Darkness Calls by Caridad Piñeiro Page B

again.

Chapter 10
    T he line winding away from the front door was exceptionally long. Information had been leaked, and the papers that morning had hinted that a serial killer might be picking his victims at The Lair. Diana had worried the publicity might drive the killer away. Judging from the line, caution was not the catchword of the day. As always, dozens of young women waited to enter the club, clothed to attract attention.
    She walked to the front of the line and whispered something in the bouncer’s ear. He let her pass, to the loud annoyance and grumblings of those waiting. As she stepped inside, she was pleased to see that everyone was in place.
    Walking to the far end of the club, Diana entered the hall and strode to the security guard’s office. She observed the views from the various monitors and spoke to the man responsible for watching the monitors. “You’ll have those for me after you close?”
    The man nodded, and satisfied with the arrangements, she told the rest of her crew, through the wire she wore, that she was heading back out into the crowd. In the hall, she ran into Ryder. His face was grim.
    â€œAre you sure you want to do this again?”
    â€œYou sound like David. I’m sure. This guy is bound to strike soon, and we still haven’t come up with anything that’ll help us catch him.” She walked down the hall, Ryder trailing behind her. As they neared the door to the main area, he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.
    â€œBe careful out there, Diana.”
    She got the eerie sense that he knew about her fears from the night before. Maybe he was just good at reading vibes, she told herself. She had been a little jittery all day and he must have picked up on that.
    â€œI’ll be fine, Ryder,” she assured him, trying to convince herself, as well, that the blood and demon from the dream had been nothing but the workings of her tired mind and too-vivid imagination.
    â€œI’ll be watching,” he said. She nodded and headed into the crowd.
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    Ryder kept an eye on her as she flitted from one man to another on the dance floor below.
    She moved with an athletic grace, her tight body encased in snug olive green leather pants and a black tank top whose scooped neck and cropped cut showed off too much flesh for his liking. Too many men had likely envisioned how those full breasts would taste. How the muscled gap of skin visible above the waistband of the leather pants would feel.
    His own body was hard with the imagining, his blood pumping thickly through him, threatening to bring out the demon. He took a deep breath, but she was too far away for him to smell her and he regretted the distance from the catwalk to the floor below.
    She had chosen her position well, he thought. The wash of the lights from the stage made her act highly visible. Despite that, there had been no more than a half-dozen men who had approached. None had lingered for more than a dance or two. He wondered if they had been fellow agents or men drawn to her.
    Ryder was certain that none of those who had approached had been the killer. As alluring as Diana had been, the murderer needed more to entice him into action. Ryder had no doubt about that. The darkness of the murders, the torment the killer wrung from his victims, was punishment. Payback for the sexual games the women played. Games the psychopath both enjoyed and resented.
    He suspected that Diana’s show on the dance floor hadn’t come close to the level necessary to pique the murderer’s interest, much less his anger.
    Ryder intended to help her by changing that.
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    His strong hand slipped around her midsection, drawing her away from the agent who had been dancing with her.
    She turned and met Ryder’s gaze. “What are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her close, his arm encircling her waist.
    â€œDance,” he commanded in low tones.
    Because she couldn’t risk making the wrong