Jess, working the lunch shift, saw that computer-boy was back, sitting right up against the stage, grinning up at her with a dollar bill in his hand. Wayne Alton. Multimillionaire. One dollar.

That seemed about right.

The music thudded and Jess swung around the pole and did an impromptu slide over to him, crouching with legs spread wide, breasts thrust forward. He had that look on his face — that glazed-eyed look that most of them got when presented with a steady stream of tits and ass. This was not the best face men had to present to the world; if she had to deal with this every day, she would hate the whole gender. A lot of the dancers did.

“Sit with me when you’re done,” Alton said. “I want to talk to you.”

She flashed him the dancer smile, nodded, picked up a couple more ones and a five being thrust at her by other men, and then went back to her dance.

Hank had a seat at a dance table back from the stage. When she looked at him, he wasn’t watching her. Instead, he was studying the other men in the room, a bothered expression on his face.

She understood it. She felt the same bewilderment. After Jim and Charlie and the bomb squad and her tech team and her roses and chocolates had all made their grand exit from the parking lot (with the roses and chocolates, bomb-free, bound for a fate as test materials in the police search for fibers, DNA, fingerprints, drugs, and other goodies), Jess and Hank went to bed together.

They didn’t have fun, though. Instead, they’d debriefed.

Hank had told her exactly what he’d discovered when he touched Lenny, right down to Lenny’s blackmailing of some of the city’s key officials.

After hearing him out, Jess thought the Weekenders — which were what the Vice team had been trying without luck to infiltrate — likely held the key to the murders. Somewhere in the middle of all that kinky sex and blackmail, someone was getting a little extra. Hank had given Jim and Charlie the short version of what he’d read on Lenny. He would be going into the station after her shift was over to read a few items that belonged to Jason Hemly, and to give his impressions on items taken away from the Millie “River” Hantumakis murder.

Jess, weary as hell, thought maybe she would drag the surveillance team along to meet with Lenny. Because he knew something about Ginny. He had answers that Jess wanted. And no matter what Hank said, Jess thought Lenny was the key to this thing, all the way back to the very beginning.

She finished her set and went backstage.

“Hey, Gracie,” Teri said. She was standing in the doorway of her office. “You look beat.”

Jess gave her a weary smile. “Long night.”

“Those can be fun.”

“This one wasn’t. Someone left anonymous flowers and candy in front of my door, and I figured with all the stuff going on, I’d better call the police. The guy who left them knows where I live, and he’s leaving things.”

Teri looked worried. “Do you have a friend to stay with? A family member, maybe?”

Jess laughed. “The police asked me the same questions.” She shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You have to get a gun, honey.”

Jess raised an eyebrow, looked down the hall at the other dancers, then back at Teri. “You think there are any girls here who aren’t carrying? I don’t. And I’m sure as hell not the exception.”

Teri looked relieved. “Just... don’t get caught then.”

Jess grinned. “I’m legal. Concealed-carry permit, regular range practice and everything.”

“Good for you. It’s a relief to find a woman who takes her own defense seriously.” Teri sighed, and sagged against her peach-painted office door frame. “Gracie?”

“Yeah?”

“Come talk to me once you’re done with your shift, okay?”

“Sure. Am I in trouble?”

“Anything but.”

“Good. I’ll be there, then.”

A few minutes later, showered and changed into one of the miniskirts and another see-through blouse and front-closing bra, she was out on the floor with Wayne.

“I wanted to ask you out,” he said without preamble. “You’re so beautiful and so sweet, Summer. Let me take you to dinner, okay?”

Jess looked at him and smiled brightly and said, “The way things are right now, we’ve all been instructed not to date men we meet at work. I’d love to take a rain check though, Wayne.”

“The way things... are? With the killer?” Wayne shook his head and laughed. “That’s funny. I’m a computer geek — nobody’s going to mistake me for some psychopath.”

Well, they might now, Jess thought.

“Seriously,” she said, still smiling, “once the police are sure they have all the killers in custody, I’m sure Teri will lift our work restrictions.”

“Teri?” Wayne said. “She’s the one who’s telling you girls you can’t date customers? Teri and I are old friends. She’ll vouch for me.”

Jess rose. “I’ll be talking to her later, darlin’. And I will absolutely, positively ask.”

“Wonderful,” he said, and when she stood up, he stood, too. He took her left hand and squeezed it and kissed the back of it. “I need to get back to work now. I came in here especially to see you,” he said, and winked. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jess wandered over to Hank, flirting and teasing all the way, careful not to touch anyone with her left hand. She trailed it down his arm, murmuring “Read,” in his ear at the same time.

“Sick,” he said. “Really sick. This guy is into S-and-M. He’s done some bad, kinky, weird, fucked-up things.”

“He our guy?”

“No. Who is he?”

“Wayne Alton, software mogul.”

“Ee-yeah. Got a brief feel for him yesterday. Ugly.”

“This job sucks,” Jess murmured, and pulled back, flashing him a bright smile. She moved on.

* * *

The dead girl lay face-up in a parking lot, prettily posed in an empty parking space. This strip mall didn’t get much traffic, so she would probably be there for a little while before someone came along and found her.

They should be pleased when they did. She looked... lovely. She wore green lace, green patent-leather shoes, green silk stockings. They went very nicely with her deep green eyes, her pale pink lips, her soft honey hair.

The killer snapped four quick Polaroids, smiling. This was, after all, a moment worth remembering. And sharing.

* * *

Hank’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. Jim.

“Yeah?”

“Got a body. Want you out here for this one. It doesn’t quite fit the previous MO, but it’s close. I want to see if you can get a quick read on whether or not we’ve picked up a copycat. Could save us a little time.”

“Tell me where.”

Jim gave him the address.

Hank looked around for Jess, spotted her talking to the redhead he’d thought was going to die, and waved Jess over.

“Hey, darlin’,” she said. “You looking for a lap dance?”

He realized they were being watched. “I have to run, Summer. I know I told you that I wanted one today” — he fished a twenty out of his billfold and handed it to her — “but work called. My partner needs me to check some figures before he runs them with a new client. It’s... kind of an emergency.”

Her smile never wavered, but he could see the sharp intelligence. She nodded. Tucked the twenty into the waistband of her skirt. “Good luck with that,” she said. “We’ll make time for your dance another day.” She tapped the bill. “You’re paid in advance.” She said, “I was off in a few minutes anyway, so this will be good for both of us.”

He headed out the door. The guys in the surveillance van would have heard that they were her only backup. They would make sure they kept her covered, would be ready to break down doors if they had to. Of course, as long as she was actually in the club, she was safe. And when she left... well, she was a competent cop. She would be fine.

But he didn’t feel good about leaving her alone in there.

* * *

Jess returned to her conversation with Ginger Rose, who was quitting. “The place is giving me the creeps,” Ginger said. “I’m not the only one out of here, either. The money won’t do it for me anymore. Cree already quit; Jade quit—” Jess knew Cree was the gorgeous deaf dancer, but Jade? “Jade is...?”

“She’s been on nights since you started. You probably haven’t met her yet. Japanese, about so tall, absolute firecracker. She’s probably the most popular house dancer in the club.”

“She one of Lenny’s?”

“Not a chance. Guess I should have specified. She’s probably the most popular dancer in the club who isn’t turning tricks on the side.”

Jess considered that for a moment. “How is Teri taking this?”

“Not well. Everyone said she about exploded when Jade told her she’d found a place at Studz. She’s been a bit better about some of the other dancers jumping ship, but Teri had been trying to fix Jade up with some acting jobs in pornos. Teri has those movie connections, you know, and she saw Jade as a big feature draw for Goldcastle.”

Jess nodded, and Ginger Rose said, “Anyway, Gracie, I just wanted to tell you good-bye. I’m out the door in ten, and I won’t be back.”

“Not telling Teri in person?”

“Not sure I have the guts to tell her at all. I’m not as important to her as Jade was, but I do all right. I sell so many drinks I can’t even remember the last time I had to pay my tip-out. I don’t want to leave her. But I want to leave here."

“Good luck,” Jess said. “For what it’s worth, you’re probably doing the right thing. Leaving, that is. Be really careful out there.”

Ginger Rose patted her shoulder and said, “You, too. And tell your brother Cree said she wished him luck. Jade, too. She heard about him from some of the girls. And give him a hug from me.”

Without warning, Jess had tears in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, blinking them back. “I’ll do that.”

She liked these girls. She wished she could do something that would magically make their work safe, or give them skills that would let them earn the same money without the daily immersion in this sleazy, dirty world where they were risking their lives and their safety every day.

She turned away and headed in to talk to Teri, who was probably not going to be in a great mood, and who was probably going to ask her to pick up extra hours. Meanwhile, if Jess had read Hank’s code correctly, the police had found another dead dancer.

Jess wondered who was dead. If she’d known this girl, if she had met her. Maybe talked to her. Maybe liked her.

She sighed and, since she didn’t feel like walking back through the ballroom and fending off attention she did not want, she went through the foyer, past the staircase, and back toward the private dancing rooms and the other backstage entrance.

“Hey, baby,” Lenny murmured in her ear.

Jess jumped and turned. How the hell had he moved so quietly?

He’d been standing right behind her. “You looked great out there today. Nobody was ever as good a dancer as you.” He smiled.

His eyes were focused on her, intent. He didn’t look threatening. He looked like he was trying to be charming. But he took a step forward, and she took a step back.

“It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t be losing sleep, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

“Someone left candy and flowers in front of my door, and the police were there for hours investigating.”

Lenny looked startled. “Investigating?”

“With dancers being murdered, I didn’t think having someone I didn’t know following me home and finding out where I lived was a good thing.”

He smiled broadly, crossed the distance between the two of them in one quick step, and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her, a wet, openmouthed, tongue-probing kiss that almost made her gag. “I’ll take care of you, baby. I can keep you safe from anyone out there. You come home with me, sweetheart; we’ll put you right back on that fireman’s pole, hey? Pick up where we left off.”

“Where we left off? You mean with you thinking I was dead? We have a lot of ground to cover before we go anywhere near picking up where we left off.”

He let go of her. “Yeah. One of these days, you’re going to tell me what the hell was up with that. It wasn’t fucking funny.” He was suddenly cold. Angry. “You look like you’re in a hurry to go, and I guess I’m not in as good a mood as I thought I was. So you go ahead on, and I’ll see you tomorrow. If you think you can manage to show up alive, that is.”

And he turned and stalked away.

She stared at the goose bumps on her arms and felt the hair standing up on the back of her neck.

If she thought she could manage to show up alive? Was he threatening her? What the hell had just gone on?

She had to take a deep breath before going into Teri’s office and dropping into a seat without being invited.

Teri raised an eyebrow.

She debated the relative virtues of telling Teri what Lenny had done, and decided that her cover would survive considerably better if Teri heard it from her, rather than the greeter or anyone else. Gracie wasn’t a fighter, but she would not tolerate being pawed by Lenny. And Jess was playing this as Gracie. As Jess, after all, she would have kicked his nuts through the roof of his mouth. So she said, “I was coming in here through the private dance entrance. And Lenny came out of nowhere and grabbed me. And kissed me.”

Teri frowned. “He what?"

“Grabbed me and kissed me.”

“No warning?”

“He told me how much he liked the way I danced, if you consider that a warning. I sure didn’t.”

Teri’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t gone up to his office to work out any little deals with him?”

“Good God, no.”

She slammed the side of her fist onto the top of her desk and looked away. “Damn him. He’s out of control.”

“This happen often?”

“Not with my girls, it doesn’t.” She blew out a sharp breath and turned back to Jess. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I’ll take care of him. He won’t bother you again.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Teri leaned back in her chair and said, “In light of... recent adventures, you might not be in any mood to hear what I have to say.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Jess told her.

Teri looked down, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not in a line of work that’s particularly conducive to friendship,” she said. “Most of the dancers here are little more than children. The handful of adults tend to be bitter. They’re heading into a future where they’re not going to be able to count on their looks anymore, and only beginning to catch on to what that means while they realize that they never planned for that time.” She sighed and looked up. “You’re... different. You haven’t been living this life, it isn’t what you’re looking at long-term, you haven’t... Well. You haven’t sold your soul into this business, for lack of a less melodramatic term.”

Jess nodded, cocking her head to one side. “Okay...”

“You seem like someone who would be good to have as a friend, and I could really use a friend right now. I have no one to talk to. No one.”

Jess said, “Me?”

“You’re... smart. Thoughtful. A genuine grown-up. I’m looking at losing a fortune right now, and realizing I’m connected through this place to something horrible. I’m realizing that at least one person I liked and thought I knew has done things so brutal that I can’t even imagine them.” She rubbed her temples, an expression of pain on her face. “My life is suddenly not going the way I’d planned. And I don’t know how to fix anything. And I just thought, well, maybe it would be nice if you and I went out for coffee sometimes. Maybe... shopping, if you like to shop. I need someone to talk to. And I imagine you do, too, with everything you have going on.”

“Coffee sounds good,” Jess said.

“You want to, then?”

If you’re going to talk to me? Tell me the secrets of this place and the people in it? Damn straight, Jess thought. All she said was, “Yes. I think that would be very nice.”

“Want to go now?”

Jess had not held a conversation with a woman who was not a cop, a criminal, a victim, or a potential witness in about ten years. She wasn’t sure if she remembered how casual conversation between women worked. Teri seemed nice enough, and Jess liked her for watching out for her dancers and for working so hard to keep at least one part of Goldcastle straight. It was hard to equate Teri the businesswoman with Teri the porn star.

Right at that moment, Jess wanted to get out of the club, find Hank, fall into his arms and let him work the magic that took her away from all the world’s awfulness. She was exhausted, her bizarre night had segued into an equally bizarre day, and if she let her eyelids slide closed, she could feel Hank holding her, could hear him whispering to her, could almost let her legs wrap around him and... yes. Well.

But Hank was working with Jim and Charlie. Another dancer was dead. Teri might be able to tell Jess something about this situation that she needed to know. And even if Teri couldn’t, she might know something that would send the HSCU detectives in the right direction. Besides, right at that moment, Jess sure as hell didn’t feel like approaching Lenny about having a public-place dinner together.

“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to. Let me get changed and I’m out of here.”

* * *

Hank stopped off at the dojo and dug into the back of his closet for his duffel bag, which contained a graft compression mask and shirt that he’d worn in his last round of surgeries. He’d tossed the bag in there when he first bought the dojo and hadn’t moved it since. He probably shouldn’t have even kept the compression mask — but he thought it was important to remember where he came from. Sometimes it was easy to forget how well he had things compared to how they had been even a handful of years earlier, and the presence of those bandages warded off any temptation to indulge in self-pity.

But since he was undercover in Goldcastle and couldn’t allow himself to be identified with Jim and Charlie when the killer might be watching — and since serial killers had a tendency to flit around the background of the scenes of their crimes, looking for a little extra bang for their buck — Hank figured he might as well put the old gear to use. People could think he was a burn victim. That would work. So long as they wouldn’t be able to connect him with the guy sitting right up against the stage at the strip club, he was happy.

He was tempted to call Jess to make sure she was all right. But she might be doing something as Gracie that a call from him could compromise. He decided to wait and see her when he was done with this business for Jim and Charlie.

The heat shimmering off the pavement made the scene of the latest body dump gruesome. The coroner had removed the girl’s body right before Hank got there — traffic had slowed him down and the cops had to get her on ice fast to preserve evidence. The heavy, sickly sweet stink of death still clogged the still, humid air, though. It and the awful heat slammed Hank as soon as he stepped out of his car. The heavy elastic of the old-style fitted compression bandages didn’t help matters any. The bandages had always been hot even in cold weather. Jim spotted him and waved him over. “Haven’t seen that face in quite some time.”

“Didn’t want the wrong person to recognize me,” Hank said. “Don’t tell me any more about what you’ve got here than you already have.” He could see chalk marks inside the yellow-taped crime scene. “Tell me where you want me to read, and I’ll give you what I can.”

“I marked off three squares for you on the pavement,” Jim said. “Those were areas that had good contact with... well, things.”

Hank nodded, walked along the line Jim pointed out to him, and crouched beside the first white chalk-drawn square. “Here?”

Jim was right behind him. “Yeah.”

“Everybody else out of earshot? I can’t see a damned thing down here.”

Charlie looked sick. Hank, shaking his hand, had gotten flashes of exhaustion, depression, a desperate desire to be done with all of this and gone to some shining lake with his wife and kids. This thing was haunting him, chewing him up a day at a time, a piece at a time. Charlie had a daughter the age of most of these girls, Hank realized. Early twenties. He was looking at these dead girls and seeing his oldest kid.

Charlie set a tape recorder on the ground next to Hank. “You’re clear all the way around. Go ahead.”

Hank rested the fingertips of his right hand lightly on the ground inside the square.

And he got dozens of women’s touches, worries about price, quality, one that doubted the beadwork would stay on. But none that belonged to a killer and none that belonged to a woman who had just been killed.

“This feels unrelated to the crime,” Hank said. He passed on the comments and concerns he felt, and said, “I don’t know how this relates.”

“It was a handbag,” Jim said. “Matched what the victim was wearing. But it was empty. Might have just been a prop — something that the killer bought but was careful not to touch.” He frowned and wrote something in a notebook. “Move to the next one.”

Hank duckwalked two steps forward, touched down in the center of the second square.

“Girl talking. Laughing. Very excited about being in a movie. The killer’s touch is stronger here than the presence of the victim, but this isn’t a lust killing. This is... strange. There’s no hint of violence in this scene. The girl is laughing. Happy. And then she isn’t there anymore.”

“What about torture? Rape? Fear? This girl was murdered. Almost identical to the MO we have on the other four.” Charlie wasn’t looking at Hank when he asked. He was staring down at the little chalked squares, seeing what had been there before the police bagged the evidence and hauled it off.

“Inside her own head, the victim wasn’t murdered,” Hank said. “She was there, and then she just went away. The last thing I have from her is excitement about her career.”

“But you feel the killer here.”

“Strongly. Same killer. Completely different motive. This is just...” Hank closed his eyes. “Just... shit. Confusing as hell. Let me try the third spot.”

All three of them moved again.

Hank put down his hand, said, “Impressions on square three — nothing whatsoever on the girl. The killer is clear here. Putting down something that is supposed to send the police in the wrong direction. He thinks it’s funny as hell. The girl is dead for the same reason. Because she doesn’t fit. Because he thinks someone may be getting close to the truth, and this is a game he’s not quite ready to end yet.”

He opened himself to more of that touch, and at the back of it, he found Jess again. Jess, who was the real target. The one the killer was waiting for, working toward. In the back of the monster’s mind, Jess already lay in a grid of six by six, brutally murdered. “Omega... and alpha,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“He thinks of Jess as Omega. And... alpha. But not.” And then it hit him. “Oh, hell.” He stood and wiped sweat out of his eyes. “Alpha isn’t Jess. Alpha is her twin sister, Ginny. That’s why the killer wants Jess. Jess has been working her way toward this bastard since she became a cop, only he spotted her first. And he wants to make her the closing act of his current collection.”

“It’s got to be Lenny,” Jim said. “Got to be. He was the sister’s boyfriend way back then. And here he still is, same business but a different name, hitting on Jess, following her home. Closing out a chapter."

Hank said, “I’ve read Lenny. The person I’m feeling isn’t him.”

Jim said, “No. No. I would have agreed with you before, but no. Not now. Things are clicking with Lenny. We have two fingerprints on one of the victim’s shiny blue patent leather shoes this time, and I’m betting that Lenny rings our bell.”

“Not going to be Lenny,” Hank said.

“Tech was supposed to run the prints first,” Charlie said. “If it’s Lenny, we have several complete sets of prints on file for him since he stepped up from juvie crime. We should have a hit by now.”

Jim made sure Hank was looking at him, and cut his eyes sidelong at Charlie, and Hank saw a flash of worry cross Jim’s face. Jim plastered on a cocky grin and said, “Going to be Lenny. I’m in for ten,” and he stared at Hank. Willing him to get this fake jocularity.

And Hank did get it, because he could see Charlie sinking fast. This bet, this black humor, was about getting Charlie’s mind off what they were doing, this hell they were in the middle of, where Charlie was dealing with girls the age of his oldest kid — pretty girls like her, only badly dead and dumped like garbage.

Hank said, “All right. Ten. I’ll go more if you want. It isn’t going to be Lenny.”

Charlie looked at them both. Gnawed the inside of the corner of his mouth. “I’m not betting on this one. But I like Lenny for this whole thing. He fits. Hank seems too sure, though, and I’m saving every penny I get for retirement, which cannot get here fast enough.”

“Bullshit. You’re a cheap bastard is all,” Jim said. “But since you’re the guy with nothing to lose, you make the call.”

Hank watched Charlie call in to HSCU, heard him say, “Charlie here. We got a positive ID on those prints?” He grinned a little, looked at Jim, then Hank, then back to Jim. “Got it. Thanks.” He cut the call. “We have a winner.”

“It was Lenny,” Jim said. “Ha!”

Hank waited.

Jim glanced from Hank to Charlie.

Charlie said, “We also have a positive ID on the prints.”

Jim said, “Charlie, you prick, get it out or I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Charlie managed a small grin in Hank’s direction. “You heard what he did to me the last time he wasn’t responsible for his actions.”

“Habanero sauce in your sandwich.” Hank turned to Jim. “It’s that sense of humor, incidentally, that has earned you three divorces.”

“I guess news travels fast.” Jim had managed to kick Charlie out of that dark place where too much death and too much horror would send a man. He’d provided a distraction, thin though it was. Hank had to admire Jim for pushing Charlie away from the edge of the pit. Charlie actually smiled as he said to Jim, “It’s not Lenny. You owe Hank ten bucks, you arrogant know-it-all. But... you remember the computer millionaire whose hot little housekeeper charged him with sexual harassment and a couple of bigger goodies last year?”

“The case settled out of court,” Jim said. “Gag orders on both parties, records sealed. She was after his money, but she had to have had something on him, to walk away with the stack of green I heard she got.”

“Maybe she had a lot more on him than anyone thought. The prints on the shoe were his.”

Hank said, “You two talking about Wayne Alton? The game guy?”

“Yes,” Charlie said.

Hank said, “He’s in Goldcastle a lot.”

“He is indeed,” Jim said. “Has dated a whole string of the girls. He’s very popular. Everybody loves Wayne.”

Hank said, “I did a couple of reads on him, Jim. Wayne loves S-and-M and girls in cages. He likes to date fresh new dancers and see how far into kink he can drag them. So I’d guess not everybody loves him.”

“We know about his hobbies. Thanks to Wayne hitting on Jess hard yesterday, we did a file on him. Neither one of us has slept since this thing broke, and Charlie’s wife is sure now that Charlie’s a figment of her imagination, but we have met the real Wayne, and he is a freaky, creepy, sick son of a bitch.”

“He’s not the killer, though,” Hank said.

And both Charlie and Jim turned to stare at Hank with expressions of pure exasperation. “Is your killer sniffer broke?” Jim asked.

“I read Wayne. When I did, I got all the creepy and freaky you could ever want. But... the monster who’s killing the dancers has a shape. A presence. I touch something he’s touched and it’s like this black plastic bag slides down over my head. I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I feel the panic of more scared, dying women than I can count and this cold inside of me that defies description. I get queasy; my gut wrenches.” He stood there thinking about it for a moment. “It’s as clear to me as a fingerprint is to you.”

“But we can admit fingerprints in court,” Charlie said.

“I know. All I can tell you is, I’m as sure that Wayne Alton isn’t the killer as I was sure that Northwhite’s fingerprint wouldn’t be on that shoe.” Hank said, “I’m heading over to Jess’s place. I’ll update her on what I got, and see what she came up with after I left. I’ll take a message if you want.”

Jim said, “I’ll call her tonight to give her the brief. We’ll set up another meeting after we get more info on this latest girl, but we don’t need to bring her in again just yet. We still don’t even have a name on this one.”

“I’ll tell Jess.”