“Stay here,” Deon said, and went to knock on the conductor’s booth.

The door slid open. Deon conversed briefly with the heavyset man inside, who consulted a list and nodded. Cash changed hands. Deon returned to his seat and flashed them an “okay” sign. A few minutes later, its lights still off, the train lurched forward. Looking out the window, Melanie saw blackness. A moment later the tracks curved, the train reached its southernmost point and just began to turn sharply uptown. A tumultuous scene came into view. Spotlights bounced off the soaring, tiled arches of a dimly lit, turn-of-the-previous-century subway station. The platform was mobbed with hundreds of writhing bodies dancing to earsplitting techno-pop music.

Melanie leaned forward and made eye contact with Bridget. “Are you all set?” she asked in a low tone, so Linda and Deon wouldn’t hear.

Bridget took a deep breath. “No prob. If Esposito sells it, we’ll find it.”

The subway stopped; its doors opened.

“This is us,” Fabulous Deon said, standing up.

They followed him off the train into the hot press of the crowd. Within minutes Bridget and Trevor had disappeared. Melanie would just have to trust the young detective to do her job properly and keep a watchful eye on Trevor. In the meantime she’d do some snooping around herself.

“What’s the plan?” Melanie shouted into Fabulous Deon’s ear.

“Let’s hit the bar. This way.”

Melanie and Linda followed as Fabulous Deon snaked his way through the densely packed crowd. The revelers were all young and gorgeous, the cream of New York City’s clubgoers in all their finery. Pants were tight, tops revealing, and heels high, yet everybody managed to look sleek and sophisticated rather than cheesy. Melanie felt relieved Linda had dressed her up; she wouldn’t have had a clue what to wear otherwise, and she would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb. Although the place was so jammed that most likely nobody would’ve noticed. The noise level hovered at a roar, swelling to a deafening clamor every few minutes as a train screeched into the station to discharge new revelers.

After waiting in line to check their coats, Melanie, Linda, and Fabulous Deon fought their way up to a mahogany bar set against a wall under an elaborate tile mosaic that spelled out “City Hall.” The three curvaceous blond bartenders wore identical low-slung jeans and tiny halter tops that revealed pierced navels. After several attempts Linda got a bartender’s attention and ordered them apple martinis. When the drinks came, Melanie took a sip of hers and gasped.

“Powerful,” she choked out, eyes tearing up.

“They have a heavy hand here,” Linda said. “It’s one of the reasons Expo does well. He doesn’t stint on the liquor. Speak of the devil-that’s him. Told you he always puts in an appearance.”

Linda nudged her and gestured toward a tall, muscular guy with a shaved head who stood between two lithe models at the far end of the bar. Jay Esposito looked every inch the mobbed-up nightclub mogul. He was maybe forty, with handsome, Mediterranean features and dark eyebrows. In the middle of a New York winter, his attire was pure South Beach-a white linen suit and a black silk T-shirt setting off a deep tan, an enormous diamond stud glittering in one ear. As she watched, he threw his head back and guffawed, revealing a flash of white teeth. Melanie could see why a messed-up wild child like Whitney Seward would be attracted to this guy. He gave off criminal charisma like musk.

The target was right there in front of her. Down, girl, down. She should stay where she was. Sit back and allow events to take their course without injecting herself. Let the agents do their job. She scanned the jam-packed club, looking for Bridget and Trevor. Wherever they were, they weren’t anywhere near Expo. Still, it wasn’t her place. Even if this opportunity slipped through their fingers, surely somehow another would come along. She’d find Carmen Reyes anyway. Right?

Melanie turned to her sister abruptly. “Introduce me,” she snapped, gesturing toward Esposito.

“I don’t know him. But Fab D can hook us up.”

Fabulous Deon was busy hitting on the bodybuilder type standing next to him at the bar. Linda tapped Deon on the shoulder. He leaned over, lips pursed in an annoyed moue.

“Honeychild, I am otherwise engaged.”

“Fab D, are you blind?” Linda said. “That guy’s straight.”

“You think so?”

“Mos’ def. Come introduce us to Expo before you get the shit kicked out of you.”

“Oh, yes. I’m going to enjoy this. Come along.”

Deon sashayed ahead, beckoning to them to follow. As they approached, Esposito caught sight of Deon and waved at him with a fat cigar held between thumb and forefinger.

“Deon,” Esposito said in a whiny voice, “why aren’t you working tonight?”

“Funny you should ask, sire. Perhaps because you didn’t book me and haven’t paid me for the last six times you did?”

“Yeah, well, whaddaya want, things’ve been slow. Maybe if you’d stop whining like a little bitch, I’d tell my booker to call you.” Esposito looked at Melanie and Linda appraisingly. “So introduce me to your friends.”

“This is Linda Vargas, from Channel Sixteen, and her friend…uh…what did you say your name was, precious?” Deon asked.

“Marilyn Corona,” Melanie said to Expo. “I just met these guys at another club, and they dragged me over here. They said Screen was way cool, and they’re right.”

As Esposito’s eyes raked over her body, Melanie imagined she saw a flicker of suspicion. “Yeah? What club were you just at?” he asked.

“Railroad Forty-seven,” Deon answered quickly, thank God, because Melanie couldn’t’ve come up with a club name to save her life.

“Yeah, that place is a fucking pit,” Esposito said, seeming mollified. “What’re you girls drinking?”

“Appletinis,” Linda replied.

“Cindy, apple martinis over here for my friends,” he called to one of the blond bartenders, who slapped fresh drinks on the bar for them instantly. At Esposito’s merest gesture, several patrons vacated their bar stools so Melanie and Linda could sit down.

“Thank you,” Melanie said.

“Don’t mention it.” He leaned across her and mashed out his cigar in the remnants of somebody’s drink. She caught a whiff of spicy cologne.

“Good crowd tonight, Expo,” Linda said loudly, arching her back so her chest stuck out. It worked, because Esposito started talking to her cleavage.

“Yeah, we’re busy this week. People still in town, but they’re celebratin’,” he said.

“You really come up with some hot locales. I’m crazy for this subway thing. In fact, I’d love to feature it in my nightlife segment.” Linda was looking up at Esposito from under perfectly mascaraed eyelashes. Melanie nearly laughed out loud at her sister’s blatantness. The girl loved to work the celebs.

“Nah, you know, I like press on my big clubs, but Screen I keep on the DL or else it loses its cachet.”

“Oh, sure, I get it.”

“You wanna cover the bash I’m doing down in Palm Beach on New Year’s Eve, though, I’ll get you on the list.” Something behind them seemed to catch his eye. “Hold on a second,” he said, and walked away.

Linda leaned over. “You think he likes me? He could really help my career, you know.”

“You’re not serious!” Melanie wrinkled her nose.

“Chica, that’s why God invented dimmer switches.”

“His looks aren’t bad, Lin. It’s the fact that he’s a major criminal that bothers me.”

“That’s just PR! He cultivates that image to promote his clubs.”

“Yeah, why do you think I’m here?” she said under her breath.

Melanie restrained herself from regaling Linda with tales of the evidence against Expo. Doing that while sitting in his bar was not a smart idea. She glanced around and spotted him, standing out like a beacon in his white suit. He was talking to an enormous guy with an angry, dimesize scar on his left cheek-presumably the bodyguard who’d been asking about the case in Judge Warner’s courtroom earlier today. As she watched, they both turned and looked directly at her. The little hairs on Melanie’s arms stood on end.