“Did she ever do any private performances?” Hanson asked, having finally got his breathing under control. “For particular customers?”

  “No.” Keenan’s lips pinched together. “Sasha didn’t do that. She danced in public, or for small groups, but nothing more. If she saw any customers outside of the Red Letter, I don’t know about it.”

  Hmm. He seemed awfully defensive. But then, we could hardly expect him to admit to facilitating anything too hands on, could we?

  “Can we speak to the other dancers?” I’d trust their take on things more than this weasel’s.

  Keenan frowned and tilted his head, as if considering whether to refuse, but then relented. “Not for long. They have to get ready for a private show tonight.”

  “We’ll be as fast as we can.” Hanson was more placating than me. I’d have preferred to point out that this was a murder investigation, and we’d take as long as we needed.

  I stopped Keenan with one hand. “I’m sure you’re busy, but before you go, when was the last time you saw Sasha?”

  “Tuesday evening.” He’d clearly given this some thought, since he had the answer ready. “She wasn’t scheduled that night, but she came to talk to one of the other girls. I’d guess she left around eight or nine.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  So, Sasha had left here at, say, 8:30 p.m. Dr. Kelly estimated the time of death to be between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. What had happened in the two-and-a-half to four-and-a-half hours after she’d left the Red Letter?

  “Which girl did she talk to?” Hanson asked, just as Keenan was turning away.

  A flicker of calculation passed through his eyes, as if he was once again debating how much to say. “Portia. But she’s not here today. If you want to speak to her, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  He presented us with his back, summarily dismissing us.

  “Let me take the lead on these interviews,” I murmured to Hanson. The last thing I needed was him putting his foot in it and either saying something inappropriate or showing any kind of disdain for women who stripped for a living. I might not be warm and fuzzy, but I did my best to be respectful.

  He agreed without protest, which surprised me, but perhaps he was simply glad for the opportunity to sit back and relax.

  I circled around to the nearest dancer, a stunning Black woman in a hot pink tracksuit. “Excuse me, do you have a moment to answer a few questions about Sasha Sloane?”

  Her gaze flicked over me, and I got the feeling I’d been assessed by someone far more astute than I might have expected. But then she put her hand on her hip and grinned.

  “Sure thing, honey. What do you need to know?”

  An hour later, we’d spoken to all the dancers present—although many of them hadn’t wanted to give us the time of day. Perhaps they’d had bad experiences with the police in the past, in which case, I understood their need to be wary.

  We’d managed to ascertain a few facts. According to a particularly chatty dancer named Ruby, Sasha didn’t do any “touchy stuff,” which supported what Keenan had said. Sasha was—as far as anyone knew—strictly a performer.

  When I’d asked if Sasha had ever been tempted to break that rule, perhaps for any rich clients, we’d been told her boyfriend wouldn’t let her do that. He was protective. Maybe even dangerously so. They all spoke about him in hushed tones, but when pressed, none of them had met the man. They didn’t even know his name.

  Sasha Sloane’s boyfriend was a ghost.

  As we trudged back down the stairs, dispirited by the lack of leads for us to follow, a pair of heels clacked on the vinyl behind us.

  “Detectives,” a female voice hissed. “Wait up.”

  I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. It was Sapphire, the first dancer I’d spoken to. She hunched down and looked around, as if to make sure no one could see her talking to us.

  “What is it?” I asked, closing the distance between us.

  “I remembered something. I don’t know if it’s helpful or not, but I thought it was worth mentioning.”

  “What is it?” If she’d chased after us in order to share the details, I was willing to bet it had been playing on her mind more than she might want to admit.

  Sapphire bit her lower lip. “I’ve seen Sasha with a man a couple of times. She never danced for him. At least, not as far as I could tell, but they talked.”

  I perked up. “Her boyfriend?”

  But she shook her head. “I asked and she said no. He was just some guy who liked to talk to her. Some customers are like that. They just want us to listen to them.”

  Interesting. I guess exotic dancers might be like bartenders, in a sense.

  “Do you remember what he looked like?” I asked.

  “He had dark hair and light eyes. I couldn’t tell what color they were, but either blue or green, I think. Maybe gray. He was nicely built.” Her expression grew salacious. “Muscular. And he had one of those strong, square jaws like you expect to see in guys from the military or the police.”

  “How old?”

  Her face scrunched in thought. “Maybe in his thirties. I didn’t pay a heap of attention. I only noticed him because it was unusual that Sasha wasn’t dancing, and also… I wouldn’t have minded taking a bite out of him.”

  Hanson made a sound of disapproval.

  Sapphire rolled her eyes. “Anyway, hope that helps. I’d better get back.”

  “It does,” I assured her. “Thanks for telling us.”

  She bobbed her head and jogged back up the stairs. Hanson and I took the stairs to the bottom and exited onto the streetside.

  “At least we know she had a boyfriend now,” Hanson said as we headed for the squad car.

  “Someone who was the jealous type,” I added. “We can assume the baby was probably his, although whether he knew about it is another matter entirely. What do you make of the other guy Sapphire mentioned?”

  Hanson shrugged. “It’s something to go off. I doubt it’s enough for us to get a warrant for the club’s cameras so we can identify him though, and there’s no way Keenan is letting us see the recordings without a warrant. Not if the rumors are true.”

  “Mm.”

  “Maybe she was dating a mobster.” Hanson pushed a button on the key fob to unlock the car. “Since they supposedly run this club and all.”

  Mobster.

  I gasped as an image flashed into my mind.

  A handsome dark haired, green eyed, square jawed man in his thirties. One who fit Sapphire’s description perfectly.

  My not-husband.

  Hanson was staring at me, concern scrawled across his brow. “You okay?”

  “I need to check something,” I breathed. “Wait here.”

  I rushed back into the club, up the stairs, and over to Sapphire. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t run. I stopped in front of her, opened my phone and sifted through photographs until I found what I was looking for.

  I showed it to her. “Is this the guy you saw talking to Sasha?”

  She leaned over to get a better look. “I couldn’t say for sure, but I think so. Who is he?”

  I ignored her question. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  I walked away, my mind reeling. Our dead woman had been chatting with West.

  Why?

  I stumbled down the stairs on autopilot, searching through a mental Rolodex of reasons why they might have any cause to know each other. If he’d been investigating the mob and she worked at a mob business, then perhaps he thought she could help him.

  I wasn’t even going to think about the fact my so-called husband had been at a strip club frequently enough that one of the dancers was able to describe him well enough for me to identify him.

  “What’s wrong?” Hanson asked as I opened the passenger door and slumped inside. “You’re white as a sheet.”

  I grimaced. “I needed to use the bathroom. Must have eaten something off.”

  He cringed but didn’t ask anything further. Just as well. I wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that my husband had just become a person of interest in our homicide investigation.

  10

  WEST

  I was out behind Henry’s, chatting with one of the delivery drivers, when my phone rang. I excused myself and returned inside, checking the screen as I did. My heart lifted. It was Joanna. I accepted the call.

  “Hey.” I sounded as breathless as I felt.

  “Hi. Are you alone?” Her tone was brisk and businesslike.

  I looked around. “Yeah. I just popped into the bar to help with a couple of things, but I was about to leave.”

  “Good.” She hesitated for a moment. “Can you meet me at Grant Park?”

  My eyebrows flew up. I couldn’t imagine why she might ask me to meet her there rather than at our apartment or even Henry’s.

  “Sure.” I checked that the back door was locked and headed out through the fire exit, which automatically locked behind me. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  My car—a small sedan with several hidden compartments, which actually belonged to the bureau rather than me—was parked to the rear of the building. I unlocked it manually, checked that the trunk was empty, because in my line of work it paid to be suspicious, and dropped into the driver’s seat. I cranked up the heater and drove toward Grant Park.

  When I arrived, I walked to meet Joanna, who was standing near the entrance. The park was almost deserted, no doubt thanks to the chilly temperatures and gray skies. My wife—I refused to think of her as anything else—stood silhouetted against the clouds, beautiful, but something about her seemed terribly distant too.

  Sad. Alone.

  My heart ached for her. I wished I could take her into my arms and comfort her. But I couldn’t do that. There was every chance I’d spend the rest of my life desperate for Joanna’s affection but never able to have it. I’d just have to hope that, one day, she’d be able to forgive me. Or at the very least, let me make it up to her.

  I didn’t speak until I drew closer to her. “I was surprised you called.”

  Although “surprised” didn’t really cover it. “Shocked” would be more accurate.

  She raised her chin, unsmiling. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay.” I stopped moving and slid my hands inside my pockets. “Hit me with it.”

  She took her phone out and tapped on the screen, then turned it toward me. I leaned close, barely managing not to flinch at the sight that greeted me. It was so far from anything I might have expected that I was caught off guard. Not that I’d really known what to expect at all.

  Sasha Sloane’s blank eyes gazed out at me. Based on the splash of crimson on her chin and the position of her head, I’d hazard a guess this photograph had been taken at the crime scene.

  “Do you know her?” Joanna asked, her voice deceptively even.

  She was anxious. Perhaps most people wouldn’t be able to tell, but I could. It was in the way her pointer finger tapped against the side of the phone and the subtle shifting of her weight from one foot to the other while she waited for a response. She already suspected the answer. But how had she connected Sasha to me?

  Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d always been told that Joanna was a hell of an investigator.

  “Her name is Sasha Sloane,” I said, knowing that if I denied an acquaintance, I’d only be digging a deeper hole in which to bury the remains of our marriage.

  Joanna nodded. “That’s right. She’s the subject of the murder investigation I’m currently working on. What I want to know is what she has to do with you.”

  I rolled my head from side to side, debating how much to tell her. On the one hand, she’d clearly already put some of the pieces together, but I didn’t have direct approval from Adam to share any of the details of our operation with her—except for a blanket permission to discuss my father, and this wasn’t the time for that.

  I sighed. I should have had a drink before leaving the bar. “She was Carlos Ortez’s mistress.”

  A quick intake of breath. ‘We knew she had a boyfriend, and that he might be in the mob, but the boss himself?”

  I inclined my head, confirming it.

  “Is that why you were seen talking to her at the Red Letter strip club?” She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes.

  I winced, feeling both sheepish and guilty. It was one thing for her to know I was undercover, but I hated her being aware that I visited places like the Red Letter. It cheapened our relationship, even if I’d never gone there for pleasure.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I cultivated a relationship with Sasha’s best friend, another dancer, and eventually, she introduced us.”

  Her jaw ticked. “A relationship.”

  I held up my hands, my palms out, placating. “Purely business.”

  “Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I have absolutely no reason to doubt a thing you say.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” It sounded weak, and we both knew it.

  “So, what was it like?” she asked. “Tell me.”

  “Sasha was feeding me information to implicate Ortez’s wife in criminal dealings.”

  A light went off in her head. “She wanted the wife out of the way.”

  “Exactly.” I almost grinned. This was beginning to feel less like an interrogation and more like a pair of colleagues sharing intel. I could work with that. “I promised to pass the evidence along if she gave me enough for a conviction, and meanwhile, I was triple checking everything she sent through, hoping it would give me something on Ortez himself, or the men who work for him.”

  “Including the dirty cops?”

  “Yes. She was an incredible source of information.” I wouldn’t say I’d liked Sasha, but I’d respected her for knowing what she wanted and going after it ruthlessly. It was a shame it had ended badly for her. I wasn’t sure who had wielded the knife, but I had no doubt it was someone from Ortez’s shadowy world.

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed her?” Joanna asked, as if she’d somehow read my train of thought.

  “No.” I pursed my lips. “Helena Ortez had plenty of reason to want her out of the picture, but Sasha was a weak link in their organization as a whole. It could have been any number of people.”

  Joanna tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed out over the gardens. “Will her best friend know?”

  “She doesn’t.” I must have spoken too quickly because Joanna’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’ve been in touch with her since the body was found?” she demanded.

  I braced myself. There was no easy way to say this. “Portia is the woman you saw me with in that coffee shop.”

  She reeled back, as if I’d hit her, but then her gaze cleared. “You were holding her hand because she’d just found her best friend’s dead body?”

  “That’s right.” I was relieved she’d jumped to the right conclusion this time.

  “The call that reported Sloane’s body was from a male.” She tapped her chin. “Portia called you, and you informed the police.”

  “Right again. Portia doesn’t trust the police. Especially not officers in uniform.” I didn’t blame her. Portia was an escort as well as a dancer, and she’d experienced how badly some cops treated sex workers firsthand.

  “Why did you stay in the area?” she asked, but then nodded as if she’d answered her own question. “Because you thought Neal would pick up the case, not me.”

  I chuckled. “Do you need me here at all? It seems like you’ve got this figured out.”

  I regretted the quip the instant her cool gaze landed on me. Usually, she didn’t mind my teasing, but I guess that was a perk of being the man she loved. Now, I got to find out how it felt to be the recipient of her scorn.

  “Tell me more about Portia,” she said, her eyes darting around, scanning the area.

  We were alone.

  I drew in a deep breath. Adam was going to be furious with me for sharing so much information, but I was trusting my judgment when it came to Joanna and hoping like hell she wouldn’t prove me wrong.

  “I made contact with her initially, when she was brought in on solicitation charges. She works at a brothel owned by the Ortez family and one of her regular clients is the man we believe leaked information to them about the raid on their warehouse. I got the charges against her dropped and, in return, she’s been supplying me with any tidbits she learns from him.”

  Joanna crossed her arms. “And has she been useful?”

  “Yes, in a broad sense. She hasn’t given us anything definitive, but enough to implicate several other officers.” Now that we knew to watch them, it was only a matter of waiting for them to slip up.

  Joanna took this in silently, then asked, “Was she able to tell you much about Sasha Sloane’s death?”

  “Not beyond the fact she suspects Helena Ortez is responsible. She was reluctant to say much when we spoke. She’d only just found the body and was struggling to hold it together. She might be able to offer more insight now.” I debated whether to continue but decided I had little to lose. “She may be more comfortable speaking to a woman.”

  Joanna scoffed. “Me?”

  I shrugged. “Who better? It’s your case, and it would be better if this could stay off the official record, so it doesn’t interfere with our operation.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Let me get this straight. You want me to interview the woman who inadvertently broke our sham of a marriage and then ignore protocol to protect my lying fake husband while I’m at it?”

  “Um…” There was definitely a right and wrong answer here, but unfortunately, it wasn’t one of the times I could afford to soothe her pride. “Yes. Pretty much.”

  Her laser-focused glare could slice through steel like butter. She didn’t want to, that much was clear. I yearned to take her hand, but I couldn’t be sure whether she’d accept the offer or punch me for it.

  “There’s never been anything sexual or romantic between Portia and me,” I assured her. “I’m a physical person, you know that. Holding her hand was about supporting her while she went through something traumatic. Nothing more.”

 

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