Sizzle and Burn (21 page)

“You keep quite an inventory,” he said.

“This is a busy time of year for us.”

“Do you design all of these yourself?”

“Just some of the creative sketches and ideas. Pandora is the genius when it comes to costume design. When Aunt Vella was alive she did a lot of the masks.”

He went down an aisle between two of the long costume display carts, picking up nothing but the usual dull static.

“No hot spots,” he said.

“Well, that’s good news.”

He glanced at the door at the back of the room. “I assume that leads out into the alley?”

“Yes. We keep it locked at all times. There’s a good, solid bolt on the door and an alarm. I’m very aware of the fact that Pandora and I are here alone a lot. We don’t take chances.”

He nodded, then went to the door and checked it, making sure.

When he was satisfied they went back out into the front room of the shop. Pandora was hunched over the computer, typing swiftly.

“Another twenty orders for the new corsets,” she said to Raine, her attention on the screen. “Told you they were going to be hot.”

Zack glanced at the screen and saw a tight, black vinyl corset. It was displayed with a pair of stiletto-heeled boots and an Egyptian style ankh necklace.

He looked at Raine. “The online business you mentioned?”

Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “You know, until I met Pandora I had no idea that the neo-goth market was so huge.”

Thirty-one

T
he interior of the Alley Door was a midnight-dark cave studded with the fragile lights of tiny candles placed on the tables. The lone guitarist on stage was singing about the delights of illicit sex. As far as Raine could tell the entire song was based on a series of metaphors, all of which appeared to be related to shopping in a candy store.

She toyed with the swizzle stick in her sparkling-water-and-lime drink, impatient for the musician to take a break so she could talk to Zack. Out of respect for the performer, no one in the audience was conversing except occasionally and in very low tones with the wait staff.

Zack seemed absorbed by the music. He lounged in the booth beside her, one hand wrapped around his glass of sparkling water. He was so close that he was touching her at shoulder and thigh, so close that she was stirred by his scent. On the psychic level she was intensely aware of little frissons of excitement.

She reminded herself that they were both here to work, hence the sparkling waters. That fact, however, had not prevented her from taking a lot of time with her wardrobe selection for the evening. She had never been to a jazz club but she was fairly certain she would be safe with black. The dress she had decided to wear did not qualify as working attire by any stretch of the imagination. It was very sleek-fitting and featured a top that was cut lower than anything else she owned. Somehow it managed to look both elegant and outrageously sexy. She would never have bought it if Gordon hadn’t been with her at the time. He insisted that the dress had her name on it. She had intended to wear it on her first real date with Bradley.

Zack’s reaction to the dress had been very rewarding.

“That definitely works,” he’d said when she walked into the living room wearing very high heels and clutching a little purse in one hand.

It wasn’t the words that had made her blood zing. It was the heat in his eyes. She’d never seen that look in any other man’s eyes. It fired up her own temperature.

The guitarist finally finished his song about a trip to the candy store and announced that he was taking a break. The sound system was switched on. Recorded music and the buzz of conversation filled the room.

“What happens now?” she said.

Zack straightened in the seat. “Now I do a little detecting.”

“How?”

“I’m going to wander over to the bar and have a little chat with the bartender.”

“Why?”

“I did some checking earlier. The night that Quinn was here, there was a sell-out crowd. I’m guessing that the tables and booths would have been reserved for two or more people. If Quinn came here alone, there’s a good possibility he sat at the bar.”

“Got it,” she said. “You’re hoping the bartender remembers him.”

“Worth a shot. Be back in a few minutes.”

He slid out of the booth and paused.

“That really is a great dress,” he said.

She realized that he was looking down the front of it.

“Better go talk to the bartender,” she said.

“Right. The bartender. Now if I could just remember what it was I wanted to talk to him about—”

She smiled. “Focus, Jones.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She watched him make his way through the maze of tables, aware of a fizzy sensation. Most women her age had acquired some experience with the flirting game but it was all new and exciting to her. She had never practiced the fine art with any degree of success because she had dreaded the inevitable result. She had always felt deeply uneasy sending out the subtle signals women used to attract a man when she knew that, in the end, she would never be able to allow herself to get emotionally close. To do that she would have had to explain about the voices. Telling a guy you heard voices had a chilling effect on a relationship.

But that wasn’t true with Zack.

She lost sight of him and settled back into the booth to sip her drink. The noise level was fairly high now. People talked and chattered, pitching their voices above the background music. Others came and went from the hallway that led to the restrooms.

A short time later Zack returned. When he slid back into the booth she sensed at once that he was no longer in a flirting mood.

“The bartender remembers him, all right,” he said. “Quinn had a laptop that he held on to as if it were pure gold. He ordered a beer and paid for it in cash. Then he ordered a second. Figuring he was good for it, the bartender let him start a tab. After the third beer Quinn went to the restroom and never returned.”

“You mean Quinn ran out on his bar bill?”

“That’s the way the bartender interpreted events. Quinn didn’t pay for the beers. Didn’t leave a tip. Just went to the restroom and never came back.”

She realized that Zack was studying the opening that led to the restrooms.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that, according to Fallon, the trail Quinn left stops very abruptly in Oriana. Maybe it came to an end right here in the Alley Door.”

“You think Quinn might have been kidnapped out of this club?”

“All we know for sure at this point is that he was here on the evening of the twentieth. After that, he vanishes.”

She could feel the energy shimmering around Zack. It was the same kind of dangerous aura she had sensed emanating from him the night before, when he showed up at her door fresh from combat.

The weird part was that his heightened psychic energy was stirring all her senses, too. Anticipation and an excitement raced through her.

She leaned closer. “What are you going to do now?”

“What Quinn did after he had three beers. I’m going to the restroom.”

She put her hand on his arm, needing to touch him. “Please be careful. I’ve seen a lot of movies that feature scenes in the men’s room. Things always go badly.”

“Don’t worry.” He patted her hand reassuringly. “I’ve seen some of those movies, too.”

Thirty-two

H
e chose a path to the restroom that looked like it would have been the logical route for a man who had been seated at the bar. He was running hot now, all his senses, normal and paranormal, aroused and humming with anticipation. The cold thrill of the hunt was upon him.

He knew Raine had sensed the energy burning through him, knew that it had triggered a response from her own parasenses. The bond between them was growing stronger, whether she realized it or not.

He went down the dimly lit hall and pushed open the door marked
MEN
. There were three people inside—two at the urinals, one in a stall. He walked across the small, tiled room, trying not to look like some kind of pervert while he searched for traces of old violence.

The problem wasn’t the lack of residual psychic energy. It was a typical restroom and it had seen its share of dramatic human moments. Jacked up like this, the visions were disorienting but, for the most part, faint and unfocused. He detected the dull miasma left by years of hastily staged sexual encounters, illicit drug use, violent, stomach-churning illness and rage.

The last caught his attention. The violent anger was startlingly new, maybe from tonight. It emanated from one of the sinks. He washed his hands while he concentrated on it for a few seconds. The visions were those of a man who had just learned that his wife was sleeping with another man. He hoped the poor bastard had gotten himself back under control before he returned to the table.

As he had expected, the door handle gave off so many layers of static that it was impossible to sort them out. Door handles collected psychic energy like sponges.

By the time he had concluded his brief survey the two men at the urinals were giving him uneasy looks. He let himself back out into the hall.

Well, it had been a long shot, he reminded himself.

He continued along the hall to the emergency exit door. It was an obvious way out of the building for someone bent on evading a bar tab.

The door was not alarmed. He tested it cautiously with one hand and picked up only the usual door handle mush.

He went out into the alley. The door closed heavily behind him. He stood for a moment, absorbing impressions across the spectrum. The crisp night air carried the scent of garbage from a large, commercial-sized steel container. There was a second bin marked
GLASS ONLY
. It reeked of stale wine and beer. A couple of rats studied him from beneath the shelter of the garbage container and then scurried away into the night.

He hadn’t picked up any traces inside the restroom or hallway so searching the alley was probably a waste of time. Nevertheless, he started walking slowly toward the far end.

Thirty-three

R
aine checked her watch for the fourth or fifth time. The weak glow of the table candle revealed that only another minute had passed. Not that much time, in the grand scheme of things. How long could it take to search a restroom?

Almost immediately after Zack had disappeared in the direction of the men’s room her own edgy excitement had given way to an ominous sensation. What she was feeling now was disconcertingly similar to what she had experienced the night before at about the time Zack encountered the killer in the motel breezeway. She didn’t like it but she was not sure what she could do about it except go down the hall and knock on the door to the men’s room.

Not a bad idea, come to think of it.

If they both disappeared from the table, the waiter would probably assume they had left for good. Zack had paid for the drinks when they arrived, so the bill was taken care of but he hadn’t tipped because they had intended to buy another round.

She opened her small purse to search for some tip money. The hair on the nape of her neck lifted a little as though stirred by an invisible, ice-cold draft. Goose bumps crawled up her arms.

She was aware of two things simultaneously. The first was that someone very dangerous had just walked past the booth where she sat alone. She could feel not only the presence of the man directly behind her, but his malevolent intent, as well.

The second thing she knew with unshakable certainty was that the man’s malevolence was directed at Zack.

Zack was in trouble. She knew it as surely as she knew she heard voices.

She forced herself to remove some money from her wallet in what she hoped was a calm, unhurried manner. Her instincts were screaming now. It was all she could do to appear calm.

She put the cash on the table. Only then did she allow herself to turn slightly in the seat, as though searching for the waiter.

She was just in time to see a figure go into the shadowy hall that led to the restrooms. Something about the purposeful way he moved told her he was the one who had set her inner alarm bells clanging.

The man vanished into the restroom hallway.

She snapped her purse closed, slid out of the booth and hurried toward the restroom. She reached the hall just in time to see the dark figure pause briefly beneath the emergency exit sign that marked a rear door.

In the eerie glow of the sign she saw him jerk a ski mask out of his pocket and pull it down over his face. Then he reached for the door handle with one hand. With his other hand, he drew a knife out of a concealed sheath.

Thirty-four

T
he terrible visions slammed through him without warning when he touched the corner of the steel garbage container. The images were searing and fairly fresh, no more than a month old.

Suddenly he knew what had happened in this alley. He saw it all from Lawrence Quinn’s perspective.

…
A dark figure approaching swiftly out of the shadows. Confusion and then skyrocketing terror. The sickening knowledge that he had been a fool to believe them. A death’s head loomed. Eyes like bottomless black holes
…

…
Then there was an unearthly cold seeping into him. He was on the ground. The death’s head reached down, leaning over him, snatching something from his numb fingers
…

The door to the nightclub opened. He jerked his hand away from the metal, turning quickly. The visions evaporated the instant he was no longer in contact with the metal but he could still feel the emotional punch of a man who knew he was facing his own imminent, violent death.

Raine plunged out of the doorway, moving incredibly fast in her fragile high heels and tight black dress. She came straight at him, her small clutch purse extended in her right hand. She did not speak as she closed the distance between them in long, lethal strides.

Not Raine
, his para-instincts screamed. Everything was wrong.