In order to draw in the biggest fish, the smile was the bait. Not an open, warm friendly smile. Instead, the kind of man she wanted to lure in was looking for the “I’ve got a secret and I’m willing to share it with the right guy” smile. She’d been so focused on the big goal that she’d neglected that one little thing. But it was always the little things that made the biggest difference. She licked her lips and let them relax.

  That’s better.

  She settled in, confident that her prey would arrive soon. It was just a matter of time now.

  As she pretended to study her drink, and with her eyes still on high alert, Alex allowed her thoughts to drift slightly. It was only a few months ago that she’d been living a far different life. The folks back home in Vegas would barely recognize her now.

  Alex ran a finger along the carefully covered, coin-sized scar on her left shoulder, the one her stepfather had given her when she was fifteen.

  One day, while driving her home from school, he stopped behind an abandoned warehouse to “get to know her a bit better.” She had refused and struggled, accidentally nailing him in the nose with a flailing elbow. He didn’t like that very much.

  His truck had one of those old, push-in cigarette lighters, which he used to let her know how he felt. Then he asked if she planned to get uppity anymore. Through her sobs, Alex said no. She didn’t fight after that when he got to know her better. Not that day. Not for the next two years.

  But when he brought over some buddies to meet her one night when her mom was working the overnight shift at the diner, she reached her breaking point. They tried to hold her down in the living room but she managed to wriggle free and get to her bedroom.

  She locked the door, threw her coat, phone, and the $268 she’d been saving into a backpack, grabbed the bread knife she kept under her mattress, and started for the window. That’s when her stepfather kicked down the door. With his friends egging him on, he ran toward her.

  It was dark and he was moving fast, so he didn’t see the knife she was clutching and ran right into it. She let go as he tumbled back onto the floor. She heard his friends stop cheering but was out the window before the real yelling started. She heard her dog, Lola, barking in the distance as she ran down the street. It took all her willpower not to go back for the only living creature that truly seemed to love her unconditionally.

  After that, things got rough for a while. She bought some wigs and heavy makeup from a showgirl supply shop so she could disguise herself in case the cops came looking for her. But they never did and she didn’t see any stories on the news. She suspected it might be hard for her stepfather to credibly explain how he was stabbed so he likely didn’t call the authorities.

  Still, she didn’t dare try to stay with any of her friends, or with the guy she’d been dating, mostly because he was nice (he didn’t talk dirty when they did it). The chances of someone calling her mom were too great. So she he stayed in crappy motels in the Fremont Street district until most of her cash ran out, which took about a week.

  After that, she had to make some hard decisions. She tried to get work at one of the local strip clubs but the minimum age was eighteen and she was still a few months shy. A manager at one of the clubs said to come back on her birthday. In the meantime, he gave her the number of a friend who could get her temporary work.

  Alex wasn’t surprised when the work involved dressing up in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform and, along with other girls, performing at a bachelor party. After that, it became a regular thing. It was a cash business and no ID or W-2 was required. The money was okay, enough to get her a room in a weekly hotel with a shared bathroom for twelve people and a futon for a bed.

  Once she learned that a few of the other girls who did extra stuff on the side at the parties pulled in about $300 to $500 more a night than she did, it wasn’t a huge leap to join them. She was already more than used to letting older guys do what they wanted to her while she mentally tuned out. Getting paid for it seemed like a fair trade. And because her physical proportions dovetailed with these guys’ fantasies, she got well compensated.

  From there, it didn’t take long for her to set up private dates. That money was even better. And now that she was eighteen and could work the strip clubs too, she had more control over her private clientele.

  But eventually she got tired of having to split half her take with the house. Even the security they provided for privates didn’t seem like it was worth it, especially since usually by the time they showed up to deal with a problem, the john had gotten in his fair share of licks. Those licks meant bruises, which made it hard to get new johns. After all, who would want to get with a girl who was black and blue all over, unless he was the one who’d done it?

  So she went the independent route and decided to become her own security detail. She took karate three days a week and had just gotten her brown belt when it happened. She should have known better when he insisted on having the date at his place instead of her preferred motel, the one where she could deadbolt the bathroom door and squeeze through the bars over the shower window if necessary.

  But he was cute and well-dressed and smelled clean. Plus he gave her $100 up front, one third of her standard fee. So she went back to his place, a house in Henderson that was twenty minutes southeast of the city. She figured she could take a Lyft back.

  Everything was standard for a while. The guy, Dan, wanted her to tie him up. She did, using pillowcases, but loose enough that he could break free if he got skittish. A lot of guys got skittish. Then Dan had her get into a naughty maid costume and clean up his bedroom. Eventually he told her to clean him up. It was all going well. In fact, it was borderline boring. Maybe that’s why she let her guard down.

  Dan was lying on his back in bed and she was sucking on one of his toes, as he’d requested. So she didn’t see him pull out the baseball bat. By the time she caught a glimpse of him swinging it toward her, she barely had time to throw up her arms and block the blow.

  The force knocked her backward and she tumbled off the bed. Her forearms were throbbing as she tried to orient herself. Dan got out of the bed and came at her fast, swinging again. This time she managed to get only one hand up, enough to just slightly diminish the force of the bat before it slammed into the left side of her ribcage.

  She toppled over. Her side was screaming, though she couldn’t make a sound because the wind had been knocked out of her. Dan lifted the bat again, but apparently seeing her diminished state, felt another whack was unnecessary. So he tossed it aside, leaned down, grabbed Alex by the hair, and dragged her over to the bed.

  He threw her against the headboard, stunning her. She was still dazed, slipping in and out of consciousness, when she realized that he’d tied her wrists to the bed, only he hadn’t done it loosely. She felt the circulation beginning to cut off in her fingers as he ripped off what remained of the maid uniform.

  He climbed on top of her and began to do his thing. The weight of his body against hers was excruciating, especially when he pressed against her ribs, which she suspected were broken. He slapped her a few times but compared to the pain in her arms and torso, that was more of a nuisance.

  After he was done, he rolled off her and went to the bathroom. It was only when she heard the faucet running that she began yanking at the pillowcases he’d used to tie her wrists to the bed posts. It took several minutes of tugging before the right hand eventually came loose. With her fingers still numb, she desperately tried to untie the other one. It finally came free as she heard the faucet being turned off.

  She scrambled off the bed as she heard the door open. The bat was lying on the ground where he’d tossed it. She picked it up, squeezing tight for fear her still-numb fingers might not maintain their grip.

  When he rounded the corner to the bed, she swung. Though it wasn’t with as much force as she would have liked, the swing hit its target, slamming directly into Dan’s forehead. He looked more stunned than injured as he stumbled backward, slamming into his dresser.

  His back bent unnaturally backward in the collision and she could tell he’d tweaked something. He bent over, seemingly uncertain whether to attend to that or his head. As he stood up straight again, Alex advanced, rearing the bat back and rocking it forward. Dan was just looking up when the barrel hit his left temple.

  He stood upright a second longer, like a just-sawed tree in the moment before it topples over. Then he crumpled to the ground. Until then then he’d been too stunned to speak. But now a loud sound—a mix of groan and scream—escaped his lips. He tried to reach his hand up to his bleeding head but was disoriented and had trouble finding it.

  Alex stepped toward him and reared back again. Dan seemed to sense the threat and threw his hands up to cover his head. But she had anticipated that. This time she swung from below, like the bat was a golf club. She came up hard and fast, connecting with the bottom of Dan’s chin. His mouth snapped shut and the screaming stopped.

  He slumped backward and his head slammed on the floor. He appeared to be unconscious. But Alex didn’t care. She swung, this time landing a blow on his face and crushing his left cheekbone. She swung at the head again. And again. And another time after that.

  She lost count of how many times she smashed the barrel of the bat into Dan’s head. But by the time her arms finally gave out and the bat slipped from her shaking fingers, he was unrecognizable. His skull looked like a watermelon that had been cracked into multiple pulpy chunks.

  Alex sat down on the bed and allowed herself to breathe. She felt the adrenaline course through her system. Every part of her tingled. The pain in her head and ribs and forearms and wrists and fingers seemed distant. She felt her body give up and didn’t fight it as she collapsed onto the bed. She just needed a second to regroup. When she woke up, it was morning.

  *

  Cleaning up was easier than Alex expected.

  For some reason, when her eyes opened that next morning, she felt refreshed and invigorated. Yes, she hurt all over. But some part of her was able to compartmentalize the physical pain so she could accomplish the tasks at hand.

  She reminded herself that she had time. The date had been on a Friday night. As she glanced over at Dan’s broken visage, she remembered that he had told her he worked for a corporate bank. So he wouldn’t be expected into the office until Monday.

  She stayed naked as she moved around, so that she wouldn’t get her clothes soiled. After she dragged his body to the laundry room, she wiped it down with Clorox, especially areas that had interacted with her body. Then she stuffed him into the washing machine. She had to slam the door to get him in completely.

  After that, she wiped up the blood-and-brain-covered hardwood bedroom floor. Next, she put on a pair of his gloves and bleached and wiped down every surface she’d touched. She took the sheets, pillowcases, and maid outfit and tossed them in his fireplace. After showering and bleaching the stall, she threw the towel in the fireplace as well.

  While the linens and clothes burned, she got dressed and put the bat in a plastic trash bag and then into a duffel bag. She did one last check of the house before locking and leaving it. She tossed the gloves in the duffel bag along with Dan’s wallet and walked a mile to the main road, where she caught a bus back to town. Once there, she dumped the trash bag with the bat in a dumpster, the gloves in another one six blocks over, and the duffel bag in a third a quarter mile in the other direction.

  Only then did she walk home, where she took a second shower and slept the rest of the day. When she woke up, the sun was setting. She went up onto the roof and sat there, watching the bright reds and oranges on the desert horizon fade into pinks, purples, blues, and finally darkness. For the first time in over three years, she felt free, like a weight she didn’t even know she’d been carrying had been lifted off her. It was magical.

  *

  Back in the District on the Bloc bar at the Sheraton Grand Hotel in downtown Los Angeles, Alex felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked over to see who she’d reeled in.

  “I know you,” the man said.

  For a second she thought she’d been made and that this was a cop telling her she was busted.

  But after only an extra moment’s glance, she understood that was not what he meant at all. By saying “I know you,” he really just meant “I know what you are, what you’re doing here.” It was a perfunctory, unimaginative proposal.

  But to Alex, that was actually a selling point.

  He’ll do just fine.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At that time of night, the drive from the police station to the Biltmore Hotel only took four minutes. But that was long enough for the shame to hit Jessie.

  It was only as she sat in the passenger’s seat of the car that she realized she’d completely forgotten about Hannah. She’d been so immersed in the details of this case, so happy to be back on the hunt, that her half-sister’s predicament didn’t enter her mind for hours.

  She was tempted to call Garland Moses right now, but she managed to fight the urge. Apart from the fact that Ryan, who knew nothing about the old profiler’s involvement, would hear everything, she once again reminded herself that Garland would have surely contacted her if he had news. Besides, she didn’t want to piss the guy off. It was quite possible that the man was already in bed, settling in with a glass of warm milk or iced scotch. She had to leave it be.

  The issue became moot when Ryan pulled up into the loading zone in front of the Biltmore. He flashed his badge at the valet who was about to object as they ran inside. They sprinted up the stairs from the lower lobby into the long hallway that ran the length of the hotel. Directly across from them was the entrance to the Gallery Bar. Only then did the two of them slow down to a brisk walk. Ryan turned to Jessie.

  “You take the back and I’ll check things out up here,” he said. “Let me know discreetly if you see any potential candidates.”

  Jessie nodded and walked to the back of the bar, putting on her best “I’m here for a chill time” persona as she wandered around, passing large couches and cozy nooks along the walls. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan move among the tables up front with an equal level of practiced casualness.

  As she walked, Jessie let her eyes fall on every blonde in the room. At that hour, there were a lot. But even in the bar’s dim light, it was clear that none of them, not even the ones who looked like they too might be working tonight, came even close to approximating Blue Eyes. When she met Ryan in the middle of the bar, she could tell from his expression that he’d had no luck either.

  “You want to check out the ladies’ room, just in case?” he asked.

  Jessie did so, going down the long hallway next to the bar, past the photos on the walls showing the ballroom where several 1930s Oscar ceremonies had been held, and walked into the massive restroom. Jessie actually knew this hotel well and used to love to wander its ornate, old Hollywood halls for fun. But there was no time for that now.

  She loitered in the ladies’ room for a few minutes until it was empty so she could peek under the stall doors to make sure no one was inside. When she returned to the bar, she caught Ryan’s eye and shook her head.

  “Let’s check with the bartender,” she suggested when they reconvened.

  Despite the crowd, Jessie was quickly able to get his attention.

  “What can I get you, darlin’?” he asked, ignoring Ryan completely.

  Jessie was slightly embarrassed to discover she liked the annoyed look she saw on the detective’s face. She sensed it wasn’t about the drinks as much as the familiarity of the barkeep. She didn’t let on that the guy, while good-looking in an overly tanned, highlighted hair kind of way, wasn’t her type.

  “Seltzer, please,” she said sweetly before cutting to the chase. “Were you working around this time last night?”

  He looked at her, mildly surprised.

  “I’m guessing you don’t come in here often, darling, or you’d know I’m here almost every night from eight to one. I promise I’d remember you.”

  “That’s sweet,” she replied, batting her eyes, enjoying this playful moment and the effect it was having on Ryan before she went in for the kill. “After you get that seltzer, I’m going to need you to have someone cover the bar for a few minutes. I have a few questions for you. What’s your name?”

  “The name’s Brad. And this isn’t usually how it works, you know,” he said, still not totally getting it. “Usually we flirt while I work the bar. Then we hang out privately afterward.”

  Jessie smiled, marveling at both his cluelessness and his Neanderthal flattery.

  “We’re going to need that private hangout now, Brad,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Just you, me, and my friend here. His name is Detective Ryan Hernandez of the LAPD.”

  She watched Brad’s face fall and almost felt bad for him. Almost.

  “Give me a minute,” he muttered as he skulked off.

  “You’re mean,” Ryan said to her, though he was grinning.

  “Was that mean?” she asked innocently. “I was just being cordial.”

  A few minutes later, they were sitting at a corner table with Brad, who looked especially pouty. Jessie showed him the photo, which he dismissed with just a passing glance.

  “Don’t know her,” he said gruffly.

  “Brad,” Ryan said, speaking for the first time as he leaned back, making sure his jacket fell open to reveal his sidearm, “we’re going to need you to do better than that. We’re not Vice and we’re not interested in any side money you get from girls you might tip off to potential tricks. I’m a homicide detective. That means murder. And you don’t want to be uncooperative with a murder investigation.”

  Brad scowled at him but looked at the photo again anyway.

  “Actually, now that I look at it closer, I do recognize her. But I don’t know her.”

  “You don’t have a side deal with her to filter guys her way?” Ryan pressed.

 

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