Someone's Watching (18 page)

“See the bald guy at the bar?” Tyra asked. ”Wearin’ a suit, no tie? He’s checking his watch.”

Angel kept moving her hips with the music, playing her part. She glanced at the man in the suit. Just an ordinary guy. But once he was naked, he’d be like the others. The thought made Angel almost retch. She took a few deep breaths and stared at her feet, not at the guy, not at the lights. Maybe if she made believe she really was Angel, she wouldn’t get so sick that she puked.

Tyra’s breath was close to Angel’s ear. “I think you’re more his type than I am, but I’ll be watching you. You know I’m always watching you.”

No choice. Do what Tyra says. You’re Angel tonight. And just remember—Angel isn’t you.

She looked again at the guy at the bar. Younger than her dad, but like him. Nervous, awkward. Didn’t belong here. The other targets didn’t either. Too dorky. But they had lots of money—that’s what Tyra said. And a lot to lose.

The guy was checking out the room, like he was getting ready to leave.

“Come on.” Tyra had Angel by the arm. “And when we get back to the apartment, don’t be making a fuss like you did the other night. Or puking on his dick.”

The guy was coming toward them.

Tyra held Angel tighter and blocked his path. “Hey honey.” Big smile. “Buy me and my friend a drink?”

He didn’t even look at them. “Some other time.” He tried getting around Tyra.

She pinched Angel’s arm and gave her a look that meant she had better do something or else. But Angel had pretty much forgotten how to flirt.

“Hi,” she said to the man.

He stopped trying to escape and took Angel in with brown eyes magnified behind his black-framed glasses. He had a nice face. Soft lips, a few day’s beard growth, his eyebrows almost touching in a concerned kind of way.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Angel glanced at Tyra, who was giving her a warning look.

“Yeah. I’m good. Can you buy me and my friend a drink?”

“Are you old enough to drink?”

“Sure. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Tell you what,” said the man, “why don’t you and I sit for a few minutes and talk?”

Tyra gave her a little nod. Angel was doing a good job.

The man pulled out a stool and Angel sat down. He stood beside her, his arm resting on the bar. Lights were swimming over the room. Pink. Purple. Thump-a, thump-a, thump-a. Angel ignored the guy and moved to the beat. Maybe he’d just leave.

She looked around for Tyra. Gone. She was gone. Angel’s heart sped up. No one was watching her. She could escape, just run right
out of here if she wanted to. But where would she go? What would she do?

The man said something to her.

If she ran away, they would find her. Tell the police what she’d done.

The man was looking at her like he expected an answer.

“Huh?”

“I said, what’s your name?”

Her name. “K—” she started to say. “Angel.”

“Angel.” He shook his head like he didn’t believe her.

“What’s yours?” she asked.

He seemed taken aback by her question, then he laughed. “Puck. You can call me Puck.”

“Puck?”

“It’s as good a name as Angel.”

He was almost handsome when he smiled. And there was this light in his eyes, like mischief. Then, he got serious. “What are you doing here, Angel? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She shook her head hard.

“Here you go.” Tyra handed Angel a drink with a leaf floating in it.

Where’d she come from?

“Good thing I know the bartender. Got you one, too,” Tyra said to Puck. “My friend makes the best mojitos in town.”

“No thanks,” he said, but she pushed it into his hand.

“Come on. Have a little taste.” Tyra inched closer to him. “Maybe I didn’t spend my own money on it, but I did carry it over here and now my hand’s all cold.” She dropped her arm between her hips and the man’s groin and pressed closer. “So cold.”

Puck’s eyes widened. He brought the drink to his mouth and took a sip.

“Good, ain’t it?” Tyra said in a voice like hot fudge. “Like I said, best ones in town.”

He took another swallow.

Tyra smiled, pressing Puck against the bar. “So, you from around here?”

Puck shook his head, but not in answer to her question. He looked really annoyed with himself. He put the drink on the bar and shoved Tyra away.

Tyra held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. So I’m not your type. No need to get all huffy.”

She backed away and gave Angel a look that Puck couldn’t see. Angel understood. It meant take it from here, or else.

Angel reached for Puck’s drink. “Please,” she said, handing it to him. “Can you just make believe?”

Tyra had evaporated.

“What do you mean, make believe?”

“That you’re having fun with me. So I don’t get in trouble.”

“What’s going on? Who’s that woman?”

“Please,”Angel said. “Don’t look mad. Just drink your drink and make like you’re having a good time.”

Puck frowned, but he brought the glass up to his mouth and drank.

Angel started moving to the beat, holding her arms up in the air while he watched and sipped his drink. He didn’t seem turned on by her little show—more like he was thinking about something, analyzing the situation—but at least he was drinking.

God, she hated this. But she knew Tyra was watching her and she’d better do her job.

“We can dance, if you want,” Angel said.

“What I want is to find out what’s going on here. Why are you so frightened?”

Angel glanced around. People everywhere. Dancing, drinking. Where was Tyra?

“Because I can help you,” Puck said. “I’ll take you out of here and we can call your parents, or anyone you’d like.”

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink.

He wanted to help her. Maybe he could.

He touched her shoulder, his fingers cold from the drink, but so gentle. Daddy, she thought. Help me.

Something was burning her eyes. Tears. They were running down her cheeks. Oh God. What to do?

“Let’s go outside,” he said.

His arm was around her and he was leading her through the crowd. Past the bar area, the dance floor, and tables and couches. They were almost by the stairs. Just a little farther, then up the stairs and through the lobby and she’d be free. Or would she?

“It’s okay,” he said in her ear, like he knew she was frightened. “We’ll figure it out.”

Hurry, she wanted to scream. We have to hurry.

And then something bumped into her, hard.

“Going somewhere?” Tyra blocked them.

“What are you doing here with this girl?” Puck said. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” Tyra asked. “Angel’s my friend.”

“I doubt that.”

Tyra dug her nails into Angel’s arm. “What’s wrong, baby? Did this man make you cry?”

Puck touched his head. He was blinking his eyes. “Shit. What did you put in my drink?”

“In your drink?” Tyra asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m calling the cops.”

“You don’t want to do that, honey. Not after you made this poor
sweet child cry. You brought her here and made her cry. And I’ll bet she isn’t more than fifteen or sixteen years old.”

“Hooow daaaare yoooo.”

Tyra slipped her arm through Puck’s. He tried to push her away.

“Why don’t we all go outside to talk?” she said, clinging to him. “I’m sure we can work it out.”

The big black bouncer with dreadlocks came over. “Problem?”

“Sheeeee—” Puck couldn’t get the words out. His head and arms swayed like one of those inflatable figures at a car wash.

“He’s drunk,” Tyra said. “Can you help him outside? We’ll get him home.”

“Sure thing.” The bouncer held Puck around the waist as easily as a mom with a toddler, and dragged him toward the stairs.

Tyra followed with Angel, pinching her arm as they went. “You little whore,” Tyra said under her breath. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Angel said.

The room was on fire—red, orange, yellow. Burn, baby burn.

“Well you better be sweet with him when we get back to the apartment. You got that?”

Angel didn’t answer. She was never getting out of hell.

Angel drifted in and out of darkness. Sleep. She just wanted to sleep. Her head ached and she smelled cigarette smoke on the cushion. Bad taste in her mouth. She sank deeper against the sofa. Too tired to go to her room. Something warm and soft pressed against her back. She tensed. Someone beside her.

She tried to remember. The man from BURN. Swinging his arms in rage as they pushed him into the car, then collapsing. Back at the apartment. Tyra stripping the man, holding him up. Making Angel get naked. But the man was out, not cooperating.

Tyra yelling, “Fuck. It’s no good.”

Luis talking to Tyra. Telling her not to worry. Then quiet.

Sleep. Angel just wanted to sleep.

A weak light came in through the sliding doors. Almost morning. Angel shifted on the sofa, careful not to disturb the man. Why was he still here? Luis always got the men out when they were finished.

The man’s arm slid around her waist, his breath was in her hair.

He was still drugged. He couldn’t know what he was doing.

His hand cupped her breast. She felt him harden against her butt.

No, she thought. Please, no. She dared not move. She’d just lie here and let him finish. She’d squeeze her eyes shut and think about something else. Not the pain, the roughness, the dirtiness. Sex was awful. Who ever said it would be great?

Something else. Think about something else.

Holding her parents’ hands. She was little; they were big. One, two, three, up, they all sang. One, two, three, up. And Kate would throw her head back and laugh as they swung her through the air.

The man’s hand slid up and down her leg. Different from the others. Gentle, like silk and satin. His breath warm. He stroked the inside of her thigh. Higher, higher, his fingers danced. She relaxed against him.

He turned her toward him and nuzzled against her neck. His light beard tickled her. He held her face between his hands and kissed her. His lips firm. She opened her mouth. His tongue tasted sweet. Nice.

One, two, three, up. They swung her through the air.

He slipped inside her, easy. So easy. She held him there, tight. Don’t let go.

Don’t let go.

One, two, three, up.

Tighter, tighter. Good, so good. One, two, three, up.

One, two, three, up.

One, two, three, up, up, up.

She melted into him. She saw his face. The man from BURN. The nice man who wanted to help her.

Puck.

His eyes were closed, his breathing even.

She kissed his eyelids.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank
you
, Angel,” said a sandpapery voice just beside her.

Luis blocked Puck’s mouth with a chloroformed rag, then carried him over his shoulder like a dead man.

“Ten more,” Jeremy said, as he hovered near the weight bench.

His client groaned. She was a gorgeous woman who looked about thirty-five, but had to be close to sixty based on the age of her oldest child. Her white ribbed tank top was soaked in sweat, but she balanced forward for ten more reverse triceps curls with a fifteen-pound weight in each hand. Her large breasts barely moved.

Ba-boom, ba-boom. The bass track of the music was as constant as a heartthrob.

The gym resembled an upscale club more than a place for working out. It wasn’t really Jeremy’s thing. He preferred Gold’s where the harsh light bounced off dull linoleum tiles, well-used equipment, small, threadbare towels. Here at David Barton’s, the towels were lush and large and so were the hourly fees for his personal training services.

“Eight, nine,” Jeremy counted. “Five more.”

“Nooo, you piece of shit.”

“Come on. Do you want the skin on your arms to hang like a turkey’s wattle?”

“Very graphic,” she said, but kept going, even after the extra five curls.

“Okay. Good job. Let’s stretch.”

She checked her watch. “Don’t have time. Nail appointment.”

“You’ve got to stretch or you’ll undo all of your hard work.”

“Bullshit,” she said, kissing his cheek and pressing a wad of bills into his hand. “See you tomorrow at eleven.”

“I’ll be here.”

He put the money in his pocket. Sixty bucks an hour. Not bad. And it sure beat being an accountant.

The woman disappeared through the dark corridor into the locker room. It was around eleven and Jeremy’s next client wasn’t until one. Plenty of time to get in his own workout. He headed toward the more serious section of the gym. Mondays in the middle of the day were pretty quiet. A few people came in during their lunch hour. And then there were the bodybuilder freaks who seemed to be here 24/7. Jeremy recognized a couple of them. Bouncers at BURN. He wondered if they knew he’d mentioned them to the detective yesterday. Probably not. Lieber wouldn’t have given out his name.

He went to the machines to warm up. The throbbing ba-boom numbed his brain and he went through his routine hardly thinking about what he was doing.

How weird it was talking to Lieber yesterday afternoon. His pulse had gone berserk when he noticed her coming into the gym. Not that he didn’t like her. He had always liked Lieber. But the sight of her triggered memories, one worse than the next. So many deaths, so much pain. And the first thought that came to mind was of his sister.

“Is Elise okay?” he’d asked.

And Lieber’s face had fallen. “Geez. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m sorry, Jeremy. I should have called. I didn’t realize you’d associate me with—”

And he’d interrupted her and made like it was no big deal. That it was good to see her. And they’d gone out for a cup of coffee, where she told him about the congressman who tried to fly like Superman, but couldn’t.

He’d given her the names of everyone he could remember who had been at BURN on Friday night. She glanced up when he mentioned Robbie, but she hadn’t commented. Just took down everything he told her.

And when she left, he had felt like going after her. Begging her to stay for a while longer. Because as much as he hated the bad memories, there was something about Lieber that brought his parents back to him.