I wondered if Hugh knew that being that unwanted thing meant you'd stepped behind a curtain. That you were back there with all of your own kind. That as much as you hid, you were also drawn. Did Hugh know this because he was a killer, too?

  Back in New York, when I realized that the bullet I'd just shot thunked into a corpse instead of the living, breathing man who killed my brother, I hardly had time to think. His security burst through the doors and I ran for my life. When I found out it was Bobby Maxim who stole my revenge, I blamed him for everything. The death of my brother, my own failure to avenge him, for the creature I felt myself becoming.

  But I didn't try to kill Bobby. I held back, not wanting to do the exact thing that he expected of me. When Robert offered an end to Joy Humbolt in exchange for tracking down his Mexican friend's missing daughter I went along, hoping to put my past behind me. But the girl, Ana Maria Hernandez Vargas, turned out to be a manipulative, cold-blooded killer who screwed me six ways from Sunday. Right as I was exacting my revenge on her, exposing the rat that she was, Robert sent stupid men with lots of guns after me and my friends, including fucking Mulberry. In the end, Robert disposed of Ana Maria more permanently than I planned. He also killed Joy Humbolt. Her body was found, her case closed, the manhunt ended, and I was free to be Sydney Rye. So, again, I didn't try to kill him.

  But here's the fucked up thing. While I didn't kill Bobby Maxim, I killed a shit ton of other people in my time as Sydney Rye. A shit ton of men, to be more specific. Guys who took advantage of their strength and cruelty to subjugate others. But more important than any moral ground I thought I stood on was the hole in the pit of my stomach, the unfulfilled promise that made me want to tear everything apart. Did Hugh have the same hole? No, I thought turning away from the restaurant and heading down the street. Hugh was innocent and I was going to prove it. But first, I needed some clothing.

  #

  Lincoln Road ran east to west away from the beach toward the bay. It was like an outdoor mall with a wide plaza between the stores where restaurants had seating and street performers entertained for tips. Waiters and waitresses were setting the tables in the center. They hurried from inside the restaurants out into the sun, carrying cutlery wrapped in napkins, plates, and glasses. There were few pedestrians at this hour but the place buzzed with the anticipation of the lunch crowd.

  Between the restaurants were clothing and accessories stores, their brightly lit windows filled with proposed outfits. Doors propped open letting the air conditioning float out. Looking at the displays I tried to imagine myself in a pair of straight leg jeans, a button-down shirt, and a fitted blazer but it seemed so wholly ridiculous. Blue and I wandered in and out of the shops, working our way lazily down the street, my mind mulling and turning.

  A gold flash flickered at the corner of my eye and I turned to see a darkened store front. Except one of the mannequins was wearing a gold sequined dress that caught the sun in a brilliant display of twinkles. I walked over to it. The dress was strapless and short, not the kind of thing you could bend over in. Too short even for a knife on the inner thigh. But with that much leg you could probably keep a small pistol between...my eyes shifted focus and I saw a group of people standing in the store.

  It was dark inside. I flicked my eyes to the closed sign on the front door, then back to the group. Three women, thin, drawn, frightened, dressed provocatively like the mannequins in the window. And two men, thick brows and flattened noses, short hair, eyes that told me to fuck off. Blue nuzzled my hip. I decided to try the door.

  It was mirrored, reflecting the plaza behind me, the growing lunch crowd, a man setting up to play an accordion, the sun a bright globe of light almost at its apex. I tested the handle, pulling slightly, not locked. A small panel listed the store hours. They were supposed to be open.

  I was sure the group inside could see me. So I yanked hard, jumping out of the way . The sun shot through in a blinding ray. I stepped into the beam, backlit. The men squinted at me, their pupils little pin pricks. The women shielded their eyes, holding up forearms against the light. There were finger bruises on the pale flesh of one girl. Ligature marks, fading but still visible, on the wrists of the other two. Blue's and my shadow stopped five feet in front of the cluster.

  "We're closed," the bigger of the two men yelled, his accent Slavic. He was a little closer to me, to the left of the girls who stood between the men. He wore a pair of jeans with an Eastern European cut and faux wear on the knees and thighs. The smaller guy was balding, his head shaved. He wore a tight black T-shirt that showed off a defined chest and strong shoulders. Tattoos started at his wrists and wound up his arms, Cyrillic lettering interspersed with swastikas was the theme. Oh, and titties.

  When I didn't respond to the big guy’s question the smaller one smirked. "Vhat are you, blind and deaf?" he asked, his accent thicker. It took me a second to realize he thought I was blind and that Blue was my seeing eye dog.

  The door began to swing shut behind me, sweeping darkness across the floor. It closed with a soft click.

  "Get out," the big one told me again. He was starting to look angry, his shoulders bunching up, making his neck look comically short.

  "Do you speak English?" I asked the women. The one with the forearm bruises understood me, I could see it in her eyes. But she didn't answer.

  "You go now, we are closed," the big one said.

  "Are you okay?" I asked her.

  He started toward me. The woman licked her lips and then pulled the bottom one between her teeth, biting down on it. She had big brown eyes and stringy blonde hair that hung down to her bony shoulders. She was wearing a bright blue dress. Its rich color made her pale skin look gray. The smaller man reached out and grabbed her bicep, shaking her hard. She winced and lowered her eyes to the ground, teetering on high heels.

  Blue growled and raised his hackles. The big man's approach stuttered but didn't stop. He reached out, as if to take my left arm. Blue's growl grew louder. The man's fingers touched my skin. I squatted low twisting my body away from him and fisting my right hand. Blue barked, high pitched and grating, throwing the big guy off as much as my quick movement. Pushing into the ground, I rocketed my body up, extending my right arm while keeping a slight bend in the elbow, and plowed into the guy's chin.

  He stumbled back, his neck exposed. Pivoting fast I drove my left fist into his throat. His hands flew up, clutching at his neck. The man's feet lost contact with the ground, his knees buckled, and he landed on his ass hard enough that I felt it through the floor. Staring up at me with bulging eyes he coughed on a breath. Wheezed and coughed again.

  I looked up and the smaller man was struggling to pull a gun out of his pants while still clutching onto the girl. She was shaking violently and pulling away from him, the whites of her eyes visible in her panic. The sight of his pistol had snagged in his pants and all he needed to do was let go of the girl and free it, but he was too shocked, his body wouldn't let him release her. And that was going to cost him.

  Blue leapt forward, placing his front paws on the big guy's shoulders, knocking him flat on his back. I knew he'd placed his teeth against the man's already bruised throat but I didn't wait to watch. I ran as fast as I could toward the guy with the grip. His eyes widened in the moment it took me to close the space between us and his gun arm pulled harder.

  Pivoting sideways I used my momentum to jam my elbow into his solar plexus, keeping it there as he bent around my arm, his face almost touching my shoulder. He let go of the girl and she fell back with a small cry. Straightening my arm, I reached down and wrapped my hand around his, sneaking my finger in front of his and over the trigger. With my free hand I grabbed him behind the neck. He went very still. Our faces were a breath away from each other, his chin pressed on the back of my bicep, body curled around the gun aimed at his junk.

  Sweat poured down his brow and his mouth was open, sucking in air. The man's heartbeat thumped in his chest and I could feel it against my arm. He was very much alive and knew that could be extremely temporary.

  Blue's low growl permeated the air and I could hear the big man's wheezing breaths. Quieter still was the soft mews of the women, they were good at crying silently. "I know you can understand me," I said to the woman, while keeping my eyes on the man.

  Her friends had helped her up and now they stood together, a tight huddle, backs against the wall, the one in blue slightly in front of the other two. Their long exposed legs teetering on high heels made them look like a tightly knit group of trees shaking in the wind.

  "We've got a situation here," I said to the man. He blinked. "What do you suggest we do?"

  His brow furrowed slightly, his breath was returning to normal. "Let go?" When he spoke his chin pressed deeper into my muscle.

  I smiled. "Unbutton your pants."

  "Fuck off," he said.

  "Should I have my dog kill your friend?"

  His mouth twitched up, he was feeling a little confident that his dick might make it through. For all I knew the safety was on. For all I knew, if I pressed his finger harder, nothing would happen. But as soon as I applied pressure his mouth puckered and he twitched his hip back. "Unbutton your pants."

  He reached around and pulled, the jeans unsnapped and loosened, freeing the gun. The idiot grabbed for it, pulling the muzzle down, pushing my finger into his, and his into the trigger. The bang sounded real loud that close up. I felt hot blood explode over my hand and up my arm. His fingers went limp, eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the man slid down my arm then fell sideways onto the ground, his hand still stuck under mine. Blood and chunks of flesh covered our joining, and sizzled on the tip of the hot gun barrel. The smell of burned flesh filled the air.

  I dropped the gun, his arm flopped to the ground. Then I kicked it away from him, sending it skittering under a rack of clothes leaving a splatter of blood in its wake. "Lock the door," I said to the girl. She didn't move for a second. "Please," I said, and caught her eyes, filling mine with goodwill and strength. She stepped toward me and then scurried past the smaller man, giving the big guy, still under Blue's control, a wide berth. She reached the door and turned the dead bolt.

  I grabbed a dress off the rack and wiped off my hand and arm as best I could, throwing the garment onto the floor when done. My shirt was officially ruined. Pulling out my phone I called Malina, one of the first people to know me as Sydney Rye. She owed me a lot and always picked up when I called. "Sydney," she said, and I could practically see the grin, full lips drawn wide over perfect white teeth. In the background I heard a man's voice squawking over a loudspeaker and the sounds of a crowd.

  "Do you know anyone in Miami?" I asked.

  Her voice dropped low and serious. "Sydney. What's happening?"

  "I need someone with connections in your world and I need that person now. Do you have anyone you trust?"

  "Yes."

  #

  Less than three minutes later my phone rang. It was a local number. I answered. "Malina said you needed help. I am at your disposal," said a male voice, rich and foreign. His accent sounded African, I thought. Senegalese maybe. Dead sexy, definitely.

  I told him my situation. While waiting for his call I'd gagged, blindfolded, and tied up the big guy in a back office I found. The other one was still breathing but leaking blood at a pace that wouldn’t last. He remained unconscious, but I’d bound his hands just in case. The women stood together, watching me and whispering quietly to each other. They were no longer shaking. When I finished my account the man said, "I am on my way. You should leave."

  "What? I'm not just leaving them here."

  "Go out the back door. You will come to an alley. The third door to your right will bring you into the back room of a salon. You can leave through the shop."

  "But-"

  "If you want my help you will do as I say." I didn't answer right away. "You have no choice but to trust me. Now go." He hung up the phone.

  I looked over at the three women. "Someone is on his way," I said. "He's going to take you to safety."

  The woman in blue stared at me then spoke for the first time. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice unsure but the accent pretty good. I could still hear a hint of her native tongue. She came from somewhere cold and harsh with a language that matched its dark and dangerous landscape.

  "Safe travels," I said and then followed Malina's friend's advice, entering the alley and running a couple of doors down to the salon. The door was unlocked and I stepped into an air-conditioned room. The three sinks with seats backing up to them made it clear this space was used for hair washing. Right by the door was a shelving unit filled with dyes, shampoos, and other supplies.

  I grabbed a smock off a shelf and quickly threw it around myself, snapping the buttons at the base of my neck. Blue sat slightly behind me, head low, scrunching into himself, trying to look smaller. The door opened and a woman walked in. She startled when she saw me, then placed her hand over her heart and smiled. "I am sorry, you gave me a start. I didn't know you were back here." She held her hand out pointing toward the row of sinks. "I'm Missy, let me get you shampooed. Who are you here to see?" she asked.

  I smiled. "I'm not sure of their name," I said. "My hotel made the arrangements and I just walked over." I sat in the chair, being careful to keep my hands under the fabric. Blue sat next to me. The woman walked around me glancing at Blue. "Nice dog," she said.

  "Thanks, it's great you're pet friendly."

  "Sure," she said. I heard her turn the tap, the rush of water from the spout.

  "What are you thinking of having done?" she asked, pressing on my shoulder for me to lean back.

  I slid into the seat, my neck resting on the cool porcelain. "Something drastic," I answered.

  #

  When I got back to my suite I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned the smock from around my neck. I'd convinced the hairdresser I loved it and wanted to keep it. She told me it did look nice. Her face didn't agree with her words but she went along with it.

  I unbuttoned my stained shirt and, grabbing a plastic laundry bag from the closet, pushed it in. Peeling off my jeans I dropped them into the bag and then tied it off. I took a shower and scrubbed at my skin. I'd taken a trip to the ladies room at the salon and gotten as much off my hand and arm as I could but it had soaked through my shirt and onto my stomach and ribs. After the shower I climbed naked into bed. Blue jumped up and settled at my feet, his chin resting on my calf. I dialed Malina's number. She picked up.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked.

  "Perfect, Sydney, everything is perfect."

  "Good," I said, feeling the exhaustion of relief and jet lag come at me.

  "You sound tired, Sydney. Is everything all right?"

  "Hugh is in real trouble, Malina," I said.

  "Dan told me."

  I bit my lip feeling a surge of emotion. "I'm exhausted."

  "Take a nap. You will feel better."

  My last thought before sleep descended on me like a heavy blanket, was that so far, I'd been pretty useless to Hugh.

  I woke to someone knocking at the door. Blue rushed out of the bedroom and through the living room toward the entrance. I followed, pausing to grab a robe from the bathroom. When I checked the peep hole I saw a bellboy, resplendent in his tasseled uniform. I need to switch hotels, I thought, before opening the door.

  "Ms. Sydney Rye?" he asked.

  "Yes?"

  "This came for you," he said, holding up a large white box with a skull and cross bones patterned ribbon tied around it.

  "Oh," I said, taken aback. He passed it to me and I put it inside the room. "Who delivered it?" I asked, as I grabbed my purse off the entrance table and pulled out a $20 bill.

  "Don't know, Miss. Sorry," he said, eyeing the bill in my hand. I thanked him handing over the money.

  Back in my room I placed the box on the bed. I looked for a card but there was just the large and floppy satin bow. I pulled on it, the knot falling out of place easily. Inside a handwritten note sat on top of folded black tissue paper.

  I thought you might have nothing to wear, what with your tiny duffle. Looking forward to this evening.

  -Robert

  I pulled back the paper under which was a dress. Black and ruched it lay nestled in the tissue. I thought back to the last time I'd been given a dress. It was in New York. The man who gave it to me later fucked my brains out in a way I found downright delicious. It was the same night I met Bobby Maxim.

  I wasn't afraid when I went to that party in a dress given to me by my lover. I was excited. Exhilarated. Was this how Bobby still thought of me? As Joy Humbolt, unafraid, playing with the idea of being naughty.

  I lifted it up. Unfurled, the dress proved to be about knee length with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Dropping it back on the bed, I untied my robe and threw it on the spare bed. Picking up Robert's dress I held it in front of myself using the full length mirror on the back of the closet to judge my appearance.

  The ruched material caught the light here and there, reflecting almost silver against the black. It made my eyes flash. I put it on, pushing the material down my hips. It fit like a fine glove, hugging every curve. However, the rough texture, cap sleeves, and ladylike length made it elegant. I turned, checking my back—the dress covered my shoulder blades. The material hugged my ass, following its curve around, but not so far that it became obscene.

  In this dress I could strap a knife to my thigh. I pulled up the hem. It came easily, as the material made to scrunch. My phone rang and I dropped the dress, feeling almost guilty.

  The screen showed a picture of Dan, smiling against a setting sun, sitting on our veranda in Goa. I bit my lip feeling an ache of regret and loss. The last time we'd spoken I'd been at a private airport in Delhi, huddled into a quiet corner, my cellphone pressed to my cheek, a glass of seltzer bubbling on the table next to me. Mulberry sat at the bar, his eyes trained on the TV but his tight shoulders and clenching jaw made it clear his attention was on me. Our flight out of India left in 30 minutes.

 

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