Exotica (Episode Two: The Nightshade Cases) Page 4

  Taxi. She’d spring for the expense and served her right.

  It would mean crossing a few streets, out of the crowd. No way she’d find a free cab in this mess. Kinsey headed toward downtown, planning to take the cross street one over to the bar district where she’d surely catch an empty taxi.

  As she turned, she stopped in her tracks, just shy of running into someone. She was already muttering an apology as her head tilted back, looking up, up a long, black coat over a tight, black T-shirt to the handsome face of a statue.

  No, not stone. He just looked that way, all angles and hard lines. When he looked down and met her eyes, she shivered. She knew him. But she had no idea from where.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, stepping past him. Something glittered on his hand, a diamond ring, with stones set in a pattern she knew. Curved ends with a sharp “V” in the middle—

  Wait. She knew that symbol. And the one over the “I” in the Exotica sigh. Kinsey spun around, to confront the man, ask him where his ring came from. But, in the instant it took her brain to process and turn around, her mouth open, breath drawn, he’d vanished.

  Kinsey pushed herself higher on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. Whoever he was, he’d gone. Kinsey clutched her purse close to her chest, shivering. Why was he wearing a ring with one of the symbols from the Bible she’d taken from the dead dancer, Roxy? One of the same symbols carved into Aisling’s chest. Curtis’s. Even Reverend Sterling’s. Her gaze lifted to the spiral in the Exotica sign. Second symbol. Coincidence? Gerri didn’t believe in them.

  Neither did Kinsey. She had to talk to the detective.

  Heart pounding, Kinsey pushed back toward the police line, forgetting entirely about how she’d beaten herself up just minutes ago. She was valuable, important. This was important. Gerri needed to know there was, for some odd reason, a connection to the last case they’d worked.

  Kinsey pulled herself up short at the edge of the tape, drawing a deep breath. She couldn’t just run up to Gerri and blurt all this out. She had to be logical about it, or the redhead wouldn’t hear her. She'd listen, sure. But might not buy it. And, the more Kinsey thought about what to say, the less she trusted her first impulse. So, she almost collided with a man bearing a ring with the same symbol as one she’d seen before. First, what if she was mistaken? She only saw it for a moment. And just because he was here, what difference did that make?

  As for the swirl in the Exotica sign… wait a second. She bit her lower lip. Julian had a ring, too. One that looked almost identical to the stranger in black. Only, the symbol was different.

  Reassured she at least had something to share with Gerri, Kinsey reached for the yellow tape, raising one hand to beckon a uniform closer.

  “Dr. DanAllart?” She spun at the sound of the familiar, velvet voice, turned to find Simone smiling at her. Her black eyes looked shadowed in the streetlights, but the hand she placed on Kinsey’s forearm was gentle, almost kind. “I thought I saw you inside. Are you all right?”

  Kinsey gulped a breath of air. “Fine,” she said. “You were with Julian Black.” She didn’t mean for that to come out like an accusation. Nice job offending a patron of the college. But Simone just laughed, soft and warm.

  “I was,” she said. “He’s an old friend. I’m sorry to see this happen to him.” A faint frown pulled her perfect brows together, exposing the flawless arches of them from under her thick bangs. “I warned him opening a club of this nature would attract unsavory behavior.”

  Kinsey didn’t know what to say to that, so she just bobbed a nod.

  “You look a little shaken.” Simone’s hand settled more firmly, rounded nails brushing over Kinsey’s flesh. She shivered from the stroking contact. “Can I buy you a drink somewhere?”

  Though it came out as the most innocent of questions, Kinsey’s immediate and visceral reaction startled her. She pulled free of Simone, breath catching, pulse speeding up yet again. For an instant, they were alone on the street—at least, it felt that way to Kinsey. And Simone wasn’t just a woman with perfect hair and skin and a killer body. She was something.

  Something else.

  “Thanks.” Kinsey backed away a step, urgency to talk to Gerri gone. She’d call her later. Right now, she just had to get out of there. Away from Simone. “I’m fine.”

  The woman watched her retreat with her smile fading only a little. If anything, it became kinder, sweeter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Tomorrow? Oh, damn, their morning appointment. Kinsey nodded again, feeling like a bobble head without a brain before spinning and pushing her way to the open street, not stopping her fastest mincing steps in her tottering heels until she rounded the corner on the next block and, to her relief, hailed an oncoming taxi.

  She was in the back seat, address given in a breathy voice, before she managed to shake her unease. And laughed at herself. What a night. Not only did she beat herself up, abandon Ray to the masses and think she might have something Gerri needed to know right then, she’d had a freakout moment with a patron of the college and, quite likely, was losing her damned mind.

  And yet, it wasn’t until Kinsey was locked safely in her apartment, all the lights on, she started to feel better.

  Until the phone rang.

  ***

  ***

  EXT. – EXOTICA NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT

  The fancy silver pen Gerri’s mom gave her as a graduation present felt heavy in her grip as she drew a long, slow breath and did her best not to lose her temper. At least, this much was familiar. The four young women who gathered around her looked scared, though the one in the back was just bored enough it irked Gerri’s gut. Told her she was the one to target with her questions. But that was hard to do when the slim brunette with the sparkly purple top wouldn’t meet Gerri’s eyes.

  “You told the officer you were the victim’s friends? You came here with her tonight?” Gerri jotted down notes on each of the girls in front of her as they tripped over each other to talk. What she’d taken for fear, it seemed, was actually excitement.

  Go figure.

  “Myra, yeah.” A fake blonde with the ugliest pink feather lashes glued to her eyes nodded enthusiastically, the edge of her white lace bra showing above the collar of her barely there shirt. Her long, acrylic nails glittered with sparkles, distracting. “Myra Banks.” She pointed at Gerri’s notebook, as if she might get it wrong or something. “From Burnstile.” The rich part of town. “Is she going to die?”

  Four eager faces and one, still bored but more focused at last. Gerri ignored the sycophants and addressed the ringleader. “Any idea what happened to her?”

  Miss Purple shrugged, twirling one of her dark curls between her fingertips, glossed mouth pursed into duckface. Gerri wanted to smack that expression from her darling little lips, but recited the alphabet to herself instead as the girl spoke.

  “How should we know?” Gerri’s jaw ached already. God, she hated dealing with trust fund kids. Arrogant, entitled, stupid—

  “How about this girl?” Gerri fished out her phone, opened the pic of the dead girl in the morgue. “Any of you know her?”

  They all leaned in, even Miss Purple. The long nailed blonde grabbed Gerri’s hand in excitement. “Oh my God,” she gushed. “That’s Tasha Pear.” They all bobbed nods of agreement while their leader’s forehead bunched once.

  In anxiety.

  Well now.

  “Is she dead?” Fake blonde’s pink lashes fluttered. “Seriously?”

  Gerri pulled her hand free. “Seriously.” They all gasped, but she could almost hear their minds turning, their gossip building. What the hell was wrong with people that someone’s death was cause for their enjoyment? “When did you see her last?”

  “Last night.” Finally, Miss Purple was contributing to the conversation. She seemed less arrogant, more contained. “Right here, at Exotica.”

  “We thought she went home with her boyfriend. They’ve been fighting.” Blonde lowered her voice, like it
was some big secret or something. “We all figured she’d made up with him, since we don’t see much of Tash when she’s hanging with Garret.”

  The whole group muttered irritated agreement. Jesus.

  At least their story confirmed Ray’s investigation. The body had been in the water no more than six hours. And, from what she told Gerri, had been dead before she hit the ocean.

  “What’s the boyfriend’s name?” Again, she directed her question to Miss Purple.

  “Garret Jay. He lives on Donner, in a warehouse loft.” She seemed much more compliant now.

  Gerri heard an angry conversation behind her, half-turned to see the club owner, Julian Black, heading her way. Jackson was in his face, so at least he was good for something. But Gerri knew she’d have to deal with the man eventually. When she turned back to the girls, they were chattering quietly among themselves, like a flock of colorful, brainless birds. Only the leader seemed wrapped up in her own thoughts.

  “Leave your contact info with the uniform.” She gestured to Officer Mills. About time she remembered the woman’s name, since this was their second case together. Mills nodded, petite face serious as she guided the girls away. Gerri watched them go, brain whirling.

  Boyfriends were good murder suspects. But something about the way Miss Purple reacted told Gerri she didn’t have the whole story just yet. She would. She always did.

  “Detective.” She exhaled a long breath, forcing a barely-there smile on her face and spun to face Julian. His slicked back hair was still perfect, gray eyes less angry and more intense. He was taller than her, but just barely, slim body well represented in his expensive suit. Diamonds flashed from the heavy ring on his hand as he addressed her. “While I’m sympathetic to the young woman who was injured tonight, you’d better have a damned good reason for shutting down my club.”

  “How about murder, Mr. Black?” Gerri’s small smile turned to a sharp grin. She loved it when they got in her face. She could let her anger out and not feel guilty about it. Not one little bit.

  He didn’t react the way she expected. Instead of anger, pushing back, he shrugged. “I hadn’t heard she died.”

  “She didn’t.” Gerri held up her phone again. “Know this girl?”

  Julian laughed. Whether he knew it or not, he’d just found the perfect way to piss Gerri off. “I own a nightclub, Detective Meyers. The most popular place in the city.” Arrogant asshole. “If you think I know the face of everyone who walks through my doors, you’re insane.”

  His eyes flickered to the image, though, didn’t they? And stayed there a moment. Hovered. Her gut churned.

  Liar.

  Gerri dropped her arm to her side, shrugging. “Maybe not,” she said. “But the safety of the patrons of your establishment is your responsibility. And if there’s some kind of sicko using your club as a base of attack, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you closed,” her smile widened, brightened, “until he’s caught.”

  Julian didn’t react to the threat. Because it was a threat. He had to see that, feel it. No way he missed it. Gerri’s anger waited, sizzling and humming, just below the surface of the veneer she’d perfected. But the club owner didn’t give her the outlet her temper craved.

  Instead, he backed up a pace, steady gaze flattening out, a lazy smile on his lips. “I will, of course, cooperate with the city and its police force. Anything I can do.” He nodded to her. “Murder is bad for business.”

  Julian turned and walked away, trailed by two giant bodyguards while Gerri fought the animal of her temper. Damn it, she really wanted someone to fight with right now.

  “You’re just going to let him walk without questioning him further?”

  Gerri’s smile was positively brilliant as she turned to Jackson. Bless him for giving her a fresh target. How perfect. “I’ll get to him,” she said. “Are you done your canvas of the crowd, officer?” She loved the way his jaw jumped, how his brows came together, storm cloud building in his blue eyes. He really was a class “A”, royal jackass.

  “Still working on it,” he said.

  “Then, maybe you’d like to get back to it.” The sizzle of her temper faded a bit when he didn’t fight back. Damn it. Gerri let it go, turning with a brief stab of guilt, looking at last for Kinsey. She’d forgotten all about the blonde anthropologist in the rush to get the girl out of the club and into a bus. Gerri spun, searching the crowd, only to have Jackson’s smirk interrupt.

  “If you’re looking for the civvy,” he said, his favorite nick name for Kinsey, “she left. I guess she figured out police work is for cops.”

  Gerri spun on him with a snarl. “You stay the hell away from her.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere near her.” Jackson took a step closer, in her face. Gerri met him toe to toe, whole body begging him to push her too far. “But she’s proven to be a detriment to cases in the past.” Not from where Gerri stood. “And I intend to protest every time you include her in an investigation.” His smirk tightened. “Officially.”

  “Good luck with that.” Not only did Gerri have the blessing of One Hundred Police Place, her own captain signed off on Kinsey. Jackson could make a continual ass of himself for all she cared.

  “She’s not the only one I have my eyes on.” He leaned closer still, voice level dropping, intimate and deep. “I’ve looked into you, partner.” His eyes really were an incredible shade of blue, full of venom. Gerri focused on details, all the better to keep herself from punching his model-handsome face into the back of his skull. “Your record in Chicago. How is it that one detective could possibly have a perfect solve rate?” He brushed a bit of invisible lint from one of her lapels, the barest touch. She didn’t move, let him have his little moment. “It isn’t. Which means, either you’re a freak, or damned lucky. That luck will run out eventually, Gerri.” His lips were almost to her ear, breath hot on her skin. “Except that one case, right? Missy Spence?”

  Gerri couldn’t help it. Her whole body reacted with a twitch she instantly regretted. Jackson leaned away, still smiling, but this time his expression told her he thought he understood her. He had no idea. None. She let him finish.

  “There’s something about you, Meyers,” he said. “Something not right at all. And I’m going to find out what.”

  “If I can interrupt?” Ray’s voice, a little too loud for her proximity only a few feet away, spun Gerri around. From the way she looked back and forth between them, the medical examiner was well aware she was breaking up something. Gerri shrugged, like it was no big deal. Jackson saluted her with a wink, a final grin for Gerri, before turning and heading back to the crowd.

  Gerri watched him go, chest tight with the need to hit something. And with a hint of fear. No, she refused to be afraid, because he was wrong. She was fine. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing different. Sure, she had strong instincts. A voice that whispered to her sometimes. Could always tell, if she let her gut lead her, who did it—

  Cold sweat dampened the back of her neck. Gerri shook off her anxiety by turning to Ray who watched her with calm, careful eyes.

  “Everything all right?” The brunette stood closer, just her presence enough to soothe Gerri. Silly, she was being ridiculous. Gerri let out a long breath and ignored the question.

  “What have you got?” All business, all the time. Better than sharing her damned feelings.

  “I’m heading back to the morgue,” Ray said. “I want to reexamine the puncture wounds, see if they match those on the new victim.”

  Gerri nodded. “Keep me posted.” She turned, headed for the edge of the crowd.

  “Where are you going?” Jackson was ready to push her all over again. She jerked open her car door.

  “To solve a murder,” she said, slipping inside before slamming it and firing up her engine.

  It was a short, annoyed drive across town.

  ***

  INT. – GARRET JAY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

  Gerri pounded on the door of the loft, finally ve
nting some of her anger on the heavy metal entry. A glance at her watch gave her 2:17 AM and, from the muffled sounds inside the apartment, she’d caught her quarry at home.

  Her anger hadn’t diminished in the car on the way here when she called in Garret’s name for a specific address, or in the elevator ride to the second floor and his apartment. If anything, it only intensified, as she thought about Jackson.

  Thing was, he was right. She was a freak. No one had a clean record like she did. And though she herself wavered between worry there was something truly and fundamentally wrong with her and fighting off that same fear, knowing someone like him—an enemy if ever she met one—had her in his sights just made things all the more complicated.

  Still, what could he possibly uncover? There was nothing to find. All of her cases were done by the book, solid police work. There was no way for him to prove she had help from the tingle in her gut, from instincts she tried to convince herself were simply honed sharp by her experience and natural talent.

  There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. So, why was Gerri so worked up at the thought of Jackson Pierce looking into her?

  Gerri pounded the door again, with more aggression, turning her focus to the task at hand with a sharp jerk to her fears. Just do her damned job and the rest will take care of itself.

  When the door finally lurched open, a scrawny, half naked young man staring at her with glazed eyes from the other side, Gerri was on her final scrap of give a damn. She flashed her badge, knowing from the nervous way he backed up half a step, fingers flexing on the sheet he held wrapped around his lower body, she must have looked the part of pissed the hell off.