Unspeakable Page 6

  The brunette froze, her eyes growing wide and her expression turning wary. “We don’t know nuthin’. And there ain’t nuthin’ illegal about us standin’ on a sidewalk, neither.”

  “Relax. I’m not a cop.” At least not anymore. Harper ignored the bitterness that thought triggered and tugged the photo from her jacket pocket. “I’m just looking for a girl.” She held up the photo of Melony Strauss. “Either of you know this girl?”

  No recognition passed over the women’s faces, but the brunette narrowed her eyes. “What if we did? What’s in it for us?”

  “Nothing. Except my not calling my friend at PPD and telling him where you’re working.”

  The brunette’s eyes narrowed in a glare.

  Pushing away from the wall, the redhead stepped forward and reached for the picture. “No, I haven’t seen her.” Releasing it, she added, “But it’s been a busy night for people looking for young girls.”

  Harper’s gaze lifted. “Someone else was asking about this girl tonight?”

  “Not that one.”

  The brunette hissed. “What the hell ya doin’? You gotta make them pay for information, bitch. She’s bluffin’ about callin’ the cops. If she was serious she woulda done it already. You ain’t never gonna survive down here.”

  The redhead rolled her eyes and looked back at Harper. “A different girl.” She eyed the picture with a disgusted expression. “Just as young, though.”

  Excitement stirred in Harper. She tugged the other photo from her pocket and held it up for the redhead to see. “It wasn’t this man, was it?”

  Recognition flashed in the redhead’s green eyes just before a nervous expression crossed her face. “I . . . I’ve never seen that guy either.”

  She was lying through her teeth.

  “Look,” Harper said, trying not to show her excitement. “I’m not a cop, and your friend is right. I’m not going to call anyone. But I do need to know where you saw this man and where he went.”

  The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Because if he’s a serial killer hunting little girls, I’m gonna stop his ass. It might go against her current job description, but Harper had already decided if Russell McClane was into young girls, she wasn’t going to play any part in defending him. She’d take everything she found straight to Brett Callahan at PPD. “Because I think this girl’s life might be in danger.”

  The redhead studied the picture of McClane again, then met Harper’s gaze. “He’s not a threat.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “Intuition.”

  Harper nearly snorted. “Intuition is often wrong.”

  “Mine isn’t.” She nodded at the photo still in Harper’s hand and stepped back toward the wall where she’d been leaning. “He’s a good guy. You should leave him alone.”

  Frustration welled up inside Harper. This hooker knew nothing about Russell McClane. She’d clearly been fooled by a rugged face, but then that wasn’t a surprise. Most of the girls out here on the streets were not that bright. “You don’t know a thing about this guy. He’s already been linked to one girl’s disappearance. Do you want another missing one on your conscience?”

  The redhead eased her back against the brick wall. “He didn’t hurt that other girl, and he won’t hurt this one. You should try having faith in people instead of assuming the worst about them.”

  Harper’s mouth nearly fell open, but before she could argue, the brunette stepped between her and the redhead. “I seen that guy tonight too.”

  The redhead stood upright. “Minx, don’t—”

  “You give me fifty bucks, and I’ll tell you where he went.”

  Harper tugged a twenty from her pocket. “This will have to do. It’s all I’ve got,” she lied.

  Minx huffed but snatched the money. “Figures.”

  “Where’d he go?” Harper asked.

  “Minx.” The redhead shook her head. “Don’t tell her—”

  “Assets.” Minx nodded down the block. “He went down there lookin’ for some young ass.”

  The blonde, who’d been flirting with someone in the car, climbed in the front seat with a wave to her friends. “See ya bitches later.”

  The car pulled away with a squeal of its tires, but Harper barely noticed. Her gaze was fixed on the flashing neon sign down the block where Russell McClane had gone in search of another victim. “Thanks for the information.”

  She made it three steps before the redhead called, “Watch your back in there. That guy isn’t the one you have to worry about in that place.”

  Harper glanced over her shoulder. The brunette was already halfway down the block in the other direction, shouting at a group of guys across the street. The redhead, though, looked genuinely concerned.

  For her safety? Or McClane’s? Harper wasn’t sure. And she really didn’t care enough to find out. “I know how to take care of myself.”

  The redhead frowned with a shake of her head, but Harper was almost sure she heard her mutter, “Famous last words.”

  Harper tugged her jacket tighter around her to cut the chill as she crossed the street and headed for Assets. The redhead was once again leaning against the brick wall, not giving off any working-girl vibes. Yeah, she was dressed in the right clothes, but she wasn’t flashy, wasn’t blatantly advertising herself. She also didn’t have the attitude of a girl who’d worked on the streets for any length of time.

  Why did it bother Harper if the redhead thought McClane was innocent? The redhead didn’t know the guy. Frowning, Harper wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm. And if the redhead did know the guy, then what did Harper care if McClane had hired the redhead for her services? Harper did not give a rip what the man did. Except . . .

  Pressure condensed beneath her chest. A pressure she didn’t like. One that told her she was disappointed by the idea of McClane with a prostitute. With his looks he could get any girl he wanted. Why would a guy like him turn to a prostitute for companionship?

  “Yo. Lady. You comin’ in or not?”

  Harper blinked and focused on the man to her left, a burly-looking bouncer seated on a stool at the doorway to Assets, the club she hadn’t even realized she’d stopped in front of.

  “Cover’s ten bucks,” he said around a toothpick.

  Shit. She was totally lost in her own head, thinking about things she should not be thinking about. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out two fives and handed them to the bouncer. But as she stepped toward the door, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back.

  The redhead was gone. Harper glanced up and down the street but could no longer see her. Had no idea if she’d left with a john or if she’d called it a night. Or if she’d gone looking for McClane herself.

  And, damn, that was a lingering thought that left a bad taste in the back of Harper’s mouth.

  “Sheesh. Get your head on straight,” she muttered with a disgusted shake of her head as she moved into the smoky club. “Do not go getting all stupid because of a ruggedly handsome face.”

  She’d met plenty of ruggedly handsome men in her day—Noah Pierce had been one, and look how that had turned out. She wasn’t dumb enough to get sucked in by looks again. Been there, done that. Men like Russell McClane were not worth the trouble. In her experience, all of them turned out to be assholes.

  She cleared her mind of any lingering stupidity and scanned the dimly lit club as she moved deeper into the establishment. It was like others she’d visited while working homicide—dingy and dark with pulsing lights and heavy music and women of all shapes and sizes in various stages of undress.

  Harper scanned the face of every girl in the club, searching for Melony Strauss, but none fit the girl’s description, not that Harper expected any to. Strauss was either long gone or dead. And at this point, Harper had no idea which.

  Her gaze strayed to the VIP section, but a quick search confirmed what she suspected. McClane wasn’t there. Standing in the shadows at the back of the club, she
zeroed in on the giant bouncer with his arms crossed over his chest in front of a door she’d watched a few dancers disappear through with men from the audience.

  If she was a betting woman—which she wasn’t—she’d put her money on that door leading to where she’d find McClane and the girl he seemed so focused on locating.

  Options flittered through her mind. The bouncer was a problem. The guy was huge, and his stone-cold expression told Harper he didn’t take crap from anyone. Getting past him wouldn’t be easy. She wasn’t a dancer, she didn’t work here, and she had no reason to be behind that door alone. And there was no way she wanted to go back there with anyone else. Which meant the only way she was getting past the bouncer was with a diversion.

  “Shit.” Her gaze scanned the crowd again; the club’s patrons were intently focused on the show in front of them, not on her lurking in the background. The moment she spotted the drunk guy in the corner getting frisky with one of the waitresses, she knew she had her way in.

  A dancer in four-inch platform heels and a skimpy sailor outfit stepped past Harper, heading for the bar. Reaching out, Harper touched the woman’s elbow, drawing her attention.

  She was short—only around Harper’s five foot six, even with the sky-high heels—and so blonde her hair didn’t match her olive skin tone. Her dark eyes settled on Harper, and her expression changed from annoyed to pure business with a crook of her lips and cock of her hips. “Well, hello there, honey. Don’t often get women all alone in here. You lookin’ for a little fun?”

  “Not really. Not unless you count catching my cheating husband fun.”

  A shocked expression crossed the blonde’s face, but Harper ignored it. Tugging a hundred from her pocket, she held it out and added, “Speaking of which. See that guy over there?” She nodded to her left where the guy at the corner table—not far from the bouncer—was playing “grab ass” with the waitress, who wasn’t doing a whole lot to deter him. “That’s my SOB husband. This is yours if you go dump a bucket of ice water over his head and tell him his loving wife hopes he’s having fun.”

  The blonde turned to look at the guy in the corner and snickered. “That prick’s in here three nights a week.”

  Even better. “Is that a problem?”

  The blonde glanced back at Harper and snatched up the hundred. “Not for me. He’s a douchebag. Always trying to get a freebie. You sure you just want ice water? I could have the bartender mix up something that would make his eyes sting for a week.”

  Harper liked this girl more than she probably should. “Sounds even better.”

  The blonde winked and turned on her heel. “Wait here in the shadows where he can’t see you. This is gonna be good.”

  Harper hoped so. Because if it wasn’t she might have to proposition the blonde for a good time just so she could get behind that door.

  A good five minutes ticked by as she waited for the blonde to return from the bar with whatever concoction she’d convinced the bartender to cook up. Five minutes during which she kept checking her watch and glancing toward that door to make sure she didn’t somehow miss McClane coming back out. Then the blonde appeared with a pitcher full of some kind of bubbling brown liquid, winked Harper’s way in the shadows, and wove her way toward the corner table and the unsuspecting schmuck who’d made himself a target.

  Harper knew she should probably feel somewhat guilty for what was about to happen, but knowing the guy was a freeloader helped ease her conscience.

  Her gaze narrowed as the blonde approached the table. The waitress still flirting with the guy looked up. Some kind of words were shared between the two women. The waitress stepped back, clearly frustrated by the interruption, and the guy glared up at the blonde. From Harper’s spot at the back of the club, she couldn’t hear a thing said among the three—especially not over the thumping bass. Then the blonde upended the entire pitcher over the guy’s head. Dripping, he jerked to his feet and lurched back. And the minute whatever was in that concoction hit his mucous membranes, he howled and flipped the table over, covered his eyes with his hands, and started screaming.

  All eyes in the club shot their direction. Even the dancers on stage stopped their gyrating to watch the unfolding scene. The waitress’s eyes were wide with shock, but the blonde only laughed—until, that is, the man blinked uncontrollably, spotted her, and went after her.

  Commotion exploded in the club. Tables and chairs went flying. The blonde screamed and lurched back. And then it happened just as Harper had hoped. The bouncer guarding the door saw what was happening and bolted from his spot to make sure the guy didn’t get his hands on the blonde.

  As amusing as the scene was, Harper didn’t wait around to see it play out. As soon as the door wasn’t guarded, she made a beeline straight for it and slipped into the darkness on the other side.

  The thumping music echoed in the hallway as well, but the flashing lights were gone, this space dark. Heart thundering, Harper followed the hallway as it wove right and left and dropped a set of steps. The music was different down here, a faster beat she didn’t recognize, but the minute she stepped into the lower hallway illuminated by an eerie red light, both sides flanked with doors, she knew what it was attempting to cover up. Grunts and thumps and screams that were the sure signs of sex.

  Her blood warmed. There wasn’t a damn thing sexy about this place. But for some reason she couldn’t stop herself from imagining McClane behind one of those doors. Making those sounds. Covered in sweat. And what his ruggedly masculine features would look like just before he climaxed.

  Something hard smacked the other side of the wall to her right, and the sound was so loud it jolted her out of the fantasy she’d just tripped into. Giving her head a swift shake, she reminded herself these were hookers. And if McClane was behind the walls with one of them, making all that noise, he wasn’t worth fantasizing about. If he was down here at all, he wasn’t worth even thinking about.

  “Good God, pull your head out, Blake, and focus,” she muttered.

  Disgust rolled through her as she reached for the door handle to her right, but she found it locked. Partly relieved but also partly frustrated because a locked door wasn’t going to help her find McClane, she tried the door to her left; it was locked as well. She made her way down the hall, checking one door after another. The only ones that opened led to empty rooms that were just as shabby and depressing as she’d expected. Just as she reached for a door halfway down the hall, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  A male voice echoed from the stairs—two male voices, muttering something about a woman. Heart rate shooting up into the triple digits, Harper twisted the door handle and silently rejoiced when it turned in her hand. The voices from the stairs grew louder, but she slipped into the room before they turned the corner and closed the door softly, flipping the lock in the process, then freezing with her back against the flimsy wood.

  A woman in a skimpy white skirt and lacy bra top sat straight up on the bed and shot Harper a glare. “What the—”

  Harper jerked at the sound of her voice, but one quick look around the small room told her the woman was alone. She lifted her finger to her lips and mouthed, “Shh.” The brunette stilled and glanced toward the wall, where footsteps and voices were already echoing in the hallway.

  Blood pounded in Harper’s ears as she stared at the brunette. She had no idea who the woman was, if she was waiting for one or both of those men, or what she planned to do. The door was thin. If they tried to come in here, they’d be able to knock it down without much effort even if she was leaning against it. Her adrenaline surged. Against her hip, the Glock 26 she’d tucked into the concealed holster grew heavy.

  “Are you sure she came down here?” a male voice asked over the thump of the music.

  “I saw her when Jay went to help Violet with that prick. I swear she’s down here somewhere.”

  “Shit. Start checking rooms, then.”

  Harper’s hand darted for the lock, double-checking it was fli
pped. Her other hand reflexively moved to her hip, just in case, but she didn’t push her leather jacket back—at least not yet. The brunette’s eyes grew wide where she still sat on the bed.

  Shit. You could be home with a glass of wine and a good book, you dipshit. Harper’s heart thumped hard and fast as she turned toward the door, bracing herself for the inevitable. But no, you had to chase McClane down to some seedy strip club where you might get your ass clipped. And for what? Her hand settled over her weapon atop her jacket.

  The door handle rattled. Heart in her throat, Harper stepped back and was just about to pull her piece when the woman on the bed started moaning. Loudly.

  “Oh yes, right there. Don’t stop . . .”

  Harper’s hand froze against her gun, and her head swiveled to the right. The brunette nodded encouragingly but didn’t stop her groaning. “Oh yeah, big boy, you’re making me sooooo hot.” She shuffled to her feet on the mattress and started jumping, causing the springs to squeak and the bed to thump against the wall. “You like it when I do that, don’t you? You like it rough, don’t you? Like that?” She slapped a hand against her bare thigh, making a cracking sound that echoed through the room. “You’re such a naughty boy.”

  The door handle stilled. Harper’s gaze darted back to the door. And from the other side, she heard one of the men say, “Shit, that’s just Destiny.”

  “I thought she wasn’t supposed to be down here tonight.”

  “You wanna go in there and interrupt her? ’Cause I don’t. Let her finish him off, whoever he is. We’ll get our cut when she comes up.”

  Footsteps sounded, but the voices faded as the men moved away. Seconds later there was nothing but the thump of the music out in the hall and the bed squeaking behind her.

  A thunk sounded at Harper’s back. She looked toward the bed to find the brunette—Destiny?—standing behind her with her hands perched on her hips and a curious expression on her face.

  “Someone had a hard-on for you,” Destiny said in a low voice.