Evil Without a Face

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, trying to reassure Payton. “Well, stick with it, Seth. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have working on this. I’ll call you later.”

“Did you hear me? I’ve got squat. Nada. Zilch.” She hung up on Seth as the kid strolled down his mental slang dictionary.

“What did he say?” Payton asked.

She pursed her lips, then replied without thinking, “He’s on it. He might have something soon. I’ll call you when I hear.”

“You better.” He reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “What you said is beginning to make sense. I want us to work together to find Nikki. And money is no object. I’ll do whatever it takes to find her. Are you okay with taking on a rookie?”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that.” She nodded. “I want to help you find Nikki.”

As Payton gave her his cell phone number and jotted down his hotel information on a napkin, she pondered what Seth had told her. Payton didn’t need another dose of harsh reality. And stretching the truth into the realm of wishful thinking wasn’t really a lie, was it? She’d finally gotten him to consider her theory of the mysterious blonde and what it all meant. She couldn’t see dashing his hopes now…for nothing.

Besides, if she knew Seth—she ignored the fact that she really didn’t—the kid would come up with something soon.

He had to.

After 1:00 A.M.

In the wee hours of the morning, Jess awoke in her bed, still wearing her jeans and black T-shirt. Something must have tugged at the periphery of her mind, perhaps a nugget of guilt after her late lunch with Payton. Trying to rebound from a nagging headache, she had taken Advil, hit the sack plenty hard, and hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but she supposed she must have. When she opened her eyes, all she saw was a darkened room—an all too familiar one.

Her apartment. Her bed. Her life.

Yet she did remember one thing that had lingered. Thoughts of Nikki and Payton had bombarded her, filtering through the violent images of her past to become a jumble of fear and regrets. And a strange haunting melody had played in the background. A song she couldn’t quite name. She lay in the dark and listened to a sultry blues song until a peculiar notion bubbled to the surface and struck her with the force of a harsh slap.

If she was awake now—why did she still hear the music?

Her eyes grew wide. Holding her breath, Jess lifted her head off the pillow and searched the dark for shadows that moved, listening as the inky black of her apartment closed in on her. She now knew one other thing with certainty.

The haunting music came from her living room. And she wasn’t dreaming.

CHAPTER 23

Jess reached toward her nightstand for her gun, but before she slid the drawer open, she remembered that the Russian had taken her Colt Python, the night all hell broke loose. And Baker had stolen her Glock 21, a backup gun she’d kept at home.

Damn it! She peered down the dark hallway, toward her living room. Only a smattering of lights from outside bled through the blinds. Most of her apartment heaved with shadows that played tricks on her eyes.

And the music played. Since Baker had destroyed her stereo, where was the music coming from? Without a gun, it was time for plan B.

She dropped to her knees and fumbled under her bed for the handle of a baseball bat she kept for emergencies. Her fingers groped for the makeshift weapon while she kept her eyes targeted down the hall, searching for any signs of an intruder. After finding the bat, she got to her feet, trying not to make a sound or hit a squeaky floorboard. The music might cover the noise, but no sense in telegraphing her moves.

She clenched the bat and crept down the hall, her eyes alert to any sudden movement. Adrenaline raced through her veins, scurrying a rash of goose bumps across her skin. She tightened her grip, ready to swing at anything that moved.

As she neared the living room, the music grew louder and she finally recognized the source. Flashes of red clued her in and she breathed a sigh of relief.

An old clock radio that had survived Baker’s terror was the source. Its red digital numbers were flashing, a throbbing pulse begging for attention. Obviously she hadn’t noticed it when she got home. There must have been a power outage while she was away and the clock triggered an old wakeup call.

She took a deep breath to slow her heart, but as she moved to turn off the radio, a voice from across the room stopped her dead.

“I wanted your attention. Thanks for obliging.”

Jess had her back to the intruder. She gripped the bat in her hand, unsure what her next move might be, until she heard, “Turn around…slowly.” She did as she was told.

Her uninvited guest sat in a chair across the room. The woman’s blond hair shimmered white in the pale light coming from a nearby window. Most of her body and her face was hidden by murky shadow. Jess had no doubt her intruder orchestrated their encounter, right down to her silhouette.

“I could have shot you,” she said, pretending not to be rattled.

“With your baseball bat?”

“I could’ve had a gun.”

“Granted, I took a calculated risk, but you walking out of the bedroom with a bat told me all I needed to know.” The blonde moved her head, a subtle shift. “Besides, I searched your apartment while you were in the hospital. I had to be sure you didn’t have another gun lying around. A real shame you lost the Colt Python.”

She didn’t exactly lose the Colt, but the blonde’s reminder of the other night triggered a smoldering outrage. She was beginning to think her place had a revolving door on it—first Baker and now this Paris Hilton knockoff. Having her personal space violated again really pissed her off, but she tried to maintain her composure.

“And if I came out from my bedroom carrying a gun, what would you have done?”

“I’d say…it was a good thing neither of us had to find out,” the woman said.

Jess lowered her bat but didn’t let go. If the woman held a gun on her, the bat would be useless. She took a chance that anyone who would save her life one day wouldn’t likely take it the next—at least, not a rational person.

She hoped she’d guessed right.

“If you searched my place beforehand, why didn’t you take my bat too?”

“A girl’s got to accessorize,” the stranger replied. Jess heard the smile in the woman’s voice. “Call it my show of good faith.”

“I have an urge to thank you for saving my life, but this whole breaking and entering thing makes my memory a little fuzzy. Why are you here?”

“We need to talk. You mind hitting the lights and killing the music? I can only take so much cloak and dagger.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Jess moved toward the nearest light switch and flicked it on. Her eyes adjusted to the light but never strayed from the stranger. Dressed in black, the flaxen blonde was striking. Yet her face had real character—an Uma Thurman type of natural beauty. Her Nordic pale skin and high cheekbones lent elegance to her full lips and an aquiline nose with flared nostrils. Isolated, each feature might not be appealing on its own, but the aggregate was stunning.

The woman’s ice blue eyes looked almost gray from a distance—eyes that she imagined could easily switch between good humor and deadly intent. Sprawled in her chair, the blonde appeared tall and athletic, someone who might have played sports at an Ivy League college.

Jess realized that she was nearly the polar opposite. No one would ever describe her as elegant. Yet when confronted by the blonde’s intimidating feminine presence, she took pride in the image she’d cultivated over the