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  She wanted to turn away from his gaze. There was too much pain there. But he needed to speak and he needed her to listen.

  “I blamed you.” He cleared a catch in his throat. “That was wrong. I was wrong. It was my screw-up. Hell, I can see it now. All of it…so clearly. These last couple months I’ve been doing a lot of remembering and I can point to times when Allie was as little as two years old. She would always—always—charge down the path that would get her what she wanted…everyone else be damned. Maybe if I’d done something then. Maybe…”

  “Stop it, Mort. You raised Robbie, too. Take it from a psychologist. People like Allie are born, not made. She was going to turn out to be who she was independent of who raised her.”

  Mort shook his head. “I have trouble believing that.”

  Lydia leaned forward, almost wanting to touch him. “I could bury you in research papers supporting my position. But with all that reflecting you’ve been doing, a part of you knows I’m right. Allie is who she is.” Just like I am who I am, she thought.

  Mort wiped a hand over his face. “There’s more.” He told her about the recent visit from Archibald Fiddymont, the British barrister whose family had been held hostage until he and Robbie agreed to accept Allie’s money. Lydia heard the shame in his voice. She watched his face twist in disgust as he described his daughter’s latest escapade.

  “Am I supposed to accept my own daughter is evil? I don’t know if I’m able to do that.” He shook his head. “But I am able to see you did everything you could. Lydia, she tried to have you killed, and still you tried to protect her because I asked you to. All I gave you in return was cruelty.” He looked down at his hands, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve had enough of that for ten lifetimes.” Deep regret radiated from his eyes when he looked up. “I don’t have the right to ask, but I’m doing it anyway. Forgive me.”

  A clammy shiver enveloped her. Her mind raced through a montage of pain. An image of her mother abandoning her. A circus rotation through the foster system. Smiling for social workers in order to avoid the beatings that would surely come if she complained. All those dark childhood nights spent on alert, praying to a God who never seemed to listen that the doorknob wouldn’t turn. No one believing her. No one caring. No one ever acknowledging her pain. No one ever apologizing or asking her forgiveness.

  Yet here was Mort. The one man who’d protected her, believed in her, cared for her with no other motivation than his misguided belief she was worthy. The one man she trusted with her life.

  She felt her body warm as she whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

  Mort’s hand moved toward hers. She regretted the instinct that pulled her own back. He returned his hand to his knee. “I’ve missed you, too, Liddy.”

  They sat in awkward silence for a few moments.

  “You’ve got a houseboat on Lake Union free and clear?” Her tone was an attempt to ease the discomfort they both felt. “Just so you know, I’ve reached for the check for the last time.”

  She watched his shoulders relax. A sorry smile came to his lips. “Any time we grab a beer, it’s on me. How’s that?” He paused. “I’ve got two dead girls, you’ve got a missing patient. What d’ya say we partner up and catch some bad guys?”

  Chapter 23

  It took every bit of his concentration to walk. Not to mention the pain. How was he supposed to look like a man in charge hobbling around like this? He looked down at his right leg. A clumsy black boot with Velcro straps held his foot steady. Hardly the companion for the suede loafer he wore on his left.

  He supposed it could be worse. Staz had swung that hammer hard. But X-rays showed only two minor breaks. I’m tougher than that bastard thinks. And a hell of a lot more man than that cunt boss of his has any idea.

  At the emergency room he’d made up a story about dropping an anvil while cleaning out his garage. The doctor and nurses didn’t seem interested. Who even had anvils in their garage these days? Bet if I was a broad they’d be asking all kinds of questions. What really happened? Was I safe at home? He knew the bullshit. But no one had one bit of curiosity about a man like him limping in with a bloodied foot. What Staz did to me was abuse…sure as shit. The only difference between some beat-up bitch and me is I’ll get my revenge. I’ll pick my time, but that silent ape and the woman barking orders from the phone are gonna pay.

  He opened his desk drawer, grabbed a bottle of aspirin, and threw four of them in his mouth. He cursed out loud when he realized his bottle of water was across the room. The pills were beginning to dissolve, filling his mouth with the taste of acrid chalk.

  “Jennifer! Get your ass in here.”

  He heard her hustling down the wooden hall. She opened the door and poked her head in. He hated the way that long black hair always fell into her face. Girls didn’t take pride in their appearance anymore.

  “Get me my water.”

  Jennifer’s attention followed where he pointed. She grabbed the water bottle, crossed the office in three quick steps, and handed it to him. He drained it in rapid gulps.

  “Just one!” he bellowed. “Just one damned thing to go right today. Is that too much to ask?” He didn’t expect the teenager to answer. She had one speed around him: frightened little kitty. That act was getting old. The whole thing was getting old.

  He’d had a sweet operation going. Lots of stupid girls getting themselves in too deep and willing to do whatever he told them to dig themselves out. A nice steady side income that would someday bring in even more cash than his legitimate business did. But he’d made the mistake of chasing an even bigger score and now she was in charge. He’d never make that mistake again.

  Then some Hollywood asshole came looking for a bit of nasty to film. Things got out of hand and one of his best workers ended up dead. And another one when, like an idiot, he believed the guy when he said safety precautions were now in place. Another mistake to put on his no-repeat list.

  So here he was. Off-the-books cash reserves depleted, some bitch’s voice over the phone telling him how to run his business, and his foot in a damned rehab boot.

  To frost that cake of bad luck, the cops were coming by asking questions.

  “You need anything else, Boss Man?”

  He’d forgotten the frightened kitty in the corner. What was he supposed to do with her? She wasn’t old enough to make any real money for him. Kiddie shit brought the feds in, and he was smart enough to steer clear of that mess. But she had a debt to pay. Sure, it was her old man’s bill, but what good was a one-armed, legally blind man to him? Maybe he should feel bad about keeping Jennifer around, doing his grunt work. He pushed the thought out of his mind. What kind of father offers his own daughter up to work off his balance? It’s his problem, not mine.

  “She here?” he asked.

  Jennifer nodded and her hair fell back over her face. “Waiting. I got her in the back like you said.”

  He inhaled loud and slow. “Anybody else around?”

  The long black head of hair shook. “Everybody’s working.”

  “Bring her in. And get a barrette or something, will ya? You look like Cousin Itt.”

  Jennifer scurried out of the office. He bent down and loosened the straps on his boot. The foot was throbbing like crazy. He hoped it was a sign it was getting better. He had to make an appearance at his legit office.

  And he’d need to be in shape for what he had planned for Staz and his bossy bitch.

  His office door opened and Delbe Jensen walked in. He liked her red hair. Men paid more for a ginger.

  “Grab a seat,” he said.

  Delbe glared at him with hatred in her eyes. He was used to that. A few weeks at work and she’d settle down. Especially if he gave her the right assignments.

  “I said sit down.”

  She crossed the room and plopped herself in the chair across from his desk.

  “Lift your blouse.”

  “What the hell for?” Delbe’s tone was less respectful than he liked fr
om his girls. Normally a good backhand across the face was enough to correct the tone, but he’d have to get up and his foot had finally stopped aching. Instead, he leveled his sternest glare.

  “They call me Boss Man around here. Reason’s pretty simple. I do the ordering and you do the obeying. Now lift your blouse.”

  Boss Man held her in an old-fashioned stare-down. This one had spunk, he’d give her that. There might be a customer or two who liked that kind of fire. But what he preferred was a docile sheep.

  Delbe was the first to blink. She started to unbutton her blouse.

  “I said lift your blouse. I want to see your ink. Save the peep show for the paying customers.”

  She pulled her blouse up to reveal her left flank. There, on the soft flesh just below her rib cage, was the tattoo his new boss required of all the girls. A double-headed eagle the size of a silver dollar encircled by a thick red border. He didn’t mind the new boss lady’s idea of branding the merchandise. He just hated the design. But for now, it was her show.

  “Looks a little red. You keeping it clean?”

  Delbe said nothing.

  “When Boss Man speaks, you listen. When Boss Man asks a question, you answer. Are you keeping it clean?”

  “Ask that filthy creep you sold me to last night. Dirty enough to infect any six women.”

  He hated this part of the process. The part where they paid attention to who the customer was. It wouldn’t take long before Delbe found a way to block the customer out of her mind. They all did. Once he got them to that point, he could send them wherever with whoever and they’d do whatever they were told.

  It was a process.

  “Jennifer!”

  Another scurried shuffle brought the teenager back into his office. “Grab some cleaning supplies. Especially the scouring powder.” He smiled toward Delbe. “And the strongest scrub brush we got.”

  Jennifer turned in alarm toward Delbe.

  “Now, Jennifer. I don’t have all damned day.”

  The teenager returned less than minute later with a small bucket holding a can of Comet and a large, stiff-bristled brush.

  “Grab a bottle of water and get over here,” Boss Man commanded. “That tat’s expensive. We can’t have her calling in sick with an infection. Gotta keep her shiny and bright for the customers.” He chuckled. “Everybody likes that fresh-from-the-factory finish.”

  Jennifer set the cleaning items on his desk.

  “I pay you to keep things clean around here, don’t I?” He nodded toward Delbe. “Go scrub that filthy pig.”

  Jennifer alternated her terrified gaze between the scrub bucket and Delbe.

  “Get me some alcohol wipes,” Delbe said. “I’ll clean it myself.”

  He slammed his hand hard on his desk and roared. “When Boss Man gives an order, he’s not looking for suggestions. Now get to scrubbing, Jennifer.”

  Delbe jumped up and turned toward the door. Despite the stab of pain in his foot, Boss Man impressed himself with his own speed. He caught her by that red hair and tightened his fist, pulling her closer to him. He dragged her back and threw her into her chair. Each flail of her arms or legs made him slam her head back harder. He wanted to punch her in the face, but she’d be out of commission for at least a week while the bruises healed, and his cash flow couldn’t sustain the lost revenue. He kept his right hand tight in her hair and used his left arm to pin her to the seat.

  “Get over here, Jennifer. Now.”

  Jennifer inched her way closer. She locked eyes with Delbe, her gaze begging forgiveness.

  “Don’t pay attention to her. Do as I tell you. Now open that bottle of water. Lift up her shirt there. Splash some on the tattoo.” He pulled harder on Delbe’s hair. “We’re gonna get you all cleaned up.”

  Jennifer opened the bottle and, still with pleading eyes, poured a little water on Delbe’s belly. Delbe flinched as the cold liquid spread across her midsection. Boss Man pinned her tighter.

  “Now sprinkle that Comet. Make sure you get a nice thick blanket over that tat. We don’t want any bad little germies hurting our girl, now, do we?”

  Jennifer’s hands shook as she complied.

  “More! Make it like a paste.”

  Jennifer did as she was directed. It wouldn’t be long until Delbe was as compliant as this frightened little kitty.

  “Now scrub. Hard.”

  Jennifer hesitated while Delbe swore like a sailor drunk at the Peg Leg Saloon. Boss Man freed his right hand from her hair and locked it around her throat. “One more peep and I’ll crush the life out of you. Right here. Right now. Jennifer knows I can do that, don’t you, girl?”

  Jennifer kept her wide eyes on Delbe and gave a slow nod.

  “Now scrub, damn it!”

  Jennifer put the brush to Delbe’s skin. He felt Delbe recoil, but could see Jennifer was holding back. “Harder! Like you’re scrubbing a toilet.” He leaned in close to Delbe’s ear. “That’s what you are, aren’t you? Nothing but a fucking toilet. And you have to be sparkly clean for the next guy to use.”

  He felt Delbe struggle to breathe against his hand. Her body writhed in protest, but he settled her with a tighter grip on her neck.

  “Harder. Get my toilet clean.”

  Jennifer was crying now, and Delbe’s tears were flowing over his hand. He heard the spiteful woman choking and saw the blue tinge on her lips.

  “That’s enough. Rinse her off.”

  Jennifer dropped the scrub brush like it was on fire. She grabbed the bottle of water and flooded Delbe’s belly, using her free hand to brush away the slurry of cleanser, blood, and water. When the bottle was empty, she looked up at him. He sensed her request for more water.

  “Go ahead. One more.”

  Jennifer hurried to grab another bottle while he held Delbe in place. She wasn’t fighting anymore. He hoped this exercise had hurried her training process along. He relaxed his hold on her throat. Delbe gasped for air but didn’t make a move to escape. Jennifer was back and poured water until Delbe’s flesh was clear. He stepped back, released his hold, and returned to the chair behind his desk.

  His foot was hurting like a son of a bitch. And it was her fault.

  “Go on, Jennifer. Take this shit and put it back in the cleaning closet. Then come back and escort this whore back to her room.”

  He waited until the teenager had bundled the brush, cleanser, and empty water bottles back into the bucket and left the room before he spoke to the quietly weeping woman slouched in the chair.

  “You brought this on yourself. I don’t like taking a firm hand, but I won’t step away from it if you make me use it. Understand?”

  Delbe hung her head.

  “I asked if you’re clear on who’s the boss around here.”

  She raised her head and leveled eyes filled with hatred. “You bet, Boss Man. I’m clear on that.”

  If his foot wasn’t throbbing, he’d have knocked her across the room. This one was going to be trouble.

  But he’d handled worse.

  Chapter 24

  Mort’s neck muscles tightened when he turned down the hall at 6:45 A.M. and found Schuster leaning against the wall outside his office. From the look on the Vice Squad chief’s face, he wasn’t there to deliver happy news. Mort nodded good morning, balanced his coffee cup and briefcase, and unlocked his office door.

  “I only got the one cup.” Mort clicked on the lights, tossed his case next to his chair, and switched on his computer. “You want me to see if Daphne can scare you up something drinkable?”

  Schuster took the seat across from Mort’s desk. “I’ve been up since four. I’ve filled my caffeine quota for the day. Check your departmental mail.”

  Mort logged on and clicked the icon to his email account. His password was still his and Edie’s initials followed by the date of their wedding. The guys in IT had long since given up trying to force him to comply with departmental policy to change it every ninety days. He scrolled past messages from the ch
ief, the budget office, two reporters, and the head of the training academy to find the one from Schuster.

  “There’s an attachment.”

  “Open it,” Schuster said. “Sit down first.”

  A knock on Mort’s open office door pulled his attention.

  “This a private party or can any public servant join in?” Jimmy DeVilla didn’t wait for an answer. Bruiser trotted into the office behind him. Jim tossed a waxed pastry bag on Mort’s desk and turned to Schuster. “Lucky for you it’s buy-one-get-one Friday down at Jeanine’s. I got glazed and jelly. You’re welcome to one.”

  Mort was glad to see Jimmy being cordial to the vice cop, but wondered if his civility would hold once Micki was in the room.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Schuster said. “Your whole team might want to see this, Mort.”

  “See what?” Jim asked. “And speaking of team, where’s Detective Petty this drizzly June morning?”

  Bruiser’s wagging tail gave Jimmy his answer. Micki walked in and Mort took a moment to enjoy the show. Three males, two human and one canine, turned toward her in unison. Micki was oblivious, as she always was, to the way she brightened a room. She wore her hair pulled into a ponytail high on her head and had a way of making her simple navy blazer and gray trousers demand more attention than a wedding gown. Her eyes were alert and her movements sharp. She raised her coffee mug in greeting to Mort, then scratched behind Bruiser’s ears and shook the paw he offered. Schuster and Jim seemed satisfied with their lower ranking on her totem pole.

  “It’s not even seven o’clock,” she said. “Did I miss a memo?”

  “Vice was here when I dropped by,” Jimmy said. “Something about something we should all see.”

  Micki turned toward Schuster. “You find out who’s behind Crystal’s snuff film?”

  “You find out anything on the film crews?”

  “We’re making progress,” she said. “Six crews were in town, but two left before Crystal was killed. Of the four remaining, we’re looking at two major studios and two indies. I’ve been in contact with each. One indie had its entire production staff up in Vancouver shooting exteriors. I verified that with the locals, so we can eliminate them. The other is ‘indie’ with a capital ‘I.’ Couple of college kids filming a short backed by their parents’ credit cards, starring friends and relatives. They have one handheld camera. Couldn’t wait to show me their dailies. No way these guys are capable of shooting the kind of quality we saw in Crystal’s film. I’m crossing them off my list.”