“They operate a women’s shelter. When they need a little to tide them over…”
“You give it to them.” He swallowed hard. “You are a very generous woman.”
She looked up then, her dark eyes intense. “Fate is simply circumstance, Noah. The circumstance of birth, of ability, of events. Choice is what you do with it. I may not believe in fate,” she said, “but I do believe in choice. And I believe in giving back.”
People need purpose, she’d told him. But people also need lives, he thought, and I’ve been without one too long. And so had Eve. He was trying to think of a way to say that without seeming self-serving when a stir at the poker table broke the moment.
She turned back to her screen as a chorus of boos erupted. Crowd favorite Natalie had lost big. Raking in the chips was a male avatar, very dashing. “Who is that?”
She scowled. “Dasich. He fancies himself quite a card shark. He cheats.”
“How do you know?”
“He wins too often and too well. I think he has a confederate at the table. But being in the virtual world, that’s hard to prove.”
“He looks like one of your designs. Very handsome.”
“He is, and he proves what I’ve always known. Bad people rarely look bad. If bad people look sleazy, good people don’t trust them. Cops like you catch them more easily. But if bad people look normal, honest…”
“Trustworthy?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Yeah. Then they’re able to worm their way in, find the vulnerability, exploit it.”
He wondered if she knew how hard her voice had become. Brittle. “And I?” he asked. “Am I one of those people looking to exploit your vulnerability?”
She glanced up, her eyes now guarded. “Yes. Not for nefarious reasons, but you have an agenda.” She smiled, attempting to soften her words. “You’ve been alone too long, and you want someone again. For some reason, you’ve decided that’s me.”
She had a way of boiling things down to the bottom line. “But?” he asked, sharply.
“It can’t be me,” she said simply, then pointed at the screen. “Natalie’s avatar is pissed off and filing a grievance against Dasich. Not much chance of justice, but at least she’s here and not meeting a serial killer somewhere. One more red-zone to go and we’re done for the night. Rachel Ward, where are you?”
Noah knew she’d tried to let him down gently, as she had the lonely avatar who kept trying to buy her a drink. He also knew he should take the hint and walk away. But he’d seen the loneliness in her eyes, too, and he wasn’t giving up just yet.
She sent Greer to a stage in a dark corner where dancers writhed more erotically than animated characters should. “Rachel’s Delilah should be dancing tonight.”
Eve’s face became troubled as she searched the area. “But she’s not,” he said.
“No, but the night’s still young. Rachel might just be late.”
“So what do we do?” Noah asked.
“I’ll wait and watch. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
Noah leaned back, got as comfortable as her sofa allowed. “I’ve got time.”
She looked up at him, frowning in frustration. “You’re not taking a hint, are you?”
He tried for smooth even though his heart pounded. “No. Are you throwing me out?”
Something moved in her eyes. “I made you a sandwich earlier. It’s in the fridge.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I could eat.”
She sighed. “You want some tonic water with that?”
“I hate tonic water.”
“You-?” She shook her head. “Then cola or juice or milk?”
He stood when she did. “Milk. And let’s be quiet so we don’t disturb your guest.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You sneak. You just pretended to be asleep the whole time.”
He smiled, but grimly. “Like you said, I have an agenda. Let’s eat.”
Wednesday, February 24, 12:45 a.m.
“Your sister was arrested with a prostitute named Belle,” Olivia had said when she’d picked Liza and Tom up. They found Belle pretty easily in one of the bars Liza hadn’t been allowed to enter the night before.
“Detective Olivia,” Belle said. “How the hell are you?”
“Wishing I weren’t seeing you here,” Olivia said, but kindly. “I’m looking for the woman in this picture. Her name is Lindsay Barkley. Do you know her?”
“Yeah, I know her. We call her Little Red, on account of her hair.”
“So have you seen her?” Olivia asked. “She hasn’t been home lately.”
Belle thought. “Not since the weekend. She was working the Hay.”
The Hay Hotel, Liza thought. “I checked there last night. Nobody’s seen her. Please, anything you can think of.”
Belle’s face was sympathetic. “You might try Jonesy. He’s been watchin’.”
“Why?” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes. “Why’s he watching? And who?”
“I s’pose he has his reasons. That’s all I know. I’d tell you if I knew. I would.”
“Who is Jonesy?” Liza asked when they were back in Olivia’s car.
“Minor dealer. Don’t go looking. I’ll ask my pals in narcotics if they know him.”
“All right,” Liza said. “I’ve got to sleep tonight. Can you call me tomorrow?”
“If I know something, I will.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday, February 24, 12:50 a.m.
Rachel Ward noted with bleary-eyed annoyance that her glass had become empty. “Another, please. Vodka, straight up.”
The bartender shook his head. “Last call was five minutes ago. I’ll call you a cab.”
She glared at the man, then dropped her eyes to glare at her empty glass. She’d lost count of how many she’d had while waiting for that sonofabitch John. He’d stood her up. Got her worked up into a froth, then had stood her up.
“No, I have a ride.” She pushed away from the bar, teetering in her high heels. It had been a long time since she’d worn heels. Five years. The same amount of time since she’d been to a bar. Or had sex. That hadn’t ended so well, either.
She thought of Bernie, rotting in his cell, and felt a pang of regret mixed with anger. If he hadn’t gone and fucked everything up… He’d had affairs on the road, she knew he did. She’d found countless matchbooks from truck stops and condom wrappers in his pockets. He’d never even denied it. Patted me on the head and said men had needs.
It still made her blood boil. And he’d expected her to be some little nun, just waiting for her man to roll out of his rig into her bed every two weeks? That hadn’t been what she’d signed up for when she’d married him. He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was.
That he’d been so stunned at her affairs had been a shock to her. That he’d been so angry made her furious. That he’d been capable of such brutality still horrified her, down to her bones. And that people had died in the fire Bernie set was something she still hadn’t been able to forget. She could still hear their screams in her nightmares.
She’d been good for five years. Done penance. Gone to church. Tonight was supposed to be a little… reward. Time off for good behavior. But once again, she’d picked wrong. John seemed so nice online. So honest. And as horny as she was.
But he’d stood her up. Maybe he came in, but didn’t like what he saw and left. She knew the years had not been good to her. In the last five years she’d aged twenty. John had seemed straight. A businessman who was in town for one night and only wanted sex. No ties, no relationship for Bernie to find out about.
Because Bernie would find out if she got a boyfriend. He had ways. She knew he kept tabs on her, even from the state pen. His letters contained sly references to her routine, to any promotions at work. To the flu she’d just gotten over. Anything to let her know he watched her, that he hadn’t forgiven her.
Discovering Shadowland had been the best damn thing that ever happened to her. She could be herself, not worry about what anybody told Bernie. She could fuck twenty guys in a night online and nobody would ever know. Sometimes you wanna go where no one knows your name. Ain’t that the truth. Looked like that was where she’d end up tonight. I should stop for batteries on my way home, she thought glumly.