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“Yes, Ella,” he said, standing and brushing off imaginary lint from his Armani shirt.
“I’ll send a message to Blue about the John you saved. Maybe there will be a missing person report for him, and maybe his attackers will try to get him back. I’ll have an APB set for his description and have some guys follow him if they do find him.”
“I can’t tell them he was found atBlack Mirrorsbecause you weren’t authorized to be there…” he said, scratching his head, obviously still thinking. “In the meantime, you need to get a brown wig and front as your sister. Maybe someone will know something about where she may have been before she disappeared.”
I looked down at my Converse and my black leggings. “Actually…”
Quinn looked at me now. Exasperation was all over his beautiful features.
“I have an address for a local warehouse The Butcher is supposed to own…”
He gave the slightest twitch to his jaw but said nothing else. He just tucked the picture of me and my sister in his dark jeans and held open the door.
* * *
The street was actually fucking cold. It was supposed to be summer, and I couldn’t feel my ass cheeks in this ridiculous micro mini skirt. The brown-haired wig on my head itched to all high hell, and the girls wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
Trying another alley, I walked to the street where the girls congregated. Some were hanging their heads in the car windows of shady drivers. Others were off to the side smoking a cigarette. I chose the latter.
“Hey!” I said, trying to impersonate my best Cassie voice.
“How are you guys…girls hanging tonight?”
The prostitutes looked me over, assessing me from my clunky ass heels to the top of my short head. They didn’t have to look long.
“Girl, are you new?”
Internally cursing at myself, I forced a laugh. “Nah, silly. I’m Cas—Carrie.”
They continued to inspect me quietly.
“Thought you were too big for the streets, baby girl,” a woman said, stepping out from the crowd.
I laughed dramatically, wincing at my own volume.
“No, I am just with you girls tonight. I know…I had some big clients last week, but I forgot their names. I know. Silly me! Did any of you happen to catch the Johns’s names?”
The lady eyed me suspiciously—her over-done makeup and marred skin from hard work gleamed in the overhead lamps on the street.
“If I didn’t know any better,” she said, her thickly mascaraed eyes pinning me down. “I’d say you sound like a cop sniffing for details.”
The other women gasped, scattering like pins to a bowling ball with the word cop. The cars lined-up on the street sped off, leaving rubber marks and exhaust fumes. I glanced over at the blue sedan. Quinn shook his head at the wheel at me.
Well fuck.
Angry at myself, I ripped off the damned wig.
“I’m not here to bust anyone, okay?” I said in my tone, my eyes pleading with the woman who stayed behind.
“I’m just here to find my sister. She hasn’t answered her phone and had a shady client last week. I’m worried.”
The woman chuckled dryly, flicking on a cheap, red lighter and touching it to the tip of her cigarette. “All Johns are shady, hunny. You need to do better than that.”
I ground my molars. Annoyed at this lady and half wanting to slap some cuffs foron her. Shiny metal ones.
“He went by the name The Butcher,” I said through clenched teeth.
She took a hit and blew out the smoke in my face. “Oh, that’s Markus Moshkov. He owns a butcher shop out on Lakeshore Ave,” she said, waving her hand and turning around. “Now, since you’ve scared off my money for the night, you can give me what I would have made.”
