Read Online Skin by Patricia Rosemoor - Free Book Online Page B

realize that not all of your customers are the pick of their litter.”
    A red-faced Ruscio checked his watch. “Detectives, your work here is finished. Okay, I’ve been properly warned. Any improprieties and you’ll be the first on my speed dial.”
    Pucinski left him his card, then ambled out into the club with DeSalvo behind him.
    “We didn’t learn anything new,” his partner complained when they hit the street.
    “We set up an atmosphere. Nothing gets by the manager of a place like this. He may very well know a lot more than he’s saying. Now he’ll be vigilant. Maybe even cooperate if he suspects someone. He can’t afford to screw up and lose business. His bosses wouldn’t like that.”
    Ruscio would be watching his patrons more closely. And his employees. Couldn’t forget them. Maybe Rosie Harriman had hooked up with a bodyguard or bartender turned deadly boyfriend. And maybe the perp turned to Anita when he didn’t have Rosie to pound anymore.
    “Lots of questions. Lots to think about. That’s why we’ll be back.”
    Pucinski glanced back at the den of iniquity all lit up like a birthday cake, wondering which of these women would be the next murder victim.
    oOo
    NO ONE could save her now.
    Thrown across the backseat of the car, her hands cuffed behind her back and her feet trussed together, Hannah knew her time had come.
    She was exhausting herself thrashing, screaming through the foul-tasting gag in her mouth. If only she could talk. Plead. Maybe she could say something, make some promise that would give her a break. Buy her some time.
    She rubbed her face against the seat and was elated when she felt the cloth give a little. Dislodging the gag bit-by-bit, she rubbed until her face was raw. Finally she was able to spit out the disgusting material and take a normal breath.
    “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she gasped. “Where are you taking me? You’re not really going to hurt me, are you?”
    She couldn’t say kill .
    She stared at the back of the dark-clothed figure behind the wheel. No answer. He had to be from the club, all right, but here she was without a clue. The dark clothes were baggy, hiding the guy’s body, and a billed cap was pulled down low, hiding any hint of hair.
    Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to cry. “Say something, damn you!”
    She might as well be talking to herself for all the response she got. Nothing. Like the times she’d pleaded with her stepfather to leave Mama alone. He’d hurt her instead. She’d put herself in this situation, too.
    This time, she would be lucky if all she got was hurt.
    So this bastard was the killer. The one who’d done the waitress and the prostitute. How could she have been around him and not known? How could she have gotten so close, probably night after night, and not smelled death on him? How could she not know who he was even now?
    The vehicle slowed and stopped. When the car door opened, Hannah swallowed a sob and fought the pain of being pulled from the car by her hair. Of hitting the ground awkwardly, arm twisted beneath her. The pain of knowing she wasn’t going to come out of this alive. She bit her lip, tasted her own blood and the salt of her tears and turned to get a look at the face beneath the billed cap.
    No dice. The face smeared with camouflage paint and eyes covered by heavy dark glasses were too disguised to figure it out. Even now her intended killer didn’t want her to know his identity.
    He pulled a gun and indicated she should move toward the abandoned building. The whole neighborhood looked abandoned, though the parked cars told her otherwise. Where the hell was she? A quick look around revealed high rises in the distance. They were somewhere west of the Loop. In the real inner city.
    “What is it you want?” she asked, stopping so suddenly the gun barrel smacked into her.
    She whipped around and stepped back, unable to believe she’d been so stupid, that she hadn’t seen