But she had, and it was all he’d been able to do to keep from rolling her beneath him and taking what he craved. Thankfully he’d held himself in check. Eve had always made him think of a doe, nervous and ready to flee. Tonight, she was more so than ever. But she’d ventured closer. That has to be good enough for now.
Beside him, she drew a breath and pushed her laptop screen back so he could see. “I’m using Greer tonight, checking out Ninth Circle for three of my red-zones.”
Her scent filled his head and he tried to focus. “Three? Aren’t there five?”
“Yes, but Rachel will be dancing at the casino.” She said it as a professor might lecture. “Natalie is always there, playing poker. We’ll go there when I’m done. There’s the dancer who was with Christy.”
He choked back a cough. The male avatar was dancing with Lola, Abbott’s raven-haired siren. Noah slid his arm across the back of the sofa. “What are they dancing?”
She glanced pointedly over her shoulder at his arm. He wasn’t touching her, but he was in her space. But she didn’t protest and he let himself relax a little. “Salsa,” she said levelly. “It’s not as easy it looks. You execute the dance steps with a series of keystrokes. It’s fast and complex and my right hand still isn’t dexterous enough.”
If that made her wistful, it didn’t show in her voice. Nothing showed in her voice, which had him increasingly frustrated. Over the next twenty minutes, Greer located three of Eve’s five remaining red-zones. She pointed them out, and in that same professorial tone she told him everything she knew about them. She knew quite a lot actually, likes, dislikes, what they searched for in the virtual world.
“This one is Kathy,” Eve said. “In Shadowland, she’s a real estate tycoon. IRL, she’s a retired real estate agent. She’s thirty-eight years old.”
IRL meant in real life, he recalled. “She’s retired at thirty-eight? Why?”
“Kathy has a degenerative muscle disease. She’s been in a wheelchair for a year now and it’ll just get worse.” She swallowed hard. “She told me when she came into Pandora’s to buy her avatar. When she’s not making deals, she plays virtual tennis. She continues the life she had in the real world, here. I didn’t know she was one of my test subjects until I hacked the list, right after Martha disappeared.”
“Bittersweet,” he murmured. “She can do what she loves, but it’s all pretend.”
“Sometimes that has to be enough,” she murmured, then looked up at him, her expression suddenly anxious. “Noah, she can’t defend herself. If he comes after her…”
He frowned at the screen. “Does she live with anybody?”
“No. She lives alone with a service dog. A nurse checks in on her once a day.”
“So she can’t leave her house to meet him? That’s been his MO.”
“No, she’s homebound. So she’s safe, right?”
“I’ll have a cruiser do drive-bys and when I leave here, I’ll check on her myself.” He called Abbott’s cell, knowing he was still awake, and made the request. “It’s done.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then she pulled away. “All red-zones are accounted for.”
Frustrated, he kept his voice level. “So we’re off to the casino?”
“Yes. Finding the last two won’t take long.”
Which was a shame. He wanted this time with her. Needed it. “Then let’s go.”
Greer was winding through the crowd when a message popped up at the base of the screen. Can I buy you a drink tonight?
“Him again. I swear, he hits on Greer every night.” Sorry, I’m calling it an early night, she typed back. Try that black-haired dancer over there. She’s been doing the salsa for a while. I bet she’s thirsty.
I tried her. She was rude, too.
“I feel sorry for him,” she said softly. “He’s just hoping for some attention.” I’m sorry, she typed. I didn’t mean to be rude.
Then let me buy you a drink.
Look, I’m in a hurry tonight. How about a rain check? Next time, for sure.
The avatar’s face beamed. I’ll hold you to it.
“Will you let him buy you a drink next time?” Noah asked.
“I don’t make promises I don’t keep.” She sent Greer to the casino and turned up the volume. He was suddenly struck by the feel of a real Vegas casino. Noise and activity… and anticipation. Greer stopped at a poker table. “That’s Natalie.”
A voluptuous redhead sat at a poker table and from the stack of chips in front of her, was doing very well. Eve paused for a moment to watch.
“Do you play?” Noah asked. “I mean as an avatar.”
She smiled, faintly. “Used to, but I don’t have time anymore. A few years ago, I was the one to beat. Or my Moira avatar was. She was the grand poker champion.”
She picked names for a reason, he knew. “Moira. What does it mean?”
“It’s a little twist on Moirae. The Three Fates in Greek mythology.”
“Hm.” He was quiet for a moment. Fate, not luck or skill. “So you do believe in fate?”
“I wish I did,” she said without inflection. “Things would be so much simpler.”
“Did you ever play poker IRL?” he asked wryly.
“A little five-card stud with friends, never for money. But Moira made a lot of money.”
He fidgeted, her sofa poking him. “I hope she spent hers on a comfy sofa.”
“No, she cashed out, and I converted Moira’s Shadowbucks into real-world money.”
“Which you did not spend on a comfy sofa.”
She shook her head, totally serious. “I bought my freedom. A car that got me away from Chicago, first and last month’s rent on this place. The rest I used to pay my first semester’s tuition. After that it was touch and go, but thanks to Sal, I manage all right.”
Noah thought of the last year, when she’d thought no one was watching. “You give your money away,” he said, his throat suddenly tight. “I’ve seen you,” he insisted when she looked like she would deny it. “I’ve seen you take dollars from your tip jar and give them away. To two women.” The same two women, he realized. “Who are they?”
“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.
She searched for her keys, then looked up to find the bartender giving her a pitying look. Smug bastard. “First sobriety test, ma’am. You gave me your keys when you sat down. That you forgot is a good sign that you shouldn’t be driving. I’ll call you a cab.”
She knew better than to argue. She also knew she needed her car to get to work in the morning. She had a key hidden under her car. “Fine. But I’ll need my house keys.”
“All right.” He fished her keys from a bowl, then dropped her key ring on the floor. When he bent to retrieve it, she saw opportunity and deftly grabbed one of the bottles he’d clustered on the bar as he did inventory and put it under her coat.
Second sobriety test, she thought smugly. If the customer can steal from you, they’re not that drunk. Besides, the extra booze would help her sleep. She’d planned to have a man in her bed for the first time in five years. Sleeping alone wouldn’t be fun.
The bartender wrestled with her key ring. “Here’s your house keys.”
She took them with a level nod. “Thanks. I’ll wait outside for my cab.”
“It’s five degrees outside, ma’am.”
“I know. I need the air. Have a good night.”
Wednesday, February 24, 1:02 a.m.
Rachel hadn’t wanted to meet in a coffee shop. She hadn’t been out on a date in five years, she’d said when they’d made the arrangements online. She’d suggested this bar and it was fine by him. The cameras in their parking lot hadn’t worked in years and it was a house of rather ill repute where patrons liked their privacy, so anybody coming h
ere was unlikely to talk about anyone they’d seen waiting here.
He’d gotten a good bit of work done, as he’d been waiting for quite a while. Rachel Ward had outlasted all of his previous victims at nearly two hours and holding. But it was last call, so she’d be stumbling out soon.
And there she was. He frowned. She appeared to be drunk. He hoped she made it home. Having her pulled over for a DUI would be enormously inconvenient, especially as he’d gone to the trouble of readying her house for the evening.
Rachel stumbled across the parking lot in a pair of very high heels. He loved to see women in heels, the higher the better. It kept them hobbled and, he hoped, in pain. She stooped to fish a spare key from beneath her car, got in, and pulled onto the highway.
A minute later, he followed.
Wednesday, February 24, 1:40 a.m.
“Is Rachel there yet?” Noah asked and Eve looked up from the files she’d been reviewing to check her laptop screen.
“No.” Rachel’s avatar was still AWOL from the stage and Natalie was winning again now that Dasich had quit for the evening. “And she should be.”
“I’ll send a cruiser to her house,” he said. “Give me her address.”
Eve found it on the participant list. “And if she’s not home?”
His eyes sharpened. “Then we assume he’ll be following her home. I’ll assemble a team and we’ll be waiting to take him down.” He made the call to Dispatch, then returned to the stack of graphs he’d been plodding through a page at a time. “Are you finding anything here? Because I’m not, except that grad students generate a lot of data.”
After devouring a sandwich, he’d asked to see the logs Eve kept of her subjects’ Shadowland play time. They’d been sitting on her sofa, poring over data for an hour. Eve stifled a yawn. “You can take this with you. You don’t have to read them here. Just call me when you get word on Rachel.”
He frowned, surprised. “You don’t have to stay up. Go to bed if you’re tired.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re sitting on my bed.”