closed the phone and faced Mitchell. “I have to go out.”
“She calls and you jump? She that good?”
“You’re a jerk. “ Sandy gathered her small purse and headed for the door.
“Take my jacket.”
Sandy pulled a tiny royal blue satin zip-up top from the coat tree by her door and slipped it on. “Don’t you know by now that they don’t buy what they can’t see?”
Mitchell paled. “Sandy…”
But she was talking to a closed door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sandy threaded her way through the crowd clustered around the bar for last call and walked into the dark recesses of the rear. She dropped into the seat across from Frye at a tiny back table. “Funny place for a meeting, unless you’re looking to get laid. You looking for some action? Cause I’m free now, thanks to you.”
Rebecca ignored the taunts. Sandy’s anger was one thing she counted on, and she had a feeling it was a big part of what kept Sandy from being swallowed by the street. “You get rid of your visitor? “
“What do you think? I left him at my place?” Sandy ried not to think about where Mitchell had gone, what she was doing, who she might be with. “You gonna be calling all the time now? It cramps my style.”
“You’re not supposed to have a style any longer, remember?” Every night as she drove the streets, Rebecca watched the young girls sell their bodies to survive, knowing there was nothing she could do to change their fates. She tried, and would probably keep trying—scanning the faces, looking for likenesses to the blurred images on the missing persons bulletins, taking those she could convince to leave the life to shelters or women centers—but it was a never-ending battle doomed to failure. Every day there were more of them. Why Sandy meant more to her that any of the others, she couldn’t say. “I have an investment in you, and I expect you to take care of yourself.”
“I’ve managed just fine so far.”
“Yeah—that new scar on your forehead is proof of that. Someone beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?”
“It was nothing. I could have handled that even if Dell—” Sandy clamped her jaws shut. Shit!
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What does Mitchell have to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Her life is on the line now, Sandy. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t have time.” Rebecca’s tone was harsh, not with anger, but worry. What in hell have I missed?
“A guy was roughing me up. Dell stopped him.”
“Stopped him how?”
“Like cops do—she took the fucker down and arrested him. She got into trouble for it, too—because she pulled her gun and got rough or something.”
And the pieces tumbled into place. Mitchell on suspension. Mitchell undergoing counseling—mandatory in situations like that. Catherine and Mitchell—Catherine who must know all about it. How much hasn’t Catherine told me?
“Okay,” Rebecca said quietly. “So let’s talk business. I need you to find an Asian girl named Lucy.”
“Lucy what?”
“No last name—she’s about sixteen, and she might work for Angel Rivera.”
“Angel’s a mean pimp.” Sandy’s eyes grew hard. “He hooks his girls on smack to keep them working.”
“I know that,” Rebecca said, her anger barely contained. And I’d love to put him away, or kick the crap out of him, but he always manages to slip through some crack in the system. “I tried showing the picture of the girl from the video around Chinatown. I thought maybe she was a runway and someone might know her.” Four hours in and out of every bodega and restaurant in a ten-block area and one slim lead to show for it. “No one knew her, but someone said they thought maybe she was a friend of this Lucy.”
“That’s kinda thin, don’t you think?”
“It’s what I’ve got.” Roberta looked at her watch. “Where’s Mitchell now?”
That twist of pain was unexpected and Sandy jerked involuntarily. To cover her surprise, she laughed harshly. “How should I
“She calls and you jump? She that good?”
“You’re a jerk. “ Sandy gathered her small purse and headed for the door.
“Take my jacket.”
Sandy pulled a tiny royal blue satin zip-up top from the coat tree by her door and slipped it on. “Don’t you know by now that they don’t buy what they can’t see?”
Mitchell paled. “Sandy…”
But she was talking to a closed door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sandy threaded her way through the crowd clustered around the bar for last call and walked into the dark recesses of the rear. She dropped into the seat across from Frye at a tiny back table. “Funny place for a meeting, unless you’re looking to get laid. You looking for some action? Cause I’m free now, thanks to you.”
Rebecca ignored the taunts. Sandy’s anger was one thing she counted on, and she had a feeling it was a big part of what kept Sandy from being swallowed by the street. “You get rid of your visitor? “
“What do you think? I left him at my place?” Sandy ried not to think about where Mitchell had gone, what she was doing, who she might be with. “You gonna be calling all the time now? It cramps my style.”
“You’re not supposed to have a style any longer, remember?” Every night as she drove the streets, Rebecca watched the young girls sell their bodies to survive, knowing there was nothing she could do to change their fates. She tried, and would probably keep trying—scanning the faces, looking for likenesses to the blurred images on the missing persons bulletins, taking those she could convince to leave the life to shelters or women centers—but it was a never-ending battle doomed to failure. Every day there were more of them. Why Sandy meant more to her that any of the others, she couldn’t say. “I have an investment in you, and I expect you to take care of yourself.”
“I’ve managed just fine so far.”
“Yeah—that new scar on your forehead is proof of that. Someone beat the living hell out of you, didn’t they?”
“It was nothing. I could have handled that even if Dell—” Sandy clamped her jaws shut. Shit!
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “What does Mitchell have to do with it?”
“Nothing.”
“Her life is on the line now, Sandy. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t have time.” Rebecca’s tone was harsh, not with anger, but worry. What in hell have I missed?
“A guy was roughing me up. Dell stopped him.”
“Stopped him how?”
“Like cops do—she took the fucker down and arrested him. She got into trouble for it, too—because she pulled her gun and got rough or something.”
And the pieces tumbled into place. Mitchell on suspension. Mitchell undergoing counseling—mandatory in situations like that. Catherine and Mitchell—Catherine who must know all about it. How much hasn’t Catherine told me?
“Okay,” Rebecca said quietly. “So let’s talk business. I need you to find an Asian girl named Lucy.”
“Lucy what?”
“No last name—she’s about sixteen, and she might work for Angel Rivera.”
“Angel’s a mean pimp.” Sandy’s eyes grew hard. “He hooks his girls on smack to keep them working.”
“I know that,” Rebecca said, her anger barely contained. And I’d love to put him away, or kick the crap out of him, but he always manages to slip through some crack in the system. “I tried showing the picture of the girl from the video around Chinatown. I thought maybe she was a runway and someone might know her.” Four hours in and out of every bodega and restaurant in a ten-block area and one slim lead to show for it. “No one knew her, but someone said they thought maybe she was a friend of this Lucy.”
“That’s kinda thin, don’t you think?”
“It’s what I’ve got.” Roberta looked at her watch. “Where’s Mitchell now?”
That twist of pain was unexpected and Sandy jerked involuntarily. To cover her surprise, she laughed harshly. “How should I
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