Breisi was not amused.

"For this kind of place," Dawn had told her, "black-lace teddy-okay. TeddyRuxpin-not so much." Now, as the music transitioned to an old song by Siouxsie and the Banshees, Kiko hopped off his bar stool. He indicated a magenta-haired waitress and darted away to corner her.

That left Breisi and Dawn. They just stared at each other for a second, then yelled over Siouxsie at the same time.

"I'll work the bar!" That was Dawn, pointing to her gla.s.s.

"I've got to make a call!" That was Breisi, pointing to her phone then heading outside.

Dawn knew she was going to give Nathan Pennybaker another try. G.o.d, she couldn't wait to bruise all the parts of him that were pink and justifiably poetic.

And as for Mrs. Pennybaker...they'd decided to hold back on telling the mom anything until they could approach Nathan first.

h.e.l.l, was it so wrong to have their facts straight before ruining the poor woman?

Too bad they weren't having any luck reaching her husband. To make matters even more frustrating, Breisi had told them that the bugs she'd planted weren't even picking up Nathan's voice.

As Dawn wondered if they were going to have to find Robby's dad now, too, she hunkered down over the bar. She thought of her own father-where he might be right now, what he was...

Coldness shivered over the back of her neck.

Immediately, she straightened, on guard, eyes locking on a woman at the end of the bar.

Asian-featured, she was pale, with Adam Ant war paint on her face and braids all over her head. Like the flash of a mirrored ball, the woman's eyes went silver, and Dawn jammed her hand into her pocket for the crucifix. But...

There was nothing-no fire, no mind screw.

Dawn hesitated. A vamp would've worked its gaze, like those red-eyed things, yet there'd been nothing with this woman.

The Adam Antette turned away, leaning on the bar and watching the dance floor.

The hair on Dawn's arms was standing on end, and she let go of her crucifix, not sure what to think. Too rattled to think.

Was she getting paranoid? That'd be awesome.

Someone yelled at her, and she jerked back to find the bartender waiting for her to answer him. Wearing a black vest, long dark hair, and makeup straight out ofThe Crow, he resembled the ghost of Brandon Lee, the actor who'd died during a tragic shooting on the set of his last movie.

Her pulse stopped, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g into itself at the eerie resemblance. But when she looked a little closer, she realized that he was merely a wan imitation of the rising star who had shown such potential.

Forcing herself to recover, Dawn took a wild guess and determined that he was asking her if she wanted a refill.

"No, thanks."

Some Nine-Inch-Nails Betty who was way too eager for a vodka on the rocks smashed against Dawn's back in a bad rendition of party etiquette, sticking out ten dollars to attract the bartender's attention. Dawn subtly forced her shoulder against the woman, making her back off.

On a whim, she glanced at the Adam Antette again, but she was gone.The bartender handed over the vodka to the pushy customer. As he moved forward, his vest gaped open, and that's when Dawn saw it: two wounds above his pecs.

Her blood tugged at her veins, her head going woozy. Good G.o.d...bite marks? A servant?

Or maybe it was just that paranoia. And, really, who could blame her after last night?

Keeping cool, Dawn kept him in her sights, easing from her stool the second he scooped up two handfuls of empty bottles and headed toward the back of the room.

As she threaded her way through the dance floor toward him, she saw Kiko. He was near the restroom pay phone, where it was quieter, though not by much. The magenta waitress he was talking to had her head tilted back in laughter, her dominatrix-garbed body aimed straight at the psychic in open invitation.Go, Kiko.

He reached toward the woman's arm.

But before he made contact, Dawn rested her hand on his healthy shoulder. As he followed her with his gaze, she jerked her chin toward the back, and he nodded, acknowledging where she was going.

Then, as his interview subject sighed in post-laugh recovery, he touched her. She didn't make another sound.

Dawn entered the far more utilitarian back hall, with its blase walls and red tile. The faint clatter of gla.s.s led her to a storage room, where she found the bartender picking up full liquor bottles to replenish the spent ones. At the sound of her entrance he did a double take, hisCrowface, threatening and pale, caught in a frown.

"You're not allowed here."

The music was more background than hindrance now.

"I got lost." Dawn shot him a smile, came a bit closer. "But while I'm around, do you mind talking to me for a few?"

He relaxed, ran a gaze over her. When he got to her face, she marked the typical reaction: "Unimpressive, but she does have a thumpin' bod."

She battled back the twinge of inferiority, of being second-tier attractive.

"I've got to get back soon," he said, gaze still roving, contradicting his words.

Then he propped the bottles on a stainless steel table. Good sign. He also gave her one of those looks: the smirk of a bartender who kind of resembled a legend and was kind of used to getting laid because of it.

The air snapped between them. Dawn's body reacted, restless, ever-hungry. Used to being fed.

She walked nearer, taking advantage of his weakness. Of hers, too. "How long you been working here?"

"A couple weeks, give or take. It's a gig-not permanent."

Of course. He'd get his break soon, leave bartending behind, become a star. "Pay much attention to the customers?"

Adjusting his lean body to face hers head-on, he laughed at the strange question. "What's this about?"

She was two feet away from him now, close enough to smell the c.o.c.ktail of his skin. She heated up under her jacket as he continued checking her out.

Do men look at you this waynow,Eva?she thought.She caught herself, feeling her nails crush into her palms.

Concentrate on questions, she thought. Find Frank.

She relaxed, bolstered her strength. "Can you remember the faces of the people who come in here?"

Laughing, he clearly thought she was leading up to something entirely different. She'd done too good of a job stringing her pickup lines together and tugging him closer.

"Can you remember any of them?" Dawn asked, focusing on the interview now...pushing,pushingback at everything else.

"Sometimes I pay attention to the clientele." He lowered his voice, grinned. "Certain ones in particular."

Her gaze instinctively wandered over his chest, the pale expanse of flesh over gym-honed planes. She beat back the attraction: a cadence of warning that drummed beneath her skin.

As she listened to the pulsing in her temples, she identified what the sound was.

Anger, not l.u.s.t. Anger at Eva, at Frank. At herself.

G.o.dd.a.m.nit, get it together, she thought. Be strong, be tough.Concentrate.

With difficulty, she backed off, started circling the bartender. "I'm looking for someone."

"No s.h.i.t." He laughed again, obviously growing wary as she crossed to the opposite side of the room.

Ignoring his double entendre, she kept moving, stalking, gauging him, growing stronger with his increasing anxiety and her increasing distance.

As she came around the table, he slanted his body toward her again, but it wasn't exactly in l.u.s.t this time. Now it was more like a man who didn't want to keep his back to an open door without his guns drawn.

He sniffed. "Jesus, do you work in a pizza factory?"

The garlic. Interesting that he wasn't strongly repelled.

More composed now, she showed him two pictures of Robby that Breisi had given her-one of the clean-cut superstar, one of a pierced and s.h.a.ggy boy.

"Has this kid been around?"

The bartender reared back. "That's Robby Pennybaker."

"'No s.h.i.t.' I hope you don't mind me quoting you. Your words were so profound."

He started at her change of tone, no doubt wondering where the aggressive flirt had gone. "Hey, what's your issue?"

The anger inside her went up a notch.

Issue.She could probably redefine the word for him.

"My issue is..." She shoved the pictures at him again. "...this kid might be in trouble. If you could find it within your heart to help, you'd earn a Brownie point or two." He stared at the photo for a second longer, and it was enough time to allow Dawn to see a hint of helplessness. When his gaze met hers, she held her breath, knowing he was about to say something....

But then he abruptly turned back to the table and reached for the bottles, a long flow of black hair conveniently hiding his face.

"I've gotta go."

In an implosion of undiluted frustration, Dawn forgot about all her sore muscles, cuts, and sc.r.a.pes and grabbed his arm, whipping him around to face her.

"What aren't you telling me?"

He bolted back, holding up his hands. Peace, man, peace. "You need to get out of here."

She smiled-a razor-thin line singing with impatience. This guy might lead to Robby. Robby might lead to Frank. Frank might lead to...She didn't know, but she had to find out.

"You just became much more intriguing." She tucked Robby's pictures away and took out Frank's. "How about this man? Ever seen him? It might be more recently."

The bartender's Adam's apple worked in his throat as he tried to swallow. He'd seen Frank. His eyes told her so.

Relieved, happiness lit through her at the possibility of getting a lead. Then a memory intruded.

Her smiling father, pushing her on a playground merry-go-round when she was a little girl. Faster, faster. He grinned down at her as she squealed in delight, laughed with her as her hands grew sweaty against the bars.

"Hold on, Dawn."

Her hands were slipping, but she was laughing so hard she couldn't tell him.

Faster, faster.

"Isn't this fun? Look how fast you're going! My little girl can take anything!"

Slipping...

Her fingers loosened around the paint-chipped bars; the rust smelled like blood.

"Daddy's so proud of his rough-and-ready girl! Kids twice your age can't take this kind of speed!"

Her mouth formed around a cry of "Daddy!" but the word wouldn't come out.

The bars slithered out of her grip, colors melding, flying in front of her face...an expanse of green...gra.s.s...zooming up to meet her- Everything stopped, her face an inch from the green.

The next thing she knew she was in her father's arms, trembling, nausea rising up in her throat. He smelled like gin and he felt like home.

"Baby...oh, little baby...I'd never let my little girl get hurt." He was close to sobs. "Daddy will always be here for you. He'll protect you from falling again, he'll make sure of that. He won't let anything...not the playground, not the awful people that got your mommy...anything hurt you, Dawnie..."

In his embrace, she had tried so hard not to cry, because her daddy wouldn't want that. He was proud that she wasn't a wimp, and Dawn lived for his pride.

As his tears dampened her cheek, little Dawn looked at him, wiped the moisture away.

"I'll protect you from all the bad things, too, Daddy...."

She glanced down at the actual photo. His dark hair was windblown as he posed, jaunty and carefree, on a dock at Marina del Rey. In the background, fishermen waited for their latest catch. The colors dredged up a shadow below the surface of so many things she didn't like to think about....

Throat tight, she pushed it at the bartender. "This is Frank Madison. He's...a PI. He went missing about five days ago."

"I haven't seen him. Now get out before I call the cops."

His resistance was a needle-sharp poke to her swollen grief. Patience exploding, Dawn flew at him, caught him in a headlock, and slammed his body face-first against the table. Bottles went flying, shattering to the tile. She levered her weight onto him, forgetting her usual practice of holding back. In her biz, she'd been taught to pull punches, to "sell" a fight and make it all look real without injuring anyone.

But she didn't have to do that right now. Not with this callous motherf.u.c.ker.

Nope. Instead she jammed the side of her forearm against the back of his neck, making him cry out like a prissy little girl who'd torn her pinafore.

"If you know something about Frank, you'd better tell me before I get angry."