Redeeming the Night (5 page)

Obviously not a normal woman. A hooker?
No,
he dismissed the idea. She would have made a move on him. A John was a John, and obviously she wasn’t looking for money. A member of the casino staff? Possible, but unlikely. The waitresses dressed scantily, but the blonde’s dress just didn’t fit in with the café’s or the casino’s atmosphere.

If only he hadn’t been tongue-tied. Briefly, he considered contacting casino security. Maybe she was staying at the hotel.
Shit
. What would he tell them anyway? What was he thinking?

Aaron’s text appeared, letting him know he was outside.

Eric stood and glanced briefly in the direction the blonde had gone. No point anyway. He buried the instinct to try to find her. Time to work.

Ashley elbowed her way through the crowd, aware the man tried to follow. When their eyes had met something about him spoke to her. Not like prey. Like a tendril of white light that reached out to her.

Ridiculous.
She snorted. He had the same thoughts as every man. In the seconds that their eyes met, he was consumed with lust.

She ran a hand through her hair, allowing the curls to straighten and the tint to darken as her fingers passed. Regardless of his intentions, now wasn’t the time to play with him.

Nichole had taken the slimy leprechaun to a nearby hotel. They prepaid in cash for the rooms they used. Made it easier to leave, and as every day, hundreds of people got lucky at the tables, paying in cash didn’t raise any eyebrows and left no trail. Especially when you could change your appearance at will.

She blinked, changing her vivid blue eyes to brown with flecks of gold.

Changing her appearance in public didn’t present a risk—or at least only a minimal one. Even in the freak show of the Las Vegas Strip people moved along in their own little worlds. In fact, the larger the crowd, the less of a risk.

As Ashley neared Nichole’s room she remembered how long it had taken her to perfect a public change. Even a racial change could be done in public gradually enough. She added that to her mental lesson plan. She opened the hotel room door and stepped silently inside.

Once the door closed the room was dark and quiet. The privacy drapes had been drawn. Ashley bit on the tip of her tongue to keep from calling out for Nichole. She’d expected the perfume of fear to have filled the room. Instead, only pangs of disappointment.
Damn
.

She stood just inside the doorway until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, worrying something must be wrong. She felt, more than saw, that the closets and bathroom were empty, so she stepped forward.

The bedroom came into full view. On the far bed lay the strawberry-blond man, seeming to sleep peacefully with his hands at his sides, his comb-over brushed back away from his face. On the other bed sat Nichole, still wearing her guise of the fair-skinned brunette. Her pink and yellow aura gave a slow, depressed flicker as she stared at the body of her would-be victim.

It was too early for him to be vacant; he must have gone catatonic.
Weak, little man
. He could dish out the fear, but couldn’t take it. Outrage at his selfishness, of slipping so easily beyond their reach, filled Ashley. A feeling she swiftly stifled. Excess emotion wouldn’t help Nichole. With cold resolve, she distanced herself from the situation.

Without a word, Ashley moved to the bed beside her protégé and patted her trembling leg gently.

After a moment, Nichole turned her head. “It was wonderful for the first couple of minutes. Then he slipped away into this. I couldn’t see his soul. I couldn’t take hold of his emotions.” She covered her mouth with trembling fingers. “I tried to wake him. What did I do wrong?”

“It’s not your fault.” She patted Nichole’s hand, keeping her eyes from the infuriating sight on the bed before them. “Some people can’t handle fear. They just shut down. He’s not dead, just trapped inside his own mind.” Ashley pursed her lips for a second. “Really, the only tragedy here is that in this state his fear doesn’t radiate.” She stood and retrieved a couple sodas from the minibar, passing one to Nichole.

“Has this ever happened to you before?” Nichole opened her bottle and sipped slowly, watching Ashley.

Swallowing her mouthful, Ashley smiled. “Yes, actually. But as it turns out mine was a serial killer.”

“Really?” Nichole shifted on the bed, bringing her other leg onto the mattress and crossing it over the other.

Pleased the mood had started to lift, Ashley continued. “He liked to kill hookers. I picked him up from a bar that used to be on 4th, Whips and Chains. He was my third, and you know the hooker angle is the easiest lure.”

Nichole nodded. “Right.”

“Well, his aura just oozed. I just knew I had hit the mother lode. So much so, I thought about calling Tarma so we could capture it all. I get him into the room, and no sooner does the door close than he whips out a gun.” She took another drink. “I knew I needed armor, so I took the shape of the succubus.”

“Wings and tail and all?”

“Every inch. I looked just like the tapestry in the Mother’s bedroom. Shaping into creatures is as easy as into other people. It’s just a mask. It’s not you.” Another sip. “I looked magnificent.” She smiled, remembering how she almost distracted herself in the hotel room mirror. “Homicidal bastard fainted dead away.”

Nichole covered her face again, and this time giggles escaped.

That’s better
, Ashley thought, then she continued. “I changed back and tried to wake him up. Nothing. I left him in the room and called the police. They came and arrested him. All of the evidence was there.”

Nichole gasped. “I remember hearing about that guy. My boyfriend used to talk about him. He would complain that they shouldn’t have tried him when he was in a coma.”

“Yup. His DNA matched the other crime scenes, and he went to a maximum-security mental hospital.” She smiled again, this time at Nichole. “I expect he’ll stay there for a while.”

They sat in silence, finishing their sodas. The weight in the room had lightened considerably.

“Ashley?” Nichole asked after a few minutes.

“Yes?”

“What should we do with him?” She pointed to the comatose man in front of them as if there could be a different “him” to whom she was referring. “We can’t call the police.”

After a moment, Ashley said, “Leave him.”

“You think it’s safe?”

Ashley raised an eyebrow. “You smoothed your fingerprints before you arrived.” It wasn’t a question. Removing the prints from their fingers was the first thing they were taught.

“Of course.”

Ashley stood, tucking their empty bottles into her purse. “Leave in five minutes. Walk the Strip, find a good area, then change and go home.” She touched Nichole on the shoulder. “I’ll see you there.” And before her nervous protégé could ask more questions, Ashley left the room.

No one could have known someone with that dark and slimy of an aura would be such a wuss. So afraid of his own fear that he receded into himself, leaving them nothing to take hold of to pull out his soul. What a waste. Leaving the body in the room left her with a residue of guilt, though she would never say that to Nichole.

Ashley hated to leave a job unfinished. As children, her brother and sister would shirk their chores for other things, but Ashley couldn’t leave them undone. She would finish hers and theirs, too. Her parents never knew, and her siblings didn’t care.

As an adult, she still couldn’t leave things undone. It had sabotaged her career and her marriage. No, the last wasn’t her fault.

She rubbed at her face as she rode the elevator down to the lobby. She’d been that woman who intimidated the men by working harder than them. Who, try as she might, could never be perfect—which her husband had reminded her of constantly. Who was another woman in another life. Tucking the memories safely away she strode out into the bright sunlight of the desert day.

She walked at a brisk pace, changing twice as she wove herself through the crowd. Given what she was leaving behind it felt best to look as different as possible. With each step, her skin and eyes darkened. Slowly. Her breasts and hips grew until the sundress stretched tight against her skin.

Once the change was complete she patted her shoulder-length hair and licked her wide lips. Pausing to look in a shop window at her reflection, she smiled. Her skin and eyes were a rich mocha.

“Oh, yeah, baby.” A man stuck his bald ebony head out the window of a passing car.

Satisfied, Ashley walked to the bus stop two blocks north and caught the bus back to her neighborhood.

• • •

When Eric climbed into Aaron’s car he was handed a file.

“Let me handle the talking,” Aaron said. “Miles Koburn has asked us to track down his daughter, but he doesn’t want the media to catch on that she is a runaway.” They pulled onto the freeway. “I’m going to ask her parents some follow-up questions. You should be able to inspect her room and the property, especially if you think there’s a connection with the desert girl. Keep any hunches to yourself. We don’t want to panic them unnecessarily.”

Local politics was a game Eric didn’t want to play. “They’re hiding the fact their daughter is a runaway.” He nodded. “How well do you know them? How would they react if Olivia had been kidnapped?”

Aaron drove away from the Strip. “He would tear the town apart, and he’s connected enough that he wouldn’t need to use his bare hands.”

Leaning back in his seat, Eric grunted. In this city, he expected nothing less.

• • •

When Ashley got home she searched every room until she found Tarma. The lean woman sat in a rocker in the air-conditioned sunroom at the back of the house, crocheting. The setting sun cast the room with an orange glow.

Tarma created colorful blankets, spending hours working with yarn and her hook. It was a rare holdover from her days before the sisterhood. Most women inducted did their best to forget everything about their previous life. Ashley was no different.

Tarma had gone from her family’s house to the sisterhood’s mansion. She seemed to enjoy the fact she hadn’t wasted time on relationships. And she told them on more than one occasion she’d known her purpose since childhood.

Ashley entered the sunroom and stretched out on one of the wicker chaise lounges. “Why do you crochet all the time? It’s not like we need any more blankets.”

“They’re not for us, silly. I donate them to children’s shelters.” She held up the project she’d been working on, three thick rows of bold colors with a kind of ridge running through it. Beautiful work.

“Where did you learn?”

“My mother.” She set the yarn, hook, and blanket into the basket beside her rocker. “It was the way she calmed down after Father was done with her.”

Most of the sisters came from environments where men ruled with iron fists. Still, Ashley lowered her head as she searched for something to say. “Oh.”

“Mother would make the most beautiful sweaters and blankets.” Tarma looked out the window to the garden at the rear of the house. “She should have become a member of the sisterhood. She had spirit.”

“It’s good you have a way to remember her.” Ashley couldn’t remember her own mother. After trying for a while she shrugged. Any memories she would find probably weren’t what she wanted to remember. The two women sat together, sharing the silence.

“Sorry,” Tarma said. “I tend to lean toward melancholy when a woman won’t let us help.” Her hands opened and closed on her lap. Then she reached into the basket for her project. “That poor woman went home to wait for him.” Her hands seemed to fly as she crocheted.

“Then it’s good that he won’t show,” Ashley said.

Tarma smiled wanly as her hook wrapped and looped through the yarn of the blanket at tremendous speed. “I told her that, but she insisted he was really a good man, just going through a hard time since his mother died. She told me he ‘followed the old school’ on marriage.” She looked at Ashley. “I wish the old school wasn’t so bad for the women.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Nichole wasn’t able to take his soul.”

Tarma’s hands paused again. “He didn’t turn her down; he was very much into her. I saw him. His aura was so dark and slimy he could have left a trail.”

Laughing, Ashley leaned back in the chair again. “That’s the truth. No, Nichole was just getting started when he went catatonic.”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Tarma shook her head, and her hands resumed their flying maneuvers. “Well, at least she didn’t mouse out. What did you do with him?”

“The only thing I could think of—we left him.” Ashley ran her teeth over her lower lip. “We couldn’t risk getting involved in an investigation.”

“You won’t be able to use those identities for several weeks you know.”

“Yeah, I know. They’ll want to question the women that went into the room with him.” Ashley closed her eyes and concentrated on stretching every muscle. “Shame. It was one of my best outfits.”

The sound of shuffling feet got Ashley’s attention, and she looked up at the sunroom entrance. An old Asian woman sat on the step that led to the other room. Every feature seemed wrinkled like a raisin. Unfortunately, the sundress the old woman wore ruined the effect.

“Nichole,” Tarma said gently. “You need to watch what clothes you’re wearing.”

The wrinkles around the old woman’s eyes deepened. She looked down at herself and sighed. The struggle evident, she gave the dress sleeves and a collar.

“Better?” The old eyes looked up hopefully.

“Longer,” Ashley said.

Nichole stood and again shook with effort. The dress lengthened.

Tarma made a noise that sounded like a squeaky hinge. A quick glance told Ashley the other woman was trying to muffle a giggle. “A shawl would complete the outfit.”

Nichole dropped to the step. “I can’t. I don’t have any energy left.” She leaned against the door frame. “Ashley told you?” she asked Tarma.

“Yes, she did. He was vile but also weak. Don’t worry, honey, she’ll take you out tonight and get you someone.” She looked meaningfully at Ashley. “If you ask nice she may even start him for you.”