Family Honor (14 page)

Marshall studied the map. "There are a few low rent salons in the neighborhood. Some of those places might not charge a working girl too much."

Nate raised his brows. "Or, one of them might accept a different type of payment from a working girl."

"There is that," Marshall agreed. "Why don't I get a jump on this thing? Track down some of the salons and check out the personnel."

"I'll get Becker to help you," Stone said.

Marshall groaned. "Not Perky Barbie. Why don't you help me, Henry?"

Stone smiled.
"Because I need to go strike the fear of God into a couple of CSI investigators.
Find out where the devil our report is."

Nate grinned. "Go get 'em, Tiger. Send Barbie in on your way out. She's the perfect helper for Marshall here."

"Thanks." Brady rolled his eyes, but Nate could tell he
wasn't
really unhappy. He seemed the type of person who could get along with anyone.
That's
why Nate wanted him working with Becker.
It leaves Mel all to me.

He watched her leaning over the table examining a photo, and had to fight an urge to move in from behind and drape his body over hers.
He'd
start kissing the nape of her neck and work his way down.

Later.
Right now, they were close to making a breakthrough. So
close
he could almost taste it.

* * * *

Nate drove when they went back to Oldtown that afternoon. He parked in the same spot they had before, and he led the way as they walked to where they last spotted Sheila.

"Slow down." Mel struggled to keep up with him.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder but kept moving. "This is it, Mel. I know it is."

"Don't get your hopes up."

The remark stopped him in his tracks.
"
Hopes?
These
aren't
'hopes' Mel. This
isn't
some little kid wishing the ice cream truck would be on the corner when we get there. This is life and death stuff here."

She touched his arm. "I know that. Believe me, after this morning, I do know that. Take it easy, sweetie. You get so worked up."

He allowed the grin that turned up the corners of his mouth. "You ain't seen
nothing
yet. This is it, baby. This is what
we do
. Now come on. Keep up or get out of the way."

She resumed walking before he did, and glanced over her shoulder. "I'll be telling you that later."

Nate chuckled and hurried after her. They walked a couple of blocks before they ran into anyone, and then it was one of the younger girls
they'd
seen briefly on Friday. She tried to take off before they reached her, but Nate called, "Wait.
We're
looking for Sheila or Juicy.
Any idea where they are?"

The woman stopped and looked back. "
I seen
Skinny Sheila about an hour ago.
Left with some dude in a light blue Prius.
Ain't seen Juicy yet today."

Nate nodded, pleased that
she'd
noticed they type of car Sheila'd gotten into. Their warnings on Friday might have had more impact than he realized. "Thanks. Be careful out here."

She waved over her shoulder and scurried away.

He turned to look at Mel. "She's been gone for an hour. How long do we wait?"

"Let's walk some more. We might find Juicy, or Sheila might get back. An hour's a long time for most of the folks around here, unless she found herself a big spender."

Nate raised his brows.
"In a blue Prius?
I doubt it."

They walked for another block and when they turned the corner, Sheila was standing in her usual spot.

"Hey!" Mel called to her.

"Goldielocks!
Howzit?"

Mel shook her head. "Been better, Shelia. We lost another one last night. This one was a waitress at Daily Joe."

The woman's eyes widened. "Not jus' hoes? Well
I'll
be. A waitress you say."

Nate stepped up. "Shelia, we need to ask you something. We noticed that all the victims had bleached or colored hair. You and Juicy do, too. Where do you have your hair done?"

She frowned. "
That don't
matter to you all."

"It could matter," Nate pressed her.
"If you all used the same place."

"Doubt that." She waved a hand.

"Sheila," Mel said softly. "Please let us decide. Would you tell us who does your hair?"

"He won't
be likin'
that."

"Why not?"
Nate snapped. "Most stylists would want word of mouth business."

"Mister Tony not like most sty-uh-lists. He
run
things a little different-like."

"Tony," Nate repeated. "Do you know his last name? Where does he work?"

Sheila clammed up and glared at them.

Mel touched her arm. "You're worried if you tell us then this Tony won't do your hair anymore. Did you have a special deal worked out with him? Exchange service for service, so to speak?"

"We're not interested in that," Nate assured her. "We're simply looking for a connection between the victims. We want to get this guy, Sheila. None of you are safe until we do."

Her hard exterior cracked and Shelia's shoulders sagged. "He be workin' for the beauty college two blocks over
. '
Webb's School of Beauty' they call it."

"Is he Webb?" Nate asked.

"Oh, no!
Webb the owna.
He hab schools all ober da place. Tony
be
one of da teachers.
He
do hair after class be ober."

"And he has a lot of working girls for clients?" Mel asked. "You exchange your services for his?"

Shelia nodded. "Haircuts cost a quickie. Bleach and color go for liddle bit mo'."

Mel stepped closer to her. "I know this is personal, but can you give me a few details? What might he expect in exchange for a dye job?"

The woman screwed up her face. "He likes us to dress up in costumes."

Nate's heart nearly beat through his chest. "Like cheerleader uniforms?"

"Sumtimes.
Udder times French Maid, waitress, bizness woman. Lotso diffr'nt ones."

"That's it." He looked at Mel.

"Maybe," she agreed, the expression on her face indicating she
wasn't
as sure.

"Maybe hell.
I'd
bet on it.
Let's
go. Thank you Sheila." He pulled a twenty from his wallet and pressed it into her hand. "Get yourself something to eat. You're too skinny."

She grinned. "Thankin' ya boss."

He turned for his car and took off, Mel hot on his heels.

"Keep up or get out of the way, huh?" She asked from behind him.

He reached the SUV and turned to face her. "This is something, Mel. I can feel it in my gut. Call Marshall and see what he knows about Tony and the Webb
School.
" He punched a number into his phone and asked the same questions of the FBI analyst.

When he hung up, he saw Mel jotting notes.
"Uh huh.
Yeah.
Sounds good."
She ended her call. "Marshall and Becker already checked this place.
Owned by a rich dude, name of Burton Webb.
Not much info available about him, apparently
isn't
from this area. But they do have a teacher there by the name of Tony Masters. Mr. Tony has a long but fairly innocuous record of soliciting violations and some minor domestic battery charges."

"Might seem fairly innocuous, but I suspect he's hiding something. What do you say we go find out?"

"I'm with you." Mel smiled at him.

Nate paused long enough to smile back. "I like the sound of that. Now grab your bulletproof vest. We're not taking any chances."

Chapter Six

Mel secured the black vest
she'd
tossed in the back of Nate's car around her and tightened the straps. It looked the same as the one he donned except hers said 'POLICE' in big white letters, and his said 'FBI'. She smiled as she climbed in the front seat.

He got in and snapped his seatbelt into place. "What are you smiling about?"

"I'm not smiling." She buckled her seatbelt and looked straight ahead. "This is just pretty cool and all.
Gearing up with you, getting ready to go apprehend a suspect together."

He allowed a small grin but shook his head. "You sound so excited, you'd think we were off to the movies, or somewhere on our second date."

She laughed. "That sounds like fun. This is fun too, in its own way."

Nate gave her one last glance. "Yeah, it is. Okay partner, which way we headed?"

"Take a right at the stoplight."

He drove following her directions, and when they spotted the Webb
School
he pulled to a stop in front. "Make sure we have some backup on standby. Tell them
we'll
call if we need them. We don't even know if Tony is working today."

She made the quick call and hurried out to catch up with Nate
who'd
already reached the door.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. "You ready?"

"Ready." She nodded.

Nate entered the school with Mel right behind him. She looked around the reception area. One young, highly made-up blonde woman sat waiting and a receptionist filed her nails behind a desk. There was an eclectic mix of chairs, a couple of end tables stacked with beauty magazines, and several display racks filled with shampoo products and makeup.
Typical salon stuff.

The receptionist appeared young, early twenties if that, with a shockingly bright shade of red hair. Her heavily-made up eyes widened as they entered. "Help you?" she asked.

"Tony Masters?" Nate replied without explanation.

She got to her feet. "He's teaching in the back. I can show you."

Nate held up a hand. "We'll find it.
Just point."

She motioned toward the clinic floor where several students in white uniforms worked on customers.
"Past the shampoo bowls, on the left."

Nate nodded and walked that way.

Mel hurried to keep up. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to watch as the two cops passed through. One short, shaggy-haired man came out of a connected room but froze when he saw them and backed in again. Mel made a mental note.
Remember to ask about him later.

Just past the shampoo
bowls
Mel saw the classroom they were heading for. About a dozen uniformed students worked at tables with mannequin heads, and a lone man walked among them.

He was short, maybe five-five, with thinning brown hair and a potbelly hanging over his belt.

"There's our boy," Nate murmured.