Kat rolled over in her sleep, waking just before she fell off the narrow cot.

Damn. She’d forgotten where she was. She’d hoped it was a nightmare, No such luck. She was at the Rose M. Singer Center, women’s lockup on Riker’s Island, awaiting trial in New York. Her bail hearing had been two days ago and the judge set bail at half a million dollars.

Fuck.

She picked herself up off the floor, brushing off the orange jump suit they made her change into last night after she was processed. She was supposed to have been transported to a women’s prison at some point, but that didn’t happen. Looking down at herself, she wished she could be back in the camisole and jeans she’d been wearing when she was arrested. She probably would have been much better off in a sleek wrap dress, maybe jersey or something similar that would cling to her body. Maybe that would have given her more leverage during her arrest. At least she’d had time to get changed out of her all black work clothes before the police practically banged down her door. Spending the night in the tacky orange garb made her feel she could end up as someone’s prison bitch sooner than later.

Not if she could help it.

There hadn’t even been time to leave a message with her supervisor at her day job. Working at the third Avenue MAC counter wasn’t something she needed to do, but she enjoyed the change of pace. Those wrap dresses came in handy at that job. The sound of her supervisor’s throaty, aging voice popped into Kat’s head. She wasn’t supposed to try to seduce the customers, the older woman would remind her often, just sell makeup. Which went to show how clueless he was about the psychology behind sales. By now someone would have seen the news. She probably couldn’t show her face there again, but the idea of no more makeup discounts made her cringe.

Oh well.

Kat got to her feet, stretching out the kinks in her neck and back. Nothing like a cot to remind you of every muscle in your body. The long cinderblock hallway outside the cell was empty. She wondered if there were any other accused murderers behind the other locked doors. She wondered if they were actually guilty, because she sure wasn’t.

How the hell did this happen? It still made no sense. She’d been in the business for years without even setting off an alarm. No arrests, not even a police interview for questioning. To go from that to this? A fucking jail cell? A murder charge? She’d never so much as restrained a target, much less killed them. That was low-class stuff. She wasn’t some petty burglar. She took treasured items from people and supplied them to others. Sometimes it was for herself, sometimes it was a person who paid her for the job. She hadn’t met anybody yet who could convince her to commit murder.

Kat wasn’t interested in any of that dirty work. She was a liberator. Only now she needed somebody to liberate her. She sure as hell didn’t have a half a mil laying around for bail money.

She paced the length of the cell with its white walls and stark fluorescent lighting. How many people went crazy in places like this? They weren’t designed for comfort. Was she supposed to break down? Confess? Throw herself on the mercy of the jerkoffs outside who eyed her up and down and practically raped her with their eyes while she was being booked? Unlikely.

She wished she could shower, or at least brush her teeth. Splashing her face with ice cold water from the little metal sink in the corner, she did her best to get herself cleaned up. Now that the other inmates were beginning to wake up, she could hear banging, moaning, and cursing coming from the other cells. None of this helped her stay calm.

All Kat wanted right now was to feel like herself somehow. To be free. What she really needed was a way to think clearly about this, create a plan, but how could she set a new direction when she didn’t even know why she’d been charged with murder to begin with? Thinking back to what had gone down, she was sure she’d gotten away with the theft, just like she always did. The burner phone she had used to call the client and confirm things went smoothly according to plan, was destroyed and tossed away somewhere. After that she had gone home. Yesterday, the morning after the robbery, she woke up at her usual time, went to her day job, and returned home, just like any other day. She’d even had one of her highest sales days—she always sold well the day after a job. Her confidence would be over the moon after a heist.

There was no way she had been spotted at the Regent mansion, or at least she didn’t think she could have been. No alarms went off, no staff were around, and Mr. and Mrs. Regent were both sound asleep while she was in the house. There hadn’t been a single red flag, so how could the Regent wife possibly have identified her?

No matter how many times she went over it in her mind, none of it made sense. Considering that she didn’t have a friend in the world with the money to bail her out, there was nothing to do except think.

The large, heavy door at the end of the hall opened. Every nerve stood on end and she held her breath. Were they coming for her? She could only hope so, but then again, maybe it was time for breakfast, or maybe they were here to intimidate the female inmates into cooperation again. She had no way of knowing.

As it turned out, the guards had indeed come for her. A burly man’s face appeared in the little rectangular window of the reinforced jail cell door. Food, maybe? She was starving actually, and had only eaten half of her tray of food yesterday, mostly because the meal looked like crap, but also because of on the signs on the nearby common area wall. The sign read, ‘Slashings, Stabbings and Assaults will Result in your Immediate Arrest. Convictions will Result in Consecutive Sentences from 8 1/3 to 25 years’. That sign took away her appetite yesterday, and all she could think of was watching her back. Today, she was really hungry. Today she could eat whatever was on the tray. Today she could eat and watch her back. Eating jail food was better than starving. She’d experienced starving before, many years ago, and wasn’t ready to revisit that feeling anytime soon.

There was no invitation to eat this time, though. The door opened, and the male and female corrections officers just stood there and looked at her. Her heartbeat quickened, her muscles tensed, and her body braced as she waited, like an animal being cornered.

“McKinnon,” the tall, potbellied officer read off his clipboard. He had a white mustache stained with tobacco, full of tiny crumbs from breakfast or maybe even last night’s dinner. Kat’s stomach flipped, nauseated at the sight of him. “Your bail’s been posted.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed, darting from the man to the silent female officer standing behind him. Was this some sort of joke? The male officer stepped aside, clearing the way for her to step between him and the woman.

“I don’t get it,” Kat said, eyes going from one to the other. “My bail? You have the right person?”

The man smirked at her, just like he did when she was first brought in. She was used to men looking at her, naturally. This one was the type who made her skin crawl. The kind whose every nasty thought was written all over their greasy, lewd faces.

“You’re the only Katherine McKinnon we happen to have in custody at the moment, so I’d say there’s a solid chance you’re the one I’m here to escort out for transport…unless you think we’re in the habit of making mistakes around here.”

Kat bit her tongue, hard, wishing she could get away with telling this jerk that yes, she did think the justice system was full of pricks who made mistakes. Why else would she be facing a murder charge?

Looking her up and down, he added, “As much fun as it’s been to have you here, it’s time for your sweet little ass to get the hell out of here. For now. Unless you love our hospitality so much you choose to stay.”

That was enough to get her feet moving. She sidestepped the officer to avoid brushing against his beer gut, following the female officer to the heavy door at the end of the hall. She held her head high, ignoring the catcalls, threats and whistles from behind the other cell doors.

In under two hours, Kat was back at the 43^rd street precinct, dressed in the clothes she had been wearing when she was arrested. She looked around when she returned to the station where she’d first been booked. Had somebody come for her? With her belongings back in her hands, and almost a free woman again, she asked the female police officer, “Is there any way to find out who posted my bail? Are they here waiting for me?”

“No one’s here for you, McKinnon. Details of your bond are public record, so speak to your defense attorney or go down to the courthouse,” the officer answered, her tone clipped. “Check your belongings. There’s a note here that someone left you a message while you were being transported back here.”

Kat looked on each side of the see-through bag that held her wallet, watch, personal cell phone, keys, a few pieces of jewelry and a twenty-dollar bill from the back pocket of her jeans. There was a business card all right, which added to the puzzle. The card was black, embossed with gold letters, and only had an address printed on one side. There was no name, no phone number. She looked up at the cop, who looked past her.

“Move along, McKinnon.” She waved at the man standing behind Kat for him to approach the counter.

That was it. At least she had money for a cab.

Should she go to this address on the card, whatever it was? She deliberated on it while she walked out of the station. As soon as she was outside, she took a deep breath of fresh air and welcomed the feeling of the sun on her skin. It had only been a little more than three days since she had been arrested, but it felt like years had passed.

She looked down at the card she still held, turning it in her fingers.

Should I go?

She plugged the address into her Google Maps app. It was only a few miles away from the station, whatever it was. When she looked up the address online, however, nothing came up. No website, not even an entry for a phone number or business name. She bit down on her bottom lip, lost in indecision.

This wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she would jump at the chance of getting to the bottom of a mystery like this. Today was different. This was a half a million dollar enigma, and she had just spent her first three nights in prison. Decisiveness did not come easily at the moment. In any case, she couldn’t stand on the steps to the police precinct all day. She walked to the curb and hailed a cab. The driver asked where she was headed.

Fuck it. I’m going.

She gave him the obscure address. It was time to find whoever it was that bailed her out and thank the person. Besides, she was dying to know who it was—not to mention what they expected in return.

* * *

Minutes later she was standing in front of a nondescript but well maintained brownstone. Well, what had she been expecting? Neon lights? A red carpet? Something a little more than this, at least. She walked up the front stairs, pressing her finger to the bell. What the hell sort of set-up was she in the middle of?

A gorgeous, dark-skinned girl opened the door, her red lips curved into a ready smile. Hooker, Kat immediately thought. This is a whorehouse. She’d crossed paths with enough high-class call girls to know one when she saw one. They were nuts if they thought she’d work her debt off that way.

“Miss McKinnon, we’ve been expecting you,” the woman said in a warm, inviting voice. “My name is Chanel. Please, come in.”

The hair on the back of Kat’s neck stood up. Her instinct was to turn and run. She had no tangible reason for doing so, but her gut was on high alert. Centering herself, she walked through the ornate door. Beyond it was a darkened entryway. The dim lighting, dark wallpaper and lingering smell of cigar smoke added to her impression of an upscale, exclusive lounge. It didn’t answer any questions, though.

“Who am I meeting here?” Kat just wanted to cut to the chase. “Who bailed me out?”

“I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to,” the other girl said, her voice still warm and calm. Like velvet. This was definitely a call girl. “I was asked to escort you to one of our private rooms. You’ll receive more information there.”

“Can you at least let me know where I am?” Kat insisted. She wouldn’t move another inch until she had more details.

The girl smiled serenely. “It’s a private men’s clubs, Miss McKinnon. That’s all I can tell you. Follow me, please.”

This didn’t help. It sure didn’t explain what Kat was doing here, or who she was about to meet, although at least she has a decent sense she wasn’t being roped into some kind of sex slave ring. Or maybe she was. There was still no way of knowing. She followed Chanel’s lead down a long hall. Suspicious and on guard, she swept her eyes around the space, taking in the sounds and smells, as well as a few sights of what and who were behind a few of the doors left slightly open.

All the windows she passed on one long section of the hall were hung with red velvet drapes. The chairs and sofas either rich brown leather or red velvet. Crystal chandeliers, wall sconces. Highly polished wood along the walls, under her feet. Several well stocked bars, a few billiards tables. She took it all in, keeping track of distance, direction and everything she could call a landmark if she had to get out of there in a hurry.

They got into an elevator at the end of the hall and went up two flights to the third floor. “This is where our private rooms are located,” Chanel explained. Kat’s eyes widened.

Really?

Sex?

That’s what I was brought here for?

That’s some fucked up shit.

Her feet were heavy as she followed Chanel to one of the rooms. It was large, and screamed luxury, with a king-sized bed covered in what Kat knew were wildly expensive linens. Two antique night tables, ornate lamps, some well-placed art and a large fireplace with an intricately carved mantel completed the decor.

Chanel held out a blindfold.

“What is this?” Kat asked, tensing.

“A blindfold.”

“For what?”

“To protect the identity of your host.”

“And who’s going to protect me?”

“You’re safe here,” Chanel assured her. “No one here will hurt you. Please. Put it on.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Miss McKinnon, your host will not speak with you without it.”

Dammit.

“All right.” Kat had a seat in the chair facing the door, and took the blindfold. She draped it over her eyes, tying it behind her head.

She sat perfectly still, tuning into her other senses, heightened now that her sight was gone. She wasn’t afraid of this—she was used to working in the dark. It was more not knowing what was coming next that she didn’t like.

Who the hell was behind this?