She blinked and took the list, scanned it. Credit card receipts. One of her old T-shirts. Some photographs. Her day-planner. Journal. The antifreeze.

Not much. A weird collection of seemingly unrelated things.

She signed the paper; they gave her a copy. She walked them to the door, then locked it behind them. She brought her shaking hands to her face. How could this be happening? She was the victim, not the perpetrator.

Cops could do anything they wanted.

They had probably planted the stuff themselves.

Of course. Stacy living here. Patti in and out. Spencer, too, she’d bet. They had keys.

Why were they doing this to her? And what of the Artist? He was real. He’d killed Jessica Skye. He would kill her, as well.

Dizzy with fear, she crossed to the couch and sat. She put her head between her knees and breathed slowly and deeply, in through her nose and out her mouth.

Let the fear go. Be calm and think…think. How to get out of this?

She had to give them the slip. Get out of town. But how?

Officer Guidry was standing watch right outside her door. She had given them permission to station him there. For her “protection.”

If she withdrew that permission, they’d suspect she meant to take off-and they would be all over her.

She wasn’t under arrest. They couldn’t stop her from going to work. Or anywhere else.

So Officer Guidry would accompany her to work tonight. Just like they’d planned. Only she had plans of her own.

She would show them. They thought they had outsmarted her. Trapped her in whatever sick game they were playing.

Think again, Captain Patti O’Shay.

Her best chance for escape was the Hustle. Lots of people and distractions, several entrances and exits. She would go right after a dance, with just the clothes on her back-and her cache of tip money.

She got to her feet, clearheaded now. Revitalized. She remembered feeling this way when she had finally resolved to leave Greenwood. And again, right before Katrina hit. That time, she had made the decision to stay, to fight back. To stand up and shout “Take that, bitch!”

This was a different kind of F-you, but just as liberating. Just as exhilarating.

Yvette began to pace. She would need to empty her bank accounts and operate on a cash-only basis, at least for a while. Otherwise they could track her through her financial transactions.

She could get out of the Quarter easily, but she would need to get out of the city. Quickly. As soon as they realized she’d bolted, they would converge on both the bus and rail stations. And renting a vehicle would be too risky.

Riley. She had no one else.

His cell number was in her day-planner, which the police had confiscated. Her cell phone, she realized. He had text-messaged her; it’d be saved there.

She scrambled for her phone, found his number and dialed.

It dumped immediately to voice mail. Afraid to leave a message, she ended the call.

What now? She could call the gallery…

What if his sister answered? June couldn’t know she’d contacted Riley. She would run right to her good buddy Captain O’Shay.

Lie. If June answered, pretend to be someone else.

Hands shaking she retrieved the phone book, dialed Pieces. Sure enough, June answered.

“Riley Benson, please.” Yvette worked to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“May I tell him who’s calling and what this is in reference to?”

Pick a name. A reason for calling. The new show. The paintings that had surrounded them while they made love.

“Tell him Ellen St. James is calling. About the Avery piece I was interested in.”

“You must be the lawyer,” June said warmly. “Congratulations on your new practice.”

“Thank you. I’m very excited.”

“You can’t go wrong with an Avery. He’s very talented, and I predict his work will escalate in value.”

“Just what Riley assured me. Is he in?”

“He is. Hold, please.”

A moment later he came on the line. “This is Riley Benson.”

She heard the question in his voice. She spoke quickly. “Riley, it’s me, Yvette. Don’t let on it’s me, please. I need your help.”

“Yes, Ellen. It’s a fabulous piece. One of my personal favorites.”

She said a silent thank-you, then continued, “I’ve got to get out of town,” she continued. “There’s this guy…he’s crazy…he’s threatened to hurt me. I’m afraid.”

“Hold please, Ellen.”

Yvette heard him talking to his sister, assuring her he could handle the gallery while she ran an errand.

A moment later, he came back to her. “Go to the police,” he said, voice low, fierce-sounding. “They’ll protect you.”

“They won’t. I already tried them and they didn’t believe me.”

“I’ll talk to Aunt Pat-”

“No! Please, Riley. I need you. I have no one else.”

“This is nuts. I’ll protect you. Come here and-”

“I can’t.” A sob rose in her throat. “He’ll hurt you and I…I couldn’t bear that.”

“Then tell me how I can help.”

“I’m going to slip out of the Hustle tonight. Will you meet me? Give me a ride out of town?”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Yvette-”

“Please, Riley. Please help me.”

For an agonizing moment, he was silent. Then he sighed. “Okay. If you’ll promise to tell me everything when I pick you up.”

A cry of relief flew to her lips. “I will, I promise. Come at eleven-forty-five. Meet me at the corner of Dauphine and Bienville. Don’t freak out if I’m a little late. I’m going to need to finish my number, make everything look normal.”

He agreed to be there, to wait as long as it took. “One last thing. Don’t tell anyone, Riley. Anyone. It’s important.”

When he didn’t reply, she begged. “If you care at all about me, you’ll promise. Not even your sister.”

“All right, but this doesn’t feel right.”

Her vision blurred with tears. It didn’t feel right to her, either. Her entire freaking life didn’t feel right. “I wanted to tell you…how much last night meant to me.”

“Then don’t go. Yvette, ple-”

She realized she was crying and hung up before she totally lost it.

61

Thursday, May 17, 2007

10:00 p.m.

Yvette had everything in place. Riley would be waiting for her when she finished her last dance around midnight. She had stashed a set of clothes near the alley exit. She had hidden her wallet and tip money with the clothes.

Everything else, she left behind.

It hurt, but she would get over it. She had done it before.

She would complete her number, but instead of heading to her dressing area, she would head for the exit. Grab her garments and go, dressing in the alley as she made her escape.

Her bank accounts had proved a problem. She couldn’t close them without alerting Patti and company to what she was up to. So she had written a check to Riley. She would give it to him, beg him to cash it, then bring her the money. He was wealthy. Twenty or so thousand dollars wouldn’t be a great temptation to him.

By the time Patti realized Riley’s part in the plan and went to him for information, she would be long gone. And any information he could offer would be useless.

Provided he didn’t screw her. If he did, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been betrayed. It would just hurt more than the others.

The “new Tonya” ducked her head into Yvette’s dressing room. “You’re on in ten.”

Yvette thanked her and fired up a cigarette. She had left a note for her landlord, asking him to store her things and with it, a check for a thousand bucks to cover the cost of a storage unit and hiring someone to pack and haul it there. He was a good guy. She was fairly confident he’d do it.

But would she ever be back to collect?

Her art collection. She hated leaving it behind. Each was like a brilliantly colored piece of her.