"No."

"When she had been home six months prior, what did she talk to you about?

"She wouldn't. She stayed in her room, hating both her father and me. Said s he would rather live in the streets than in either of our homes. She hated m e for divorcing her dad and hated him for leaving us for his sleazy secretar y."

"Kay?"

"Yes, he lives with her now."

"Shana never discussed what she did for survival? Never mentioned a pimp?

" "Heavens no! We didn't discuss her life on the streets at all. I didn't want to hear how she spread-oh, G.o.d! What's happened to my life?" she wailed.

Cole paused, giving Marge time to compose herself. "Did Shana have a pro blem with drugs?"

Marge narrowed her gaze. "No. "

"Had she been abused in any way? "

"No! " she said with conviction. "Why would you even ask?"

"Two of the major causes for teenage girls to prost.i.tute themselves is either drug usage or being abused in the home. I'm trying to establish a reason for Shana doing so. "

"You can rule them both out. We gave our daughter a good home. At least we tried to."

"What about the ring, Marge? Is there any possibility she might have p.a.w.ne d it to get money?"

"No! She loved her grandmother dearly."

"But she also needed money to survive-"

"No! Shana would not have p.a.w.ned her ring. She would have sold herself..."

Her vacant gaze returned to the one-way gla.s.s as her thoughts likely drifte d off.

"Look, we'll end the interview for now. I'll have someone drive you home. I f you hear from your ex-husband before we do, please call us. I'd like to q uestion him."

"He won't want to talk to you. He'll blame everything on me."

"Don't worry, Marge. We'll take care of Nicholas Darby. Thank you for ans wering my questions. I'll send someone in to see you home."

As Cole headed for the door, Mrs. Darby called out to him. "Cole, do you h ave any children?"

He took a deep breath, then answered, "No, Marge, I don't."

"You've never been married?"

"Once," he paused, thinking of a time that felt like an eternity past. "A long time ago."

He grasped the doork.n.o.b and exited the room, leaning against the door's cool , metal surface. He shut his eyes and let out a slow sigh.

" Lieutenant Kincaid!"

Cole's eyes snapped open as he stared at the approaching man. It was the same officer who had alerted him earlier to the fact they had identified the vict im. The blood in his veins ceased to flow. His breath stayed lodged in his th roat. Gooseflesh popped to the surface, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Another call came in, Lieutenant. They've found another body."

Chapter 4.

A mirrored ball sent diamonds of light circling the room as spotlights of r ed, blue, green, and yellow shot through the cigarette smoke of the dark cl ub. Battered Formica tables and red-padded wooden chairs were scattered hap hazardly as people sat about, drinking, waiting for the night's attraction to appear on stage. Two televisions were mounted behind the bar, playing re runs of NYPD Blue . A DJ in a booth off the balcony spun CDs from the ninet ies as a large neon green clock slowly ticked time away.

Cole had driven into Cleveland, only to wind up at a nightclub called the Agora. He had not forgotten the day's events; he just wanted to dull the m emory of it. Twenty hours and no sleep had a tendency to numb anyone's sen ses. His eyelids were heavy, his breathing labored. But his mind was far f rom tired; it was keyed up and sleep would not have come easily had he cho sen to go home.

Two bodies in twenty-four hours. The same amount of murders within Fairvie w Park's limits in the last thirty-five years. Cole shook his head, then t ossed back the remaining Jack Daniels from his gla.s.s. He slammed the empty container back on the bar.

A slender female refilled his drink. She wore short cutoff jeans, her rear en d hanging out, and a cropped white tee with the word Agora printed in bold bl ack letters stretching attractively over her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Cole reached into his pocket and threw a few bills on the polished surface.

Tolling bells filled the room as the band took the stage and began their firs t set. A tall thin man, head bent with hair hanging over his face, began the guitar riff, sending the crowd into cheers as many held their fists up, bobbi ng their heads in time with the music. Metallica's "For Whom the Bell Tolls"

rocked the club, bringing the patrons to their feet.

A large man with straight, waist-length hair made his way to center stage.

He grasped the microphone in a hand painted with black fingernails, swaying back and forth in time with the beat. When the drums picked up, he, too, b egan bobbing his head, sending his black hair flying.

Raking a hand through the strands, Damien Vincent tilted back his head, cu rled his lips, and growled the beginning lines into the microphone. His vo ice, deep and husky, matched that of James Hetfield. Cole had seen his roo mmate, Damien, play many times before; Cole was a big fan of heavy metal m usic.

Cole had met Damien in a club similar to this, introduced by a mutual frien d. Damien needed a place to stay-only temporarily, he had said. Two years later, they still shared the same apartment. The arrangement had been perfec t. They split the bills fifty-fifty. While Cole worked eight to four, Damie n slept. And while Cole was home, Damien worked the clubs. They rarely ran into one another.

Tonight he had come to the Agora to forget. Tomorrow would be soon enough t o contend with the mess he had left at the station. After going to the scen e of the second murder, Cole confirmed it was the work of the same perp. Th e MO and the signature matched, though the second body had been dead for se veral weeks. The victim, covered like the first, a white female, also appea red to have been a prost.i.tute. The throat had been slit, but the body was t oo far decomposed to tell if bite marks had surrounded the wound. No driver s license, no ID. Either the perp had taken it or she hadn't carried any.

Someone had phoned the police station complaining about a foul smell near Coe Ditch around the Bain Park area. The officers on duty had followed up on the call and found the second murder victim.

After securing the scene, Cole had collected what little evidence could be found, and returned to the station to give his press release. He told the m edia very little-only that two bodies had been found near Coe Ditch. Both v ictims had been prost.i.tutes and were more than likely murdered somewhere ot her than Fairview Park; it was unfortunate luck that the city was being use d as a dumping ground. Cole a.s.sured them there was no reason for citizens t o be alarmed.

A face wearing an expression of disappointment flashed through his mind. La urie Michaels had looked at him at the end of the conference in shock. "Tha t's it?" she squeaked at him, again.

Cole chuckled at how she persistently followed him all over to get her story, even out to the second site, only to be told little more than she had after the first victim was found. She had been angry. h.e.l.l, she had been furious.

"Detective." The voice now sure to haunt his dream-filled nights brought h im from his musings, as if the mere thought of her had conjured her up.

Cole spun around on his bar stool, coming eye to eye with the same woman who had been hounding him non-stop all day. A sly grin turned up the side of his mouth. "I do believe you're following me, Miss Michaels."

"Guilty as charged." Laurie laughed, her cheeks turning a flattering red. She ran the tip of her shoe across the worn floorboards as she looked at the gro und. "I guess I have been a little annoying today."

"A little?" Cole raised a brow in challenge. "More like d.a.m.ned persistent."

She brought her gaze from the floor and boldly met his. Mistake. He liked her eyes a little too much. He liked all of her a little too much.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

Cole grasped his short gla.s.s from the bar, took a deep pull, then leveled his gaze on her. "Nope."

She looked hurt, but what the h.e.l.l did he care. Laurie walked around him, sat on the stool to his right, and gave her attention to the bartender. "I'll have a gin and tonic."

Cole turned and pulled out more money from his pocket. "I'll have another Jac k and take the lady's drink out of this." He slid a ten across the surface of the bar.

Laurie tapped cinnamon-painted nails that perfectly matched that of her lip s, on the smooth surface. "Why, thank you, Detective."

"Call me Cole. I'm off duty."

"Then we can talk?"

"Not if it has anything to do with two dead prost.i.tutes. I'd rather forget ab out work tonight, if you don't mind. Besides, I don't want anything I say on tomorrow's front page."

The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. Cole drank the fiery liqu id, feeling the answering warmth all the way to his toes. Laurie wrapped her slender fingers around her gla.s.s, staring into the depths of the clear gin an d tonic. She ran the lime slice around the rim before squeezing the remaining juice into the liquor then dropped the rind into the gla.s.s, sinking it with her straw.

Laurie turned her head to the side, gazing back at him, smiling warmly. She tucked one side of her shoulder length hair behind her ear. She dipped one f inger into the gin, then stuck the tip into her mouth and sucked off the liq uid. Cole's groin tightened at the innocent gesture, though he doubted she k new the effect it had on him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Anythi ng you say is off the record."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I'm here because you're an interesting person, Cole. I want to know more a bout you."

His grin widened as he chuckled. "There isn't much to know."

"Oh, but I think there is a lot that lies beneath your surface."

"And do you intend to...to probe my surface?"

"I'm a reporter. It's my job to probe. Although, as I said, anything you say is strictly off the record."

His gaze traveled to the TV. He ran a hand over his whiskered jaw. He woul d have to shave before going to work tomorrow or John might give him the o l' "professional look" speech again. He returned his gaze to Laurie. "But if you don't mind, tonight I would prefer not to think about those two wom en and the twisted individual who slaughtered them."

She laid a small warm hand atop his, adding to the ache already plaguing his groin. "You have my promise. I won't ask you anything about today. I'm tire d, too, and could use a little shut-eye." "This isn't exactly a hotel room."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"For someone who wants to get some rest, this isn't the place to be. It doesn'

t really look like your kind of entertainment."

"What makes you say that?"

"Is it?"

Her smile returned as she toyed with the napkin beneath her gla.s.s. "No, not r eally."

"So what do you listen to, Laurie?"

The use of her first name brought her gaze to his. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Finally, she broke contact and glanced at the TV then ba ck to him, shrugging. "I don't know, Hootie and the Blowfish maybe. I don't listen to a lot of music. Just the radio now and then when I'm in my car."

"And I bet you listen to that for the news," he said dryly.

She laughed. Cole enjoyed the teasing smile that curved her lips. "Guilty. A gain. But here you sit watching reruns of a cop show."

He placed a hand over his heart as though wounded. "I'll have you know, I'm here for the band. A true bona fide groupie."

Laurie chuckled again. "So, you like this kind of music?"

Of course." The band began their rendition of Led Zepplin's "Stairway to H eaven." Cole stood and held out a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

Laurie's face grew serious as she glanced from his hand back to his eyes. "I.

..well, I don't think...I've never been too good at dancing."

Cole grasped her hand and pulled her from her stool, then led her to the da nce floor where other couples, most younger in age than him, gathered about , swaying slowly in time with the music.

Cole drew Laurie within his arms as the breath caught in her chest. She had danced before-many times in fact. But never had she been in the embrace of a man so electrifying, compelling. A sense of raw danger seemed to be part of his aura.

Laurie's heart slammed against her ribs, and as close as they were standing, she was sure he could feel it as well. Desire shot through her like heated candle wax. Had he the notion to let her go, she feared her veins would thic ken and stop her right where she stood, just as wax away from the flame does .

One of his hands rested on the small of her back while the other remained in the center. Laurie intertwined her fingers loosely behind his head, revelin g in the feel of his warm embrace. The musk scent of his cologne filled the air. She inhaled deeply, deciding Cole's cologne would be her favorite scent from this moment on. If he swept her off her feet and carried her to some w aiting bed, she wouldn't be able to resist. "See, I knew you could do it."

Laurie was startled by his observation. Surely, he could not be privy to her thoughts. "Do what?"

"Dance."

She smiled. "It's not hard when all you have to do is be wrapped within som e man's arms and turn slowly in a circle."

"Just any man's will do?" His deep, whisky tone taunted her. Laurie's kne es weakened; her limbs numbed.

She replied, "Not just any."

"So you do enjoy being in my arms?"

Laurie knew by the lightness of his tone, he had been jesting. She responded in kind. "Being in your arms serves a purpose."