Against the Night (8 page)

“So she was sleeping with him.”

“I’m not really sure. I think she might have been playing him the same way he was trying to play her. The month before she disappeared, she kind of clammed up, you know? I figured she was seeing someone else, but she wouldn’t talk about it. She only went out with Kyle a handful of times. She rarely mentioned where she was going or who she was going out with.”

“Any problems with any of the customers? Anyone she blew off who might have had a grudge?”

Babs shook her head, her dark, chin-length hair sliding around her cheeks. “Rachael kind of kept to herself. She and I were pretty good friends, but she didn’t tell me everything. She was popular with the customers. Her stage name was Silky Summers. Everyone called her Silk.”

Babs had told Amy that. Still, hearing it now made her see her sister in a way she hadn’t before, as a woman who did exotic dances for a living, someone who could be made to disappear without much trouble and never be seen again. A trickle of unease slipped through her, reminding her that she was doing the very same thing.

Johnnie finished his sandwich, devouring it with manly enthusiasm and finishing the last of his fries. He waited impatiently while Babs finished her bagel, then shoved back his chair and came to his feet.

“We need to get going. Time’s slipping away and Amy and I have a few things to work out before she meets Bennett.”

Her stomach sharply contracted. She glanced down at the pink-and-silver watch on her wrist. It was only costume jewelry but it was pretty, a birthday gift from Rachael last year. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

The women stood up from the table while Johnnie took care of the bill, then he walked them out the door. As they stood on the sidewalk, Babs dug her car keys out of her purse. A little metal palm tree dangled from the end.

She handed the keys to Amy. “Be careful. I don’t have any insurance.”

“Jesus.” Johnnie shook his head and raked a hand through his short, dark hair.

Amy’s fingers tightened around the keys. She drove a little Honda back home and it was insured. Hopefully, that would cover any problems but she wasn’t really sure. “I’ll be careful.”

Babs waved and started walking back to the club, and Johnnie led Amy toward his car, parked in the lot next to the deli. He pressed his key to unlock the Mustang then opened the door. “Get in.”

Amy slipped into the passenger seat and Johnnie rounded the car and slid in on the driver’s side. Reaching across her, he opened the glove box and pulled out a padded envelope. He tipped it over and a silver, heart-shaped locket fell into his big hand.

“I want you to wear this. There’s a microphone inside. I’ll be able to hear everything you say and whatever’s going on inside the house. If you get in trouble, just sing out.”

Amy glanced up. “You’re going to Bennett’s house with me?”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You thought I was going to let you go into that creep’s place on your own? I told you that wasn’t going to happen last night.”

“Yes, but—”

“I drove by there this morning. Expensive area, plenty of parking on the street. I won’t be far away if you get into trouble.”

The nerves returned. “Surely you don’t think…think he’d…he’d do anything to hurt me?”

“You never know with a weasel like that. Just remember I’ll be close enough to hear what’s going on.” Johnnie swung the locket over her head and fastened the catch on the silver chain. Just the brush of his fingers against the back of her neck sent goose bumps over her skin.

She glanced in the mirror. “My earrings are gold. They don’t match.”

“Take them off,” he said.

Amy unfastened the small gold hoops and stuck them into her purse. She reached up and fingered the locket. “You have no idea how grateful I am for this.”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “Don’t worry, when the time comes, you can show me just how grateful you are.”

A little curl of heat settled low in her stomach. He hadn’t forgotten about last night.

Amy tried not to be glad.

Seven

She had driven Babs’s beat-up blue Chevy a few times before, just little jaunts to the store or the drive-through for some snack they wanted. Driving the car to Kyle Bennett’s house was a far different thing.

Amy took a deep breath and stuck the key into the ignition, the metal palm tree key chain clanking against the dash. She put the car in gear, pulled onto Sunset and drove west toward Bel Air.

During their brief phone conversation yesterday, Kyle had given her directions to his house. Following Sunset, a tight four-lane with everyone going too fast, she eventually reached Stone Canyon Road, turned right, then made a left onto Bellagio and continued up the winding streets until she came to the address he had given her. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of Johnnie’s black Mustang in her rearview mirror, and knowing he was back there kept her from turning the Chevy around and speeding back down the hill.

She wouldn’t, she knew. Though her nerves were tingling and her stomach felt like a ball of snakes. She was committed to finding Rachael, no matter what it took.

Amy slowed, checked the address stenciled on the curb in front of the house and pulled the car over. The residence, a single-story Spanish-style home, was nice but not pretentious, the kind of house she might have expected his parents to live in instead of Kyle.

Turning off the engine, she sat for a moment collecting herself, then grabbed her bag, opened the door and climbed out of the car. The place was well kept, the plants and shrubs along the brick walkway leading up to the house neatly pruned and watered.

She took a quick glance behind her but saw no sign of Johnnie. He would be parked around the corner out of sight, she figured. At least he was out there somewhere.

“I’m walking toward the front steps,” she said into the mic hidden inside the locket, figuring she was still far enough from the windows no one would see her talking to herself. She steadied her nerves as she pushed the doorbell and heard it chime somewhere inside.

It didn’t take long for the door to swing open. A smiling Kyle Bennett stood in the doorway.

“Come on in.” He was dressed in designer jeans, loafers and a yellow Izod knit shirt, his sandy hair neatly combed. He was casually GQ, exactly what she had expected.

Amy walked into the Spanish tiled entry noticing a heavy wooden chandelier overhead, and Kyle closed the arched front door.

He surveyed her head to foot. “You look just as good in clothes as you do out of them. That’s definitely a plus.”

She swallowed, not happy with the reminder he had seen her all but naked. “Is…is everything ready for the screen test?”

“My camera guy is running a little late, but he’ll be here soon. Why don’t we go into the studio and I’ll fix us something to drink?”

She let him guide her through the house into what looked like his study, done in dark wood paneling with a wide, ornately carved oak desk, and a dark brown leather sofa and chair. A camera on a tripod pointed toward the sofa, apparently where Bennett planned to film the audition.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She sat down on the couch, nervously smoothed her palms over her white jeans.

“What would you like to drink? Glass of white wine, maybe, or something stronger? How ’bout I make you a cosmo?”

Amy shook her head. “A Diet Coke would be good…if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble. I just figured you might want something to help you relax in front of the camera.”

“I think…think I’d do better if I wasn’t drinking anything alcoholic.”

His smile looked more feral than friendly. “How about some orange juice? It’s pretty much all I’ve got.”

“That would be great.”

He walked over to the bar in the corner and began fixing their drinks. A blender sat on the back bar next to a row of mixes, and a pink silk geranium in a small woven basket. A couple of padded leather stools sat in front of the bar.

Kyle returned with their drinks, handed her the orange juice and sat down on the sofa beside her. He lifted his glass. “Here’s to a great test today.”

Amy lifted her glass and he clinked his against hers. She took a swallow and then another, hoping it would help calm her nerves. “You know, a friend of mine came here for a screen test,” she said, easing into the subject of her sister.

One of his sandy eyebrows went up. “That right?”

“Silky Summers. She worked at the club before I started.”

“Oh, sure, I knew Silk. I tried to help her.” He shook his head. “It was sad, really. Silk had big dreams, but I’m afraid she didn’t have much talent.”

“Is that right?” Amy thought that was probably a lie. Rachael was good at most everything. “She always wanted to be an actress.”

“They all do, sweetheart. But most of them just can’t cut it.” He smiled. “Not like you. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Angel. I’ve got a hunch you’re going to show real promise.”

She took another sip of juice, buying herself some time. “I wonder what happened to her? Silky, I mean. You haven’t heard from her, have you?” She yawned behind her hand, feeling a little tired, and wished she had slept better. “I mean, she thought you could get her into show business. I figured she would try to stay in touch with you.”

He shrugged his shoulders, which were slim and made her think of Johnnie’s thick shouldered, muscular build.

“Haven’t heard a word,” he said. “The police asked me about her, you know. I told them I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before she disappeared.”

“She didn’t say anything, then…? About where she was going?” She felt like yawning again, but managed to resist.

Kyle leaned in closely. “What’s your interest in Silk?”

Amy tried to shrug, but her shoulders barely moved. “She owed me some money. I’d like to…get it back.”

He relaxed at that. “Stick with me, kiddo, you’ll make plenty of money.”

She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her eyelids felt heavy.

“Now that I think of it,” Kyle said, “she did go out with a guy I knew. Kenny Reason. He’s a DJ down at The Rembrandt Club. I introduced them. Maybe Kenny’ll know where you can find her.”

Amy blinked up at him owlishly. “Thanks.” The more she stared, the fuzzier his features became. She started frowning. “I don’t know what’s…what’s the matter with me but…I’m starting…starting to feel really funny.”

Kyle smiled kindly. “You’re probably just nervous. Why don’t you lie down for a few minutes? I’ll wake you up when my camera guy gets here.”

She didn’t want to lie down, but her mouth wouldn’t move to form a protest. Instead, she let him help her to her feet and the next thing she knew, she was leaning against him, letting him guide her down the hall. She caught a glimpse of a big king-size bed, realized in her foggy brain that something was terribly wrong.

“Johnnie…” she whispered, and prayed he could hear her as the world went suddenly black.

“Son of a bitch!” Johnnie was out of the car and charging down the sidewalk. He raced across Bennett’s front yard, darted around the corner into the side yard, ran toward the rear of the house and up the back porch steps where he could break in without being seen.

The door was an older style with a curtained window. He pulled his Beretta from where he’d stuffed it into the back of his jeans, used the barrel to break the glass pane and reached inside to turn the lock. No alarm went off as he opened the door. He kicked his way through the shattered glass on the Spanish tile floor and rushed toward the bedroom, figuring that was the mostly likely place Bennett would have taken her.

The minute Amy had begun to slur her words, he knew what was happening, knew the weasely little bastard had loaded her drink.

The door at the end of the hall was closed. He paused when he reached it. Hearing Bennett’s voice in a one-sided conversation, he clamped down on the rage swelling inside him, turned the knob but found it locked. He raised his heavy boot and kicked the door open.

He aimed the pistol at Bennett. “Move, you little prick, and I swear I’ll blow your head off.”

Leaning over the bed, Kyle froze. Johnnie’s gaze shifted to Amy, who lay on her back on top of the mattress, completely unconscious. Bennett had unbuttoned her pink blouse, giving him a view of the plump cleavage above her push-up bra. He’d unzipped her white jeans, but that was as far as he’d gotten.

“Move away from her. Now.”

Bennett held up his hands as if they could stop a bullet and backed away from the bed. Just beyond it, the closet doors were folded open, revealing a wall filled with kinky sex toys: padded handcuffs, a leather headdress, a roll of duct tape, and every shape and size of dildo imaginable.

The rage returned, so thick and hot he could barely see. His finger itched where it curled against the trigger.

“Who are you?” Bennett demanded, but his voice shook. “What are you doing in my house?”

Johnnie lowered the pistol, shoved it into his pants behind his back. He moved into the room, over toward the bed. “Rape’s against the law, buddy, or hadn’t you heard?”

Bennett kept his hands in the air, trying to ward off the anger rippling toward him in waves.

“Take it easy, okay? This isn’t what it looks like. Angel came over here on her own. We were just having a little fun.”

“That so?” He looked down at Amy and felt a pinch in his chest. Now that she was there, he couldn’t call the police. For chrissake, the lady was a goddamn kindergarten teacher. The last thing she needed was a sex scandal. Whatever kind of roofie Bennett had given her would knock her out for eight to twelve hours. He needed to get her out of there.

His gaze shifted back to Bennett and his rage boiled back to the surface. If Amy had come on her own, Bennett would have raped her. It took every ounce of his will to not beat the guy into a bloody pulp. Instead, he strode to where Bennett cowered against the wall, grabbed his shirt and started dragging him toward the closet.

“What are you doing?” Bennett’s weak struggles were almost funny. “Get away from me. Leave me alone!”

“I’ll leave you alone, you freak.” Johnnie reached for the padded handcuffs hanging on a peg on the back wall of the closet, clamped them onto Bennett’s slim wrists, then lifted him up and draped the chain linking the cuffs together over a peg on the wall.