Vengeance is Mine

Rating: NC-17 - This story contains violence and consensual graphic sex between a man and a woman. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.

Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless, Alan Snow, Susan Ellis, Willy Kaa, Terry Bowers, Sonya and Paulie Davidson and Dave Bruford belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement.

The man’s gaze swept the room, missing nothing. As usual, he had been thorough. Nothing remained that would point a finger in his direction. He did, however, want them to know that one of their own had crossed the line. He went to the chair containing his neatly folded clothes and pulled an item from his shirt pocket. He walked over to the thing on the bed (he had ceased thinking of it as a woman when the light had gone out of its eyes) and carefully placed the item on the chest between the flaccid breasts. He straightened and inspected his work. There. That ought to give them something to think about. A pleased smile crossed his lips, and then he turned away and dressed quickly. He wadded up the plastic that he’d used to cover the chair before placing his clothing on it and put it into his sport bag. He picked up the bag, and then gave the room one more quick sweep. Content with his night’s work, he let himself out, locking the door behind him. No one was in the corridor, so he stripped off his gloves and put them in his pocket. The gloves and the plastic would go in a waste bin on the other side of town near the hospital. No one would question discarded surgical gloves there. Humming quietly to himself, the man left the building and walked away into the warm summer night.

Dave Bruford hurried down the brightly lit hallway of the Auckland Downtown Police Station toward his office, his dark head bent as he studied some paperwork that needed filing. So engrossed was he, that he didn’t notice the racket up ahead nor did he see one of his fellow officers dragging a very reluctant prisoner down the hallway. Until, that is, one hundred and ten pounds of blond spiky-haired spitfire plowed into him, cursing wildly. Papers went flying everywhere.

"What in the bloody hell . . . ?!?" Bruford yelled, reaching out to try to catch his work.

Before he could finish his sentence, however, the person he’d run into stuck her face in his and sneered, "Watch where you’re going, pig. I don’t give free feels, you know."

Confused, Bruford glanced down. The woman had on some kind of strapless red leather shirt that zipped up the front. It wasn’t quite zipped up all the way, though, and since she was cuffed with her hands behind her, he had an excellent view of her rather impressive chest. Then he realized that in grabbing for his papers, he’d inadvertently grabbed her. Fighting to keep from blushing, he dropped his hands quickly and addressed the officer in as official a tone as he could manage.

"What do you have here, Sloan?"

"She caused a fight, Sir," the young boy replied, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. He was obviously as taken aback by the woman as Bruford was.

Dave eyed the captive curiously. She stood about five foot five and despite her considerable attributes, she was relatively slender. She looked incapable of starting a fight, much less finishing one. But the hooked scar splitting her right eyebrow, the more recent scratches on her arm, and the rapidly darkening bruise on her cheek gave lie to that thought.

"A fight?" Bruford echoed, his embarrassment disappearing slowly to be replaced by amusement. This one was definitely a piece of work. He couldn’t even begin to count the earrings that lined her right ear from lobe to top, although the left one held only three. Her makeup looked like it had been put on with a trowel, and her eyes were so heavily ringed with black liner that she resembled a raccoon. On second thought, between the way her green eyes were snapping with anger and the way her blond hair was standing up in short spikes, she even more resembled a cat with its fur up. He fought to keep from smiling; somehow, he didn’t think the woman would appreciate his humorous view of her.

"Yes, sir," the boy continued nervously. "I believe some other ladies took exception to her standing on their corner."

"Last time I checked, it was a free country," the woman insisted. "I gotta right to stand wherever I want to."

"Sloan!" a voice behind Bruford snapped.

Dave winced as he recognized the voice, and he turned slowly to see D.S.S. Snow striding down the hall toward them, a thick folder clutched beneath his arm. Bruford immediately went to attention, careful to keep his expression completely blank. He had no great love for the detective senior sergeant since Snow had turned on Dave’s best friend, John Lawless. Snow had been John’s undercover operator, and he had betrayed the man in every way possible. Unfortunately, he’d also covered his tracks so well that an internal investigation had turned up no evidence against him. Snow had retained his position, and John had quit the force. Dave knew that Snow was dirty, but until the man hung himself, they were stuck working with each other. Most of the time, he managed to stay out of the detective senior sergeant’s way, and Snow seemed more than happy with that arrangement.

"Don’t you have other places to be, Bruford?" the little man inquired coldly.

"Yes, sir," Dave answered snappily. He quickly gathered up his papers and headed off down the hallway again. Behind him, he heard Snow order the officer to release the prisoner into his custody. Dave wondered idly why Snow was suddenly interested in prostitutes, but then he decided it was none of his business. The less he had to do with that man, the better.

The interrogation room door shut behind the pair. Snow unlocked the woman’s cuffs and indicated a chair on the opposite side of the table. He took his own seat as she took hers, and then he laid the thick folder on the tabletop. He opened it, studied the top page for a moment, and then he looked up at the woman, a thin smile on his face.

"Very impressive performance, D.C. Walker." He held out a hand. "I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Snow."

Amanda Walker shook the little man’s hand and grinned wryly. "I certainly fooled your boys," she observed. "That tall one was blushing to the roots of his hair." She glanced down at her cleavage and back up again, her grin widening.

"I wouldn’t be TOO proud of that," Snow replied dryly. "Sergeant Bruford is not one of our best."

Amanda shrugged. "Oh well, I still think I did okay. I didn’t even have a hard time getting arrested." She rubbed the bruise on her cheek, wincing slightly. "I don’t plan on going back to that corner, though."

Snow smiled in distracted acknowledgement, but before he could comment, the door opened. A woman with short reddish-blond hair entered the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Amanda judged her to be in her mid forties. She was small, but everything about her from the pristine formality of her uniform to the way she held herself shouted authority.

"Detective Constable Amanda Walker?" the woman inquired. When Amanda nodded, she held out a hand. "I’m Inspector Susan Ellis."

Amanda shook the woman’s hand. Ellis took the seat next to Snow, folded her hands together, and studied Amanda seriously.

"Let’s get down to business, shall we?" Ellis said.

Snow retrieved several sheets of paper from the folder and slid them across the table toward Amanda. She took them and perused them quickly, her brow furrowing as she read.

"Three prostitutes have been murdered using the same MO?" she asked. "I haven’t heard anything about it."

"We’ve managed to keep it quiet," Ellis informed her.

Snow smiled thinly. "The press isn’t overly interested in the deaths of a few whores anyway."

Amanda’s eyebrow arched at the man’s tone. She could plainly hear the judgment in his voice. She glanced at Susan Ellis and was surprised at the loathing that flitted briefly across the woman’s face. Obviously, the inspector wasn’t overly fond of the detective senior sergeant. Amanda wondered why. Her boss in Christchurch, Aaron Campbell, had nothing but good to say about the man.

"However," Snow continued, obviously noting the women’s reaction to his words, "the police are interested in all deaths. What makes this case so potentially scandalous is that the evidence is pointing toward a killer who may either be in, or have ties with, law enforcement."

Amanda stared at the man, shocked to the core. "You think it’s a cop?" she asked.

Snow nodded slowly. "Whoever killed these women left absolutely nothing that could tie him to the murder. The scenes are spotless. No fingerprints, no hairs, no fibers, no physical evidence whatsoever."

"None at all?" Amanda insisted. "That’s unreal."

"Indeed," Snow remarked. "He cleans the place when he’s done. He washes his victim. He cleans off the bed. He vacuums the place down and takes the dust bag with him. He even cleans out the drains. This is one careful fellow."

"That still doesn’t mean he’s a . . ." Amanda began, but the inspector help up a hand to stop her.

"That’s not all," Ellis said. "In each murder, the victim was handcuffed to the bed. The marks on the wrists, ankles, and the bed posts indicate that he’s using police issue handcuffs."

Amanda’s eyebrow arched delicately. "Those aren’t THAT hard to come by," she pointed out, but then a thought struck her. "They were cuffed to the bed in all cases? All the beds had posts of some sort?"

Ellis and Snow exchanged glances, and Amanda thought she detected approval in the woman’s eyes.

"That’s true," Ellis assented. "We’re fairly certain that he knows what their rooms look like."

"And since hookers don’t as a rule take johns back to their flats . . .," Snow continued.

"You’re thinking he knows them and they trust him enough to let him come inside," Amanda finished for him. "Although, if a cop came to the door, they’d more than likely let him inside as well."

Again, Ellis and Snow exchanged glances. "Precisely," Ellis agreed.

Amanda glanced back down at the sheets she’d been given. "One a month. You’ve checked the dates?"

"He’s definitely on a lunar cycle," Ellis informed her. "Each murder has taken place on the night of the full moon."

Amanda nodded and continued to read, scanning the details about each victim. "He seals their mouths and noses with tape and suffocates them as he rapes them." she mused. "What about the tape? Is it traceable?"

"Common everyday duct tape, I’m afraid," Snow said. "We’ve been able to trace the brand, but it’s sold in too many places to nail down to a specific person."

Amanda nodded and continued to read. "No semen?"

Ellis shook her head. "We’re thinking he either doesn’t ejaculate or he uses a condom. It’s hard to tell. He cleans them up inside as well."

Amanda looked up at the woman in surprise. "He cleans them inside? That’s new. That’s almost overkill. We are talking serious attention to detail here."

Ellis smiled grimly. "Not many people realize that condoms leave trace evidence. Another point in favor of his being on the force. But that’s not all." She nodded to Snow, and he slid three plastic bags across the table toward Amanda.

Amanda picked each one up gingerly and examined it. The first held a standard issue blank traffic ticket. The second contained a blue pencil with "New Zealand Police" stamped on the side in gold. The last held a used fingerprint card that was curling on the edges. Amanda looked up at the two officers, her forehead creased in confusion.

"Each of those was found placed on a victim’s chest. The fingerprint card was on the last one."

"It’s real, then?" Amanda asked.

There was a charged silence in the room that Amanda didn’t quite understand, and then Ellis nodded. "They’re the fingerprints of a suspect in an armed robbery case a while back," she explained.

"Wow," Amanda breathed. The traffic ticket and the pencil would be easy to come by, but the fingerprint card? "So it probably IS a cop," she mused.

She looked from one police officer to the other, wondering at the sudden uneasy current that seemed to be flowing between them. Ellis was gazing at the fingerprint card and Snow’s eyes were glued to the table with almost unhealthy fascination. What on earth was going on here?

"We believe it might be one of ours," Ellis said grimly. "And that brings us to the reason why you’re here."

Amanda nodded as understanding filtered through. "You borrowed me because none of your people know me."

"That’s right," Snow interjected. "Susan and I felt that it would be best to bring in someone from outside the district. I talked to my old friend Aaron Campbell at Christchurch Central, and he said you were one of his best undercover cops. We need someone who can blend in with the prostitutes and find out what they might know."

"And if at all possible, lure the guy into a situation," Amanda surmised.

"Not at all," Ellis countered immediately. "We’re not using you as bait, Amanda. I won’t have that. You will simply be on the streets to gather information. These women are a tight-knit bunch, and they don’t like the police. They won’t talk to us. We’re hoping they’ll talk to you. Three women in three months in such a small area. Someone had to have seen something."

"Still," Snow interjected. "You do have a reputation in your unit for being able to take care of yourself. Aaron was quick to assure us that you were well trained in the art of self defense."

Amanda grinned. "Yes, sir. There have been several men who have mistaken me for a weakling. They regret their mistake now."

"Very well, then," Ellis said with a pleased nod as she retrieved the papers from Amanda and placed them back into the folder. She stood and said, "Alan will be your operator during your time here. You’ll report to him. No one but he and I will know your true identity, so you may even be arrested again."

Amanda nodded. "I understand. I really appreciate this opportunity, Inspector," she said sincerely.

Ellis smiled warmly. "Be careful out there," she warned.

She left the room, and Amanda gazed across the table curiously at D.S.S. Snow. He was a small man with a thin face and a rapidly balding head. She guessed his age at somewhere close to fifty. He was fastidiously dressed in a pinstriped dress shirt and a narrow blue tie. She didn’t quite know what to make of him, but her boss had given the man high marks. That was enough for Amanda; she trusted Aaron implicitly. If he said Snow was a good man, then he was.

"I trust you found your flat and your identification?" he said.

Amanda nodded. "Aaron gave me the key and my ID before I left. I left Christchurch in my new identity complete with new wardrobe. The rest of my papers and my passport were at the flat waiting for me. Mandy Williams. Shouldn’t be too hard to get used to that one, eh?"

"There’s more," Snow said. "There’s a small safe behind the picture in your living room. The combination should have been with your ID. The safe holds a tape recorder, tapes, a cell phone, cash. You know the routine."

"Yes, sir," Amanda acceded.

"You’ll also find a complete file on the killings, along with a psychological profile of the murderer that we’ve had drawn up." He paused for a moment, tapping his finger on the tabletop, obviously considering something. "And I have something else I’d like you to keep an eye out for."

"Sir?" Amanda queried, caught by something in the tone of the man’s voice. She wondered idly why he’d waited until Ellis had gone before bringing this up, but then he spoke and she forgot her concern.

"There’s a man, an ex-cop, who lives in the area you’ll be working. Right down the street from your flat as a matter of fact. He’s quite the bad apple. The armed robbery case that Inspector Ellis mentioned earlier, do you remember it? It happened nine months ago. A guard was killed during the robbery."

Amanda nodded. That horrible event had been splashed all over the news. Holdups were rare in New Zealand. The fact that a guard had died as a result of this one made it rarer still.

"This man, John Lawless, was involved in the hold-up."

"An ex-cop?" Amanda said, aghast at the idea.

Snow nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his hands lying on the tabletop. "He was on the force when this happened. Actually, he was undercover. I was his operator." He raised his gaze to hers, and Amanda immediately felt sympathy for the man at the pain so evident there.

"He even tried to drag me into it, place the blame on me, but he had no evidence. John and I were good friends. I don’t think I’ll ever get over his betrayal." Snow sighed heavily. "Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. The reason I bring this up is that all of the women were heavy drug users."

"That’s common in prostitutes, sir," Amanda said.

"Yes, I know, but it still worries me. I believed at the time of the robbery that Lawless had begun to use drugs. In fact, when he was arrested, there were drugs all over his house. I think he may be dealing now. He would be in an ideal position to know these women."

Amanda stared at the little man, her eyes narrowing in thought. "You think he may be involved with the victims?" she observed.

Snow became very still. He glanced behind him at the door, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "It’s possible," he said slowly. "I have some suspicions. Unfortunately, I have no one to discuss them with. Susan Ellis is a firm believer in John’s innocence, and, as you may have noticed, she’s not overly fond of me." He shook his head sadly. "I’ve kept all this to myself, because I would never accuse anyone without hard evidence."

Amanda leaned forward, unconsciously mimicking his posture. "What about the man makes you suspicious?" she asked.

Snow paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. "John was a brilliant policeman, one of our best. He was very tenacious. He wouldn’t let go of a case until it was solved. But he was never a team player. He had a tendency to go off on his own and do things his way. Of course, this made him ideal for undercover work, and that’s where he was eventually placed."

"At the time of the armed robbery, he’d been undercover for eighteen months. Even then I realized that was much too long for an officer to be under. I wish . . ." The man broke off, and anguish flitted across his face. "I should have stopped things before they’d gone too far. I allowed him to do things his way, and a man ended up dead. That death will always be on my conscience."

Amanda’s heart clenched at the pain she heard in the man’s voice. "It wasn’t your fault, sir."

Snow smiled fleetingly. "Thank you, D.C. Walker. That’s nice to hear from a fellow police officer. You’d be surprised how many people around here treat me differently. Ellis didn’t want me to be your operator, but since I was the one who called Aaron and asked for you, she couldn’t very well say no. And I trust Aaron’s judgment implicitly. I know you’ll do a fine job."

"Thank you, sir," Amanda said, warming from the praise. "How will I find this Lawless?"

"He lives and works close to where you’ll be living. He’s opened a private investigations office."

"Is it legit?" she asked.

Snow shrugged. "As far as I know. I wonder, though, how he came up with the money to open it. He was recently divorced, and because of his record with the force and that fact that he’d been having an affair, he lost everything. Somehow, though, he was able to open up the office."

"Drug money," Amanda mused.

"Possibly," Snow agreed. "Or maybe . . . well, I shouldn’t . . ."

"Please, sir," Amanda urged him. "I need to know all the facts if I’m going to do a good job."

Snow gazed at her for a long moment, and at last, he nodded. "You’re right. $120,000 was stolen during the armed robbery. We accounted for $80,000. The other $40,000 was never recovered."

"You think Lawless has it?"

Snow nodded slowly. "His confederate in the robbery, a thug named Terry Bowers, claimed that John swindled him out of his share."

Amanda shook her head, amazed that a police officer could stoop so low. "What is it that makes you wonder if he might be involved?" she asked curiously.

Snow shifted slightly in his seat as if unwilling to make accusations against his former friend, but then he leaned forward again. "In your file, you will find a psychiatric report on the murderer. There are several things in there that reminded me of John. The killer’s ability to make people trust him. His suppressed rage and hatred of women. The removal of every piece of evidence. The murderer’s need to be in control. All of the things the psychiatrist mentioned could have been written about Lawless."

Amanda stared at the man in shock as he began to count off points on the tips of his fingers.

"Lawless is extremely likeable and very handsome; women tend to make fools of themselves over him. He’d have no trouble enticing these women into trusting him. Yet, I believe that deep down inside, he must truly hate women. As I mentioned, he was recently involved in a messy divorce case in which he lost everything. He’s also had at least two affairs that I know of. One of them ended when the woman committed suicide. The other, with an American physician, ended so badly that she eventually left the country. As for the lack of physical evidence, John was an excellent police officer. He would know what evidence could be used against him and take steps to get rid of it. Add to that the fact that he didn’t always go by the book, that he had to do things his way, and the similarities are chilling."

"You mean, you think LAWLESS might be the murderer?" Amanda exclaimed.

Snow winced slightly, but then he nodded. "I never told anyone this, but toward the end, John began to unravel. He began to demand impossible things from me. He asked me to turn a blind eye to the activities of some of his ‘friends.’ He would show up for debriefings stoned out of his mind, or not show up at all. In retrospect, I should have realized that he was losing control, but I just didn’t want to believe the worst of him. If Lawless is dealing drugs, or even worse, killing these women, then it is partially my fault. It’s my duty to get him off the streets." The little man bowed his head, obviously overcome with emotion.

"I’m so sorry, sir," Amanda said softly. "I promise I’ll find out for you. If Lawless is dirty, I’ll take him down."

Snow slowly raised his head. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Aaron told me you were his best. I know you won’t let me down."

He rose and held out a hand to Amanda. "In your safe you’ll find a little black book for your . . . customers. My address, home phone number, and private office number are in there as well, under A. S." His eyes began to twinkle slightly. "Just one of your clients."

Amanda laughed and rose from her chair. She shook her new operator’s hand firmly. "Thank you, sir, for everything. I’ll do my best to find out who’s murdering these women."

"Very well," Snow said. "I’ll just take you down to retrieve your things. As far as everyone in the station is concerned, you’ve been cautioned and released. But Inspector Ellis was right. You may be arrested again."

"I understand," Amanda said. "It goes with the territory."

"Yes," Snow agreed dryly. "Just don’t go TOO far undercover, D. C. Walker."

Amanda grinned. "No worries, boss. I don’t like the job THAT much."

A small smile crossed the man’s lips, an almost self-satisfied smirk that grated on Amanda for some reason. Then she decided that he was probably just relieved to know that he had received competent help for this situation. Amanda left the station feeling an excitement she hadn’t felt in a very long time. This was it. What she’d waited her whole life for. The opportunity to show just what a good cop she was. She planned to do everything in her power to make both her new boss and her old proud.

Amanda took a bus to her new neighborhood, but when she stepped off at her stop, she didn’t feel like going in quite so soon. She was hungry, so she decided to walk down the street to a diner she’d noticed earlier to grab a bite. She did her best to ignore the suspicious stares from the prostitutes along the way. She was a little worried. She had to find a place to hang out, preferably one close to where she lived. And somehow, she had to make these women trust her. She knew that someone, somewhere, had to have seen something the nights of the murders.

The exterior of the diner was extremely seedy, but it fit in well with the general atmosphere of this neighborhood. With a rueful smile, Amanda decided it was just the kind of place Mandy Williams would love.

The interior of the place wasn’t much better. The smell of grease hung thickly in the air, and Amanda had to fight off a wave of nausea. She’d better get used to it, though; she wasn’t much of a cook, and this was the closest place for take-away. She’d more than likely be eating here a lot. Her stomach rolled again at the thought, but she did her best to ignore it. She sauntered into the dingily lit diner, ignoring the appraising stares she received from most of the men and the hostile ones from the women. She spotted an unoccupied table near the back, so she nabbed it and pulled out her cigarettes. She lit up, taking a deep drag to try to block out the stench of grease.

A tired looking waitress with limp gray hair wearing a stained pink uniform came and took her order. Once the woman had left the table, Amanda leaned back and crossed her legs, resisting the urge to tug on the short leather skirt she wore. She stared out the window idly, smoking her cigarette and thinking about her new job. This was her chance to really prove herself. So far, Aaron had kept her undercover on cases that weren’t overtly dangerous. He would have denied it to the world, but he was still a sexist at heart. Even though he knew she could take care of herself, he was still hesitant to put her into life-threatening situations, no matter how much she assured him she was ready. After the call from D.S.S. Snow, however, he’d come to her, the only female police officer on his staff that he knew could handle the job. Amanda knew that his belief in her wasn’t misplaced. She’d do this job. She’d find the killer, and if she had to, she’d take him out herself.

"’Scuse me," a voice said, breaking into her reverie.

Amanda turned her head to behold a pitiful sight. A young girl stood beside her table. Amanda estimated her age at around nineteen. She might have been beautiful if a thick layer of makeup had not masked her features. She was a tiny thing of obvious Maori extract, with huge doe-like eyes and masses of thick curly dark hair. Her body was encased in tights that were laddered in several places, a skirt even shorter than Amanda’s own, and a tube top that did little but show how underdeveloped she was. Amanda fought a wave of pity and forced herself to look bored. "Yeah? Whattaya want?"

"I saw you earlier, during the fight . . ."

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. Now she remembered the girl. She’d been amongst the spectators at the little brawl Amanda had instigated to get herself arrested. "So?" she snapped. "Come to gloat?"

The girl shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. Those three are total bitches." A smile surfaced on her plump lips, and then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "I sort of enjoyed seeing them get some. You decked Amber and knocked her right on her arse."

Amanda took a deep drag on her cig. "Amber needed to be knocked on her arse. I’m surprised she didn’t crack the footpath when she went down."

The girl giggled, and for a moment, Amanda thought she might be even younger than nineteen. Another pang of pity shot through her. What was this kid doing walking the streets?

"Anyway," the girl continued, looking around her rather nervously. She kept shifting from foot to foot and rubbing her arms, making Amanda wonder how long it’d been since she’d had a fix. "What I was wondering . . . well, I kind of got the idea you were looking for a place to hang, you know?"

"Maybe," Amanda admitted. "What’s it to you?"

"Well, you see, this is sort of my territory. The next block over, anyway. I live down that way. I used to work with a girl named Tara, but she . . . well, she’s just . . . gone."

Fear flitted across the girl’s face like a specter. Amanda said nothing, but her interior warning bells began to sound. The last victim’s name had been Tara, and she’d lived in the same building in which Amanda now found herself ensconced.

"Anyway," the girl continued. "I thought maybe you could . . . you know, like hang out with me. I’m independent."

Amanda stubbed out her cigarette as the waitress brought over a club sandwich. She waited until the woman left, then indicated for her companion to take a seat. "I’m independent, too," she confided. "Can’t see working for a man when I can work for myself." She grinned widely, remembering the way Amber had gone down when she’d punched her. "I don’t need a man to take care of me, either."

The girl’s eyes began to sparkle and she said, "I’m Jo, by the way."

Amanda eyed Jo closely as she took a bite of her sandwich. The kid obviously needed someone to look out for her. And if her friend really had been one of the murder victims, chances were the girl might know something about the case. "I’m Mandy," Amanda introduced herself. "And that sounds cool. Got to have some place to hang, eh? Besides, my flat’s down that way. It’ll be perfect."

Jo’s face lit up so much that it almost broke Amanda’s heart. Her maternal instincts kicked in, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to take the girl home, wash the crap off her face, get her some decent clothes, and set her on the right path. But with an interior sigh, she realized that was impossible. She was here to do a job, not to reform the locals.

"That’s cool, then," Jo said, standing up and hopping from foot to foot in her strange little ‘I need a fix’ dance. "I gotta get back to it now, but you come on whenever you want."

Amanda nodded. "Can’t tonight, luv. Gotta finish unpacking. But I’ll see you tomorrow I’m sure."

"Great!" Jo exclaimed. "I’ll see you then." That sweet little smile surfaced once again, then disappeared in a flash, and Jo turned and left the diner, casting a little wave over her shoulder as she went through the door.

Amanda finished her sandwich, her mind working busily. So, she’d been arrested and made her presence known downtown. She had a flat. She had a place to work. She even had a new friend, a friend who just might know something about the murders. Not bad for less than twenty-four hours work. Snow ought to be impressed.

At home later, Amanda had taken a shower and rid herself of all the makeup that had coated her face. She slipped into a silk Oriental robe that she’d been unable to leave behind in Christchurch, and then she finished her unpacking. Only then did so go back into the living room to check the safe. She couldn’t help but grimace at the picture that obscured the small safe. She wasn’t overly fond of Elvis anyway, and black velvet paintings had to be the height of tackiness. Still, it went with the general décor.

The furnished flat was terribly tiny. She was sure that the original flats had been much larger. They’d obviously been carved up into smaller units to generate more rent money. Still, she had everything she needed. The front door opened into a small living room with just enough room for a sofa, a chair, a battered old television and one lone cock-eyed end table bearing an equally decrepit telephone. A door to the right led to a microscopic kitchen. The appliances and counter tops were dingy from years of grease, grime, and smoke, and Amanda decided to stay out of there as much as possible. To the left was her bedroom, and it was by far the largest room of the flat. It was dominated by a king-size bed. She caught herself wondering uneasily who had picked the bed out. The first thing she’d noticed about it was the posts at each corner, just the right circumference for handcuffs.

The only other furniture in the bedroom was a fair-sized wardrobe, now full of some of the tackiest clothes she’d ever owned: short skirts, low-cut or see-through blouses, and spike heels and boots galore. A full-length mirror had been pasted to the back of the bedroom door, and the floor was covered with the most horrible shade of red shag carpeting. The only remaining room in the flat was a tiny bathroom off the bedroom. It didn’t even have a bath; it held only a toilet, a horribly stained sink, and a miniature shower stall. On the whole, it was quite a step down from what she was used to, but it suited Mandy Williams just fine.

Amanda opened the safe and examined the contents. She ignored the tape player for now; she wanted to read the files before she summarized her thoughts. She thumbed through the currency with approval. Quite enough to get by on if she were frugal. And should she need more, she’d just call Snow. She pulled out the cellular and examined it with approval. It was a newer model, one that could be folded up into a small square. It would be extremely easy to conceal. She tossed it on the couch, then reached for her little black book. She thumbed through the pages, and sure enough, Snow was there. A. S., an address and two telephone numbers. Curious, she looked through the rest of the book, but there were no more names. That fit with her cover, she supposed. She was new to Auckland; she’d have no established clients.

She curled up on the sofa with the file and began to peruse the contents. It made for gruesome reading. The police hadn’t been too concerned with the first murder; they’d assumed it was a john who lost control. The lack of evidence was odd, but beyond questioning the woman’s associates, little had been done. Amanda knew this wasn’t shoddy police work. She doubted anyone in the neighborhood had much to say to the cops.

Then the second woman had been killed within a few blocks of the first, using exactly the same MO, tape over the mouth and nose, handcuffs, the curious lack of evidence. More had been done with this one. Vice had dragged in every known associate of the woman; homicide went over her possessions with a fine-toothed comb. Still, they had no leads, nothing that pointed to who had murdered the two women, nothing that showed any connection between the two beyond their choice of profession.

The third woman, Tara O’Brian, had lived on the floor just beneath Amanda’s current place of residence. She had been found lying spread-eagle on her bed, her mouth and nose taped, her wrists and ankles bleeding from the wounds caused by the handcuffs that had restrained her. The metal posts of her headboard and footboard were scarred as well. Tara had struggled the most of the lot, and yet, still, there was no evidence. Her long, brightly painted nails hadn’t even been broken, nor was there any skin beneath them. It seemed clear that she’d allowed herself to be restrained. While bondage scenes weren’t uncommon for hookers, the fact that the murders took place in their flats was uncommon. Who would these women have trusted enough to allow into their homes?

Amanda pulled out the scene of crime photos on the last victim and winced at the woman’s condition. It was difficult to tell what color her skin had been in life; her face was almost black from lack of oxygen. Her eyes bugged out of her head, pinprick hemorrhages marring the whites so badly that her eyes almost seemed to be full of blood. The idea that a man could rape a woman while watching her die in such a manner sent a shiver down Amanda’s spine. Serial killers might be all the rage in the tabloids and pulps, but this was her first encounter with a real one. The results were sickening.

Amanda finished reading the entire file, and then she secreted it once again inside her safe. She shut off the lights and went to bed, but sleep was long in coming. The gruesome details of the three deaths were enough to keep her awake, coupled with her nervousness about starting her new ‘job.’ She would be walking a very fine line. She had to convince the other girls that she was a prostitute without actually servicing any johns. She knew that her work was cut out for her, but she’d been trained for this. Aaron believed in her; the least she could do was believe in herself. At long last, she fell sound asleep, an amazingly dreamless sleep, perhaps the last completely dreamless one she would have for a very long time.

The next two days went quickly and relatively smoothly. Amanda discovered that her new partner had indeed been friends with the third victim, but Jo refused to speak about Tara’s demise. She never even mentioned the fact that the woman was dead. Amanda couldn’t decide if it was because Jo was afraid of the murderer or not. She also realized that it might just be a case of the girl not completely trusting her new partner yet. Alternately, Jo might be worried that Amanda would disappear if she knew that there was a murderer on the loose. Amanda decided not to push it for now. She wanted to build Jo’s trust in her. She wasn’t going to screw things up by asking the wrong questions.

She had yet to hear anything about John Lawless, either, and she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about asking without making herself look suspicious. She knew she should call Snow; her operator would know a way to find out about the man, but she didn’t want to admit defeat so soon. The full moon was almost three weeks away. She still had time.

So far, Amanda’d had no trouble with prospective johns. Since Jo was so young and relatively pretty, she was in high demand and rarely around. Amanda dropped hints that she’d been busy while Jo was away, and she spent more than her share of time deep in the shadows of the alley that separated their block from the street where they lived. No one seemed to notice that the time she spent there, she spent alone. Jo seemed satisfied and unsuspicious. The few men who did stop Amanda were sent on their way with smiles and promises. Interestingly enough, none of them pushed it. It was as if they were embarrassed by their own need.

In the late afternoon of her third day on her new job, Amanda dressed in another horribly short skirt, black vinyl this time, and a skin tight red peasant blouse that left her shoulders bare and dipped low in the front to allow a good view of her bust. She donned black tights and red heels, applied her make-up with abandon, gelled her hair into spikes, and then headed for the streets.

Amanda left her building and hurried down the three steps leading to the street. The stoop was covered, and latticework walls extended down about halfway from the ceiling to the ground. Amanda stopped at the bottom of the stairs and adjusted her skirt, took a deep breath, and then stepped out onto the footpath. Jo was already outside. She was pacing up and down in front of the building, obviously highly agitated about something.

"What’s up?" Amanda asked, scanning the area for potential customers and breathing an interior sigh of relief when she saw none.

"I have had a hell of a day," Jo exclaimed. "That bastard of a landlord’s been promising to fix my refrigerator for weeks now. He finally shows up to fix it today, and he thinks we should take it out in trade. Like I’d do him. A girl has to have SOME limits, eh?"

Amanda lit a cigarette and nodded sagely. "What’d you do?"

"Told him to piss off," Jo said. "I’ll go buy one of those mini fridges if I have to. It’s not like I keep that much in it anyway. Sodding bastard." She stretched and rubbed at her neck. "Look, how ‘bout we get a late start tonight? You wanna go down to the pub and get a beer?"

Amanda took a deep drag and nodded. "Yeah, I could use the break." More than that, though, she could get a better look at the neighborhood, maybe meet more of the locals.

"Bewdy," Jo said. "Come on. It’s not that far. We don’t even have to take the bus."

Amanda followed Jo willingly enough, but after a few blocks, she began to mentally curse the person who had invented high heels. She just knew it had to be a man. No woman would have designed such torture.

They reached the pub at last, and Jo led the way inside. It was crowded although it was a weeknight, and the air was hazy with smoke. It seemed like your normal, everyday pub, although maybe not as upscale as some. Tables and tall chairs dotted the room. A long bar took up one wall, barstools lined up along it like the Martian death machines in The War of the Worlds. There were several pool tables, most in use, and a jukebox in the corner, wailing loud enough to cause nosebleeds.

Jo headed for the bar and snagged two vacant stools. They each ordered a beer, and then Jo startled the life out of Amanda by standing up on the side of the barstool and shouting across the room, "Paulie!" Amanda waited for the stool to topple over, but before that happened, Jo hopped down to the floor, her face aglow.

Amanda glanced over in the direction the girl was waving to see two men playing pool. One of them, an extremely young man with dark hair, was waving across the room at Jo; that had to be Paulie. His companion was older, and he looked like a rough character. He had a round head shaved almost completely bald, and his face was dusted with a day’s growth of beard. He was wearing a sleeveless vest revealing wiry biceps covered with tattoos. When his friend called out, the man grinned hugely and punched Paulie on the shoulder. Then he turned and said something to another man standing close by. Amanda’s gaze shifted, and she almost stopped breathing.

The man watching Paulie and his friend shoot pool was big. He had to stand at least six foot four, and his muscular body was shown off to perfection in a tight black T-shirt and blue jeans. His dark hair hung to his shoulders in a mass of curls, and he sported a bushy mustache and an odd triangular goatee. Amanda ordinarily preferred full beards on men, but she could understand why he chose this unusual look; it helped play down the almost feminine quality of his features and masked the sensuousness of his full lips. Strands of silver glinted amongst his dark curls, and his forehead was somewhat lined; Amanda estimated that he must be in his mid-to-late-thirties. A wave of pure unadulterated lust shot through her. A faint fluttering began in her stomach, accompanied by a familiar ache deep down inside body. When the three men crossed the room toward the bar, she began to fiddle nervously with her pack of cigarettes. She sure as hell hoped no one noticed her state of arousal.

"Hey, Jo," Paulie called. "What’s up?"

"Nothing much," Jo said with a big smile unlike any Amanda had seen in their short acquaintance. Judging from the smile she was receiving in return, Paulie more than reciprocated whatever feelings Jo had for him.

Jo turned to Amanda. "Guys, this is my new friend, Mandy. She took Tara’s place." She grabbed Paulie’s arm and pulled him to her side. "Mandy, this is Paulie."

The boy grinned at her, and Amanda couldn’t help but return the smile. He seemed sweet and VERY young.

Jo then indicated the older man with the shaved head and tattoos. "This is Willy." Amanda nodded to Willy, although he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was firmly planted on the line of demarcation between her blouse and her breasts. It was obvious from his expression that he highly approved of her chest.

"And this," Jo said with a flourish, "is Johnny."

Amanda murmured a greeting, and then she leaned back against the bar and crossed her legs as she took a deep swallow of her beer. She noticed with amusement that all three men seemed to find the expanse of leg shown by her short skirt fascinating, although Paulie and Johnny both quickly looked away while Willy simply grinned wider, obviously enjoying the show.

"You’re the new girl," Willy observed. "The one who punched old Amber out. Man, I wish I would’ve been there. That bitch deserved a good knock down."

Amanda grinned and rubbed the faded bruise on her cheek. "It was extreme," she admitted.

"So, you fancy a game of pool?" Willy asked her.

She shook her head sadly. "Sorry, mate. I wouldn’t know one end of a pool stick from the other."

"What about you, Jo?" Paulie asked.

"Sure, Paulie," Jo said amiably. The two young people headed off toward the pool tables. Willie and Johnny ordered a beer and stayed where they were, although Amanda had the distinct impression that Johnny would have preferred to stand anywhere in the pub but close to her. That was interesting. He obviously didn’t think highly of hookers, although her choice of profession didn’t seem to bother Paulie or Willy.

Amanda studied the man surreptitiously. Up close, he was even more handsome, his muscles even more impressive. She fought off a pang of disappointment that she couldn’t have met him under different circumstances, and then she admonished herself. She was here to do a job, not to pick up men in bars.

"So what do you two do besides hang out in the local?" she asked casually.

"As little as possible," Willie admitted with a grin. "But Johnny here’s a private investigator."

Amanda blessed her years of training and her previous time undercover. Her expression didn’t change, although her lust disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. This HAD to be John Lawless. There couldn’t be two devastatingly gorgeous private detectives on this side of town. She felt a little ill suddenly. If there was anything she hated in this world, it was a crooked cop. Of course, she couldn’t let on that she knew about his past. She had a role to perform, and this was her first real test.

"A P.I., eh? Does that pay well around here?" She pulled out a cigarette, but before she could locate her lighter, Lawless held out his own. Amanda leaned over, cursing herself inwardly because her hands were shaking slightly. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes stony.

He shrugged. "Enough to get by I guess."

Amanda smiled mirthlessly. "I know the feeling."

Someone hailed Willy from across the room, and although he was obviously reluctant to leave Amanda, he made his apologies and hurried across the room, leaving her and Lawless alone at the bar. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, but at last, the man spoke.

"You’re from down South Island, aren’t you?"

Startled, Amanda raised an eyebrow. "And how did you know that?"

"I can tell from your voice," he explained. "I’m pretty good with accents."

"Yeah, I’m from Christchurch," she admitted.

"Nice place," Lawless observed. "Why’d you leave?"

Amanda tapped the gray ash on her cig into a metal ashtray, feigning anger. "I was asked to move along," she said tightly.

Lawless’ eyebrow arched, but he didn’t ask her to elucidate. He was watching Willy across the room, and she realized that for reasons unknown, she made him nervous. Some spiteful part of her decided to try her hand at making him even MORE nervous. She eyed him critically up and down. "Don’t suppose someone who looks like you has to pay for it, eh?" she inquired.

Both eyebrows shot up at that statement, and he shook his head quickly. "Never have before," he observed. "And don’t plan to start."

Amanda sighed theatrically. "My loss." She took a drag, and then she grinned. "Anytime you change your mind, you come on by, eh?" Her grin widened at his expression. "They just don’t make too many that look like you do," she explained, and then she added, her voice full of promise, "I’ll even give you a discount."

He didn’t return her smile. If anything, he seemed to grow even more uncomfortable. He took a pull on his beer and glanced over toward Paulie and Jo. He shook his head slightly.

"What?" Amanda asked, picking up on his disapproval.

"She can’t be more than twenty," he observed.

Amanda shrugged. "I dunno how old she is," she admitted. "Not really any of my business, eh?"

Lawless cut his eyes around at her. "She’s too young to be doing what she’s doing," he said in a low, intense voice.

Amanda stubbed her cigarette out. "Maybe she didn’t have a choice," she pointed out dryly. "It’s a hell of a lot easier getting by in this world if you have the right equipment." She dropped her gaze pointedly to his crotch, then back to his face, but still, she received no reaction. Did the man NEVER smile?

"Did you?" he asked.

"What? Have a choice?" Amanda smiled mirthlessly. "Sure I did. But this seemed the easiest way to make the most money."

A faint expression of distaste flitted across his face, but he said nothing. Still, it was enough to irritate her.

"I won’t be a hooker forever, you know," she said hotly. "I save my money. I have plans."

He obviously heard the anger in her voice, and it seemed to shame him for a moment. He finally looked at her, REALLY looked. His dark gaze traveled from her cheap heels to the vinyl skirt and the shamelessly low peasant blouse. He shook his head ruefully again, obviously thinking that she certainly didn’t waste her money on good clothes, and Amanda bristled. She brushed some imaginary lint from her skirt and straightened her blouse. "Don’t give me that look. I’ll have you know these clothes probably cost a hell of a lot more than that rig of yours."

He glanced down at his own clothes, then back at hers. He raised his gaze to hers, and she noted that amusement had crept into his deep brown eyes. "I didn’t say anything," he protested.

"But you were thinking it," she griped. "What’s wrong with my clothes, eh? Willy didn’t seem to mind them."

Lawless shook his head. "Willy is not known for his good taste." He glanced at her again, his gaze bouncing from the short hem to the depth of her décolletage. "Didn’t anyone ever tell you that most men like a good mystery?" he asked delicately. "Sometimes the opening of the package is as much fun as seeing what’s inside."

Amanda stared at him for a moment, and then despite herself, she burst out laughing. When she could speak again, she said, "I’m not a gift, mate. I’m a . . . product. If I want to be bought, I have to show as much of me as I can."

He inclined his head, conceding her point, but she could see residual amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

"I find most men could care less," she went on. "I swear, sometimes I think they’d screw anything. Have you SEEN that Amber character?" Amanda shook her head ruefully.

"You may be right," he admitted. "I guess I don’t have all that much experience with . . ."

"Hookers," she supplied. "Go ahead, hon, you can say it. I’m not ashamed of what I am."

Their gazes met, his dark eyes searching hers as if trying to divine whether she really meant what she’d said. She could also see his disappointment in her, and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, his disapproval made her sad. She pulled her gaze away. "But like I said, I DO occasionally give discounts. You ever find yourself in a mood with no warm body around to take care of it for you, come by and see me. I assure you, you won’t be disappointed."

She slid off her stool and gestured to Jo. Her friend seemed reluctant to leave, but at last, she came back to the bar. Paulie followed behind her looking all the world like a little lost puppy.

"We ought to get to it, girlfriend," Amanda said. "There are bills to be paid and money to be made."

Paulie’s face fell, and Jo gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "See you later, Paulie," she said. "Bye, Johnny. Tell Willy goodbye, eh?"

Amanda started toward the door, but she stopped and cast one last long look at Lawless. "Don’t forget what I said, now. Okay?" Her lips curved into a seductive smile and she gave him a slow, suggestive wink.

He nodded, obviously more than a little embarrassed, especially when Paulie laughed and pushed him lightly. Amanda grinned and headed toward the door. Well, hopefully she’d made an impression, although she knew she was safe from being called on her offer. It was obvious that Mr. John Lawless wanted nothing to do with prostitutes. But she’d see him again, somehow. Now to find out what Jo knew about the man.

"Why’re you in such a hurry to get back to it?" Jo complained as they hit the streets. "I was having fun."

Amanda shrugged. "I dunno. Johnny sort of got under my skin." She wasn’t lying. Something about the man had struck a nerve with her. And the part that really bothered her was that she’d actually found herself liking his company. She had thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparring.

"Poor guy," Jo said mournfully.

"Why’s that?" Amanda asked, inserting just the right amount of boredom in her tone. She didn’t want Jo to know how interested she was in finding out more about the mysterious John Lawless.

"He used to be an undercover cop, and . . . "

Amanda came to a dead halt as if this news shocked her. "A cop?!?" she exclaimed. "Jesus, Jo, why didn’t you say something?"

"Oh, it’s okay," Jo assured her. "He’s not one anymore. He got in some trouble and they hung him out to dry. Made him take the rap for something he didn’t even do. It was awful for him."

"Seriously?" Amanda asked as they began to walk again. "Rap for what?"

"I don’t really know all the details. There was this prick named Terry Bowers, a big time loser, and he dragged John into doing this armored van hold-up. A man got killed."

Amanda eyed her friend closely. "Seriously?" she queried.

Jo nodded. "Supposedly, John’s boss supplied the guns to try to trap Bowers, but when everything went to shit, he lied and said John got the guns by himself."

Amanda continued to walk along slowly, her mind filtering through this information. So that’s what Snow had been talking about. Lawless had taken the guns, then laid the blame at his operator’s door. "His boss gave him guns to use in a robbery," she echoed skeptically. "That’s hard to believe. Even for a cop."

Jo shrugged. "I dunno. The guy was a rat bastard, though. Paulie had a sister named Sonya. She and Johnny had a thing, you know? Anyway, the cops searched Johnny’s house and found all his and Sonya’s shit, so they arrested them, and while she was down at the station, the prick told her that Johnny was a narc. Sonya went home and took a whole bottle of pills."

Amanda forced herself to keep walking. She stared at her new friend through narrowed eyes. "She died?"

Jo nodded.

"You mean, Lawless’ contact down at the station told his girlfriend that he was a cop?"

Jo’s doe eyes seemed impossibly huge in the dim light of the streetlamps. "Isn’t that the shits? Paulie was some cut up about it. And Johnny too. He really cared for Sonya. One of the girls who lived with Sonya said Johnny came flying in that day in a panic ‘cause Sonya had left him a note. He did everything he could to save her, but she was dead before he got there."

An odd feeling began to form in the pit of Amanda’s stomach. Surely Jo was wrong. This had to be another of Lawless’ lies. An operator NEVER informed on his people. They were usually in the roughest parts of town doing the most dangerous type of work. One word whispered in the wrong ear, and an undercover cop would be dead before he knew what hit him.

Her mind on her thoughts, she didn’t notice Jo’s quick intake of breath, nor did she realize that her friend had stopped walking until Jo reached out and pulled her to a stop.

"What?" she asked, looking at her friend curiously. She followed Jo’s gaze. Up ahead, standing in the shadows, was the form of a man. Amanda glanced back at her partner. "Jo, what is it?"

Jo shook her head as if to say nothing was wrong, but her expression was very wary. The man stepped out of the shadows, and Amanda eyed him cautiously. He wasn’t bad looking in a sleazy sort of way. He had short dark hair and watery blue eyes in a clean-shaven face. He was of medium height and wiry build. A long scar ran along the curve of his right jaw line, and although he didn’t seem overly formidable, there was still a presence about him that set Amanda’s nerves on edge. His expression, however, showed nothing but pleasure at the sight of the two women before him.

"Hey, Jo," he said in a low rumbling voice.

"Seth," Jo greeted him in a dead voice completely unlike her normal tone.

"Who’s your friend?" he asked.

Jo glanced at Amanda, then back at the man. "Um, well . . . " She trailed off and looked at Amanda helplessly.

It suddenly hit Amanda who the man was. During one of their chats over the last few days, Jo had warned her that the three women she’d gotten in the tussle with on her first day in Auckland worked for a pimp who was major trouble. He was constantly harassing the independents to join him. He wasn’t overly dangerous himself, but he rarely went anywhere without a pair of goons backing him up.

On her guard, Amanda took a step forward, putting herself between the man and her partner. Her eyes scoured the shadows, but thankfully, she could see no one else around.

"The name’s Mandy," she informed the pimp. "What’s it to you?"

He seemed amused by her attitude for some reason. "I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself," he informed her amiably. "I’m Seth Winston."

He held out a hand, but Amanda refused to take it. She stared at it as if it was diseased, and he lowered it slowly, his friendly expression never changing.

"I’ve heard a lot about you," he confided. "You’ve made quite an impression round here. I understand you knocked around one of my girls."

Amanda crossed her arms mulishly. "I would’ve moved on nice like if she’d asked politely. I don’t appreciate being shoved."

Seth chuckled. "Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for that," he conceded. "I talked to the other girls, and they admit Amber had it coming." He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, and then he nodded as if coming to a decision. "Well, I’ll let you ladies get back to your work. But should you ever decide that you need . . . well, let’s just say . . . someone to manage your affairs, you just give me a shout. I wouldn’t mind adding two such lovely ladies to my list of . . . employees."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Amanda said shortly. "We like working for ourselves."

Winston cocked his head and smiled knowingly. "No worries. Just remember my offer, eh? It’s rough out here, you know. Especially with some maniac running around loose offing independents."

Amanda’s eyebrows rose sharply, and Winston laughed. "Guess Jo didn’t tell you about that, eh? Oh well, you’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. You ladies be careful now." With a pleased expression on his thin face, he sauntered away.

Amanda turned on Jo, and her friend held up a shaking hand. "Don’t start, Mandy, okay? I was gonna tell you."

"Someone’s killing independents?"

Jo nodded miserably. "’Sfar as I know, there’ve been three. The last one . . ." She trailed off, and her voice dropped a notch. "The last one was Tara, the girl I used to work with."

"Jesus," Amanda muttered under her breath.

"I’m sorry, Mandy," Jo said desperately. "I was afraid to tell you. I thought you wouldn’t want to work with me, and I . . . well, I don’t want to have to go work for Seth. I LIKE being independent, but you still have to have someone to watch your back, you know?"

"Like you watched Tara’s?" Amanda said cruelly, hating herself for the words when a hurt expression crossed the girl’s face. Sometimes she really hated having to play this role, but she had a job to do. She sighed harshly and ran her fingers through her spiky blond hair.

"Damn," she swore lightly. She got out a cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply. Jo began to shift from foot to foot, looking thoroughly miserable, and at last Amanda could take no more. "Oh, cut it out," she snapped. "I’m not mad at you. I just would’ve liked to have known, you know?"

"I’m sorry," Jo repeated. "I was scared."

Amanda eyed Jo narrowly. "Scared I’d leave or scared of something else?"

The girl’s eyes widened, and she looked around nervously. "Just scared of you leaving," she said, but Amanda had the distinct impression Jo was lying about something. Or at least keeping something back.

"Well, no worries," she assured the girl. "I’m not going anywhere. And nobody better mess with me. I can take care of myself." She glanced at Jo and smiled slightly. "And you, too, Jo." She reached over and hooked her arm through her partner’s. "Now come on, girl. Let’s get to work."

The next night when she came downstairs, the first thing she saw was Jo leaning in the window of a car talking to the occupants. Amanda froze when she realized that the car was a police patrol car! Jo turned and saw her, and with a big grin, she waved her over. Amanda shook her head quickly, and for some strange reason, Jo started laughing.

"It’s okay, Mandy," she called. "Come here."

Amanda refused to budge. The girl stepped away from the vehicle, and the driver’s side door opened. Amanda watched in awe as a man unfolded himself from behind the wheel. How in the hell he’d fitted himself inside the car was beyond her. He walked around the rear of the car, a man in his early fifties, his bald head shining in the light of the nearest streetlamp, his bright blue eyes focused intently on Amanda. She noticed that his partner didn’t join him. The man was slumped down in the passenger’s seat, staring out the windshield with a nerve in his jaw jumping wildly.

"Really, Mandy, it’s okay," Jo assured her. "This is just Charlie."

"Whatever," Amanda muttered.

The man laughed, a deep rumbling laugh. He didn’t seem offended by her reticence. "I don’t know if I like the sound of that," he observed. "Just Charlie."

Jo laughed along with him, and Amanda’s gazed tracked between the two of them, trying to get some understanding of this situation. A hooker and a cop? Friends?

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mandy," the cop said amiably. "I just stopped by to check up on Jo, to see how she’s been doing. She told you about Tara?"

Amanda nodded warily.

"It’s good that you’re working with her," he said. "She doesn’t need to be out here by herself. None of you need to be alone out here." He grinned then, and his blue eyes sparkled with mirth and something that looked suspiciously like admiration. "Although from what I hear down at the station, you can certainly take care of yourself. I would’ve given anything to see you knock Amber on her fat arse."

Amanda didn’t reply. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at him levelly. "What’s wrong with your partner, man?" she asked bluntly.

The cop glanced behind him, and an irritated expression crossed his pleasant face. "Oh, just ignore old Silent Joe. He doesn’t like this part of town."

"And you do?" she asked suspiciously.

Charlie shrugged, but before he could say any more, his partner honked the horn. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "Well, I guess I’d better be getting back to it. You two take care." He bid them both farewell, then did his magic trick with the car again, folding himself like an accordion to slide inside. He stuck his arm out the window to wave, and then he drove off into the warm summer night.

Amanda turned on Jo, her expression furious, but the girl simply held up a hand. "Just chill out. Seriously, Mandy. Charlie’s okay. He’s a nice guy. For a cop."

"No cop is nice," Amanda snapped. She turned on her heel and stalked toward their regular corner. Jo hurried to catch up with her.

"No, really. Charlie used to be a bigwig down at the station, but he got busted back to patrol a while back. He’s a really nice guy. He’s not like the other cops who’ll bust us just ‘cause they’re in a bad mood. He really cares." She grabbed Amanda’s arm and pulled her to a stop. "Look, it’s true. There was this friend of mine, Lil, who worked the next block down. She was an independent just like us. Seth Winston started hassling her, trying to get her to join his stable. When she wouldn’t do it, he had his goons beat her up. Charlie found her in an alley. He took her home, fixed her up, gave her some money, and helped her get out of town."

Amanda stared at her friend skeptically. "In exchange for what?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Jo insisted. "He’s just a nice guy, okay? It happens sometimes, even with cops."

"I’ll believe it when I see it," Amanda muttered under her breath.

A car pulled up just then, and the man inside looked over hopefully their way. Jo and Amanda exchanged glances. "Go ahead, girl," Amanda said. "I’m gonna walk for a while."

"You sure?" Jo asked, and when Amanda nodded, the young girl headed toward the car.

Amanda watched them drive around the corner and stop in an old abandoned parking lot, her heart heavy. She hated seeing Jo doing this to herself, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had to stay in character. She had to gain the trust of these people and find out what she could before the killer struck again. Amanda gazed up into the early evening sky. The moon was almost nonexistent. Just over two weeks now. She had to find out something. And soon.

Amanda knocked on the door to the nice suburban house, then rubbed her sweating palms on her jeans. She’d managed to tame her hair somewhat for this day; she’d pulled it back into a ponytail and removed the majority of her earrings. She’d also forsaken any makeup. She wore an oversized polo shirt and a decent pair of jeans, one of the few she’d brought with her that had no holes. She knew that she looked okay, maybe a bit younger than her twenty-six years, but still, she felt out of place in this quiet neighborhood.

A middle-aged woman with dark brown hair opened the door, a warm welcoming smile on her face. "Amanda? I’m Aileen Snow," she introduced herself. "Alan’s just inside." She stepped back and invited Amanda into the house.

The house was very pleasant inside, and Amanda felt a slight pang. She’d never had much in the way of a family home. Her father had moved them from place to place, each worse than the one before. She’d gotten out as soon as she was old enough. She worked her way through school, juggling a job and classes and still pulling better than average grades, and then she’d joined the police force. This kind of place, a real home, seemed like another world.

D.S.S. Snow came out and shook her hand, and then he led her to a small private study. He invited her to sit, and then he took a seat behind a desk. He asked her if she was ready, and at her nod, he switched on a tape player, gave the date and their names, and then he turned to her.

"How’s it going out there, Amanda?" he asked.

"Very well, sir," she assured him. "I lucked out. I’m sharing a corner with the girl who was partners with the last victim."

Snow leaned back in his chair and studied her intently. "Indeed?" he said. "That’s good news. Does she know anything?"

"I think so," Amanda said. "She hasn’t said anything overt, I don’t think she completely trusts me yet, but I’m sure she knows something." She shrugged her shoulders. "She only told me about the murders a couple of nights ago, and only because one of the local pimps said something about it."

"Pimp?"

"Yes, sir. A man named Seth Winston. From all accounts, an unsavory character."

"I believe I’ve heard of him," Snow mused. "I’ll have to look him up in the database. You say he told you about the murders? What exactly did he say?"

"Just that someone was running around killing independents."

Snow’s eyebrow arched. "All of the victims worked alone?"

"According to Jo. My partner."

"I’ll have to add that to the files," Snow said. "This Winston. What’s he look like?"

"Medium Height. Kind of wiry. Short dark hair. Clean-shaven face. Scar running down his right jaw line. Blue eyes." She smiled grimly. "Either he has sinus problems or he’s a heavy coke user. His nose was running and his eyes were kind of glassy like he’d snorted something not too long before we met up."

Snow took all this down, and then he looked up at her again. "Anything else?"

Amanda thought back over the last week. She knew she should tell him about the patrol cop, but she decided not to say anything. She couldn’t see any point in bringing up the man when all he’d done was stop by and introduce himself. "No, sir," she said at last. "But I’ve only been out there a week."

"Yes," Snow agreed. "But we have just over two weeks now to catch this man before he kills again."

Amanda ducked her head. "I know, sir," she said.

"You’re doing fine, Amanda," Snow assured her. "You’ve made great strides already. Talk to the girl; get what you can out of her. If she says something, anything, it might help us catch a killer."

"I will, sir," Amanda agreed.

Snow flipped off the tape recorder, stood, and walked over to a file cabinet. He pulled out a folder and began to thumb through the contents. Without looking at her, he said in an almost offhand manner, "I don’t suppose you had a chance to look into that other matter that we spoke of?"

Amanda jumped slightly, startled by the question, and briefly she wondered why D.S.S. Snow had turned off the recorder before asking. Then she realized what he meant. "Actually, I met him."

Snow looked up at her, his eyes bright with interest. "And?"

Amanda shrugged. "He wasn’t too impressed with my line of work," she said dryly. "He didn’t talk much."

"Where did you meet him?" Snow asked.

"In a pub. He was there with two other men. I did some digging and found out their full names: Willy Kaa and Paulie Davidson." Amanda watched her operator closely, trying to determine if the younger man’s name rang a bell. No recognition crossed Snow’s face.

"Do you think you can meet again?" he asked. "Without it seeming suspicious?"

"Sure," she agreed. "I suppose I could chat up Jo to score some coke or something. See if she sends me Lawless’ way."

"There may be another way," Snow mused. He brought the folder he’d been thumbing through over to his desk and sat down. He slid a brightly colored brochure across the surface toward her.

Amanda picked it up and read the cover. "ValueRite Virtual Mall?" she queried. "An internet mall?"

Snow nodded. "It’s a scam. We’ve been tracking the man responsible for it several months now. He’s based out of Auckland we think, but he’s scamming people all over New Zealand. He sells them shares in this virtual mall, as well as the top of the line computers they need to access the mall, then absconds with both their money and the computers."

"What has this got to do with Lawless?" Amanda asked, confused.

"Hire him," Snow urged. "This case," he explained, tapping the folder, "was sent up here by the police in Christchurch. He’d scammed a young businesswoman out of $5000. As far as Lawless needs to know, this is you. Ask him to find the man and your money. That ought to give you the opportunity to get closer to him, to find out what he’s really up to. I think the whole detective firm is a front. If nothing else, it should be interesting to see his reaction to being offered some legitimate work."

He slid the entire folder to Amanda, and she took it gingerly. She stared at the thing for a moment, and then she raised troubled eyes to the detective senior sergeant. "Sir, the girl I work with, Jo, she told me that while he was undercover, Lawless was dating a girl named Sonya."

Surprise flitted across the man’s face, but it disappeared quickly to be replaced by concern. "And?"

"She said that . . . well, that someone . . . a policeman, told Sonya that Lawless was undercover, and the woman killed herself."

Snow gazed at her calmly for a moment, and then he stood and walked over to the window. He stared out over the lush green lawn with his hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing for a moment. Just when Amanda was about to break the painful silence, he spoke.

"Even though he was married at the time, Lawless was sleeping with the woman," he admitted. "She was a drug addict, and she was arrested along with him after the armed robbery. We found drugs all over his house." Snow sighed harshly. "The woman was brought down to be questioned, but she was released. We were only interested in determining Lawless’ innocence or guilt, you see?" He turned then, his light eyes full of pain. "I heard later that she’d discovered somehow that John was an undercover cop and killed herself. I tried to find out who told her. You and I both know how dangerous it is for an officer’s cover to be blown. But I never found out who it was. I would have fired that person immediately." He continued to gaze at her, his expression troubled, and then he said in a low voice, "He’s telling people that I’m the one who told her, isn’t he?"

Amanda nodded slowly, hating herself for even bringing this up. It was obvious she was causing the man extreme pain.

"And you believed it?" he inquired.

She looked up, startled. "Oh, no, sir."

"D.C. Walker . . . may I call you Amanda?"

"Of course, sir."

He smiled softly. "Please, call me Alan." He sat down and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. "As I mentioned to you that first day, there was some dissension regarding my being your operator. Because of my less than stellar success with John, there were some detractors who didn’t think I should be trusted with this job."

"Susan Ellis," Amanda said immediately, remembering the distaste so evident on the woman’s face when she’d looked at the detective senior sergeant.

"And others," Snow agreed. "The only reason I was allowed to take you on is because Aaron is my friend. I want to show these people that I am still a good operator. Between the two of us, I think we can take this murderer down. But if you have any doubts about me whatsoever, I will step aside. We’ll get you another contact. There will be no repercussions. I can completely understand your hesitance to work with me."

"Oh, no, sir . . . Alan, I’m not hesitant at all. Aaron’s told me a lot about you. I was . . . I AM very pleased to be working with you." She leaned forward. "I don’t want another operator. I want you."

Snow studied her closely for a moment, obvious trying to divine her true feelings, and at last a somewhat relieved smile crossed his face. "Very well, then," he announced. "We’ll just forget about this. I’ll continue to be your operator, and you’ll continue to report to me each Sunday and any other time you have information you think I need to know about." He reached across the desk and took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly. "I know we’ll make a good team," he assured her. "We’ll catch this monster."

Amanda nodded forcefully. "You can count on me, sir . . . Alan."

Snow smiled and released her hand. He stood, and nodded toward the folder. "If that makes you uncomfortable, I can understand if you don’t want to . . . "

"Oh, no. I want to try this." Her expression grew grim. "There’s nothing I hate more in this world than a cop gone bad. If Lawless is dealing drugs, I want to take him down."

"Thank you, Amanda," the detective senior sergeant said sincerely. "You’re an impressive young woman and a fine police officer. I predict you’ll go far in the force."

"Thank you, sir . . . Alan. I appreciate that," Amanda replied.

Snow led her out to the front door and bid her good-bye. Amanda noted that same self-satisfied smirk on his face again as he closed the door, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand what it meant. She brushed off her worries, however. She walked down to the bus stop, her steps brisk and purposeful. She was going to make that man proud of her. She was going to do the best job she could. She’d find out the truth about John Lawless and the identity of the murderer as well.

She caught the bus back to her flat, gazing out the window at the rapidly darkening day. She’d better do something soon, though. She could almost hear a clock ticking, warning her that the full moon was right around the corner.

The next night, Amanda stood in the shadows outside the pub, smoking a cigarette and watching the door. She knew Lawless was inside; she’d asked one of the departing patrons. Now if only the man himself would show. She’d poured over the file about the internet scam. She was primed and ready to get on with this other part of her assignment.

Two men left the pub, and when they walked under the streetlamp, she realized her prey was in sight. She flipped her cigarette into the gutter, then took a step forward, out of the shadows.

"Lawless!"

The two men turned at the sound of her voice. She could see the ex-cop tense when he recognized her, although Willy looked more than pleased to see her. His gaze scoured over her body from her knee high black boots to her black leather skirt to her sheer white shirt. He never quite made it to her face.

"Mandy!" Willy called. "How’s it going?"

"Fine, Willy," she replied, her gaze never leaving Lawless. With amusement, she noticed that he seemed to be looking everywhere BUT at her chest. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked him.

Willy glanced up at his friend, then back toward her. His grin widened. "Guess you want me to leave you two alone, eh?" he said in a voice full of mirth.

"Thanks, Willy," Amanda said.

"No worries. You two have fun, eh? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do." He punched Lawless lightly on the arm.

"Piss off, Willy," Lawless growled. Willy headed off down the street, and Lawless remained, watching her with wary dark eyes.

"What’s up?" he asked.

Amanda gazed at him for a long moment, and then she nodded her head toward the street. "Walk with me for a minute," she requested.

He fell into step beside her willingly enough, although she noted that he was careful to keep his distance. After they’d gone a few steps, she decided to put him out of his misery. "I find myself in need of a P.I.," she admitted.

"You?" he inquired dubiously.

They came to the footpath beside the water, and Amanda stopped and leaned up against the protective railing. "You mean, what’s a hooker need with a private investigator?" she asked in an amused tone.

"Something like that," he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

"Anyone ever tell you about the dangers of stereotyping?" she asked.

He looked up at her, startled for a moment, and then a small smile flitted across his face. "Point taken."

For just a tiny moment, Amanda caught herself wishing she could see a real smile on the man’s face, and then she shook that thought off. This was business, not pleasure, and the man was a cop gone bad. He was trouble with a capital T, and she was going to do everything in her power to take him down.

"Look," she said, giving herself another mental shake. "You know much about the net?"

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then his face cleared. "You mean the internet? Computers?"

"Right."

Lawless shrugged. "A little. I know how to use a computer and the net. I surf sometimes, looking up stuff for work."

Amanda shook out a cigarette, allowed the man to light it for her, then took a deep drag. She eyed him narrowly through the smoke as she exhaled. "I had a john in Christchurch. He was big into computers. He told me about this new concept he had, said it was going to be the next biggest thing. The virtual mall. Know about stuff like that?"

Lawless’ eyebrows drew together as he thought about her question. "I know a lot of people shop on the net. Stores are supposed to have these secure servers that keep people from getting ripped off if they give out their credit card numbers, but I wouldn’t trust them." He paused, and then he added ruefully, "Not that I have any credit card numbers to give out."

Despite herself, Amanda laughed. "Me, either," she admitted.

"So this guy was starting up a virtual mall?" Lawless prompted.

"Yeah. He was looking for investors. He had this spiel like you wouldn’t believe. Brochures, charts showing earnings potentials, it was really impressive."

"And the catch was?"

"Well, you had to buy a special computer for one thing, one that could handle all the graphics of this webpage. And then you had to come up with a fee to get in on the ground floor."

"How much did he take you for?"

Amanda ducked her head slightly as if ashamed. "Five thousand dollars," she said in a low voice.

One of his dark eyebrows arched high. "That’s a lot of money," he mused.

Her head shot up. "For a hooker," she finished his unspoken thought.

"That’s not what I meant," he countered. "For anyone. Hell, I’d be pretty buggered about losing five thousand dollars myself." He studied her levelly for a moment. "So what do you want me to do about it? Go down to Christchurch and check it out?"

Amanda shook her head. "He lives here, I think. I found an airline ticket in his things once. It was a round trip ticket from Auckland to Christchurch. And he didn’t have a house or anything. He worked out of a hotel room."

Lawless turned and stared out over the water. "If I find the guy, are you going to be able to prove he stole your money?"

Amanda shrugged. "I kept everything. The brochures. The receipts. Look, Lawless, I know it’s going to be hard getting my money back. I’m just a hooker. The cops aren’t going to believe me. But if you can find him and take him down, at least I can keep him from doing it to others, you know? And hell, I MIGHT get my money back. Stranger things have happened."

John nodded slowly, and then he glanced sideways at her. "Think you can afford my rates?"

Amanda let a small smile creep across her lips. "I would imagine," she said. "I’m very good at what I do." Her smile widened. "But if you’d care to trade services, I would be more than willing."

Lawless shook his head quickly. "Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’d rather have the cash."

"Your loss," she said flippantly. "So, I have all the stuff up in my flat. You wanna come up? Or should I bring it to you. Don’t want to ruin your rep or anything."

"You’re not working tonight?" he asked.

Amanda shrugged. "Naw. I’m on the rag. And I’m not really in the mood for blow jobs tonight." She paused, and then she added. "Unless you’d fancy one." She resisted the impulse to grin when a dull flush crept up his neck. "Come on," she said. "I’ll give you the stuff and enough money to get you started on this." He seemed hesitant to follow her, and she finally grabbed his arm and began to pull him along. "Seriously, man. I’m safe. I’m just picking at you. I can tell when someone doesn’t want me." She gave him a sideways glance. "You’re not gay or anything, are you?"

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, and then he said a little louder, "No, I’m not gay."

"Well, that’s good, then," she said. "It would have been a terrible waste." She grinned up at him.

He didn’t return her grin, and again, she caught herself wishing she could see him smile. She realized with almost clinical interest that despite all that Snow had told her about the man, she felt no warning bells in his presence, no intuition that he might be a murderer. He might be into drugs, although she hadn’t noticed any of the usual symptoms of drug use, but he didn’t strike her as a killer. She just couldn’t quite figure the man out. Hopefully, however, now that he’d be working for her, she’d have more opportunity to study him.

They walked alone in silence until her building came into sight, and when she led him to the front door, he shook his head ruefully. "This is convenient," he observed dryly.

"What’s convenient?" she inquired.

He laughed mirthlessly. "If you need to get in touch with me, you won’t have far to go. My office is right down the street. You know the red brick building at the end of the next block? Across the alley from the diner?"

Amanda nodded. She’d passed the place countless times in the past week.

"That’s my place. I have an office on the first floor. ‘Lawless Investigations’."

"Bewdy," she said, opening the front door to her building and leading him inside. "Now I’ll know where to find you if I need you." They took the stairs up to the third floor since the lift, as usual, was busted.

Amanda opened her door, and he followed her inside. Before she’d left the flat that night, she’d arranged the information on the internet scam on the end table beside the sofa. She gathered it up and handed it to him, noting the way his eyes scanned the room. She saw him look into the adjoining room. His dark gaze passed over the bed, then skittered away nervously. Amanda glanced up, and a small frisson of fear went up her spine as she realized that from this angle you could plainly see the posts on the headboard. For the first time since she’d met the man, she felt afraid. He really was terribly big. He made the flat seem even smaller with his presence.

He didn’t seem to notice her fear, however. He looked through the things she’d given him, then tapped a finger on the brochure. "Pretty impressive," he allowed. "I can see how he suckered you in."

"You should’ve seen the website," she said dryly. "It was even more impressive."

"Can I take all this with me?" he asked.

Amanda shrugged. "Sure."

"What’d he look like, this guy?"

"His name’s Henry. Henry Johnson. He’s, oh, about five foot ten. I dunno, one hundred seventy maybe. Beautiful long blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was really cute for being such a prick." She screwed up her face in concentration as she thought about the description from Snow’s file. "He said he was twenty-five, but I think he was older. Oh, and he wore this really gaudy ruby pinkie ring. He swore it was real, and if he made as much off others as he did me, I’m sure it was." She studied the detective for a moment. "You gonna write all this down?" she asked.

He tapped a finger on his temple. "It’s all up here. Trust me."

Amanda barked a sharp laugh, and then she walked into the bedroom to nab some cash she’d hidden under the mattress for this occasion. She walked back into the living room and handed the bills to him. "That enough to hire you?"

He counted the money, and then he nodded. "That ought to do it. Thanks."

"Just catch the bastard," she said. "I don’t like being taken like that."

Lawless pocketed the money, and then he gathered the brochures and papers together. "I’ll let you know what I find out," he promised.

"Thanks." She grabbed a pen, took one of the sheets extolling the virtues of the ‘ValueRite Virtual Mall’ and scratched both her regular phone number and her cell phone number on the top. "You can call me," she said, "or cruise by the street outside. The next block over is mine and Jo’s."

"Okay." He headed for the door, and then he paused and glanced back at her. "Thanks. I really need the work," he said sincerely.

Amanda flashed him a dazzling smile. "No worries, mate," she said.

His dark eyes gazed at her piercingly for a moment, but at last he nodded and left the flat. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to be with the man in the pub or on the street, but inside her tiny flat, his presence was almost overpowering. She still couldn’t figure him out. He certainly didn’t strike her as a habitual drug user. So, maybe he simply sold them. But then, he obviously wasn’t rolling in dough either. He’d seemed so sincere about needing the money, and he didn’t dress the part of a rich drug dealer. And there was something about his manner. The man struck her as being . . . well . . . more sad than anything. Disillusioned with the world. She shook her head in self-disgust. The man was a cop gone bad and she was romanticizing him into some kind of Heathcliffian character. She should know better than to fall for that shit. She’d do well to concentrate on her job and stop thinking of Lawless as anything more than a target for an investigation. Still, she couldn’t help but hope, somewhere deep inside, that he wasn’t the horrible person Snow painted him to be. She really hated to think her judgment was that bad.

Two days later, Amanda was still no farther along in her investigation. Jo was keeping mum about the murders, avoiding Amanda when she pressed too hard, so she let it ride. Now that she knew where Lawless worked, she kept her eyes open, but she only saw him a few times. Unfortunately, she never got close enough to speak to him. Seth Winston seemed to have forgotten about them for the duration as well. The cop, Charlie, drove by most nights, and gradually, Amanda let her guard down around the man. He seemed truly sincere in his concern for them. He seemed to think of Jo more as a daughter figure than a hooker, and Amanda had the feeling he was relieved the girl had found someone else to watch her back. Somehow, Amanda felt safer knowing Charlie was on patrol.

Jo was in the alley with a john when an old dark blue battered Chevy Nova pulled up to the curb. Her heart pounding fiercely, Amanda peered into the dark interior, preparing to tell the guy to move along when she realized that the driver was none other than John Lawless. She went into her hooker routine, leaning over so that he could get a good look down the front of her shirt.

"Hey, sweet thing," she said. "You finally decide to take me up on my offer?"

His eyebrow raised at her words, and his eyes began to twinkle with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mandy, but I have some information for you on your . . . internet friend."

"Aw, you’re no fun," she said with a pout.

"You want to hear this or not?" he asked.

Another car drove by slowly, and Amanda pulled back. "Not here," she said. She glanced back to see Jo and her john emerging from the alley. She waved at the girl, then opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. With an interior laugh, she saw Jo’s mouth fall open when she realized who Amanda’s ‘customer’ was.

"Let’s go," she said when she was safely inside.

"Where to?" Lawless asked, obviously not too happy with this situation.

"Just drive, Lawless. You can talk and drive at the same time, can’t you?"

He stared at her for a moment, considering, but at last, he pulled away from the curb. Once they were underway, he said, "I traced your guy down. It was a fake id, of course, but you’re right. There was a lot of travel under the name, and all of it was based in Auckland. I think he lives here."

"And?"

"The address he used is a post office box. I think I might be able to get some information out of the clerk. I’ve also talked to the internet service provider that hosted the website." He paused and glanced at her quickly. "Did you know the cops have already been asking questions?"

Amanda went very still. She should have thought about that. "Have they?" she asked warily.

"Yeah. It’s obvious he’s scammed more people than just you and the cops are on it. You still want me to stick with it?"

Amanda breathed a mental sigh of relief. Of course, there would have been more people scammed. Her brain seemed to have shut down on her. Maybe it was from being so close to the man. Something about him made it terribly hard for her to think.

"Yeah, keep at it," she said. "I have more faith in you than the cops."

He glanced over at her again and said, "You know I used to be a cop?"

Amanda grinned with feigned jocularity. "Yeah. Heard you sort of got hung out to dry, mate. Your buddies dropped you in it, and you had to quit."

He obviously didn’t share her amusement. She noticed that his grip had tightened on the steering wheel so that his knuckles had turned white. The atmosphere in the car became charged, and Amanda began to have trouble breathing. She could feel his anger as almost a palpable thing, and she knew on a level so deep that it was almost primitive that this man was more than capable of violence.

"I’m sorry," she said softly, trying to defuse the tenseness. "I didn’t mean to step on your toes or anything."

Lawless took a deep breath, and she could see him forcing himself to calm down. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and then he said, "You didn’t. No worries."

He turned the car and headed back toward her block, and they drove in total silence until Amanda saw Jo in the streetlight up ahead. Lawless pulled up to the curb. Jo walked over closer, obviously curious, and Amanda couldn’t help herself. She leaned across the seat, snaked her arm around Lawless’ neck and pulled him close, then planted a long, lingering kiss on those luscious lips.

Funnily enough, he didn’t pull away at first, although she could tell he was surprised at her actions. For a moment, he actually responded; she felt his lips part underneath hers as he returned her kiss with more than just a passing interest. She lost herself for a moment in the feel of him, in the softness and fullness of his beautiful mouth, but then he seemed to remember himself and he jerked his head away. Trying to ignore the disappointment that flitted through her, Amanda pulled away and hopped out of the car, shutting the door behind her. She leaned back in the window with a grin. "Thanks, luv," she said airily. "I enjoyed it. You come by anytime now."

The oddest look crossed his face, one of surprised consideration and suspicion that sent warning bells going off in Amanda’s brain. Had she screwed up? Lawless’ eyes darted over to her partner and then back again. She waited for him to say something, but instead, he nodded, and then he pulled away and drove off down the street a little faster than absolutely necessary.

"Oh, wow," Jo breathed behind her. "I can’t believe it. I never would’ve thought Johnny . . . " she trailed off, awe suffusing her young face. "You KISSED him."

Amanda could have kicked herself. Of COURSE she’d screwed up. Hookers didn’t kiss their johns. She had to say something to diffuse Jo’s suspicions. "Honey," she said in a droll voice, "he is just too damned fine NOT to kiss. And you oughta know better. Any man’ll do it if given the right encouragement."

She breathed a mental sigh of relief when Jo seemed to accept her reasoning. Amanda stretched languidly and said, "Come on, hon. Let’s go get some java. I need something if I’m going to stay awake much longer. It’s been a long day."

Together, they went to the diner and got some coffee, and although she chatted readily enough with Jo and a couple of the regulars, her thoughts never strayed far from a certain private investigator. She’d never felt so torn in two before. Who was the real John Lawless? The crook that Snow insisted on, or the somber young man who haunted her for reasons she still didn’t understand? And would she ever know?

The clock continued ticking, marking time until the next full moon. Things were moving much too slowly for Amanda’s taste. She had to report to her operator the next day, and at this point in time, she didn’t have much to report. Anxious for something, anything to come to light, she decided to head down the street to Lawless’ office to see if she could discover anything of interest about the man.

She let herself into the building, then checked out each office. At last, she located the door marked ‘Lawless Investigations’. A glass window was inset into the door, but it was smoked so that no one could see inside. She could see that the lights were on, though. She tried the knob. It turned easily in her hand, so she pushed it open and stuck her head inside.

"Hey!" she called. "Anyone home?" She entered the room and looked around curiously.

The place was certainly a little barer than she would expect a P.I.’s office to be. The reception area held only a desk, a chair, a telephone, a long, beat-up couch with stuffing showing from several gaping holes, and one lonely filing cabinet. The walls were painted industrial gray, and the dingy beige carpeting on the floor was old and worn in places. Two doors led away from the main reception area, one open, one closed. If Lawless truly WAS a private investigator, it was obvious things weren’t going very well for him. Amanda tried to ignore the tug of sympathy at the condition of the office. Maybe the man was just smart. If he was selling drugs and didn’t want to get caught, he certainly wouldn’t be flashing cash everywhere. But a small part of her wondered about that. She’d known a few crooks who’d made their fortunes off narcotics; they were usually unable to keep themselves from showing off their wealth.

"Gidday," a voice called out from another room. Lawless stepped through the open door, his expression hopeful, but when he realized who his visitor was, wariness crept in. "Mandy," he said, his voice holding little warmth. "What are you doing here?"

Amanda shrugged. "Just checking up on your progress," she said airily. "Besides, I wanted to see how the other half live." She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on an electrical outlet in the wall that had been removed. Wires stuck out from every angle. "Think I’ll stick to hooking," she observed dryly.

"I haven’t had this office very long," he said defensively. "I’m still working on the place."

"Really? I thought you’d been off the force for a while now."

He nodded shortly. "Nine months. It took me a while to get the money for my own office. I had to sell off some things."

"That’s rough," she commiserated.

He shrugged. "No worries. It’ll be fine when I’m finished, plus I save on rent since there’s a flat upstairs."

"You live here?" Amanda asked, considering. It would sure make her job easier if he did. She could keep an eye out for him.

"Yeah," he said shortly. "Look, I do have something to show you about your case. Come on in here."

He waved her into the room he’d just left, and Amanda followed him inside. The inner office was much smaller, but it was also in better shape. The carpet had been pulled up to reveal wooden flooring, and she could tell that he was in the process of redoing the finish on the floor. The walls had been painted recently in a soft eggshell color. An incredibly ancient wooden desk and a rolling office chair sat facing a window overlooking the street, and two more wooden chairs sat in front of that for his clients. A brand new PC sat atop the desk along with a telephone and tons of paper.

He went to the desk and sat down, reaching for the computer mouse. "I talked to the guys at his internet service provider. They keep backups of the files on their server, and they still had his website on one of their old backups. I got a copy from them."

Amanda walked around and watched as he pulled up the ‘ValueRite Virtual Mall’ homepage. It really was an impressive site; she could see why so many people were being suckered in. Lawless began explaining how the mall worked, and Amanda waved him to silence. "I know all this, Lawless. He showed it to me. He even bought a walkman from the electronics shop. It showed up a week later at my house."

Lawless nodded. "That was a scam, too. None of this actually does anything. It doesn’t use a true secure server; it doesn’t submit the order to a company. It actually submits it back to the web owner."

"Henry," Amanda observed dryly. "Imagine that."

"Yeah. When he ordered things to show how it worked, he must have simply bought the item himself and shipped it. You can bet the things he bought to show off the system didn’t cost much."

"So what does this tell us?" she asked.

"Well, I’m looking through the code now, but I know shit about web page design. Luckily, the people at his ISP are getting sued now, so they are more than anxious to cooperate. A couple of their computer geeks are helping out. They’re giving me copies of all the information they have both on him and the mall."

"Very impressive," Amanda remarked. Lawless much have caught something in her tone, because he looked up at her curiously.

"Something wrong?"

Quickly, she shook her head. Actually, she WAS very impressed. He’d gotten further than the cops. He was obviously very good at what he did. Despite what else he might be doing on the side, the P.I. office wasn’t just a front.

"You need some more cash, or do you have enough to keep digging?" she asked.

He shook his head. "What you’ve given me so far is enough for now. I’ll let you know if I need any more."

He stood then, and Amanda suddenly realized how small the office was. They were standing much too close. He seemed to notice that fact at the same instant she did, and for just a moment, a tiny moment that seemed to stretch out an eternity, their eyes locked. No sound disturbed the quiet inside the office, no telephones ringing, no people talking, no clocks ticking, just the almost inaudible breathing of two people gazing into each others eyes. In abject fascination, she watched as his head bent just a little. His gaze dropped to her lips, and her heart jumped into her throat as she realized that he was about to kiss her. Even worse, she WANTED him to kiss her.

Then he seemed to remember where he was and who she was. He jerked back and moved away from her, toward the door. Amanda felt a dull heat rising up her neck, and she cursed herself inwardly for allowing him to affect her like this. Panicky at the feelings he’d aroused in her, she fell back on her cynical hooker attitude.

"You know, Lawless, it’s not a crime to be attracted to a prostitute. If men didn’t find me attractive, I’d be out of work."

He said nothing in reply, and Amanda sighed softly. She went to the door, careful not to touch him as she passed. Before she left, however, she paused and looked back at him. "I may be just a hooker, but I’m still a person. I have feelings, and they can get hurt just like everyone else."

"Mandy," he said softly, miserably, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"No worries, Lawless. I’m used to it. You’re doing the job I paid you for, and that’s enough. I appreciate it." She started to say more, but then she decided she’d pushed it far enough. She left the office, trying to ignore the way his actions had hurt her. Why should she care, anyway?

She headed back toward her turf, and she saw Jo up ahead. The girl was standing in front of the steps leading up to their building. She was shifting nervously from foot to foot, and Amanda walked over to see what was wrong. The closer she got, the more concerned she became. Jo was pale underneath her makeup, and her eyes darted back and forth down the street as if she were looking for something and even more afraid that she’d find it.

"What’s up, Jo?" Amanda asked.

When Jo saw Amanda, her face lit up with a relief so great it was almost physical. "Mandy! Where’ve you been?"

"Had some business to take care of," Amanda said shortly. "What’s wrong with you? You look scared or something."

"Seth Winston was here," Jo said in a low voice. "It’s weird. It’s like he knows when you’re not around. When you’re here, he’s all nice, but when it’s just me, he makes all these threats."

"What kind of threats?" Amanda asked.

"You know, we’d better come into his stable if we want to be safe. He’d hate to see something happen to me like happened to Tara." Jo’s voice cracked with nerves and anger. "I hate that rat bastard."

"I think someone needs to have a word with Mr. Winston," Amanda declared hotly. "Tell him to stay off our block and stop making threats, or he’ll be sorry." Part of her wished he’d get in her face like he did Jo’s. She’d more than enjoy taking the man down.

"Don’t do that, Mandy," Jo begged. "I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt."

"Ah, I can take that little bastard," Amanda promised. Jo continued to look dubious, however, and something about her expression caught at Amanda. "What is it, Jo? You’re really scared of the guy."

"It’s just . . ." Jo began. She stopped and glanced around again nervously. "He’s always talking about the murders, Mandy."

Amanda cocked an eyebrow. "You don’t think . . ." She trailed off, not wanting to scare her partner from confiding. She held her breath, praying softly that Jo would finally break her silence.

"He might be," Jo said at last in a tiny voice. "I . . . that night with Tara . . . I think . . ."

Amanda forced herself to stay silent, although she doubled up on her prayers. At last, Jo spoke again.

"I think I saw him, the man who killed Tara."

"Jesus," Amanda murmured. "No wonder you’ve been so scared. It was Seth?"

"Oh, no, it wasn’t like that." Jo glanced around one more time to make sure no one could hear her, and then she leaned over close and said in a low voice, "I couldn’t see who it was. I was down the street, and when I looked up, all I saw was Tara following a man into the building." She waved at the latticework that encased the steps. "I couldn’t see all of them, you know. Just from the waist down. I knew it was Tara ‘cause she’d borrowed my red boots. The only thing I noticed about the man was that he carried a bag, I think it was a duffel bag or a sport bag, something like that, and his shoes were real shiny."

"His shoes were shiny?" Amanda echoed. "That’s odd."

"Yeah, like they’d just been polished or something."

"Hmm," Amanda mused. "He didn’t seem familiar? You couldn’t tell anything about him? Like how big he was or anything?"

Jo shook her head. "Honestly. All I could see really was their legs and feet, and that not all that clearly." She grinned self-consciously. "I don’t see real well."

Amanda turned this new information over in her mind, excitement churning within her. At least she had an eyewitness now. The bag certainly made sense. It must hold all his paraphernalia: the duct tape, the handcuffs, and possibly a hand-held vac. She couldn’t wait to talk to Snow the next day. At last, some progress.

"Well," she said. "Don’t worry about it, Jo. I’ll keep an eye out for anyone wearing shiny shoes and carrying a sport bag. And I’ll think of something to do about Seth." She patted the girl on the arm. "Everything’s going to be okay. I promise."

"Thanks, Mandy," Jo said sincerely. "I’m so glad you decided to work with me. I hate working by myself."

"No worries," Amanda said airily. "Now let’s get to it, or we won’t make any money tonight."

They went out onto the street, but for a Saturday night, the traffic was slow. Amanda leaned back against a lamppost and stared up into the sky. The moon would be full in just over a week, but at least she had a little more information.

"Say, Jo," she said thoughtfully after another car drove by without stopping. "I don’t suppose you’d know where I could score some coke or speed. My stash is about tapped."

"Sure, I can get you some," Jo said, her attention fixed on a car heading in their direction.

"Who’s your supplier?" Amanda asked idly.

Jo glanced at her, then back at the car. "I don’t think you’ve met him. It’d probably be better if I get it for you since he doesn’t know you."

"Okay. Just let me know how much," she replied, hiding her disappointment. The car passed by, and Jo turned back to her, her face alight with remembrance.

"Wait, you did see him. He came in the diner the other night when we were eating. Little guy with long stringy blond hair. Can’t stay still and his eyelid jerks constantly. He drives me crazy, but he’s got the goods."

"That weaselly-looking guy? Sammy?"

"Yeah, Sammy." Jo smirked slightly. "He does look like a weasel, doesn’t he?"

Another car headed in their direction, and this time it slowed. Jo glanced her way, and Amanda gave her the go-ahead. The girl went to the window, struck her deal, and then got into the car. She gave Amanda a small wave as they drove away.

For some reason, although she hated to watch Jo leave with a john, Amanda still felt better. So Sammy was the supplier on this side of town, not John Lawless. She grinned and faded back into the shadows so no one would stop and try to pick her up. It didn’t even cross her mind to wonder why that piece of information should make her so happy.

D.S.S. Snow seemed impressed with her report the next day, although she thought he was a bit disappointed that Lawless wasn’t selling drugs. He was very excited to hear that she had an eyewitness. He commended her on a job well done, and then he sent her back home.

Amanda slept most of that afternoon, tired from all her late nights, and she woke as the sun was going down. She got up and dressed, turning over in her mind all the facts she’d learned. She knew her time on the street was running out, and before she was done, she wanted to take care of at least one problem. She thought she might have the perfect solution.

She headed out of the building. She didn’t see Jo anywhere, but it was still relatively early. She headed for the pub where she’d first met Lawless, and by the time she arrived there, it was full dark. Up ahead, in the alley that ran beside the pub, she could see two figures huddled together in heated conversation. She paused, not wanting to disturb them, but then the two figures separated and one of them headed right for her. He bumped into her rudely as he passed. She protested, but he ignored her and stomped away. Only after he’d passed her did she realize that the man was Sammy, Jo’s drug source. She looked over to see who his companion was, and her heart fell as she recognized the familiar figure of John Lawless.

"Mandy," he greeted her coldly. Obviously he wasn’t very happy about her being here.

"Hi," she replied, trying to hide her dismay. What had he been doing with Sammy the weasel?

"I haven’t found anything . . ." he began, but she cut him off.

"I’m not here about that," she said. "I have a . . . well, a favor to ask you."

His forehead furrowed in puzzlement. "A favor?" he echoed.

"Yeah, you know Seth Winston?" she asked.

Lawless nodded slowly. "Yeah. The pimp."

"Well, he won’t leave Jo alone. He wants us to join his stable."

"So?" he said impatiently.

Amanda forced herself to go on, although it was obvious he wasn’t really interested. "I thought you might have a word with him, that’s all," she said heatedly. "Tell him to leave us alone."

Lawless stared at her incredulously. "Mandy, you hired me to find someone for you and try to get your money back. You didn’t hire me to pimp for you."

Amanda stiffened at the disdain she heard in his tone. "You’re right," she snapped. "I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess maybe I thought we were friends and you might want to help me out, but that’s ridiculous isn’t it. How can anyone be friends with a whore?"

Disgusted with both herself and him, she turned on her heel and stomped back down the street, her face burning. She thought for a moment that she heard him call after her, but she ignored it. She was a fool. The man was NOT a knight in shining armor. He was a crooked cop, and based on the scene she’d just witnessed, a drug dealer as well. She’d let her growing feelings for him cloud her judgment. But no longer. She was going to get some solid evidence and take the man down.

Black depression was her constant companion the next few days. Amanda snapped at everyone, including Jo, unable to stop herself from striking out at the people around her. She didn’t see any sign of Lawless. When Jo brought her the promised drugs, Amanda had the almost overpowering urge to try some out, just to see if they’d dissolve the cloud surrounding her. The urge became so bad that she finally flushed the damn drugs. Not only did she not want to be tempted, but some part of her was worried. She didn’t want to get caught with drugs on her. Besides, she had to be alert at all times; she couldn’t wish away her troubles with cocaine.

The second night after her run-in with Lawless, Amanda uncharacteristically overslept. She lay in bed for a long time, trying to convince herself to get up. She knew she had a job to do, she just couldn’t seem to make herself do it. Finally, she forced herself out of bed. She took her time dressing, not overly concerned with her appearance, choosing all black to match her mood. She fixed her makeup and her hair, and then she stared at herself in the mirror dully. She looked like shit. She looked exactly like what she was supposed to be: a cheap whore who’d sleep with anyone who’d pay her. Amanda shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to stop this. She was a cop. She was here for a reason. And the sooner she got her job done, the sooner she could go home.

She left her building and went out to the street, but she didn’t see Jo anywhere. She walked along aimlessly for a while, keeping back far away from the street, and then she wandered back to her building. She lit a cigarette and sat on the stairs, staring out into the street, her mind curiously blank. A man walked by the stoop and stopped, but Amanda barely noticed. Only when he spoke did she look up.

"Hey there," Charlie the cop said softly. "You okay?"

Amanda shrugged.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

"It’s a free country," she observed.

She did scoot over, however, so he could take a seat beside her on the stairs. He settled his great bulk down, and then he put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He watched her smoke for a moment, and then he asked, "Can I bum one of those?"

Amanda shot him an irritated glance, but she did as he asked, passing him a cig and lighting it for him. He took a deep hit, and then he began to cough.

Amanda laughed. "Been a while, eh?"

He nodded, then took another drag. "I need it though. It’s been a shit week."

"Tell me," she muttered.

"Problems?"

Amanda shrugged again. "Nothing major." She glanced around, but she could see no sign of his car. "Where’s your partner?" she asked.

"Silent Joe?" Charlie asked scathingly. "Down at the diner feeding his face." He gazed at her for a long moment, and then he said, "You don’t trust me much, do you?"

"Why should I?" she snapped. "You’re a cop."

Charlie sighed deeply. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes I wonder what I’m still doing hanging on in a dead-end job.

Amanda glanced over at him, struck by the note she heard in his voice. "Jo said something about you getting busted back to patrol."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. I should’ve quit then, but hell, I’ve been a cop since I was twenty-one. I don’t know anything different."

"What happened?" Amanda asked, curious despite herself.

There was a long silence, and then Charlie said, "My best friend turned out to be a prick."

Amanda cocked an eyebrow his way. "Another cop?"

Charlie nodded slowly. "We were partners when we were younger. Rose up through the ranks together. Made detective at the same time, although I always knew he’d go farther. He had a killer instinct that I never did."

"You were a detective?" Amanda prompted.

"Yeah. Pretty damn good one, too. We took out some bad characters."

"What happened?"

Charlie sighed. "I was married, but I was gone so much, working, we never saw each other. She . . . well, whenever my wife got upset about something, she’d go shopping. Pretty soon, she had racked up bills I couldn’t pay. But what could I say, eh? It was my fault. If I’d had a regular job with regular hours, she wouldn’t have stayed in the stores all the time, right?"

Amanda smiled sourly. "Who knows, mate."

"Well, anyway, me and my partner busted this drug dealer, and during the search, I found a stash of money. Man, it had to have been at least a million dollars. No one else was around, so before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped a few packets of bills out of the stash and stuck them in my jacket. No one noticed anything unusual, nothing was said. After that, it got easier. I never took drugs, just money. And we were able to get by."

Amanda said nothing, although inside she was reeling. Was every cop in Auckland crooked? Although, she had to admit, she could see how easy it would have been for Charlie to steal the money. Hell, she’d come close to snorting some coke a few days before. But that didn’t make it any less wrong.

"I know it was wrong," Charlie said, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. "But I loved my wife. I didn’t want to lose her." He flipped his cigarette into the gutter and leaned forward on his elbows, his face a study in sorrow. "My partner and I finally worked our way up to desk jobs. He started working with undercover cops; I was in charge of the evidence locker. Things were better. I was home more. Muriel didn’t go shopping so much. Life was finally on course. And then, things started disappearing from the locker. Small things. Drugs mostly. Not enough really to sell, but enough to be noticed. I did some snooping, and discovered that it was my old friend. I never figured out what he was doing with it, but I don’t guess that matters now."

"You turned him in?" Amanda guessed.

Charlie shook his head sadly. "No. I went to him first, tried to talk to him about it. I told him if he didn’t stop, I’d turn him in. He very calmly pulled out a folder and passed it to me. Inside was a list of all the cases we’d cracked in which I’d stolen money. He’d seen me, that first time, and from then on, he’d kept a close eye. He even had pictures of me slipping packets into my pocket. I never understood how he managed that without me seeing him."

"He held it over your head so you’d turn a blind eye to his stealing from evidence," Amanda mused.

Charlie nodded. "And God help me, I went along with it for a while. I liked my new job. Things were great. And then . . ." He trailed off, and an expression of abject misery crossed his pleasant face. "My wife left me. I . . . I guess I just stopped caring about anything after that. I could have cared less what was stolen. Unfortunately, the next time he took guns. Passed them to one of his undercover cops, and they ended up in the hands of some really bad characters. They were used in an armed robbery, and a guard ended up dead. The undercover cop blamed my friend, but he had covered his ass. Someone had to take the fall. I couldn’t rat out my friend; he’d just take me down with him, and I’d more than likely end up in jail. So I kept my mouth shut. And I got busted back to patrol."

He looked over at her with a crooked smile. "So, you see, your opinion of cops and mine aren’t SO different."

Amanda shook out another cigarette, her hand shaking just a bit. He had to be talking about Snow. Snow and Lawless and that armed robbery case nine months ago. She offered Charlie another cig, and he took it. They lit up and smoked in silence for a while, Amanda trying to appear unconcerned.

"Do you ever regret not turning him in?" she asked at last.

Charlie thought about it for a moment, and then he nodded. "Yeah, I do. Especially when I found out that he was putting the word out on the street that the guy was an undercover cop. You just don’t do that. People get killed that way. But I caved, as usual. I had a son, see. I didn’t want to look bad in his eyes."

Amanda continued to smoke, her mind reeling.

"What happened to the undercover cop?"

Charlie shrugged. "He quit. But he’s okay. I think you know him. I saw you talking to him once down by the pub. John Lawless."

"Johnny?" Amanda echoed, trying her best to keep her voice level. "Yeah, I heard some things along those lines. I figured it was all just bullshit, though."

Charlie shook his head. "All true. His boss turned on him and came close to getting him killed. And the bastard came out smelling like a rose. Alan was always good about covering his arse."

"Alan?"

"Alan Snow. My friend."

Amanda finished her cigarette and tossed it away. She leaned back against the step behind her and gazed up into the night sky. She couldn’t believe it. She’d been a blind fool, trusting Snow absolutely. She’d been so keen on following the scent he’d laid out for her that she hadn’t concentrated as much on doing the job assigned to her. Just over a week left until the killer struck again, and she wasn’t any closer to discovering his identity, mainly because she’d spent so much time trying to find guilt in an innocent man.

"How old’s your kid?" she asked.

Charlie bowed his head for a minute and clasped his hands as if praying.

"Charlie?" she prompted. "You okay?’

He raised his eyes to hers, and Amanda was startled to see that they had filled with tears.

"He died," he said simply. "OD’d. I tried so hard to teach him about drugs, how dangerous they were. But he was headstrong. Always had to do things the hard way." He hung his head and wiped at his eyes. "He was eighteen."

"Jesus," Amanda murmured. "I am so sorry." She wrapped an arm around Charlie’s back and patted him awkwardly. "I’m just so sorry, mate."

They sat that way for a moment, and at last, the man seemed to make a decided effort to pull himself together. He stood, wiped at his eyes, and looked down at her. "I’m sorry to have dumped all that on you, Mandy, but it felt good to get it out." He stared up into the sky for a moment. "It’s been weighing on me, especially lately. His birthday’s coming up."

Amanda stood as well. "You come talk to me anytime you feel the need, Charlie," she assured him. "I’ve been told I listen good."

He smiled and nodded. "You’re a good kid. Like Jo. I’ve been worried about her being out here all by herself since Tara died, but I don’t worry so much anymore since you came along."

"I’ll keep an eye on her," Amanda promised.

"Thanks." He glanced to his left, and his forehead furrowed in confusion for a moment. "Mandy?" he said.

"Huh?"

"I think you better come here."

Amanda stood and came out from under the stoop. She looked to her right. Jo was coming down the street toward them, only she was lurching along more than walking. Even from this distance, Amanda could see that she had been beaten.

"Jo!" she yelled. She ran down the street toward her partner, cursing the heels that kept her from moving faster. Charlie was right behind her, and they reached the stricken girl at the same time.

"Honey, what happened?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing," Jo mumbled. "Just take me home, Mandy. Wanna go to bed."

Amanda looked up at Charlie helplessly, but he shook his head, telling her without words that now was not the time for questions. "Help me get her home," he commanded.

They slung their arms around Jo’s shoulder and began to lead her toward the building. Amanda was struck by the girl’s fragility; she could feel the bones in her arms and shoulders plainly through the thin blouse she wore.

They helped Jo up the stairs to her bedroom. Amanda unlocked the door with the key Jo had given her, and together she and Charlie got the girl inside and into her bed. She refused to go a hospital, so Amanda did what she could, washing away the blood and doctoring her wounds.

"God, I need a fix," Jo moaned. "Please, Mandy. I need something bad."

"Jo," Amanda protested, but Charlie was already on the move. He went into the bathroom and came back with Jo’s drug paraphernalia. Amanda stood there biting her lip, watching as the cop helped the girl shoot up. She felt so helpless, but what could she do? She couldn’t blow her cover.

Jo calmed down visibly as the drug hit her system. Charlie sat beside her, gently brushing back her hair.

"Who did this to you, Jo?" he asked in a low voice.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"Who hurt you, Jo?" Charlie insisted.

"One a Seth’s goon," she said at last. "Bastard hit me. Tole me I was gonna join Seth’s stable, or I’d be sorry. Tole him to piss off, so he hit me."

"Son of a bitch," Amanda swore softly. "I knew I should’ve . . ."

Charlie shook his head, halting her in mid sentence. "You go to sleep, Jo. Charlie’ll take care of it."

He stood and nodded toward the bedroom door. Amanda went with him, although she didn’t move out of sight of Jo.

"Can you stay with her tonight?" he asked.

Amanda nodded.

"Good. I’m going to go have a talk with Mr. Winston."

Relief flooded through Amanda. "Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate that."

"No worries," he said distractedly. "You just watch out for her, okay?"

"I’ll do it," Amanda promised.

Charlie left the flat, and Amanda went back and sat beside the girl. She looked so tiny lying in her big brass bed. She stroked Jo’s hair, her heart aching.

"Mandy?" Jo murmured after a minute. Her eyelids fluttered, and at last, she managed to get one cracked open just a little.

"Where’s Charlie?"

"He went to have a little talk with Seth," Amanda said with relish. She hoped the cop beat the shit out of the little weasel.

"Hope he’s careful," Jo said. "The goons . . ."

"I think Charlie can take care of himself, Jo. Don’t worry about it."

"Scared, Mandy," Jo mumbled. "Don’t wanna die like Tara. Don’t let him do that to me."

Startled, Amanda looked down at the girl. "Let who do that to you, hon? Seth?"

She nodded. "Gotta be him. He’s sick enough to do somethin’ like that."

"Something like what?" Amanda queried.

"Tape someone’s mouth and nose shut," Jo answered slowly.

Shocked to the core, Amanda whispered, "How did you . . .?" She stopped herself just in time and finished lamely, "You saw her?"

Jo nodded slowly. "Was awful, Mandy. Her face was black ‘n her eyes were bloody. I don’t wanna die like that." Tears began to leak from her eyes and down her face to dampen her dark hair.

Amanda pulled a tissue from a box beside the bed and wiped away the girl’s tears. "How’d you see her, Jo?" she probed.

"Found her," Jo admitted.

"You found her?" Amanda echoed. She just couldn’t get over it. She’d read the reports, but that had slipped right by her. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wondered what else had slipped by her.

"Yeah. We were supposed to go shoppin’. I knocked, but she didn’t answer. I opened her door . . . I couldn’t even scream, Mandy. It was awful. I ran out in the street ‘n just stood there. Thank God, Charlie came by. He got me out of the street and took care of me. He did everythin’ he could for me even though it got him in trouble with that other man."

"How’d he get in trouble with Silent Joe?"

Jo shook her head. "Not Joe. Fussy little man. Walked like he had a stick up his arse. Think ‘vestigating a murdered hooker was beneath him or somethin’."

"Do you remember his name?" Amanda asked softly.

"Who? T’other cop? Dunno. Wasn’t paying attention. Why?"

"It doesn’t matter," Amanda said. "You go on to sleep, Jo. I’ll be here if you need me."

"Thanks, Mandy," Jo muttered, and then she drifted off to sleep, secure in the arms of her heroin addiction.

Amanda stayed with Jo until late the next afternoon when the girl assured her that she was okay. She went back to her own apartment. She showered and changed into the red outfit she’d worn her first day in Auckland, then opened the safe and pulled out the file on the murders. She found the preliminary report on the last victim. Sure enough, JoAnna Smith was listed as the person finding the body, and Charles Parsons was the first officer on the scene. Her eyes scanned the rest of the report, and then she saw the signature at the bottom. Alan Snow. Her operator. He was the man in the car with Charlie that day. What had Snow been doing there that morning, the morning after a hooker had been murdered?

Suddenly, the four walls seemed to be closing in on her, and Amanda just had to get out of the flat. She couldn’t make any sense of the situation, but she knew things were coming to a head quickly. There was less than a week until the full moon. Six days for her to make sense of all these seemingly unconnected facts.

Amanda left her building and headed toward the diner to get something to eat. She ate mechanically, going over the facts in her head. Her most likely suspect was Seth Winston, but she couldn’t figure out how had he managed to get his hands on the clues left behind for the police. She was sure he’d been arrested before. That might explain the pencil and the traffic ticket. But the fingerprint card? That was a little hard to explain. Besides, why would he want to make it look like a cop? Did he have a score to settle? Did someone arrest him and give him a hard time, bad enough for him to want vengeance?

Unless . . . maybe it was a setup? What if Seth was killing the women, but someone was trying to set it up to make it look like someone else. A particular cop who already had a reputation for playing with evidence. A particular cop who obviously had it in for a former undercover officer. God, could Snow be behind this? Leaving the evidence to try to point the finger at Lawless, then pointing her in that direction like a human bloodhound? But that made no sense. He hadn’t been involved in the first two murders. His name wasn’t on either of the first two reports. And why would he want to divert suspicion from a pimp to Lawless? Unless the killer wasn’t the pimp. Maybe the killer was someone a lot closer to home. Maybe SNOW was the killer.

Amanda pushed her plate away, her hunger deserting her. That fussy little man, Jo had called him. Even Amanda had noticed his appearance. Every time she’d seen him, he’d been carefully dressed from his tie to his freshly shined shoes. Could SNOW have done this? Did that harmless façade hide a monster? But then why would Snow leave evidence pointing to himself? The only person she knew with a grudge against the detective senior sergeant was Lawless, and she just couldn’t believe he was the murderer.

Amanda paid for her meal and left the diner, her mind in turmoil. She began to walk slowly toward her building, but she stopped when she saw a man walking in front of Lawless’ building. He was quite large, but she couldn’t tell anything else about him. For some reason, he was keeping to the shadows. She watched him walk away, considering. It had to be Lawless. He carried a sport bag in his right hand, and Amanda decided he was probably on his way to work out. No one had a body like his without working at it. The man continued down the street and disappeared down the alleyway between this block and hers, and Amanda remained where she was, chewing idly on her bottom lip. Here was a golden opportunity. Lawless was gone, more than likely for a while. A good work out took several hours. Here was her chance to get into his office and set the score straight once and for all. She didn’t believe Snow anymore. She believed John was straight. But she’d seen him with Sammy. She had to know for sure. If he was dealing drugs, she was sure to find some evidence in his place, if not in the office, then in the apartment upstairs.

She made her decision, then acted on it immediately. She let herself inside the building quietly. No lights shone through the smoked glass of Lawless’ office door. Amanda pulled out a plastic phone card and quickly jimmied the lock. It opened with a minimum of noise, and she slipped inside. She shut the door gently behind her and stood there for a moment, letting her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. Once she could see, she moved over to the filing cabinet and gently opened the first drawer. Nothing there. The second. Files. She glanced through them, but they seemed to be cases. She found one marked "Mandy" and pulled it out. It contained all the information pertaining to her case. She returned it to its place and thumbed through some more of them. They were all cases it seemed, and a further search of the rest of the drawers turned up nothing more interesting than dust.

She went into Lawless’ office, but here, too, there was nothing to signify that the man was doing anything other than running a legitimate detective firm. She searched his desk thoroughly, but found nothing incriminating. She glanced around the room. Well, there was nothing in his office. She looked up at the stained ceiling above her. Maybe there was something upstairs.

She located the door to the stairs and quietly made her way up, keeping close to the wall to keep the stairs from creaking. She knew he wasn’t home, but it never hurt to be too cautious. There was no door at the top of the landing, and now she could see light. He must have left a light on when he’d left for the night. She peered through the door carefully, but the hallway itself was dark. There were several doors along the hallway, and the one at the end was open just a bit. Moving as quietly as possible, Amanda stepped out into the hallway.

Suddenly, a door behind her that she hadn’t even noticed was flung open. A huge dark shape came at her, and two arms wrapped around her neck. Moving by instinct alone, Amanda grabbed the inside of her assailant’s right elbow with her left hand, and using her right, grabbed the outside of his shoulder. She hooked her foot back behind his leg and dropped to one knee, flipping him over her shoulder, making sure to keep hold of his arm. She heard a pleasing grunt as he hit the ground with a mighty thud. Amanda pulled his arm behind his back, forcing him to his stomach, and then she came up between his legs with her other hand and grabbed his testicles in a tight grip.

"Freeze, you bastard, or I’ll rip your balls off," she growled.

There was a moment of absolute silence, and then an amazingly calm voice said, "Mandy, could you please let me go? I might want to have kids someday, you know."

It was Lawless! Amanda immediately loosened her grip on both his testicles and his arm. Before she quite knew what had happened, though, he flung her off him, his elbow connecting hard enough with her mouth to make her see stars. He flipped her over onto her back and grabbed her wrists, holding her down, looming over her. From the light coming from the partially open door at the end of the hallway, she could tell that he was furious.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing breaking into my place?" he demanded.

"Get off me, you bastard," she swore, trying to wriggle out from under him.

"Answer me," he insisted. "What were you doing?"

He tightened his grip on her wrists, and despite herself, Amanda gave a squeak of pain. "You’re hurting me, John," she said, blinking back tears.

He must have heard the pain in her voice, because he released her immediately. He moved off her and pulled her to her feet. "You’re bleeding," he said.

Amanda raised her hand to her mouth and pulled it back to see a smear of blood. "No shit," she snapped. "You hit me."

"You almost castrated me," he reminded her. "Come on. Let’s take care of that."

He pulled her down the hallway to the lighted room which turned out to be a bedroom. It wasn’t in any better condition than the main room downstairs. The walls were covered with tattered wallpaper, and a moth eaten rug covered the floor. The only furniture was a bed, a chair, and a dresser. The place barely looked lived in.

John pushed her down on the edge of the bed, and then he went into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water, and then he came back in with a wet flannel. He pulled up a chair and began to gently wash the blood away.

"Ouch," she complained. "That hurts." Although, in truth, it didn’t hurt that badly. Her head was aching, though. And she was more than irritated with herself. She knew better than to let down her guard.

"What were you doing here?" he asked again. "Breaking and entering is a crime the last time I checked."

Amanda shrugged. "What can I say? I’m a curious person."

His eyebrow raised slightly, but he made no comment. There was a small silence, and then he said softly, "You know, if you don’t want people to know you’re a cop, then you shouldn’t tell them to freeze."

Amanda stiffened. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she claimed with false bravado. Unfortunately, her voice cracked, a dead giveaway.

Lawless didn’t dignify her statement with a response. "I’ve been watching you, you know? The last few nights. I have yet to see you go off with a john."

"The alley . . . " Amanda began, but Lawless shook his head.

"No, you don’t take them down there, either. Like I said, I’ve been watching."

"Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Something just didn’t seem right about you. That night in the car, when you kissed me. Man, hookers don’t do that. So I did some checking. I called a mate of mine in Christchurch and had your record faxed to me."

"Oh?" she said, a hollow feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She cursed herself mentally. She KNEW she’d screwed up by kissing him.

"Yeah. It was picture perfect. Almost TOO perfect. So I made a few more calls. Leaned hard on another mate of mine. He finally admitted you were undercover."

"Who was it?" she asked, furious. She was going to have the man’s badge. There was no excuse for blowing another cop’s cover.

"No way I’m telling you that," Lawless said amiably. "Give me a break. I was undercover, you know. I know how it goes. Honestly, you had me fooled. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t started watching you."

"You had no business spying on me," Amanda griped.

"You’re the one who told me about Seth Winston. I wasn’t really spying. I just wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you were okay."

"Where were you yesterday when Seth was beating up on Jo then?" she snapped.

"He did what?" Lawless exclaimed.

"I told you he wants us to join his stable. He had one of his goons beat Jo up because she told him to piss off."

"That bastard," Lawless swore. "I guess I AM going to have to have a talk with him."

"Thought you didn’t want to be a pimp," Amanda said with a small smile.

Lawless gazed at her for a long moment, and then Amanda finally got her wish as a lovely smile broke across his face. He had the sweetest dimples, and almost of its own accord, her hand came up to touch one of the indentions. "You’re cute when you smile," she said, and then she mentally cursed herself for her stupidity.

"Thanks," he said dryly.

Amanda flushed hotly and then she stiffened as he lightly touched her injured lip.

"It’s stopped bleeding," he said. "I think you’ll live."

"Thanks," Amanda said softly, waiting for him to drop his hand, but for some reason, he didn’t.

He outlined her lips with his finger, his gaze fixed on them, his expression intent. Despite herself, Amanda felt her lips part under his caress, and she sighed as he moved his hand to touch her cheek. She whispered his name, and his gaze finally left her lips. Their eyes locked, and Amanda almost stopped breathing. She had never seen so much desire in a man’s eyes before. She waited, breathless, and finally he covered her mouth with his own.

He kissed her softly at first, gently, as if she were made of crystal. But soon enough, the hunger grew between them, and his kiss became more demanding. He slid from the chair and knelt on the floor in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight into his embrace, one hand moving over her back, the other cradling the back of her neck. She shivered as his fingers touched the sensitive skin there.

She began her own exploration, first running her hands over his T-shirt clad chest, then tugging it from the waistband of his jeans so that she could feel his bare skin. He stripped his shirt off over his head, and then he unzipped her shirt. His hands found her unbound breasts and began to stroke her in a maddening way. He began to use his mouth on her, sucking gently until she was moaning from need. His hands moved up her stocking clad thighs, then over the band to the bare skin beneath. He found the silk covering her mound and began to rub her there, a gentle pressure at first, a delicious friction. At last, he pulled off her boots, unsnapped her stockings, and rolled them off. He eased her panties down, and then he spread her legs. Her skirt was short enough to give him easy access, and his fingers soon discovered her wonderful wet warmth. He slid one inside, and then another, and as he transferred his mouth to her other breast, he began to move his fingers in and out of her in a delicious rhythm. Unconsciously, her body began to rock in time with his strokes, and then he released her nipple and moved his head between her legs. Amanda gasped as she felt the first touch of his tongue, but then he was tasting her and filling her so that she forget everything but the feel of his mouth and his hands on her. The world seemed to shrink down to nothing but the juncture between her thighs as he skillfully brought her to a climax that made her entire body shudder with ecstasy.

She lay back on the bed, her eyes closed as the spasms began to subside, and then he was beside her, smiling down at her with that lovely sweet smile. She reached up to touch his face, and he kissed her fingers. He moved above her, and she spread her legs wide for him, aching to have him inside her. He positioned himself at her entrance, and then in one, achingly long movement, he slid inside her until they were completely joined. He lay still for a moment, and then he began to move, in and out, in perfect rhythm. She matched his strokes, and as he began to pick up speed, she wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him on. Each stroke took him in a little deeper until he seemed to be touching a place inside her that no man had dared to enter. Each thrust caused the fire inside her to flare higher, and soon she was coming again, her body spasming around him as she climaxed over and over again. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on for dear life as his strokes became as ragged as his breathing. She whispered in his ear, urging him on, and at last, he found his own release. He groaned deeply as he came, and his entire body shuddered. She held him, stroking his dark hair until his breathing returned to normal. He rolled off her and propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her.

He stroked her face, his dark eyes full of deep emotion. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"Under all this paint you mean," she said in a voice she almost didn’t recognize it. It had been a long time since she’d felt this sated and content.

He grinned down at her. "I can’t wait to see what you look like without it," he admitted. His hands moved down, caressing her body, and he said apologetically, "I got so carried away I forgot to use protection."

"No worries," she assured him. "I’m clean, and I’m on the pill."

"I would think you’d be more worried about me," he pointed out dryly.

Amanda reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him deeply. "If you knew you had something, you wouldn’t have forgotten," she whispered.

He rolled over onto his back and pulled her head to his chest. She idly ran her hands over the strong muscles there, and then her questing fingers found a long scar running down his right side. She looked down at the twisting length of it, tracing it idly. "What happened?"

He glanced down. "Got in a fight in a pub. The guy had a knife." He reached up and ran his thumb over the scar bisecting her eyebrow. "And how did you get this one?"

Amanda grinned impishly. "Nothing near as dangerous. A dog bit me when I was a kid."

Surprised, John burst out laughing, and he pulled her to him and kissed her again. The kiss soon grew into something more, and once again, he made love to her. For a time, she forgot everything, her job, the murders, Snow’s accusations, Winston’s threats. There was nothing for her in this world. Nothing but this man and the way he made her feel.

Hours later, as the world around them went to bed, they spoke of why she was in Auckland. She told him about the murders, leaving out any mention of her operator or his suspicions of John.

"So Jo actually saw the guy," John mused.

"Well, she didn’t see him. She saw his shoes. Oh, and he was carrying a . . ." She trailed off and sat up straight in the bed, her heart suddenly pounding fiercely.

"What?" John asked, sitting up beside her.

"The bag," she exclaimed. "I thought it was you going to work out, but it couldn’t have been."

"What are you talking about?"

"There was a guy walking by your building," she explained. "I thought it was you. He walked down the street and went into the alley. That’s why I came in here; I thought you were gone."

Amanda slid out of bed and began to dress.

"Amanda," John said. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go check on Jo. I’m worried about her."

"But you said yourself this guy is on a lunar cycle," John pointed out, although he, too, slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans.

"I know, I know. I’ll just feel better if I check on her, okay?"

They dressed quickly, then hurried downstairs and down the street. They entered the building and went up to Jo’s floor. They reached her door, and Amanda knocked. "Jo?" she called softly. There was no answer, so she knocked a little louder.

"Maybe she’s still outside," John offered.

Amanda checked her cheap watch. "No, it’s too late." She rummaged in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her key. "We have a key to each other’s flats," she explained. "For protection." She unlocked the door, then opened it and stepped inside.

At first, the scene didn’t want to filter through her brain. She stood rooted in place, aware of nothing but a high keening sound filling the room.

Jo lay spread-eagle on the bed, her wrists and ankles raw from where she’d struggled against her bonds. Her young face had turned a gruesome shade of bluish black, and silver tape covered both her nose and her mouth. Her horribly blood-shot eyes gazed up at the ceiling in despair, as if to ask God why such a fate had befallen her. On her chest lay a brightly shining silver police shield, the badge of a detective senior sergeant.

John pulled Amanda’s head to his chest, and only then did she realize that the horrible sound filling the room was coming from her. "Hush, now," he said in her ear. He pulled away and looked down at her. "You stay right here," he commanded. He released her and walked over to the bed. He glanced around, found a tissue on the night table, held it over Jo’s wrist, and took her pulse. He backed away, balling the tissue up in his fist, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he stared down at the dead girl. Then he turned and pulled Amanda from the room.

He led her outside, checking the hallway closely before exiting. Still using the tissue, he hooked his fingers under the outside knob, and he pulled the door to. "Your fingerprints will be on here," he said in a worried voice.

"John," she began, but he waved her to silence.

"We can’t worry about it now. We’ve got to go down to the callbox and ring the police."

"But . . . you can’t . . . they’ll think . . . " Her mind had ceased functioning. She couldn’t even complete a coherent sentence.

"I’ll call anonymously. Then we’ll go back to my flat and wait it out."

"But I have to . . ."

"No," John warned. "You don’t have to do anything. Just trust me on this."

Startled at his vehemence, she nodded quickly. They went downstairs to the nearest callbox where he placed the call to the police. They went back to his flat, and he forced some whisky down Amanda’s throat. He took her to bed then and held her until she finally fell into a nightmare-ridden slumber.

When Amanda awoke, she didn’t realize at first where she was. Then memory flooded back in and she sat up with a horrified gasp. John was standing at the window watching the activity on the street below, and he turned his head when he heard her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Around eight," he answered, looking out the window again.

"The police?"

"They’ve been in and out all night long."

Amanda ran her hands through her blond spikes. "I’m sorry about last night," she said. "I didn’t handle that very well."

John glanced back at her, and then back out the window, his face carefully blank. "It’s different when it’s someone you know."

"I just don’t understand it," Amanda said, only peripherally noticing the curious way the man was acting. "The moon isn’t full. Why did he kill early?"

"Maybe he had another reason," John supplied.

"Like what?" Amanda asked.

"Maybe he did it this time to protect himself."

"But . . . how . . . there’s no way he could have known that Jo saw him. I can’t believe she’d tell anyone."

"Except you," John pointed out in a toneless voice.

"But . . ."

John dropped the curtain and turned to her woodenly. "Who did you tell?"

"What?" she asked, startled by both his tone and his expression.

"Who did you tell that Jo saw the murderer?"

"No one," she responded immediately. "Except you." She paused, and then, with a horrible feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, she added, "and . . . my operator."

John’s face hardened. "And who might that be?"

She gazed at him for a moment, hating to say the word, but she knew she had to tell him. "Snow."

John’s beautiful face could have been carved from stone. "That’s why you broke in last night, isn’t it. Snow’s trying to catch me doing something illegal. What is it, Amanda? What’s he think he has on me now? Does he think I’m the one killing these women?"

Amanda shrugged.

"Did YOU think I was the one?"

"God, John, of course not," she said.

From the expression on his face, he obviously didn’t believe her. "Why’d you break in, Amanda?"

She sighed heavily. "He thinks you’re dealing drugs, okay?"

"So you thought you’d just poke around and see what you could find."

"John, I didn’t think you were. Not really. It’s just . . . I saw you with . . . " she trailed off, feeling suddenly terribly tired.

"With who?" he demanded.

"I saw you talking to Sammy the other night. He’s the local source."

"Not that it’s any of your business, but I was reading Sammy the riot act about the quality of his merchandise. I can’t stop the drugs, Amanda, but I do what I can. Sammy was passing some bad coke around. I told him if I caught him doing it again, I’d break his neck."

Amanda stared at the man before he. He suddenly seemed a stranger to her. "He shouldn’t be doing it at all," she said in a low voice.

John laughed harshly. "You haven’t spent much time undercover, have you?"

Amanda shrugged. "Not like this," she admitted.

"Well, grow up. Things aren’t as clear out here in the real world. Life isn’t always black and white, you know."

Amanda began to pull on her clothes, her heart aching fiercely, her pride wounded more. "I’ve got to go," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You better call Snow. I’m sure he’s worried about you. He’s been in and out over there several times."

"Snow was here?" she asked, surprised.

John nodded grimly. "I wouldn’t tell him where you were last night if I were you. I doubt he’d be too thrilled with you."

"John," she began, but he cut her off.

"Last night didn’t mean anything to you, did it?" he snapped. "You were just trying to get my mind off why you broke into my place."

Amanda stared at the man in shock. "How can you say that? Of course it meant something. How can you even believe I would do something like that?"

John laughed harshly. "Oh, it’s easy to believe. I’ve been there, you know. You go undercover and you start forgetting the rules. The lines start blurring. You get to a point where you’ll do anything to get what you want, to keep your identity safe." He laughed again, a sharp bark. "I did the same thing to a girl, slept with her so she’d stop asking me questions. Now I know how she felt when she found out I was a cop."

"It wasn’t like that, John," Amanda said, but he turned away from her to look out the window again.

"Go home, Amanda," he ordered in a low voice.

She started to say more, but then she realized it was useless. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and a horrible sense of loss and gloom enveloped her. She started for the door, and then she glanced back at him. "Last night didn’t have anything to do with my job, John. I slept with you because I’m falling in love with you."

He made no comment, so she left the flat and hurried downstairs. She walked down the footpath, the bright morning light making her eyes ache fiercely, and then she went into her building. Thankfully, she saw no one as she climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. She felt ancient suddenly, old and used up. Tears filled her eyes, not only for herself, but for Jo, killed in such a brutal way.

She opened her door and went inside her flat, wiping at her eyes. She was reaching for the phone to call Snow, when a noise at her bedroom door startled her. She looked up and was startled to see Charlie standing there.

"Jesus, Charlie," she swore. "What are you doing in here?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized that he probably knew about Jo and was worried about her.

He said nothing, however. He simply looked at her, his usually friendly eyes alien now, almost totally devoid of emotion. Then she noticed what he held in each hand. In the left, a pair of handcuffs dangled, in the right he held a five-inch strip of wide duct tape. She stared at them for a heartbeat, then up into his dead eyes. Then she turned and ran for the door.

She got her hand wrapped around the doorknob, but before she could open the door, he was on her, moving faster than she would have believed possible for such a large man. He pressed her hard against the door so that she couldn’t move. She cursed herself inwardly. She knew better than to get trapped like this. Where was all her training when she needed it?

She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound, he managed to slap the tape over her mouth. She began to struggle wildly, but he simply pressed her harder against the door. He grabbed her right arm and bent it up behind her back at an angle. "Give me your other hand," he commanded, "or I’ll break this one."

‘Break it or kill me?’ she thought wildly. ‘Break the damned thing.’ But then he pulled on her arm so hard that she heard her bones creak, and an excruciating bolt of pain shot up into her shoulder. Tears began to course down her cheeks, and when he tugged again, she did as he asked and gave him her left hand.

He quickly snapped the handcuffs on her, and then he began to drag her toward the bedroom. As soon as she was clear of the door, Amanda began to fight him. She kicked out at him, trying to trip him up enough so that she could get away from him. Unfortunately, he seemed to anticipate her every move. He blocked her kicks, then hit her so hard in the jaw that she blacked out for a moment. When she came to, she was lying on her back on the bed. He’d already managed to get her left arm attached to the bedpost, and he was trying to affix her right.

She tried to wriggle away from him, but he simply settled his full weight on her legs so she couldn’t move. He quickly snapped the right cuff, then gazed down at her almost pleasantly. He wasn’t even out of breath.

"Where’ve you been, little Mandy?" he inquired. "I went back and visited your friend Jo, but you’d already gone. So I stopped by to see you, but you weren’t here. I waited and waited, but you never came home. Now where could you have been? Visiting a local private investigator perhaps? Your boss isn’t going to like that."

Amanda’s eyes widened, and Charlie chuckled softly. "Oh, yes. I know all about you and Snow. Poor Mandy. In over your head and you didn’t even know it." He lightly brushed a finger down her cheek, making her shudder, and he shook his head sorrowfully. "You shouldn’t have told Snow about Jo. He let it slip to me, so of course, I had to kill her. I didn’t want to, you know. I really liked Jo. But she had to die. I couldn’t have her remembering anything more about that night and telling you, her best friend, Mandy. Or should I call you Amanda?"

His eyes began to twinkle merrily, giving him the appearance of a maniacal bald Santa Claus. Amanda’s legs were completely numb now. Should he move, she wouldn’t be able to move them. She realized that she was going to die here, just like the others, just like Jo. Tears began to leak from her eyes and down into her hair.

He brushed her tears away almost gently. "He suckered you in too, little Mandy. Led you around by your nose, telling you tales of the dreaded John Lawless. He wanted it to be Lawless so bad he could almost taste it. Alan seems to have forgotten that HE was the one who set John up, not the other way around. He was getting desperate, and you know why? Because the evidence I was leaving was eventually going to point to him." He chuckled softly and pulled a button out of his pocket. It had a raised police emblem on it, but it had been broken in half. "You see this? I’m going to leave it behind at the scene. My first ‘mistake.’ Alan doesn’t even realize it’s gone. He rarely wears that jacket. It’s hanging in his office now. But with the right bug in the right ear, they’ll find it. Oh, yes. And he doesn’t have a clue that it’s me. He thinks he knows me. He thinks he OWNS me. Well, we’ll see just who owns who, now won’t we?"

Charlie brushed her cheek again, wiping at her tears. "You’d be so pretty without this shit on your face," he said conversationally. "Jo was pretty, too. I really hated to kill her. But then she was a whore. And she did drugs. So she would have had to die eventually. I just shortened her already short life span. Like I’m going to have to do yours. Poor Amanda."

Amanda shook her head violently, tears spilling over once again at the thought of her friend. And despite her training, despite everything, she realized that Jo HAD been a friend. Bleak sorrow suffused her, and for just a moment, she considered giving up. She almost wished he’d shut up and get it over with, but then he shifted off her and began to handcuff her now numb legs to the other posts, and she began to struggle anew. She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

"You’re making this difficult," he admonished her. "It’s usually very easy. I go to talk to them. I turn on the tears and tell them I haven’t been able to perform since my wife died. Then they’ll do anything I ask them to. Handcuffs? Sure. No worries. It’s just old Charlie. He’d never hurt me. But then I slap on the tape, and they realize how badly they’ve screwed up." He leaned over the bed, his face inches from her, and rubbed his fingers over her bruised jaw, making her wince from the painful pressure. "Have you ever watched a person die? Seen the light go out of their eyes as their spirit departs? It’s an incredible feeling. When I’m inside them, I can feel it go. I’m not just ‘old Charlie’ then. I am a god."

Amanda stared at him incredulously. She’d never seen evil up close before. Charlie had seemed like such a nice man, but he was a monster. What had caused the transition?

He seemed to hear her question, and he smiled softly. "You’re wondering why I do it?" he asked. "Why kill whores? Let me tell you a little story."

He moved up on the bed beside her and began to slowly unzip her shirt. Amanda tried to pull away, but it was no use.

"Once upon a time," he began. "There was a man who loved his wife and son above all things. He was a good man. He worked hard at his job, above and beyond the call of duty. He had to work long hours, but did his wife understand that he was doing it for his family? No, she didn’t. The bitch left him for another man. Left him alone to raise their eighteen year old son."

Her shirt was completely unzipped now, and he began to run his fingers up and down the narrow column of exposed flesh. Amanda shut her eyes and began to pray, and still his voice droned on in her ear. "And then his best friend turned on him, let him down. And that BITCH Ellis put him back on the streets. Not only that, but in the worst part of town. But things weren’t too bad. Once people got to know him and realized he wasn’t going to turn them in, they began to trust him." He snorted softly. "As if I’d turn them in to the very people who turned on me."

"And then, one day, he found one of the women in an alleyway, beaten within an inch of her life. She refused to go to the hospital, so he took her home and fixed her up as best as he could. When she was feeling better, he gave her some money and put her on a bus out of town."

Charlie’s face darkened. "And how did she repay him?" he asked in a furious voice. "By bringing drugs into his house, drugs that she didn’t hide very well, drugs that her savior’s son found. His son. His only son." The man’s voice broke. "She had heroin on her. He found out later that it was some of the highest grade out there, almost completely uncut. It was obvious she’d stolen it. No whore could’ve afforded that. But my . . . the man’s son didn’t know it was heroin. He saw a white powder, and he thought it was cocaine."

Amanda winced. Dear God, if that boy had sniffed high grade heroin . . .

Charlie confirmed her fears. "He snorted it, and his brain immediately shut down. He went into convulsions. He died, choking on his own vomit."

He outlined the tape over her mouth with one finger. "And so, I take my revenge. ‘Vengeance is mine,’ saith Charlie." He laughed hollowly. "And they die, unable to breathe, just like my son. All the little junkie whores."

Amanda wished fervently that he hadn’t put the gag on her. She knew if she could speak, she could talk him out of doing this.

Suddenly, a knock came at her outside door. Her head snapped in that direction and her eyes widened. She tried to scream, tried to call attention to herself, but only muffled sounds came from behind her gag. Charlie moved off the bed, his entire body tense as he listened, and then he went over to a chair. He’d covered it with a sheet of plastic and placed a pair of perfectly shined officer’s dress shoes on top. Beside them lay a roll of tape, and underneath the chair sat his sport bag.

He pulled off a smaller piece of tape. Amanda stared at the tape, screaming ‘NO’ in her mind. She began to struggle again, pulling on the handcuffs until her wrists and ankles were burning. She could feel the warm trickle of blood flowing down her arms, but still she pulled. Charlie began to move toward the bed, and Amanda saw her own death advancing upon her.

Just as he bent over her, the outside door slammed open. Amanda had just enough time to see John Lawless burst into the room when the other piece of tape was slapped over her nose. Her eyes bulged and she began to fight, thrashing about, trying to breathe. She heard John roar and saw him plow into her assailant, but then she was too busy trying to get air into her burning lungs to think much about what they were doing.

‘Four minutes,’ she thought over and over in an insane litany. ‘Four minutes. Four minutes without oxygen until I’m brain dead.’ Black spots began to dance before her eyes, and gradually, she stopped fighting as the world started to gray around her. Her body began to relax, and a feeling of peace filled her as the light began to dim.

Suddenly, a large form moved over her. The tape covering her mouth was ripped free. Amanda took in great gulps of live-giving air into her oxygen-starved lungs. The tape covering her nose was removed, more gently this time, and she began to sob uncontrollably as John removed the handcuffs from her feet and then her hands. He picked her up and carried her into the other room. He placed her on the sofa and held her as he picked up the phone to call the police.

Amanda stared at the wall in front of her, waiting patiently for someone to come tell her she was free to go. She’d spent the previous night in the hospital having her myriad injuries tended to. John had gone down to the station with Charlie, and by the time he’d returned, she had already slipped away in a blissful drugged sleep.

He wasn’t in her room when she woke the next morning. Her old boss, Aaron Campbell, was there, holding her hand, his features etched with concerned. He stayed with her, ferreting out the story, his lined face seeming to age more as she told him how his old friend was involved. They talked for a long time, and when the doctor released her, Aaron took her to a hotel to rest. He left her alone at her request, and Amanda spent the next few hours writing her report for the Auckland police. She had no idea where John was, and she was hesitant to try to contact him.

She called Aaron when she was ready to report in, and he took her down to the station. He assured her that she wouldn’t have to face Snow, and Amanda had been taken to this room to await a superior officer. She sat there, waiting patiently, ready for the whole thing to be over with. All she wanted now was to go home.

The door opened at last, and Susan Ellis walked into the room. She sat across the table from Amanda, her eyes full of compassion. In her hands, she held a copy of Amanda’s report.

"Hello, Amanda," Ellis greeted her. "I’ve read your report and spoken with D.S.S. Snow."

Amanda gazed at her calmly, saying nothing, although inside she was anything but calm.

"Charles Parsons isn’t talking," the inspector confided. "He refuses to confess. With yours and John’s testimony however, he’ll go to jail. His sport bag contained a small hand held vacuum, surgical gloves, duct tape, condoms, and plastic. He had also shaved his entire body so that there would be no hair evidence. There’s no doubt that he murdered the women." She tapped the pages on the table. "And you give us the motive here, the accidental overdose of his son."

Amanda still said nothing. She clasped her hands together convulsively, then forced herself to relax. She wasn’t the one on trial here. At least, she didn’t think she was.

"You make several accusations in your report," Ellis said after a moment, "about D.S.S. Snow."

Amanda tensed at the note that had entered the woman’s voice.

"Unfortunately, the detective senior sergeant has denounced all your claims."

‘Imagine that,’ Amanda thought.

"You say Snow asked you to investigate Lawless," Ellis said.

"Yes, ma’am," Amanda finally spoke. "But it wasn’t on tape. He turned the tape recorder off before he talked about that."

"It probably wouldn’t have mattered, anyway," Ellis admitted dryly. "Tape recorders are notoriously undependable around D.S.S. Snow." She studied Amanda closely. "He says he has no idea where you got the information on the ValueRite Virtual Mall, that possibly Charlie gave it to you or you brought it with you from Christchurch."

Amanda snorted. "That’s ridiculous. Why would Charlie give something like that to a hooker? And why would I have brought it with me? I never knew John Lawless existed until Snow pointed him out to me. What does he say about John?"

Ellis sighed deeply. "Snow says you were obsessed with him, that you became more concerned with being with Lawless then in doing your job. That you were sleeping with him. He has even made accusations that you could have prevented the last murder if you hadn’t been with Lawless."

Amanda shook her head ruefully. "Why does none of this surprise me? Everyone told me what he did to John, and I didn’t believe it. Now I know what it feels like. It’s his word against mine. What about the things Charlie told me? About the drug money and the evidence turning up missing."

Ellis shrugged. "Snow claims that either you’re making it up to add credence to your other accusations, or that Charlie is crazy."

"And there’s no proof anywhere, for any of this." Amanda bowed her head. "So what happens now? "

"There will be an internal investigation," Ellis informed her.

"And nothing will turn up," Amanda finished for her. "And all this goes on my record." She laughed shortly. "You have to give Snow some credit. He covers his tracks well."

"Do you want to retract your report?" Ellis asked solemnly.

Amanda thought about it for a moment, and then she shook her head. "No. It’s the truth. I’m not ashamed of anything I did. If I drop it, he gets off scot free."

"Amanda," Ellis said fervently, leaning over the table. "I’ll do what I can. I know as well as you the man is guilty. He’s being watched closely. Sooner or later, he will make a mistake, and he will take the fall."

"Meanwhile, my career is down the loo," Amanda said.

"Not necessarily," Ellis demurred. "Your boss is on your side. He believes you even though he and Snow are old friends. That should tell you something."

"Aaron’s the best," Amanda agreed.

"You did a fine job, Amanda. Working undercover is never easy. You did the best job you could with the information at your disposal. You had no way of knowing that Snow was leading you off on a wild tangent. Don’t quit. Don’t let him win."

"What about John?" Amanda asked. "He’s not in trouble or anything, is he?"

Ellis smiled slightly. "John will be fine. He prevented a murder and caught a killer. I wish I still had him on the force."

"He’s a good man," Amanda said softly.

"Yes, he is," Ellis agreed. "And you might be interested to know that because of his efforts, we were also able to arrest the man behind the virtual mall."

Amanda smiled crookedly. "He’s a good P.I., too."

Ellis stood and held out a hand. "It’s been a pleasure working with you, Amanda. If you should ever decide to transfer up here, I’ll be happy to have you on board."

Amanda stood as well. "Thank you, ma’am," she said sincerely.

Ellis bid her farewell and offered to walk her out. They left the room and started down the hallway, and suddenly, a shiver coursed down Amanda’s spine. She glanced back to see Alan Snow standing at the end of the hallway staring at her, his beady eyes full of malevolence. She ignored him. She turned and went in the opposite direction with Ellis, passing the dark-haired policeman she’d seen her first day here, the one who’d been so embarrassed when he’d accidentally touched her. She couldn’t help but smile at his confused expression. She looked much different now than she had that day. She felt about a million years older.

She left the building, squinting in the bright morning sunlight. Then she saw John. He had parked by the curb, and he was leaning up against his car, obviously waiting for her. She took a deep breath and walked over to him.

"You look different," he said with a smile.

She supposed she did in the dark blue slacks and white silk blouse that Aaron had brought her from home. Without her makeup, her wild hairdo, and the earrings, she was the polar opposite of a hooker.

"How’re you doing?" John asked, his voice full of concern. He raised a hand and lightly touched the horrible bruise on her jaw.

"I’ll live," she assured him.

"What happened in there?" he asked.

Amanda shrugged. "They’ll do an investigation. They won’t find anything. Snow’s too good at covering his tracks." She shook her head ruefully. "I still can’t believe I let him sucker me in like that."

"Don’t feel bad. He did the same to me. And I knew the man."

Amanda gazed up into his beautiful face, glad that she had this chance to ask him something that had been bothering her. "Why’d you come to my flat that day, John?"

He leaned back against his car and stuck his hands in his jeans pockets as he studied her thoughtfully. "I felt bad about what I said. I thought you had done to me what I did to a girl a long time ago, and I overreacted."

"Sonya," Amanda supplied.

"Yeah, Sonya. She killed herself when she found out I was a cop. Did you know that?"

Amanda nodded slowly.

"I got to thinking about how she felt, why she would do something like that to herself, and I knew I had to talk to you, to clear the air. Then it hit me that if the murderer knew about Jo, then he probably knew about you, too. So I came over."

"Thank God you did," she said fervently. "You saved my life."

"I didn’t want anything to happen to you," he said in a low voice. He straightened and indicated the car behind him. So, you need a lift somewhere?" he asked hopefully.

Amanda shook her head. "My boss is here. We’ve got a flight to catch."

"You’re going back to Christchurch then," John said, disappointment plain in his beautiful brown eyes.

"I can’t stay here," she said in a low voice. She glanced behind her at the station house, then back at John. "I’m not even sure if I’m staying on the force."

"Amanda," he said softly, taking her hands in his, running his thumbs over the gauze covering her injured wrists. "Don’t do that. You’re a good cop. You shouldn’t quit."

"If I’m such a good cop, why didn’t I see what was going on all around me? If it wasn’t for me, Jo would still be alive."

"That’s not true," he began, but she waved him to silence.

"I don’t know if I have what it takes to be a cop anymore, John. I’ve always believed in following the rules, doing everything by the book, but when this all went down, it was like the book had been thrown away. All of a sudden, the good guys were screwing me over and the bad guys turned out to be the heroes. Everything has always been black and white for me. Now the whole world is gray. I don’t know how to be a cop in a world like that."

"Then don’t be a cop. Stay here and work with me."

Amanda smiled softly. She reached up and touched his face. "I can’t," she whispered.

She glanced up to see Aaron striding toward them. "I have to go," Amanda said. She stood on tiptoe and gave John a light kiss. She hugged him close, and then she whispered in his ear. "Being with you was the best part of the last few weeks. I’ll never forget you."

She pulled away, and her eyes filled with tears at the sadness she saw in his deep brown eyes. "Good bye, John," she said softly.

She turned and walked toward Aaron. She glanced back once, and John was still watching her, his expression so morose that she almost faltered. She forced herself to continue down the footpath, however, away from him, despite the fact that each step seemed to tear a piece out of her heart. Aaron took her arm and helped her into his car. As they drove away, she looked back once more to see John watching her still with those beautiful dark eyes of his. Those eyes so full of pain that she knew they would haunt her forever.

The End

Lawless Stories

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