Yes, Yvette silently vowed. She would.

She glanced at the clock. Time to go.

She said one quick, silent prayer, then exited the dressing room. “Wish me luck,” she called to Officer Guidry, wiggling her fingers in a flirty goodbye.

He did, his ears turning pink.

Minutes later, she was on stage. Though the music was familiar and her movements routine, it took all her concentration to focus on them. She had no idea how many other NOPD officers were planted in and around the club tonight, but she would bet there were several.

Where were they? she wondered, searching the crowd while she danced. The big guy with the florid complexion? The one in the cowboy hat? And what of the Artist? Was he here, watching and laughing, playing them all for fools?

Her gaze settled on a man she recognized-Rich Ruston. The guy from Pieces gallery, Shauna Malone’s boyfriend. She had been talking to him when she fainted. He was alone. Sitting near the front.

He saw her gaze on him and he smiled. Something about the curving of his mouth made her blood run cold.

Had he come to see her? Or was his being here a coincidence?

Her heart pounded, but not from the dance. Not from exertion.

She swung right. Her gaze landed on another man, another familiar face. He wagged his tongue lewdly at her.

She had to get out of here.

She spun again, her gaze searching for Rich Ruston.

He was gone.

Her number ended. She made her way into the audience, playing her part as best she could, mind on the clock. Counting the minutes until she could sneak away. Worrying about Riley. Wondering whether he would be waiting, as he promised.

The guy with the wagging tongue requested a private dance. On her way to meet him, she took a detour. Her clothes were right where she left them, in the trash can by the alley exit. So was her wallet and money. Her flip-flops.

With an involuntary sound of relief, she snatched them up and ducked out into the dark alley.

62

Friday, May 18, 2007

12:50 a.m.

The call awakened Patti, though she hadn’t been sleeping deeply. She brought the receiver to her ear. “O’Shay.”

It was Spencer. “Borger’s gone.”

That brought her fully awake; she sat up. “How the hell did she manage…We had a half-dozen officers stationed in the club!”

“Seems she ducked out after her set. Never returned to her dressing room.”

“Where are you?”

“At the scene.”

Patti climbed out of bed. “I’m on my way.”

She made the drive to the French Quarter club in ten minutes and met Spencer at the front entrance. “Any news?”

“Nada.”

She turned toward Officer Guidry. “Have you done a complete search?”

“As best we could. When the club closes, we’ll search again. Until then we’ve got people stationed at every exit.”

“You didn’t before?”

The young cop turned red. “Who would have thought she’d leave naked?”

“She didn’t, Officer.”

“But she finished her set in nothing but a G-string!”

“Are you telling me you believe Yvette Borger is wandering the French Quarter in a G-string?” She sent him a withering look. “She managed to hide clothes near an exit. Probably money, too. Somebody should have anticipated this.”

She turned back to Spencer. “Tell me you’ve sent a unit to her apartment.”

“Better than that. Stacy and Rene.”

“Good. I want everybody to stay in place. Carefully check anyone who exits. Once the club closes, I want it searched. Every storage closet and air vent. Understood?”

The chastened officer scurried off to spread the word.

Patti looked at Spencer. “You’ve personally searched her dressing room?”

“I have. Her purse is still there, minus her wallet. She’s one smart cookie, no doubt about that.”

No doubt at all.

“Her timing says it all, in my opinion.”

Patti wanted to defend her. Other reasons for her disappearance sprang to her lips: she was running from the Artist, this was another of her romantic rendezvous, she enjoyed the challenge of giving them the slip and had made it a sort of contest.

She didn’t utter them. The fact was, Yvette looked damn guilty.

How could she have been so wrong about her?

“Captain O’Shay? There’s someone here I think you might want to speak to.”

She turned. Officer Guidry stood in the dressing room doorway, another man behind him. Guidry stepped aside and she saw who it was.

“Riley?”

“Aunt Patti! Oh, my God, something has happened to her!”

He looked panicked. His mop of curly hair stuck straight out in several places, as if he had been nervously running his hands through it. “Happened to whom, Riley?”

“Yvette. She asked me to meet her. At 11:45. I waited but-”

“Slow down, start at the beginning.”

He took a deep breath. “She called this afternoon. She said she was in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“She said this guy was hounding her. Threatening her. She needed my help.” He flexed his fingers. “She needed to get out of town. I offered to call you, but she said you wouldn’t help.”

“She asked you to meet her here?”

“No. The corner of Dauphine and Bienville. But she didn’t show up.”

Patti glanced at her watch-1:40. “At 11:45? And you’re just looking for her now?”

“She told me she might be late. Made me promise to wait.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “So where is she?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted his gaze, expression stricken. “I waited. I had the right corner, I wrote it down!”

Patti frowned. “Do you have your cell phone?”

He nodded. “I tried to call her. She didn’t answer.”

“Try again now.”

She watched as he dialed, saw the hope in his expression turn to despair. He held out the phone; she heard Yvette’s voice message.

“I think Yvette may be in some very serious trouble,” Patti said. “I want you to go back to that corner and wait, just in case. If she shows, call me.” She handed him her card. “It’s important, Riley.”

He nodded again and stood. “Okay, Aunt Patti. You’ll call me if you find her?”

“I will. Absolutely. Officer Guidry will take your number in case I need to reach you.”

Spencer’s cell rang. He excused himself to answer.

“If you need anything, Riley, call me.”

A moment later, Spencer returned. “That was Stacy. Yvette’s gone, all right. Took her tip stash and left a note for her landlord, asking him to store her stuff.”

“So why didn’t she catch her ride out of town?”

“Another smokescreen? She knew Riley would sound the alarm. Fuel our fear of option number two.”

Option number two. The one Patti didn’t want to think about.

The Artist.

63

Friday, May 18, 2007

8:40 a.m.

The search of the club proved futile. Riley spent most of the night in his vehicle and had also come up empty.

Yvette had vanished.

Patti had returned to the department and put out an all-radio alert for Yvette. At morning roll call her photo had been distributed to all patrol units. If she showed her face on the street, she would be picked up.

“She’s fine, Aunt Patti. The fox outfoxed us, that’s all.”

She focused on Spencer, standing in her office doorway. “I hope so. The alternative is damn grim.”

Yvette in the grasp of a madman.

“It’s not your fault. None of it.”

“That’s not the way it feels.”

“The self-blame game will get you nowhere fast.”

“Are you advising me, Boo?”

He grinned at the use of her childhood nickname for him. “In the mood for some good news?”

“Are you kidding?” She forced a harsh laugh. “You’re looking at a desperate woman.”

“Stacy’s moving back in. Tonight.”

“You call that good news?” The thought passed her lips before she could stop it.