Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,32
like cops.” She indicated her dark suit. Stacey hesitated and then said, “Think you ought to let me go first? I’ll stay where you can see me.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she spoke again quickly. “Keenan, I’m sure your size comes in handy for lots of things. But it’s also intimidating. I’m a little overdressed for this, but I’m not half as intimidating as you. Especially to women who might be scared of guys they don’t know right now.”
After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll get out after you do and lounge on the wall there. Stay in sight. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“Ah, so you do care!”
“Jackson would kill me if I lost a new partner right off,” he said.
She smiled and stepped out of the car.
She headed down the alley, aware that he exited the car soon after her and did as he said, walking to the side of the building facing the alley and leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
The figures moving through the haze stopped to stare as Stacey approached, walking at an even pace toward them.
“Well, lookie what we have here!” a voice exclaimed.
She found herself facing a tall woman with an elaborate bouffant hairdo. She was wearing a sequined skirt and bra top. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties but appeared to be older. She looked tired.
“You in the market for a good time, cutie? Hey, girls, this one is a cutie! One of us could pay her!” She chortled with laughter.
At that, a group of five women slowly appeared out of the haze, coming closer.
Curious.
“I’m not on the market or in the market,” she said. “I’ve come here for your help.”
“Cop.” A dark-haired woman sniffed. “You can smell ’em a mile away. Look at that suit.”
“I’m FBI. And I’m here because I need your help.”
“Our help?” a sandy-haired girl—who seemed so young—asked skeptically.
“There’s a killer on the streets,” she said. “Targeting women who—”
“Targeting whores!” the woman with the bouffant snapped.
“Yes,” Stacey said simply. “Your friend was mercilessly butchered and left here to be seen by all—and you all have to know you’re in danger.”
“I told you!” the young, fair-haired girl said. “Nan, I told you that it was too dangerous for us to be out here. Someone else is going to get killed. I heard on a news thing that there’s another woman dead, too!”
“Great. And what about us?” the woman with the bouffant, the one the younger girl had called Nan, replied. “What about surviving? I don’t know about you, honey, but I like food in my mouth and a roof over my head, wretched as that roof is. And again, I don’t know about you, but I’m just as scared of...other people,” she said, glancing Stacey’s way.
“Your pimp?” Stacey asked flatly.
It was at that moment that she heard the footsteps behind her. She spun around, hand on her holster.
There was a man behind her; he’d moved up quickly. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie but had several thick, gold chains at his neck, and a shiny watch flashed at his wrist. And she could see that he had a knife in his hand.
Well, he’d brought a knife to a gunfight.
He had almost reached her.
“Stop right there, asshole!” a male voice called out.
The man froze and dropped the knife; his hands went up.
Keenan was right behind him, the nose of his Glock pressed against the man’s back.
“Officer. Hey, man, I just came on back here to see why this woman was harassing these fine ladies.”
“Right.” Keenan had reached into the man’s jacket pocket for his ID. “So, Mr. Rafael Sabatini—entrepreneur. One way to call it. Well, you can explain at headquarters. Oh, I’m not an officer—I’m an agent. Small detail. But there is an officer on the way. Sorry to mess up your night, but you threatened a federal agent.”
“What? No, man! I was just going to chat—”
“With a knife. Sorry,” Keenan said.
They heard the sirens then; flashing lights showed at the end of the alley.
For a moment, Rafael Sabatini looked as if he meant to flee—but Keenan was like a brick house in front of him, and when he turned, Stacey had her Glock aimed at him as well.
“Bastard and bitch!” he muttered. “I’ll be out before you know it. And these streets aren’t safe, you know. Not for bastards and bitches. You mark my words. You beware. I’ll be calling my lawyer. This is a setup! You’ll be