Sympathy For The Devil (11 page)

All that she took in swiftly; what drew her back was the people. Some wearing black suits or short skirts, often in leather. Occasionally all but naked. Some openly made out in booths, hands running up legs, between thighs, and mouths sucking breasts. In one case, two men and a woman in suits sat around a table, in discussion as any businesspeople would be, but each had a person sitting on the floor at their sides,
collars
, of all things, at their throats, with their eyes turned downward. Her eyes widened as she spotted Mr. Parker, principal of Stirling Falls High, necking with some dude off in the corner.

Jesus, it was...some kind of fetish sex club? Just outside of Stirling Falls? Tash had never heard of it, and while she saw her fair share of things she didn’t
want
to see around town, she’d never seen
this
.

What she expected to be revulsion turned out to be an odd curiosity as she crept around the perimeter of the mezzanine level. A handful of steps led to a small level overlooking the club, a couple of antique-looking divans empty of people, reminding her of boxseats at the opera.

The lighting was low and she had a decent view of the club from here—specifically a man and a woman on a couch below. The woman reclined in a blindfold, her head tipped back and lips parted as the man peeled her shirt back, exposing her breasts. His hands parted her thighs, fingers sliding up and up, beneath her skirt and as she writhed, it left little doubt as to what he was doing.

A clap and a moan caught her attention next, a woman in a booth lying face down over a man’s lap. Her skirt was hiked up, revealing her bare ass and a scrap of a thong between her cheeks. His hand came down again on her flesh, leaving a red handprint.

Warmth pooled low in Tash’s belly and between her legs. Though she might not consider herself a voyeur by any stretch of the imagination, she also didn’t get out much, didn’t have much of a sex life, and the current environment sent a rush of arousal through her. A blush bloomed in her cheeks, spilling down her neck to her chest. She was practically glowing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

“You know you’re pretty when you blush.”
Devin Archer had said.

Oh, if you could see me now.

And he was who she was there to find, so she snapped her focus back to scanning the room and
not
looking directly at those engaging in intimate acts.

Eventually her gaze snagged him sitting alone at the end of the bar. He had a glass of honey-brown liquid clutched in his hand, his head bowed and broad shoulders hunched. The bartender paused across from him, leaning over the counter with what seemed like
miles
of pale cleavage exposed, and said something to him, but he didn’t glance up or speak. Eventually she grew bored with the lack of conversation and moved on to take another order. And it didn’t end there; a petite blonde woman with a red cocktail, wearing a tiny white tennis skirt and short pink top that exposed the underside of her breasts and taut stomach, sidled up to him next. Tash knew she shouldn’t be surprised—he was possibly one of the only single men present and he was extremely attractive at that—but she didn’t like it, nonetheless, these women throwing themselves at him. The blonde touched his shoulder, leaned in deeply so her chest crushed his arm, and whispered something in his ear.

Whatever Archer responded with, she didn’t like—immediately she backed away, cocktail in hand, hips swishing as she went in search of someone else to play with. He took a drink and then hunched over his glass again, staring into its depths.

Tash let out a breath, oddly relieved. Because if he’d gone anywhere with the woman, she’d feel compelled to follow. Watch. And while there was an undeniable dark part of her wanting to see him peel that shirt off, to lose the pants and reveal everything beneath them, to use his strong hands to take control of a woman, she knew she didn’t want it to be that blonde.

But it surprised her that he
didn’t
. What kind of man could sit in the middle of this and not care? All this going on around him and he didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge anything but his drink. For a moment, her heart hurt as it dawned on her: all this just to go get a drink. He’d decided against the Bar & Grill, been threatened and all but kicked out of Eight’s. So now he went to a sex club not for sex but just a whiskey or whatever.

Right. Because he’s a killer and they don’t want him in town. Duh, Natasha.
But maybe she had an overactive sense of empathy, as she did feel bad for him. And maybe she seriously needed to start dating because these highly inappropriate thoughts could only be coming from a place of sexual starvation.

She settled on one of the divans and wished she could head down for a drink, but didn’t want to risk someone questioning who she was. Instead she pulled out her phone and snapped a few photos from a distance. They didn’t seem like much but there was no telling when they might come in handy, whether to question people about Archer or pull a few favors with light blackmail later.

The whole time Archer remained at the bar, drinking alone.

Interlude I

He left the club, ignoring the bouncer and scanning the parking lot. Irritation thrummed through him with every step and he couldn’t get far enough from the place. Some cars were unknown to him, but many were familiar—people in the area snuck out here, mingling with fake names, hiding who they really were. The thought of their hypocrisy made him sneer.

He stopped at a car he recognized near the back of the lot. His head tilted, looking up and down the vehicle. Definitely familiar—he knew the fly-fishing decal on the lower corner of the rear window, the spot on the bumper where jagged white paper remained after a sticker had been hastily torn off. But Gregory Malone was retired, on vacation by all rights.

He looked up, eyes narrowing on the club. Precisely one person came to mind who might’ve “borrowed” the vehicle.

She had no business being here. She was good. Pure. Sweet. Natasha Whitaker wasn’t the sort to frequent a place like
this
. Anger rolled through his veins, his hands clenching into fists. He should find her. Drag her by her fucking hair out here, toss her to her knees, demand to know what the hell she thought she was getting mixed up in.

For a moment, he leaned against her borrowed car, thinking about it in great, vivid detail. Heat flooded his veins, thinking of her cowering, screaming, begging for forgiveness even as she knew her punishment was inevitable.

But that would be rash. And she wasn’t his target tonight.

His gaze honed in on the front door, watching and waiting as a blonde exited alone. Her hair was thin and almost white, silky and swishing over her shoulders. Her braless tits bounced beneath the pink half-shirt that barely contained them, little white tennis skirt flouncing at her hips. If he tipped his head to the side, he’d see the underside of her ass. Long, strong legs were made leaner by a pair of white Mary Janes. A small purse hung over her shoulder and she rifled through it, pulling out a cigarette.

He closed in on her.

She was still fumbling with her cigarette as he approached; closer still and he realized it was a joint. Though her purse was tiny, she couldn’t seem to find a lighter.

He reached into his back pocket and produced one. “Need a light?”

Her blue eyes widened, startled, then she took him in and smiled. As he flicked the lighter, she leaned forward and let him light her joint. She sucked in a breath and then blew on the smoke, tapping ash onto the ground. “You want?” She offered him the joint.

He shook his head, still smiling. “I should quit.”

Chapter Eleven

The ringing of Natasha’s phone invaded her dream. It was incessant, and even tugging a pillow over her ear wouldn’t drown it out. Eventually she reached over and pulled it from the nightstand, fumbling to blindly turn it on.

“Hello?” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

“I was about to hang up.”

She had no damn idea who the hell was talking to her. “Huh?”

“It’s Keish. And I know you’ve been nosing around about the murder, so I’m offering you a chance to help.”

Tash sat straight up, blinking against the bright light of day in her apartment. “Anything.”

Her cousin
tsked
and sighed. “Oh, so
now
you’re awake.”

She glanced at the bedside clock—yeah, she’d overslept all right. It was already ten and she hadn’t done that in weeks. But then observing the escapades at a sex club until one in the morning, following Archer home, then driving all the way back to Stirling Falls made for a long, exhausting, sexually frustrating night.

“When are you leaving?” Tash asked as she stumbled out of bed, rushing around her room tossing around clothes.

“You don’t even know where we’re going yet.”

She hit the speakerphone button, set her cell on the dresser, and set about stripping out of her underwear and oversized T-shirt. “Fine, where are we going?”

“We’ve narrowed down the timeline of when the victim was killed. She went out Friday night and never made it home, and no one’s sure where she went, so we’re canvassing places in Hastings County. Plain clothes.”

It wasn’t like Tash had anything else to wear. She slipped on fresh panties and a bra that did not match at all, then rifled around for some jeans. Two fans blasted from either end of the bedroom but she knew outside was likely painfully hot; she opted for white cropped pants instead of anything too warm.

“Okay.” She stopped by the mirror, realized she should probably have showered, but then
rarely
did cops actually help her out voluntarily, so she didn’t want to delay Keisha. Instead of worrying how she smelled, she rolled on deodorant and went to find a shirt in the closet. “Why am I allowed to help with this?”

“The victim is a little more than a small town girl, Tash. She’s the stepdaughter of a retired Air Force Lieutenant-General with a lot of friends in a lot of places.”

Tash paused after snagging a red and white stripped, short-sleeved blouse, and frowned at the phone. “Why hasn’t that been in the paper?”

“Because the family wants all details about her completely private.”

That poor morgue assistant was going to be in
so
much trouble.

“Perry will look the other way if ‘additional resources are utilized to assist with this case’, so he says.”

Tash slipped on the blouse, pinned her hair up into a loose bun, and grabbed her phone. “I doubt he means me.”

“Me too, but he didn’t specifically say not to call you. And rumor has it you’ve been poking around our prime suspect—if anyone’s going to pick up on evidence pointing to him, it’s you.”

She had a point. And while neither of them was saying it, they both knew Tash was also the one to jump in if anything illegal had to be done. Still, she also had another priority job to do. “Ballpark on how long we’ll be?”

“Depends if we find anything,” Keisha said. “Couple of hours? Or five or six? Up front, I have to tell you that if something official is found, we have to call Perry, and you’ll need to leave. Leo can drop you somewhere or you can take a cab. Okay?”

It was pretty rude in her opinion to just cast away the person helping when it wasn’t convenient anymore, but then Keish was taking a risk even inviting her to help with this. “Sure, fine. I gotta go grocery shopping later anyway, so leave me at the store when we’re done.”

“You got it.”

And as for Archer...well, he’d likely just be sitting around home again and she could always just not charge Adam for her time checking out Hastings County. “Okay, I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Outside your building now.”

Natasha stuffed the phone in her pocket and rushed out of the bedroom.

****

She had a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and was trying not to complain about being stuck in the back of Keisha and Leo’s car like a perp. At least it was a regular car and not a cruiser.

Downtown Hastings County was even smaller than Stirling Falls, but made up dozens of little side streets not quite wide enough for double car traffic. Small shops and independent restaurants were tucked around corners and dark alleys. She didn’t know the town all that well but figured she was about to.

Leo parked on the main road in front of a pawn shop and the three of them climbed out of the car. Cell phone in hand, he thumbed over the touch screen. “Sending the map to each of you, area broken into three with your assignments. Now...” He turned toward Tash, cocking one sandy eyebrow, and she knew
something
she wouldn’t like was coming.

Tash leaned against the side of the car, the wrapper from her takeout balled up in her hand. She sipped her coffee, blinking innocently up at him.

“Stick to the map.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it, Tash.”

She pulled out her cell phone, went to her email to find the canvassing map, and waved it at him. “I got it.”

“Call us if for
any reason
you go off map.”

She popped the phone back in her pocket and sipped her coffee, patting Leo on the arm as she walked past him. “Stop worrying.” The coffee gone, she disposed of it and the breakfast sandwich wrapper in a nearby trashcan and started for the first place on her list.

During the ride, Leo and Keisha had gone over what they knew: that Deborah Ann Walker had last been seen Friday evening around six by a neighbor who saw her leaving her apartment and locking the door behind her. She didn’t drive, so had no car for them to know how she got anywhere. They checked the local taxis, no one picked her up, so that left them with her sticking with places within walking distance. Tash had a photo of Walker in her email as well.

The first two places turned up nothing—small town like Hastings County, even on a Friday they were closed by six so she definitely hadn’t visited them. A deli Tash checked next didn’t recall seeing her either. Houses were scattered between shops and she glanced up at them as she wove around side streets. No one hand mentioned actually going door to door at residences yet, so she stuck with the businesses.