Hooked (15 page)

A
fter the kids left, Benny went back to bed. He’d suffered through another sleepless night, and after reading about Dirk Hansen this morning, he doubted tonight’s sleep would be much better. He managed to nod off, but visions of Hansen and lovely Cindi, her broken body suspended in space, jarred him awake. Were the cops on to Upper Eighties? Would they barge in, snap on the cuffs, and haul him away?

Eileen brought a second cup of coffee to the bedroom, along with the newspaper, and left him to enjoy a morning in bed. She had no idea what was going on in his head, and he didn’t want to worry her by venting. No doubt she’d be back to cheer him out of his doldrums.

He wanted to ignore his chiming cell since the only news lately had been bad. He looked at the readout. Colin. Colin rarely called, but when he did it was something Benny didn’t want to hear. He braced himself for the worst.

“Thought you should know
this, Benny,” his tech guru said. “That Dell woman was asking all sorts of questions. ’Fraid Charles might have said too much. A couple of the girls too.”

Benny put down the coffee cup and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t see the black cloud, but he knew it was there, floating over his head like a curse. Did he really want to know this? “What was she asking?”

“Darlene said she was asking about the girls. How many worked here, who they were? Like that.”

“What’s wrong with that? She asked me too. She’s trying to be friendly, get a feel for the place.”

“Yeah, but when one of the girls let slip that Cindi hasn’t shown up in a more than a week, she pumped Charles for her last name, saying maybe Cindi was a friend she’d lost touch with. Darlene said she kinda tricked him.”

Benny’s stomach took a dive. He pushed the paper off his thighs and reached for the drawer in the bedside table. Where in hell were his antacids? He belched and belched again, but it didn’t relieve the acidic burning sensation gnawing like hot coals in his gut. “Eileen,” he called.
Take it easy, Benny
.

“I’m sure it
’s innocent curiosity, Colin. You know how women are. Always gossiping. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s not like she’s a spy or anything. Who’s she gonna tell? Relax. Tawny Dell came with well-established bona fides. She’s been turning tricks for more than a dozen years. More than anyone working at Upper Eighties.”

“
All right, just saying.”

“Maybe, to be on the safe side, you should tell everyone to keep their mouths shut about Cindi, not that anyone knows what happened to her except Melody. And you, me, and Reggie, of course.”
And Eileen, he thought
.
“No, wait. Just remind them not to discuss Upper Eighties’ business. If we mention Cindi, it might make them suspicious.”

“You think Melody talked?”

“No. Do what I told you, and we’ll be fine. We can’t be too careful. I’ll talk to Charles myself and then to Tawny on Thursday when she has her second appointment. I’ve arranged a very special client. Reserve the same room, and make sure there’s champagne―Dom Perignon 2000 Brut―and some hors d’oeuvres, this time. You know the drill.”

“Done, Benny. I guess if you aren’t worried about the other
thing, neither am I.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Benny flipped his cell closed and massaged eyes that felt like they were filled with acid.

“What was all that about? What about Tawny Dell?” Eileen plopped down on the bed next to him.

“Oh, nothing. Darlene got suspicious because Tawny was asking about the girls, especially Cindi.”

“Really? Why would she do that?”

Benny lost his train of thought when he removed his massaging fingers from his eyes and saw his wife. She wore the one-piece jumpsuit she wore only for him at home and only when the kids weren’t there. She’d be arrested if she wore it anywhere else. It showed off her curves and had cutouts for her boobs and pussy. Her naked body was ultra-sexy, but this little number got him hard on sight. He could go right to work without undressing her, and a little tug of the Velcro seam up the back made getting it off a snap. He wanted her to manufacture them, but she said then it wouldn’t be special for him anymore. She had a point.

“You look yummy enough to eat.” He pulled her down on the bed. “Two minutes ago I had a headache, burning eyes, and acid reflux. Now, I’m ready to boink my wife.”

Eileen pulled away, even though her breast was in Benny’s mouth. “Who’s the client you have lined up for Tawny Dell?”

“You know I never talk names,” Benny gurgled, unwilling to release his mouthful.

“I know you almost never get involved in setting up clients too, Benny. So I’d say it’s an interesting reversal that you’re doing it now.”

He backed off his hold on Eileen’s mammary. “Come on, baby. You sound almost jealous. You know you’re the only one who matters in my life.” He groped back to the opening in her jumpsuit, but she pushed him away, getting up―something she never did. Rooted to her breast, he moved right along with her until he almost fell off the bed.

“I put up with a lot from you, Benny. You claim to be my one and only, yet you’re off banging someone else at least twice a week. Would that make sense to you if I did it?”

“You do,” he mumbled, wiping drool from his mouth.

“What? How can you say that?”

Benny sat back, kind of pissed his breakfast nipple had retreated. “Come on, Eileen. I know you’re not schmoozing with those snooty Junior League women every day. You can’t stand them. Nor are you doing whatever those women in garden clubs are supposed to do when they’re not attending those stupid luncheons. You get dressed up, poke your head into those meetings, leave, then get into your Lexus―a car I pay for, by the way―and hop over to the club to play tennis. You do that whenever I’m gone, but the only balls you see are between the legs of that empty-headed pro, what’s his name?”

Eileen stood with her legs spread and her hands on her hips, her breasts flushed as pink as her face. “Which one? There are two of them.”

“I suppose the one who isn’t banging Herb Mokler’s wife. Or maybe you two are playing doubles. How the hell do I know?” Benny sat up straighter. “You must think I’m dense as shit. To quote a cliché, leopards don’t change their spots. You and I are sex junkies. It’s what got us together, and it’s what started Upper Eighties. You knew my conditions when we married. All this,” he waved his arms around the house, “and future security, to ignore my minor peccadilloes. Do you think I don’t understand the goose/gander thing? I just don’t want to know. But you had to bring it up, and all because you’re jealous of Tawny Dell. You knew who she was. You’re clever, but you’re a lousy liar.”

“I am not jealous.” She collapsed on the edge of the bed. “Well,” she trilled, “maybe a little.”

“She’s business. I told you her conditions. No freebies from management. That’s me, and Colin wouldn’t have her if she put it in his mouth. So what’s disturbing you?”

“That you might think she’s better than me.”

“I told you, no freebies. What part don’t you understand? Besides, no one’s better than you, sweetie. You’re the mother of my children, my business collaborator, my favorite sex partner. What more do you want? Monogamy?” He patted the bed. “Now, come over here. Daddy’s had a bad week. He’s overwhelmed with anxiety. He needs a release of tension.” Another bed pat.

Eileen sniffled and shuffled to the bed, her tits swaying in rhythm. Benny knew she did it on purpose, and he loved every undulating beat of her luscious boobs. By the time she threw one leg over his thighs, he had a boner the size of a 2 x 4.

T
awny saw Lincoln Walsh slip into the gallery. Even though she found it irritating earlier when he told her—no, ordered her—to wait for him, then hung up before she could tell him she wouldn’t be there, her heartbeat did a little dance when she saw him. What was the big rush anyway? You’d think her life had been threatened.

She couldn’t wait for him and be late. This was her assigned time, and her boss expected her. She loved her mornings at the museum, and even though she repeated some of the same things every tour, she fed off the interest of her tour group, who were now enthralled by her explanation of the painting on an Egyptian vase that provided a rare example of the actual painting process of the time, encaustic. Leaning closer, Tawny pointed to the figures on the vase as they mixed the pigments with wax to paint a sculpture of Herakles, while Zeus and Nike presided and Herakles himself surveyed his image. Though the backside of the vase was less accessible, she explained the depiction of Athena and other Gods. She wanted her audience to appreciate the painting as a record of life at that time, but also to understand the mythology. She moved from one piece to another to another. Before she knew, the hour’s allotted time had run out. She accepted thanks from the group and answered a couple of questions before they scattered to either another guide or their individual meanderings through the museum.

“I learned something this morning,” Linc said.

“There’s lots to learn, even for me.”

“You did good, Doctor.” His tone sounded sincere, with no hint of sarcasm for once.

“Thanks. So now you know what I do in my spare time. Surprised?

“Not at all.”

She snickered.

“Well, okay, a little surprised.”

“You obviously went to my apartment, and when I wasn’t there, what did you think about my appointment?”
When he didn’t answer, she snickered again. “Can’t get past it, can you, Walsh?”

He grimaced. “Can we go somewhere and talk? Is there a coffee shop?”

“There are a few, but the one downstairs is probably the most casual. At the main entrance you’ll see a sign that reads Cafeteria and the New American Wing. Go straight back as far as you can, through Medieval and Vienna Porcelain to the Lehman Collection, then go down the stairs. I have to do some things first. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Great, thanks.” He nodded and took off. Sure, he thought she was with a client. She could tell by his embarrassment when she called him on it. Tony must have told him where she was. Walsh probably pulled his badge and Tony would have told him his bank account number if he was asked. Sweet Tony. She couldn’t expect him to hold back from the cops.

Tawny signed out and headed for the cafeteria. She found Walsh at a back table in the
room. Two coffees and a plate of pastries shared the table. She took a seat.

“Now, what’s all the fuss about?” she asked.

“The picture of the guy I showed you? You know, the one with the streaked hair?”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead, found early this morning in a Dumpster in Hell’s Kitchen. When I interviewed his ex-wife, she said his new girlfriend’s name was Cindi.”

Tawny didn’t say anything for a long moment. She couldn’t. The words froze in her throat. “Cindi is the one the doorman referred to in the past tense. He said her name
was
Cindi Dyson. Not is, Walsh. Was. She’s dead. I know it.”

“We have enough to close down the place. Someone’s killing off the girls.”

A funny feeling churned in the pit of Tawny’s stomach. Things were coming together in a way she didn’t quite understand, and it concerned Mario and Colin and a member of Mario’s inner circle. Someone he was willing to protect. Why? Could it be tied to Cindi? Was that why Mario showed up at Upper Eighties? He didn’t need to go there for a woman. Mario could have a woman delivered to his apartment every night of the week if he wanted. No, Mario went there to tell Benny to keep whatever happened quiet. But what happened, exactly? She couldn’t mention her suspicions to Walsh until she found out more. With Mario involved, if he was involved, she felt the noose tightening around her throat.

“You still don’t have proof Sarah Marshall worked at Upper Eighties
.”

“One of our guys is questioning Melody Carnes now. You want to bet she rolls on Benny?”

“Find out what she knows. If she says Sarah worked at Upper Eighties, I’m out of there. If not, you have to give me until Thursday to find out. Go on, call him.”

Linc punched in Dennis’s number, asked his question, and listened. He turned to Tawny after he broke the connection. “She’s gone. Neighbor said she left yesterday with
a suitcase.”

“See? I can give you a hundred reasons why she left. Would you believe my parents think I’ve worked here for the last fifteen years, with modeling jobs on the side? It’s what women like me do to protect our secret lives. Melody Carnes won’t allow the whole world to find out what she does, even if she’s covering up something she shouldn’t.”

“She’ll go to jail.”

“She’s waiting it out, hoping the problem will pass so she doesn’t have to lie. You have to let me go in one more time.” She leaned forward across the table. “These women won’t talk, and I doubt their clients will either. Benny’s too smart to leave a hard copy of his client list. Colin must have it on his laptop, and it’s password-protected. I checked.”

“You opened the computer? What if someone saw you?”

“I was in the office legitimately. Benny has a bank of mailboxes where he leaves the money so he never pays the girls directly. While I was there, I booted up the computer, doubting I’d ever get into the program, but I thought it was worth a try. Colin is the only one who knows the code. Maybe Benny.”

“There’s probably a date book or calendar on the computer, then the sign-in sheets are shredded once the information is entered. I bet he backs up everything nightly and has some kind of device that wipes out the hard drive if the computer’s compromised. It’d be the smart thing to do.”

“Let’s hope opening the computer doesn’t ring bells or he’ll know someone tried to access his information. Your people could go in, Walsh, and you might even get the doorman to fold. But the only bodies you have are Sarah Marshall, who you haven’t connected to Benny’s establishment, and Dirk Hansen, who isn’t talking. Even if you
find out Sarah worked there, it doesn’t prove anyone at Upper Eighties killed her. The best you’ll do is get a few people on lesser charges.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a cop.”

“No, I’m being logical. The doorman knows something, I’m sure.”

“You think he’ll break?”

“Probably, but I doubt he knows enough. If murder’s involved, don’t you want to get whoever’s responsible? Charles is just a worker drone. Come on, Walsh. Give me until Thursday to come up with some answers. If I fail, you can do your thing. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll go early. Maybe the one suspicious gal won’t be there, and I can talk to the others. Find out more.”

“Someone was suspicious?”

“A woman thing. Nothing more.” Linc frowned. She knew he was weighing his options. “One more night. It’s what you and your boss wanted me to do.”

“It’s too risky.”

“So now it’s risky, and it wasn’t before? What’s changed?”

“Hansen, for one. My guess is he went there to shake them down, and they got rid of him.” Linc rolled his eyes. “I think the captain is ready to pull the plug, and…”

“And what?”

He didn’t respond.

She waited, drank her coffee. “Let me ask you. You said no one’s made a complaint about blackmail, so you have no proof of that, right?”

Walsh turned away, unable or unwilling to look her in the eyes. “Right.”

“We live in a very litigious society. Maybe Benny’s taping to protect himself. It works both ways.” But she’d bet someone blackmailed one of Mario’s people. “If women are being murdered,” Tawny said, “I want to find out who’s doing it more than you. Murders of prostitutes piss me off.” She took in a deep breath, released it in a slow steady stream. “It could have been me.”

He turned toward her. “That’s what I don’t want to happen.”

His words were so sincere her breath caught in her throat.

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. “I couldn’t deal with that. I sent you in there. I’m responsible for you.” His big, dark, gorgeous eyes steadied on her. “I care, Tawny.
More than just as a cop.”

The heat of his hand warmed every molecule of her body. It was a reaction she’d never experienced. She rested her other hand over his and spoke in such a soft voice she almost didn’t hear her own words. “You have to know this can’t go anywhere, even if we wanted it to.”

“Does that mean you’d want it to? Even the possibility?”

She swallowed whatever was swelling in her throat. “No
.” He didn’t say anything, but the quirk in his expression said he knew with his whole heart she was right.

He remained silent until they were outside, standing on the street. “Come on. My car’s over there. I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, but I have errands to do.” She didn’t, but if he brought her home, she wouldn’t have the willpower to resist him, the attraction was that strong. Besides, she did have things to do, but she’d rather Walsh knew nothing about them. Not yet.

“Let me go to Upper Eighties one more night. If I don’t come up with anything, you can get an Army brigade to storm the place.”

He hesitated, then raised his hand to her cheek, brushing it with a feather touch. “One night. I’ll be close if anything goes wrong.”

“Deal.” She started to leave, and he latched on to her arm and pulled her back. The scent of his aftershave―no, the scent of him, kept her close too long. Her mind won out
over her emotions, and she stepped away. “Gotta go, Walsh. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Tawny,” he called
out, but she hurried toward the subway, resisting with every fiber of her being to turn around and wrap herself in his comforting arms.
Forget him
. But in spite of her efforts, the absurdity of her with Lincoln Walsh filled her thoughts on the way home.

He’s a cop. A sex crime investigator. Deep down, he’d never forget or forgive what you are―what you’ve been for fifteen years. This is a job, and when it’s over, you’ll never see him again.

She arrived home on autopilot, changed clothes, and put on a pot of coffee. Then she booted up the computer and went to work, willing Walsh from her mind.

Years ago, when she met Mario Russo through another client, she didn’t know who or what he was, other than a successful businessman, owner of a large construction company. If she’d read about him in the papers, she didn’t connect the gentle man with the crime boss who rarely let anyone take his picture. Stunned when she finally saw a photo, she debated whether to drop him as a client. He was attractive and cosmopolitan, an intelligent conversationalist, and a considerate lover, always treating her with respect. She saw no reason to let him go.

After she’d made her decision, she consciously avoided reading anything about him. Mario never talked about either of his businesses, and she never asked questions. Ignorance was the better road where he was concerned.

Today was different. Today she wanted to know everything about him, especially who in his cadre of associates meant enough for him to go out on a limb to protect.

* * * * *

L
inc had a running dialogue with himself all the way back to his precinct. He’d done everything wrong. He should have opted out of this investigation as soon as he realized his feelings for Tawny had veered off track from professional to personal. He put her realistic assessment of their uncharted relationship out of his mind in favor of his gut instinct that Tawny was holding something back. Something that could put her at greater risk and jeopardize the operation. Why? What did she know?

Should he tell the captain what he thought, how he felt, or should he let it ride for two more days? Tawny had begged him to give her one more night, and he said it was too risky. Considering what they suspected from the beginning, she’d been at risk since they pulled her into the operation. No, the primary reason he wanted to pull the plug was because she was going to Upper Eighties for one more night with some stranger. One more night making love to someone other than him.

He stopped for lunch, thought, and thought some more. Drank enough coffee to wake a corpse. Went back to his desk. Fortunately, the captain was out. He really didn’t want to decide right now how much to tell him, what to leave out. When should he make that decision? Could he let it ride until Thursday? He spoke as little as possible with the other guys, then sat at his desk and riffled through the case updates, but nothing registered. He couldn’t think straight. He’d been up half the night. He needed to go home, get some sleep. Instead, when he got back to his car, he headed for SoHo.