maybe he wouldn't try.
“She's not Emily, Kate.”
Kate sucked in a breath as if he'd slapped her and turned sharply to glare at him. “I'm well aware of that. My daughter is dead.”
“And you still blame yourself. After all this time.”
“As far as I know, there's no statute of limitations on guilt.”
“It wasn't your fault. And neither is this.”
“Emily was my daughter, my responsibility. Angie is my client, my responsibility,” she argued stubbornly.
“How many of your clients do you take home with you?” Quinn demanded, moving away from the railing, closer to her.
“None, but—”
“How many of your clients do you stay with around the clock?”
“None, but—”
“Then there's no reason for you to think you should have been with her.”
“She needed me and I wasn't here.”
“But anytime you get a chance to punish yourself, by God, you're right there,” Quinn said, old anger of his own rising up sharp and pure. He could remember too well the frustration of trying to separate Kate from her sense of culpability in Emily's death. He could remember too well the need to shake her and hold her close at once, because that was exactly what he was feeling now.
She stood before him, fierce and angry and defensive. And beautiful. And vulnerable. He wanted to protect her from the pain she would inflict on herself. And she would fight him tooth and nail every step of the way.
“I'm taking responsibility—as if you don't know anything about that,” she said bitterly, toe to toe with him. “The Mighty Quinn, curing the cancer of modern society. Singlehandedly rooting out all evil. You carry the world around on your shoulders as if you were sole guardian, and you have the gall to stand there and criticize me? My God, you're amazing!”
Shaking her head, she started past him for the front steps.
“Where are you going?” He reached for her as if he still had some right to touch her. She stepped aside, giving him a look that could have frozen water at fifty paces.
“I'm going to do something. I'm not sitting here biting my fingernails all night. On the slim chance Angie left here under her own power, the least I can do is help look for her.”
Hands in her coat pockets, digging for her keys, she trotted down the steps and headed for her truck. Quinn glanced at the front door of the Phoenix. He was of no use here. And the sight of Kate walking away triggered his panic. Foolish thought. She didn't want him there, didn't want him, period. She was sure as hell better off without him. If he'd been a stronger man, he would have let it go at that.
But he wasn't feeling strong, and he wouldn't be here more than a few days, a week. Where was the harm in stealing a little time with her? Just to be near her. A fresh memory to put away with the old ones, to take out when the solace of his life threatened to swallow him whole.
“Kate!” he called, jogging after her. “Wait. I'm going with you.”
She arched a brow imperiously. “Did I invite you?”
“Two pairs of eyes looking are better than one,” he argued.
Kate told herself to say no. She didn't need him poking at old wounds. She did a mean enough job of that herself. Then she thought of the way he'd put his arms around her upstairs, ready to pull her away from the horror they hadn't found on the other side of that shower curtain, ready to hold her up if she needed it, giving her his own strength to lean against. She thought of how easily she'd let him do that, and knew she should say no.
He watched her, the dark eyes intent, the lines of his face serious, then he dredged up half a charming smile from somewhere, and she felt something clutch in her chest exactly as it had all those years before. “I promise not to be a jerk. And I'll let you drive.”
She sighed and turned toward the 4Runner, punching the button on the keyless remote. “Well, I believe half of that.”
THEY MADE THE rounds of the places on Lake Street where the nocturnal creatures passed the hours between dusk and dawn. Pool halls, bars, and all-night diners. A homeless shelter full of women with children. A Laundromat where a wino with a thick halo of filthy gray hair sat in one of the plastic bucket chairs and stared out the windows until the slightly more fortunate night clerk chased him back onto the street.
No one had seen Angie. Half of them barely glanced at the photograph. Kate refused to think about the lack of results. She hadn't expected results, she had expected to pass time. She couldn't decide which had to be more like penance: spending the night pounding the pavement in this rotten part of town or sitting home drinking gin until she couldn't see the bloodstains in her head anymore.
“I need a drink,” she said as they walked into a place called Eight Ball's. The interior was obscured by a fog bank of cigarette smoke. The sharp clack of billiard balls colliding was underscored by Jonny Lang's blues wailing from the juke—“Lie to Me.”
“You missed last call a while ago, gorgeous,” the bartender said. He was the size of a minivan with a shaved head and a woolly Fu-Manchu mustache. “Name's Tiny Marvin. How 'bout something strong and black like me?”
Quinn flashed his ID and a no-nonsense G-man look.
“Damnation. It's Scully and Mulder,” Tiny Marvin said, unimpressed, as he pulled a coffeepot off its warmer.
Kate planted her butt on a barstool. “Coffee's fine, thanks.”
There were maybe a dozen serious players at the pool tables. A pair of hookers served as ornamentation, looking bored and impatient at the downtime. One caught an eyeful of Quinn and nudged the other, but neither made a move to get closer.
Tiny Marvin squinted at Quinn. “Hey, man, didn't I see you on TV? For real?”
“We're looking for a girl,” Quinn said.
Kate slid the Polaroid across the bar, expecting Marvin to give it as little attention as every other bartender had. He picked it up with fingers as short and thick as Vienna sausages and squinted harder.
“Yeah, she been in here.”
Kate sat up straighter. “Tonight?”
“Naw, Sunday night, around ten-thirty, eleven. Came in to warm up, she said. Jailbait. I chased her skinny white ass outta here. I mean, consenting adults is one thing, man—you know what I mean? That child's trouble. I don't want no part of that shit.”
“Did she leave with anybody?” Quinn asked.
“Not from here she didn't. She went back on the street and walked up and down for a while. Then I start feeling bad—like, what if she was my niece or something, and I found out some hard-ass threw her out on the street? Man, I'd bust his hard ass. So I go to tell her she can have a cup of coffee if she wants, but she's got a ride and they're going down the road.”
“What kind of car?” Kate asked.
“Some kind of truck.”
Her heart started to beat a little harder, and she looked to Quinn, but his attention was still on Tiny Marvin.
“Don't suppose you got the plates?”
“Hey, man, I ain't no neighborhood watch commander.”
“It didn't bother you the guy was breaking the law,” Kate said.
Tiny Marvin frowned at her. “Look, I take care of what goes on in here, Scully. Rest of the world ain't my problem. The girl was doing what hookers do. Wasn't none of my business.”
“And if she'd been your niece?”
Quinn gave her a warning look and spoke again to the bartender. “Did you see the driver?”
“Didn't look. I just thought, man, what about his sorry ass, picking up a kid like that. The world's a cold, sick place—you know what I'm saying?”
“Yeah,” Kate muttered, picking up the snapshot of Angie from the bar, looking at the pretty, exotic face, the
