She found it in the inner pocket. It was actually a littlebrownbook, bound in faded leather. Somewhat like a smaller version of the Hotel’s ledger, since Harry gave her girls nicknames. She also kept notes: Which woman had two sisters. Which came from lower Austria. Which liked their hair pulled. How long they could each hold their breath. Et cetera.
Between these morsels of tantalizing trivia were cocktail recipes, lists of shopkeepers with the best herbs, accounts of money owed toand by her, and a smattering of coke-fueled diary entries, their ideas too grand for the tiny, illegible handwriting.
Sterling looked for any mention of Luisa, the Professor’s hired date. A receipt fell from between two pages. She caught it in midair, then read it as she replaced it in the journal entry it bookmarked. Among the frenzied scrawls was a word Sterling convinced herself wasNightingale.
Sterling eyed the clock. She had only a few minutes. The paper was a receipt from Utopia Six. She wondered what Harry had been doing at a straight swingers club. The charge was for two entry fees and two drinks. The vodka soda belonged to Harry. The other was a lavender lemonade, nonalcoholic. Fuck. That was Verena’s drink of choice when she was working and couldn’t be drunk. But Verena hadn’t worked in clubs for years. It didn’t make sense.
The next page was an illustration of Nightingale’s logo and a scribbled address. Sterling let her eyes relax until she could decipher it. Turnkey Storage, out in Floridsdorf. Her own storage compartment. The entry was dated yesterday, when she was there with Fernando. A chill crawled up her spine. She wondered if Harry had followed her, and if Serafina’s things were safe.
Sterling’s eyes darted between the clock and the unlocked door. She had to move fast. Before she returned the journal, a mixture of curiosity and vanity took hold. She flipped through pages of conquests, searching for her name. She’d expected to be disappointed by the details she found, but it was worse. There was no mention of her.
Footsteps thumped overhead, followed by barking. Otis. Harry shouted at Lukas about the music. The radio cut off, and she heard something about a redhead. Feet stomped downstairs. Sterling shoved the journal into the bag, but it was clear she’d gone through it, so in a panic, she tossed the bag to the floor, rough enough to jumbleits contents, then swept the papers off the desk. She slipped off her lace panties, and set them aside. Like any experienced harlot, she wore them over her garter belt.
She posed atop the edge of the desk, tousled her hair, and donned her best fuck-me eyes. As the last paper floated to the floor, the door opened.
“Hello, sweetheart,” said Harry, pupils dilating at sight of the mess. Her gaze twitched towards the shelf behind Sterling and her mouth set in a hard line. Sterling uncrossed her legs, drawing attention to her lack of underwear. Duly distracted, Harry crept closer.
Fear scratched Sterling’s throat. “I thought I’d take you up on your offer to help me relax.”
“Oh, I’d love to. But I’ve only got time for a quickie,” said Harry, knocking Sterling’s legs wider with her bony hips before running cold hands up her thighs. Sterling let out a shivering gasp, watching the clock over Harry’s shoulder, calculating how long until she could fake an orgasm, then run.
“Youdoseem tense,” said Harry, kissing down her torso.
Blood rushed from her pounding ears to her pelvis. Despite her best efforts to hold on to her anger, pleasure took hold. Harry applied strategic suction with her lips, then slipped her fingers inside Sterling. Accelerated by the fear clenching every muscle fiber, Sterling soon fell into a blinding orgasm.
A quickie indeed.
Harry cleaned her hands with a tea towel. “Good to see you, sweetheart. But if you mess up my desk again, I’ll have to punish you.”
Sterling tensed but played along, flicking a stray receipt onto the floor like she was an indignant cat. Harry let out a low, calculating chuckle.
“If only I had time,” she said, tugging Sterling closer by the collar of her trench coat. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”
Sterling played disappointed, then made a hasty exit. She climbed the stairs up to the bar and left, saying goodbye to Lukas through a strained smile.
She called Fernando from a pay phone, told him where to meet, and warned him to ensure he wasn’t followed. The cold outside was welcome, as she’d overheated from lust and panic. But the chill creeping up her legs reminded her what she’d forgotten downstairs.
“And one more thing, I need you to lend me a pair of underwear.”
— 40 —Vierzig
Floridsdorf Station smelled like an ashtray and sounded like a war zone. Sterling retraced her steps from yesterday, heading for her storage compartment. This time, she was alone.
Lights clunked on and off as she continued down the hall. Shadows loomed behind her, in eerie pursuit, until she reached compartment 212. She grabbed the chain lock for the door, fingers fumbling in the cold.
Fuck.The keyhole was scratched, mangled by a shoddy lockpick. It hadn’t been like that yesterday. She could have done better with her hairpins. One skill learned during her otherwise regrettable rendezvous with a street magician who’d used sleight of hand to steal her favorite lace underwear on his way out of her life.
She hammered the key against the concrete to push it into the lock, then turned it, cursing the cold for biting her sensitive fingertips and herself for letting Harry follow her here.
Metal rumbled as she freed the chain, then dragged the door up. Her breath fogged into the dark. She pulled the light bulb’s string.
The chain fell from her hand, rattling to the ground.
Serafina’s favorite chair was in the center of the room, and the man in it stared at Sterling through sunglasses. They’d never met, but given the length of his ponytail, his height, and his outfit, she knew who he was. The man who’d intruded into her home. The man who’d let Luisa out. The man who’d murdered Hedy. The Third Man.
She’d have killed him herself if he weren’t already dead.
Her vision closed in, and as she lunged towards the body, all she thought of was Hedy. Her blood vibrated. She shook his stiff shoulders, raging, bargaining, bidding him to come back to life, if only so she could throttle him back to the grave herself.
