Hooked

followed her into the bathroom as she gathered his toiletries off the counter and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her around. “It came out all wrong. I made a mistake.”
    She fought to keep the tears from flooding her eyes. Fought to keep the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach from erupting. This is what happened when you let down your guard. You got hurt. She damn well knew better. “You’re right,” she managed to say. “Our business is over for the night. You can arrest me in the morning. Going to jail would be preferable to working with you. Now get your hands off me.”
    “Don’t be―”
    Pushing him away, she snapped up everything of his she could find, stormed to the open door, and tossed them over the shirt she’d flung in the hotel corridor. All that remained was him.
    “Out.”
    His now deflated member hung in shame as she pushed his sorry hide into the hall, alongside his belongings.
    He turned toward her. “I’m sorry, I―”
    She glared at him and slammed the door.
    He banged on it. “Let me in, Tawny. Please. It came out all wrong.”
    Turning back into the room, she saw his satchel on th e sofa. She picked it up, opened the door, and threw it at him. “Go to hell.”
    A couple walking by stared, but neither Tawny nor Walsh paid them any attention. She kicked the door shut again and turned the lock.
    After picking up her clothes, she stepped into the shower, set the temperature of the pelting water to a few degrees below boiling, and scrubbed herself almost raw, first with the washcloth, then with the towel. She didn’t even comb her wet hair.
    Naked and flushed with heat, she opened the liquor cabinet and studied her choices. Early in her career, she had taken a bartending course to learn about the different spirits. Although she herself didn’t drink, she could mix a mean cocktail. She selected a mini bottle of bourbon, opened it, and by-passing a glass, sipped, shivering as the caramel taste burned its way down her throat. She carried the bottle to the bed and sat with her back against the headboard. Lifting the remaining alcohol to her lips, she finished off the bottle in two long swigs, scrunching her nose and shuddering again. God-awful stuff, she thought, coughing. She always wondered why people drank. Now she understood one prime reason. To forget. But for the life of her, she couldn’t decide which to forget: the pain or the pleasure.

Chapter Six
    Murder Most Ugly
    T hat evening, Benny sat at the desk in his apartment at Upper Eighties, savoring his Macallan’s while going over the books. Melody had performed her usual magic. Although his body and spirit felt rejuvenated, like he’d been pampered at a luxurious spa, he couldn’t ignore the diminished receipts caused by the economic nosedive. One of his higher-priced ladies had a steady patron at the condo on the Lower West Side ; Midtown was empty. A few of his younger ladies were entertaining half a dozen men on the fourth floor at a decent night’s rate, and regular clients occupied two suites, including big man Rick Martel playing Daddy with Melody and Cindi as mommy and baby. Not a filled-to-capacity night but a tidy take.
    He punched the intercom when the phone buzzed. “What is it, Charles?”
    “I think we have a problem, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Martell just left before his allotted time, and he acted very strange. His shirt was hanging out over his pants, and he didn’t say goodbye or even acknowledge me. Someone better check his room.”
    Benny’s heart amped into double rhythm. He couldn’t afford another problem. “Is Colin still here?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Patch me into his office. And Charles, don’t say a word about this.”
    “About what, sir?”
    Within a few seconds, Co lin answered with his usual, “Harwood.”
    “Open visual communications into room twenty.”
    “I have it on tape, Ben―”
    “Just do it,” Benny said. “Now.”
    “Okay, okay.” The line went quiet for a minute. “You’d better get up there. I’m on my way.”
    Benny slammed down the phone and dashed out of his apartment. He almost crashed into Colin as they both headed for the stairs, bypassing the slow elevator. Colin used the master key card, and they pushed the door open.
    “Jesus,” Colin said.
    Melody lay sprawled on the floor, a deep, bloody gash marking the side of her head. Bed linens half covered Cindi’s awkwardly twisted body. Benny yanked Colin inside. “Close the damn door and turn off