Authors: Esther M. Soto
He refused to talk for days. I didn’t leave him alone the entire time he remained on leave. I’ve never been so afraid to lose anyone. I even slept on his couch at night and made sure we stayed active during the day by dragging him up to the rooftop balcony of his apartment building to watch the ball games. Made him watch
Buffy
while we binged on pizza and ice cream, and even suffered through those weird
Resident Evil
movies that he likes so much just to cheer him up.
“You know, he’s lucky to have you,” Chris says, voice laced with sadness, breaking me away from my thoughts.
No one has ever said that to me. I’ve always thought it was the other way around. I’m the lucky one to have him. I have no idea what I would do—or who I would be—if I didn’t have Tommy. Before I can say anything, Christina claps her hands together, and cheers, “Okay! Let’s do something about that hair!”
قلب
After arguing back and forth, I insist on doing my own hair. I pile it up high on my head in a messy bun. Retrieving a pair of silver hoop earrings from my jewelry box, I switch out the conservative stud earrings I usually wear. Chris is still chastising me about pulling my curls up, and as I try to pry her hands off my head, I hear my front door open.
“Honey, I’m home!” Tommy yells from the entryway. “Are you presentable? I’m coming in!” He comes down the hall, one hand mockingly covering his eyes, while waving his other hand in front of him. Chris chuckles when she sees him. She grabs her stuff and heads out.
“Hey, Tommy,” she chimes, and I can hear a smile in her voice. She’s always liked Tommy, from the second she met him at the hospital.
“Chris, a pleasure as always.” Ever the charmer, he reaches for her hand and kisses her palm as if she were royalty. She giggles at the gesture and Tommy offers to help her carry her stuff down, but she declines.
“Good luck, you guys, I’m out. Call me later, Ileana!” she yells just before the front door closes.
“I’m ready, let’s go.” I grab my Ruger LC9 instead of my Glock, since I don’t want to take a purse. I strap the LC9 to my thigh and grab my badge, cell phone, and some cash. “Here, put this stuff in your jacket pockets.”
Tommy doesn’t respond. I look up to find him staring, frozen in my bedroom doorway, eyes fixated on my dress.
“What? Is there something on my dress?” I check myself over, trying to find what Tommy is looking at. Shit, I don't want to have to change again. I have nothing else to wear at this point that won’t make me look like a freak.
“What? No, it’s just…you clean up nice, Harper.” Tommy shakes his head, seeming genuinely surprised. I don’t usually wear dresses, he looks like he’s…is he blushing?
“Okay, we’ve got to do something about your hair, though.”
Not him too!
“What? My hair is fine!” I complain, sulking as he drags me in front of the mirror. Standing behind me, he takes all the hairpins out, and my soft brown curls cascade down my shoulders. He fusses and fluffs my hair then tells me to shake my head side to side, swing it down and up, until my neck hurts.
“Enough!”
“Done.” He places his hands on my shoulders and surveys his work.
“I look like I stuck my head out of a moving car.” I scowl.
“No, you look...nice.” His voice lowers at the end and our eyes meet in the mirror. Something shifts inside me, my heart speeds up, and I can’t look away.
What in the hell
? Before I can make sense of it, he yells, “Let’s go!” and exits my room like it’s on fire.
On our way to the club tonight, we talk about what we should keep an eye out for, and come up with a plan of action. Since we don’t really have any tangible leads, we have to proceed with caution. This perp doesn’t seem to have a physical type for the victims. All were average height, between five two and five six, which applies to four out of five women—including me. Circumstantial evidence won’t be sufficient. We’ll need enough proof to obtain a warrant for a DNA sample, and then we got him.
We finally arrive at
The Mudd
, which appears to be at an abandoned warehouse. There’s a line around the block waiting to get in. This is ridiculous. How can people do this?
“How are we gonna get in?” I ask Tommy while trying to cover my chest. Men keep glancing down at it, including Tommy. Even in the car on the way here, every time he turned to talk to me, his eyes would travel south. It’s like a tick he can’t control.
I can’t help but feel self-conscious. I’m not one to call attention to myself, especially from the opposite sex. According to Sophia Harper, that was the reason behind the ‘incident’ that got me kicked out of the house. I understand to a point why my mother kicked me out. She had hit the jackpot with that one. She had more money than she knew what to do with. So the guy liked to creep around her daughter, maybe she thought that was a small price to pay. I did what I could to stay out of his way. But it wasn’t enough.
I know my mother was wrong, but a small part—a very small part of me—still believes what she said about me. No amount of negative self-image fed to us by the media can harm us as much as the rejection suffered from those meant to love us unconditionally, above all else.
“What are you doing?” Tommy eyes my arms crossed over my chest.
“My boobs are spilling out,” I hiss between my teeth, mad it’s too late to change clothes.
“That’s a good thing, Harper. We’re going fishing and we need bait, remember?” He waits as I hesitantly move my arms down. My teeth are chattering; I’m sure it’s because the night is crisp and cold, but this dress makes me feel exposed. Not a good combo.
“Why do
I
have to be bait? I
always
have to be bait, why are
you
not the bait?”
“Because most pervs are dudes, Harper, so next time we find a chick perv,
I’ll
be bait. Now come on,” he urges, and I know I have no choice but comply.
“Fine,” I spit out. I’m not happy. I don’t like unwanted attention, and boobs are a magnet for unwanted attention, especially in a place like this. Sensing my apprehension, Tommy takes charge.
“Never fear, Harper. Come with me if you want to live,” he says, doing his lame imitation of Schwarzenegger.
Lame or not, I let out a laugh. He yanks my hand, guiding me around the warehouse past the long line of club goers, down an alley, and stopping us in front of a metal door at the side of the building. Tommy pounds on it three times, and just like saying ‘open sesame,’ the heavy door opens to reveal a massive guy wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. He’s definitely ex-military.
“Hey, Marcus.”
“Colton, what’s up?”
Tommy uses his magic once again, and Marcus waves us in, sizing me up as we enter.
“Who is this?” he says, taking a long look up and down my body, eyeing me as if I’m dessert. Before I can speak up, Tommy responds.
“This is Harper, and we’re working.” They exchange a weird look, and as if reaching an understanding, Marcus stops ogling me.
We head away from the entrance down a corridor, the walls vibrating with bass, announcing the music long before we enter the actual club area. Purple and pink bulbs dimly illuminate the dark hallway, and I can see the glowing outline of a door. Tommy opens it once we reach the end of the hall, and we are suddenly inside the club. The vibrating turns into pounding and the beat of the music surrounds us. It’s chaos. We've landed in front of the DJ booth. Tommy’s mouth moves, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I can’t hear footsteps, conversation—hell, I can’t hear myself think. I look up at the DJ platform and find the source of the pounding. Floor to wall speakers frame the platform. The combination of the thumping music and the bright orange, blue, purple, and red lights invades my senses. I squeeze Tommy’s hand and he leans close enough to put his mouth on my ear.
Even though he’s shouting, I can barely hear him. “Let’s head to the bar and get you a drink.”
I mimic his move and lean into him. “We’re on duty!”
He puts his hand around my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel his breath next to my ear as he yells, “You need to relax. You’re still acting like a cop!”
He’s right. I need a drink, so I let him lead me to one of the bars.
قلب
There are two long metal bars lining each side of the club. Neon lights frame each from end to end. Both bars are busting at the seams with people shouting drink orders at the bartenders. There are about five bartenders at each bar, all dressed sleekly in tight black clothes. The place gives me vertigo. There are strobe lights and spotlights pointing at the four crystal balls hanging from the ceiling, spinning and reflecting thousands of lights everywhere. Even though the place is crowded, it has good visibility. There’s a constant source of light, making facial recognition possible. The pounding of the music is now in the background and not as brain splitting, for which I’m grateful. Tommy approaches the bar and within minutes, a young blonde with a ponytail is grinning at him. She’s wearing a tight, black demi-top with a plunging neckline.
“Hey, handsome, what can I get you?” she asks Tommy as she leans across the bar, giving him a good look at her ‘assets,’ as my mother would say.
“Two shots, Fireballs.” He winks at the pretty bartender. She doesn’t even look my way and continues to flirt with Tommy as if I’m not even there. Tommy pulls me to his side, encouraging me to grab my drink. We move to stand at the edge of the bar, looking around, and waiting.
After one shot, I’m a bit more relaxed yet keeping an eye on what’s going on around me. We move to a quieter spot away from the bar, scanning the crowd. Everyone looks the same to me. Well-groomed men are wearing slick, sharp suits, and women are wearing tight dresses and high heels. It’s like we’re on the set of one of those high-end booze commercials where everyone is young and beautiful and apparently having the time of their lives.
That’s when I see him.
The second my eyes land on him, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. Instinctively, I rub the spot with my hand.
This guy is standing at the other end of the bar. He’s tall and pretty much the only one not in a suit. Instead, he’s wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with a bow tie and sweater vest, and pleated slacks. Those clothes are more for a different scene, but they don’t take away from his boyishly handsome looks. His hair is slicked back, and his smile—there’s something off about it. It doesn’t reach his eyes; there’s something dark behind it. He’s talking to two women, and they both seem really into him.
“What is it?” Tommy asks.
“Check out the professor at your nine o’clock,” I remark casually.
Tommy glances over. “How did he get in here in that getup?”
“I have a clue.” I grin, because, damn, the guy is very good looking in an innocent, boy-next-door kinda way. There’s a certain appeal to him, somewhat different, fresh. Even I can sense there’s something about him. It’s there, at the edge of my brain, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Maybe he got in with some of those women or bribed the bouncer. You think that’s an act, or is he for real?” I ask Tommy.
“Hell if I know, one way to find out. Harper, you need to get out there and—”
Just then, a deep male voice next to my ear cuts him off. “Hi, can I buy you a drink?”
I turn to check out the source. He’s a slightly younger version of Tommy: clean-cut, breathtakingly sexy smile. He’s a handsome guy. His short, auburn hair grazes his neck and his light blue eyes change color as the lights flicker. This place is swarming with long-legged, half dressed women. He must think I’m a sure thing if he’s offering
me
a drink when there are way hotter women around.
Before I lose my nerve, I smile his way and try to act coy. “I have a drink, but I would love to dance.”
This is my chance to change positions and scan the other side of the club while getting closer to bow-tie guy. This is the hottest club right now, and it’s packed tight. In addition to the bars and private booths, the live DJ takes up the entire back wall. He is perched up high, with an eagle view of the dance floor, centered in the middle of four record spinners and numerous levels and buttons to control the music. In front of the DJ, there’s an open space for dancing. People are gathering right by the booth, jumping up and down to the beat, while others are dancing on the opposite side of the dance floor.
If we’re not careful, we’re going to lose this guy, or we could easily miss something else going on.
“You got it,” Young Player says.
Placing his hand low on my back, almost to my ass, he leads me to the opposite side of the dance floor, away from the DJ. If that hand goes any lower, he’s going to lose it. How can these people do this every single weekend? We’ve been in this club for less than an hour, and I already have a huge headache. And the icing on the cake? I get to dance to Britney Spears. Super.
As we reach the dance floor, I glance over at Tommy and he’s grinning in amusement. He knows this is so far out of my comfort zone. This is his world, not mine. He remains in the bar and women immediately start coming up to him, flirting. It must be killing him to have to turn down so much tail.
Young Player still has his hands on me, so I try to be diplomatic and begin to dance away from him, still smiling. As I back up, he moves forward. I turn around so I don’t have to look at him and scan the club, specifically the bar area. My target is not there. He’s moved away from the two women and is currently at the corner of the bar, talking to one girl. He’s playing shy, keeping his hands in his pockets and an innocent expression on his face, smiling coyly at the woman. I look at Tommy, and he’s also watching him.
Tommy doesn’t stand by the bar too long. Two leggy blondes walk up to him, acting very friendly. Tommy’s signature smile instantly makes an appearance, and within minutes, he’s making his way toward the dance floor with the two blondes. Before long, Tommy is dancing to the music, sandwiched between his new friends, clearly enjoying himself while we both keep an eye on our suspect, hoping our instincts aren’t wrong.
The next song starts playing, something about ‘dancing in the dark’ and, as if on cue, the lights dim and pulse to the music. I can see why this place is so popular. There’s nothing like disappearing into an alter ego. The dark combined with the throbbing lights, loud bass music, and alcohol, creates the perfect atmosphere to connect with someone, even if it is just for the night. Unfortunately, for people like me, there is no escape. The next day will come, and with it, the light that shines on the consequences that one night of escape brings. Just then, I realize how this is the perfect environment for a predator hunting for easy prey.
I’m still scanning the bars when I feel Young Player grinding against my ass. I turn to face him and shoot him a look, which does nothing to discourage him. He probably thinks I’m playing hard to get. He grins and leans down to talk into my ear. “What’s your name?” He stares openly at my chest. What a creep.
“Suzie. What’s yours?” No way in hell am I giving this guy my real name.
“John.” He smiles as he reaches for my hips and tries to pull me to him.
I spot Tommy heading my way, his two new friends in tow, their hands all over him. I must admit, he seems right in his element. He is wearing a perfectly tailored black Armani suit, black dress shoes, and a crisp white shirt with just the right amount of buttons undone, collar open to show the hollow of his throat. The pulsing lights bring out the gold specs in his eyes. Silver cufflinks peeking out on his sleeves complete his ensemble. He looks like one of those guys from an expensive cologne ad: hair slightly slicked back in a formal style, stunning green eyes, and a mischievous smile showing his straight white teeth. A shadow of beard stubble frames his perfectly chiseled jaw and chin. He can have any woman in this club he wants. I feel like a charity case just walking in here with him.
Still dancing, Tommy and his new friends casually approach me and ‘John.’ Without missing a beat, he moves in next to me, then leans forward and says something into John's ear. John tenses up and lets go of my hips, reluctantly releasing me to Tommy. In turn, Tommy hands his two blondes over to my dance partner. Confused and disappointed, both women glare at me as Tommy takes my hand and leads me away from them while we dance. I can always count on my partner to have my back.
Tommy does not stop. He continues to dance effortlessly. He’s a natural. He’s always so good at this. Blending in, living in the moment, and never looking back. All the things I’m incapable of doing. I inevitably end up saying the wrong thing, sticking out, and looking two steps ahead. One of the drawbacks of being a planner or, as Tommy calls it, a control freak.
A new song starts and the lights dim again, and I’m ready to leave the dance floor, but Tommy pulls me back in, yelling against my ear.