"Thank you," he made the effort to tell the waitress, but she was already beelining it toward the kitchen, to put his order in.

Leaving him to sit there, clutching his coffee mug, waiting with his heart in his throat for his wife to come out on that stage and take off her clothes.

He didn't want to think about what this was that he was feeling, this turmoil of adrenaline-laced emotion.

And then he didn't have to think because the music started-the heavy funk beat of "Brickhouse"-nice choice. And there they came-out onto the stage and runways.

He found Eden immediately. She was over to the left, but in the front, next to a blond Amazon, and she deserved to be there-of course, he'd always thought she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.

She was wearing outrageously high f.u.c.k-me heels that sparkled in the stage lights, and a tight skirt that could've been part of a bathing suit, it was so small. It hugged her hips, leaving her stomach and midriff bare, exposing a sculptured mix of muscles and soft female curves and a tattoo that peeked out from the skirt's top, that no doubt covered the scar from the C-section that had saved her life all those months ago. The bottom edge of the skirt barely covered the panties she wore beneath it, and as she turned around, moving in vaguely unison steps with the other dancers as she circled one of the poles, he saw that the skirt intentionally didn't cover her world-cla.s.s derriere. And yeah, as if to ill.u.s.trate, she bent over with her long, shapely legs spread wide in another ch.o.r.eographed b.u.mp-and-grind move, and it was more than clear that the piece of clothing-if you could call it that-she wore beneath that skirt was a thong.

Her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s were covered by a halter top that fastened in the back and around her neck, tied in big loops that would be easy to undo, when the time came.

Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and it gleamed and bounced as she moved her head, as Izzy shifted in his seat to see past the waitress who'd returned with his breakfast.

It was then that the entire group of dancers simultaneously lost the bulk of their clothing.

It was an amazing effect-the lights changed and the music got louder-and Eden instantly shed both the skirt and that top. It happened so fast, if he'd blinked or been distracted by the appearance of his corned-beef hash and eggs, he would've missed it.

She would've just appeared to be suddenly, dazzlingly nearly naked as she wrapped one long leg around that pole and moved to the music as the early-morning crowd woke up and roared their approval.

But because Izzy was watching her closely, he saw how it had happened. The skirt unfastened at her hips, the top opened between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and slipped down her arms. She tossed both costume pieces to one of the waitresses on the floor as the entire group of women broke ch.o.r.eography and went into doing their own thing.

Eden's thing was all about the men who cl.u.s.tered around her runway. She gave them eye contact and plenty of smiles as she ran her hands across her own perfect body-touching where she d.a.m.n well knew that every man in that room wanted to touch. Her neck, her shoulders, her arms. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her stomach, and lower, and then down the smooth insides of her thighs...She watched them, smiling the entire time. But her smile didn't look at all calculating or manipulative. It was somehow inclusive-part very bad girl, absolutely, but also part sweet young thing-eager to please.

And the crowd ate it up.

Izzy exhaled hard as he watched her work, his food growing cold in front of him. She'd always been good at turning the s.e.x up to an eleven whenever anyone male was around. He'd thought it was dangerous, the way she did that, her total you know you want me you know you want me att.i.tude-but she was now clearly making good money from it. att.i.tude-but she was now clearly making good money from it.

It was also clear that there were regulars who'd come specifically to see her. She spoke to them as she danced, bending close to let them slip dollar bills between the strap of her thong and what Izzy knew firsthand to be the smooth softness of her skin. They held the bills out before they reached for her, and he knew they were showing her their denomination. It was clear she didn't accept anything lower than a five or maybe even a ten. Or s.h.i.t. A twenty. Why not, right?

He stood up, his breakfast untouched, and pulled a ten from his wallet and dropped it on the table to pay for his meal.

Izzy didn't have all that much cash left-maybe a hundred twenty dollars, tops-but he took the rest of it out and headed toward the lower floor of the club.

It was stupid. He knew he should just walk away, walk out the door. But he'd come this far. And he finally knew what he wanted to say-what it was that he wanted to ask her.

So he worked his way through the crowd to the edge of the runway where she was defying gravity around that pole. Up close, her skin was even more beautiful, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full and tightly peaked from the relentless air-conditioning. Or maybe the way she was dancing was turning her on.

It sure as s.h.i.t was working for him. Or it would be working, if he weren't close to overwhelmed by a wave of sadness that swept through him.

Was this closure?

G.o.d, he hoped so.

Up close, Izzy saw a whole lot more of that tattoo she'd chosen-a swirl of hearts and roses in an intricate design-to cover the scar left when Pinkie's already deceased little body had been plucked from her, in an effort to keep her from dying, too.

And as he looked up from that scar, past the enticing swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and into that face that he hadn't seen in months-except in his dreams...

Eden glanced down and saw him, too.

Her eyes widened, and she froze. She just stopped dancing as a myriad of emotions flickered across her face. Shock. Disbelief. Horror. She drew her arms up as if to cover her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which was actually kind of funny.

Or would have been, in a different dimension.

"Are you okay?" Izzy asked as he held out the remaining cash he had on him. Somehow the idea of slipping it into her waistband just didn't seem right.

She shook her head, no, and it took him a second to realize that she was doing that in response to the money he was trying to give her, not to his question. "I don't want that," she said, then answered him. "I am. I'm okay."

And there he stood, looking into her eyes as she looked back at him, until she broke first and looked away.

They'd drawn the full attention of every man around her, and some across the room as well. That giant bouncer was pushing his way toward them, no doubt to see if Izzy was causing trouble.

"I really have to..." Eden said.

He set the money down on the runway, near her foot in that fancy shoe. And then, with one last look up at her, into those eyes that haunted his dreams, he said, "I'm glad you're okay, Eed." He forced a smile. "You're pretty freaking great at what you're doing, just...Stay safe."

She nodded, and now there was a different kind of surprised look on her face. It was part confusion, part suspicion, part struggle to comprehend.

"You never did trust me, did you?" Izzy said, then turned and walked away-praying that his still-swelling feeling of sadness and its accompanying urge to weep uncontrollably marked the official end of his healing, and that when he stepped out of the door and into the brilliant sunlight and heat of the Las Vegas morning, he'd finally be free.

Ben headed over to the mall a little before noon, figuring that Neesha would be there.

It was a weekday, and it felt weird not to be in school, but he couldn't risk going-in case Greg showed up, looking for him. Of course, it wasn't as if Ben particularly needed needed a reason to stay away from school. a reason to stay away from school.

He'd brought a sandwich with him to the mall-Eden was a taskmaster when it came to not spending unnecessary money. She was the queen of bag lunches, even though she hadn't taken one herself this morning.

Apparently the club she was going to clean today would have plenty of still-edible leftover food-and there was something definitely not right with the story she'd given him about her second job. She was withholding something. Of course, she'd spoken to Danny last night, and any conversation she had with the brother she referred to as "Captain Perfect" was bound to be fraught with peril and upset.

It was frustrating-the way Dan and Eden couldn't seem to get along anymore. But the Gillman family members weren't known for their ability to talk through disagreements and find common ground despite differences of opinion. And as much as Dan hated their stepfather for his self-righteous insistence that he alone knew G.o.d's plan, Dan seemed to hold the very same intolerance for the mistakes Eden had made during her rocky path through adolescence. And most of the time these days, Eden treated Danny with the same disrespect she delivered to Greg-even though Ben knew that she desperately longed for her older brother's approval and love.

The look on her face, when she'd found out Dan had been injured and possibly dead...Ben also knew that receiving that news had been devastating for her-and not just because it put a crimp in her plan to rescue Ben.

She'd woken him up to tell him that Danny was all right, that his injury hadn't been too severe. And he knew that she'd cried as she'd hugged him, even though she tried to hide it-the way she always did.

At breakfast, she'd told Ben that Dan would be flying in to Las Vegas sometime in the next few days.

Ben had to keep his whereabouts on the down-low until then.

Shouldn't be too hard to do.

Except he was suddenly aware, as he entered a mall filled with screaming babies in strollers, that he was the only teenager in the place. And it occurred to him that-as much food as there was to "throw away" at this toddler-filled time of day-Neesha might make a point never to come to the mall until after regular school hours.

Last thing she needed was to be picked up for being truant.

It was the last thing he he needed, too. Ben turned to leave and nearly walked full force into one of the mall guards. needed, too. Ben turned to leave and nearly walked full force into one of the mall guards.

It was the same guy who'd seen him being ha.s.sled by Tim and his crew yesterday.

"I'm home-schooled," Ben said, but the guard smirked.

"Like I haven't heard that before," the man said. "Let's see what your parents say."

Ben turned again, intending to bolt, but there were suddenly two very large men behind him, blocking his escape.

"This is the kid," the mall guard told them.

One of the men-his eyes hidden behind mirrored sungla.s.ses-flashed a police badge, and Ben's heart sank. Greg had called the cops, and he was so screwed.

But then the other cop-who looked more like a skinhead a.s.sa.s.sin from a Quentin Tarantino movie-pulled a cardboard folder out of his leather jacket's inside pocket and opened it up to reveal...

s.h.i.t, it was a photo of Neesha, crouched next to a dark-colored car. It was slightly blurred and looked like it came from a surveillance camera in some parking lot. But it was definitely her.

"Do you know this girl?" the bald cop asked.

"Not really," Ben said, which wasn't a lie. His heart was pounding, but the truth was, even if they brought him down to the station and waterboarded him, he couldn't couldn't tell them anything that would hurt Neesha, because he honestly had no idea where she was. "I've seen her around. Talked to her a few times. She hangs out here-a lotta kids do." He added a little surfer-dude het to his voice, laughing a little. "She's, um, kind of cute, you know?" tell them anything that would hurt Neesha, because he honestly had no idea where she was. "I've seen her around. Talked to her a few times. She hangs out here-a lotta kids do." He added a little surfer-dude het to his voice, laughing a little. "She's, um, kind of cute, you know?"

And oh, c.r.a.p, he shouldn't have said that, because the body language on the two cops changed. They went from casually inquisitive to fully focused, with Ben as the center of their laser-beam intensity.

"You pay her to have s.e.x with you?" the bald cop asked.

"What?" Ben said, his voice cracking. "Me? No! G.o.d. She's just a kid and I'm not...No."

"You're not in trouble here, son, okay?" the sungla.s.ses-wearing cop asked, speaking up for the first time. "If she made you an offer you couldn't refuse..." He shrugged as if to say, What are you gonna do...? What are you gonna do...?

Ben kept on shaking his head. "She didn't."

"I saw her leaving the mall with you," the mall guard said, his tone accusatory. "Yesterday."

Oh G.o.d.

"Where'd you go with her?" the skinhead asked.

"We just need to know where she took you," the other cop said. "No one needs to know anything about what you did when you got there. That's not what this is about."

"She didn't take me anywhere," Ben lied. "She helped me get home. I'm diabetic. I was having a low-blood-sugar incident and she helped me get the bus and that was it."

"Where's home?" the bald cop asked.

"Not far," Ben evaded. "Usually, I walk, but I was feeling dizzy. She lent me the money for the fare. But like I said, that was it. I got on the bus, we said good-bye, and I went home."

There was silence as the two cops exchanged a look. The cop in sungla.s.ses sighed. "Okay, son, here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell us your name and your address and we're going to take you home. Because we're pretty sure you're not quite being honest with us and we need to see if your mom or dad recognizes our missing girl, because we think you brought her there with you yesterday."

"I don't have a dad," Ben said, stalling because he knew his only option here was to run. To at least try try to get away. to get away.

"Or," the bald cop said, clamping a ham-sized hand around Ben's upper arm to hold him in place, since he was clearly capable of reading minds, "you continue to act like a stupid little s.h.i.t and refuse to give us that simple information, at which point we cuff you and toss you in the back of our car and take you down to the station for questioning. Whereupon you'll be required to show us identification, at which point we'll have your name and address, except it'll take us about four hours to cut through the paperwork and get you home, so you'll spend all that time in a holding cell with all the junkie methhead h.o.m.o perverts, crying for your mommy as they f.u.c.k you in the a.s.s. So why don't you just cut the c.r.a.p?"

"I don't have identification," Ben said defiantly. "I lost my wallet, so good luck with that. Also, I'm not a lawyer, nor do I play one on TV, but I definitely want to see your badges again so I can write down the numbers so I have 'em when I do do find a lawyer, because that sounded like police intimidation to me, as well as rampant h.o.m.ophobia. As a gay American, I resent that." find a lawyer, because that sounded like police intimidation to me, as well as rampant h.o.m.ophobia. As a gay American, I resent that."

"I'm out of here, guys," the mall guard said, scuttling away.

The sungla.s.ses-wearing cop-the good cop-sighed again. "Let's all take a deep breath," he said.

Ben did just that, filling his lungs with air. "Bad touch!" he shouted, pitching his voice as high as he could. "Mommy, the bad man is touching me!"

And every mother's head in that mall whipped around.

The bald cop tried to muscle him out of there, but Ben remembered the self-defense cla.s.s Eden had brought him to, years ago, at a mall much like this one, down in New Orleans. He went limp as he shouted, "This man is not my father! Help me! This man is not not my father!" my father!"

The cop let go of him, and Ben rolled away, scrambling to his feet. He booked it out of there, skidding on the tile floor as he went around the corner toward the nearest entrance.

The bald cop was chasing him, his feet pounding on the tile as he shouted, "Stop, thief! Someone stop that boy!"

But the shoppers with strollers moved out of his way, and Ben hit the door with both hands, pushing it open. The brilliance and heat of the morning exploded around him as he charged out into a courtyard area with benches for smokers and kids waiting to get picked up by their parents.

There was a pull-off for cars, and Ben headed across it, toward the parking lot, which was crowded here by the mall entrance. He launched himself toward the parked cars, hoping he could lose himself among them.

But there was a police car approaching from his left, along the road that ran parallel to the footprint of the mall. It was moving fast, heading toward him. Ben looked behind him, where-s.h.i.t-the bald cop was closing in, while the other cop hovered like a goalie, guarding the entrance back into the mall.

He was screwed.

Still, he ran, right through the shrubs and palm trees.

But the police cruiser antic.i.p.ated his route, and pulled around him, screeching to a halt to block him. "Stop!"

And still, he didn't give up. He went up and over the top of the hood while the uniformed officer scrambled to get out, shouting again, "Stop!"

The police car blocked the bald cop's path, too, but it didn't slow him down much, either.

"Use your Taser!" he was shouting, and Ben glanced back to see them both coming across the hood of the car.

"Freeze!" the uniformed officer shouted.

But Ben didn't stop. He just plunged on across the road and onto a slightly raised area of desert plantings and desiccated mulch, praying that he'd make it to the shelter of the parked cars, before- Something hit him, square in the back, and the pain it delivered was worse than anything he'd ever felt before, and he screamed. But even worse than the pain was the sensation of losing control of the muscles in his legs as he went down onto the dirt.

If he'd been on the pavement, he would've cracked his head open. As it was, he kind of bounced and then settled. Immobile. Numb, but still oddly humming.

He'd been tased.

"Thanks, Paul," he heard the bald man say to the uniformed officer as they both caught their breath.

"Shoplifter?" the cop named Paul asked.

"Nah," the bald man answered, his voice getting louder as he moved closer to Ben and quickly searched him, his hands going into Ben's pockets. "I'm working a missing-person case. A little girl ran away-the parents are really upset. She was spotted here and this kid knows her and...There's mental illness involved. Paranoid delusions. And that's on top of whatever PTSD the kid carries. She was adopted from some war zone and...It's a real mess. s.h.i.t, he's got no ID."

Paul reached down, too, and none too gently cuffed Ben's wrists together before detaching the juice-emitting ends of the Taser from the back of his T-shirt.

Ben still hadn't reclaimed his ability to speak, but he looked up at the cop as indignantly as he could, because, Jesus. Handcuffs?