabbed Loane’s ass and buried her face in Loane’s crotch. Her breath was hot, her tongue searching. Loane closed her eyes. She saw Abby’s face in the club, her brown eyes full of surprise and, what, love? Damn it. She pulled back. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t working for her. She wasn’t working for her.
“Please…” Rachel looked up at her.
“But I can’t—”
“You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you.”
If only she could. Loane wasn’t sure that was possible anymore. She didn’t even seem to be able to take care of herself. Rachel lowered her head again as she slid a hand between her legs. Loane watched their vague reflection in the window like a black-and-white porn movie. Her legs were slightly spread, breasts exposed, facial expression nonexistent. Rachel knelt in front of her, her head bobbing up and down. She felt nothing.
The woman in the window was almost skeletal, bone poking out around muscle. The pallor of her skin was like that of a corpse. Sunken eyes stared out of a ghostly thin face. What had happened to her? Abby. She watched as the woman in the window grabbed hair in her gloved fists and pulled a lover tightly against her crotch. “Fuck me, harder,” she begged. Rachel teased the tip of Loane’s clit with her tongue, but Loane wasn’t aroused. She concentrated on the warm tongue stroking the length of her shaft.
“So good,” Rachel moaned. Loane flexed her knees to open wider, wanting to come but not wanting her. Rachel slid a finger inside her and she settled onto her hand. “That’s right, hon.”
Hon. “Oh, Abby, I need you. Make me come.” Suddenly the hand was gone, and she pumped air. “What the—”
Rachel stared up at her. “I’m not Abby.”
“I didn’t say that…did I?”
Rachel’s expression was the only answer she needed. Loane straightened and moved away. “Please leave. I’ve made a mistake.”
“It’s okay. I can be whoever you want for one night.”
“No, you can’t.” Nobody else could be Abby. “Just go.”
When Rachel collected her belongings and left, Loane went into the bathroom and closed the door. She couldn’t look at the stereo images of the haunted woman in the windows any longer. The dim glow of a nightlight seemed perfect with the faint odor of disinfectant. This space was exactly what she needed—solitary, impersonal, cold, hard, and devoid of memories.
She stripped off her gloves and hugged the tile wall, pressing her body tight ag
ainst the coolness. The throbbing between her legs spread to her limbs and into her chest. Why had she stopped? For months she’d silently suffered the pain and guilt of losing Abby, smothering any outward expression, refusing comfort. Now her insides felt like dynamite ready to detonate. Another wave of need spiraled from her center and she slid down the chilly tile wall to the floor, clutching herself as she collapsed.
Forking her clit between her fingers, she stroked and begged for relief. She pulled and jerked the tender flesh until it hurt. At least she felt something. Stretching out on the floor, she shoved a finger inside and flinched at the abrasive dry entry. But she kept thrusting, squeezing and milking her clit. She pawed and scratched like a deranged animal, desperate for release. Her body revolted, salty tears and fetid sweat the only moisture it would relinquish, mocking and confirming that she didn’t deserve pleasure.
The pressure inside her was unbearable and she refused to give up. Continuing the painful penetration, she grabbed a breast and dug her nails in. She twisted and pinched her nipple until all she felt was pain at both ends. A twinge of desire sparked between her legs and she clutched her clit again, pulling and urging. Please…please. She pounded and plunged harder and faster. The spark disappeared. Exhausted, she surrendered to the burning ache of abused flesh and the sharp, coppery taste of blood.
She curled into a fetal position with a wail. The pain of losing Abby escaped like a torrential rain. It was so unfair. Three months had not been enough time. She realized now that she’d been falling in love with Abby—but hadn’t had the courage to tell her. Was this her punishment?
Bottled-up emotions clawed their way out. She shook with staccato sobs and didn’t try to stop. With each tear that fell, she remembered Abby—her head thrown back as she climaxed, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with morning light, her soft lips pressed against Loane’s flesh, and her always-gentle words of support. Those times were the sweetest and now the most agonizing of her life. Abby was here again but still gone.
