Chapter Four.

Val woke up in the front seat of her car. She blinked a couple of times, put a hand up to shade her eyes from the bright morning sun pouring in through the windshield.

"What the h.e.l.l?" she muttered to herself.

She sat up from where she'd been slouched over in the driver's seat. How in the world did she end up in her car? What time was it? What day was it? She'd been standing at the curb in front of the Pana Sea with Lucien, then...nothing. Val ran a hand over her dress, felt underneath her skirt; nothing torn, underwear still on. She looked at herself in the rearview mirror and didn't see any makeup smears or bruises. Her purse sat in the pa.s.senger seat. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and rummaged through it. Everything was still there, even her fully loaded gun. She checked her phone. It was almost nine o'clock in the morning, the day after she'd visited the Pana Sea. Nothing seemed amiss-except for her complete memory loss of the last twelve hours.

Val gripped the steering wheel and tried to stay calm. Had she been drugged? Seemed unlikely someone could have spiked her drink at the bar, since she'd seen Eric pour her drink and it'd been right in front of her the entire time. Maybe the Pana Sea had a rape ring going where they somehow spiked women's drinks before they served them, or laced the bottom of the gla.s.s with drugs before the pour? Val closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Rape ring.

G.o.d, please don't let this be a rape ring.

She opened her eyes and exhaled. She'd never heard of a coordinated rape ring operated by an upper-cla.s.s business. Nor had she ever heard of a rape drug that completely wiped someone's memory, with no dizziness or disorientation beforehand. Something very, very strange had happened to her.

Cold sweat trickled down her neck. "Just get home," she told herself as she started the engine with a trembling hand. "Figure it out from there."

Val stripped off her clothes as fast as possible and threw them in a corner. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and ran her fingers over her entire body, searching for any bruises, cuts, or other marks that might not have been there before. She breathed a modest sigh of relief when she found none. Maybe whatever happened to her wasn't as bad as she feared.

Then she saw it-a flash of red just behind her ear. She froze for a second, then pulled her hair back. Val gasped when she saw a raw scar the size of her thumbnail, shaped like a circle with another red dot in the center.

Val grabbed the sides of the sink with white knuckles. Tears clouded her vision. I should go to the hospital and get a rape kit done. Then she shook her head. No, not yet. Something strange had happened to her, she'd been "marked" for some reason, but that didn't mean she'd been raped. She didn't know what it meant. One step at a time, Val.

After she dressed, she fired up her computer and looked up Le Belle Donne, Margaret's escort service. She found Celine's profile among a roster of about two-dozen beautiful women. Val scrolled through the mundane and probably made-up "facts" about Celine's pa.s.sions and hobbies, then scanned the comments section at the bottom. PG-rated testaments to Celine's particular set of skills made up the bulk of the section. She paused when she spotted one innocuous-seeming comment, posted a day ago: "Loved Celine in her Rayvit video."

Val recognized Rayvit as an anything-goes Internet forum where people gathered to share pictures and videos on a million different subjects. Rayvit's laissez-faire att.i.tude made it especially popular with creeps who liked to share revenge p.o.r.n-s.e.xually explicit photos and home movies of ex-girlfriends or other women who'd spurned them. It was possible that Celine's video referred to something benign, but Val doubted it.

She went to Rayvit and searched for any reference made to "Celine" within the last week. A handful of links popped up, most on the subject of cats named Celine, or Celine Dion. One linked to a video t.i.tled "Finding Celine's Sweet Spot."

"Oh G.o.d," Val muttered, and clicked on the link.

A red velvet settee appeared, surrounded by walls of dark mahogany with paintings of forest scenes hung around the periphery. Atop the couch lay Margaret, naked and apparently unconscious.

s.h.i.t.

After a well-lit establishing shot-the video had the sickening air of a professional videographer-two naked men in masquerade-style masks walked into the frame.

Val stopped the video. If she watched any more, she might throw up. She'd known chances were high that Margaret's trail would lead somewhere dark and disgusting, but it still made her sick to her stomach to confirm it. What would she tell Nora about her poor daughter? Nothing for now-no good would come of it. But Val's investigation was far from over. The video had been posted two days ago, and Margaret hadn't been tied up. The ligature marks Val saw in her vision must happen later. Margaret could still be alive, held captive somewhere. Finding her was Val's number one priority.

She cued up a program to make a copy of the video before someone pulled it down. Even on Rayvit, videos of s.e.xual a.s.saults were eventually flagged and deleted from the site. When Val brought the people responsible for Margaret's kidnapping and rape to justice, the video would be a critical piece of evidence in court.

As the file downloaded, she called Zach, a local hacker she kept on retainer.

"Hi Val-"

Someone yelled in the background, "Zachary, I'm not gonna ask you again to mow the lawn!"

"In a minute, Mom, G.o.d!" Lowering his voice, he said, "Sorry. What's up?"

She would've laughed at the image of the teenage Goth kid pushing a lawn mower around, his black trench coat flapping behind him in the July breeze, if she weren't in one of the worst moods of her life. "I'm sending you a link to a video on Rayvit. Don't watch it. It's not pretty. I need you to find out who posted it."

"Yeah, sure. Might take a few days if the dude knew what he was doing and covered his tracks well, just so you know. See, you can spoof an IP address by-"

"Just work as fast as you can."

She hung up before he could finish one of the IT lectures he loved giving to anyone who'd listen.

After e-mailing Zach the link, she backtracked to the top of the thread where the "Celine's Sweet Spot" video had been uploaded. She read the t.i.tle of the latest post, dropped just a couple of hours ago: "Red Delicious." Her breathing stopped.

Oh G.o.d no.

Her hand trembled on the mouse. She should wait for Stacey to come home and ask her friend to look at the video. That was the best thing to do, for her mental health. Maybe it wasn't her. Nah, it wasn't her. Val clicked on the video.

This time, a beige wall decorated with framed movie posters provided the backdrop for a white leather sofa. A naked redhead lay on the couch, also unconscious.

It was Val.

A naked man in a mask entered the frame and propped her legs up on his shoulders- Val closed her browser. She put a hand over her mouth and stared at the floor while the world spun. For a moment she couldn't move, every muscle in her body paralyzed like the woman in the video. Then the despair that threatened to overtake her transformed in an instant to pure, hot rage.

Someone would pay for this. Someone would die for this. They had her word.

Chapter Five.

The nurse handed Val a small stack of papers and brochures with pictures of sad-looking women on the front.

"We'll let you know the results of the STD and pregnancy tests within forty-eight hours," the nurse told Val in the hospital room. "We'll also store the biological evidence we've gathered from you and your clothes, if you decide you'd like to make a police report."

Val gave her a single, weak nod. A police report-what a joke. She knew from other rape cases she'd worked that the police would be no help. Even if she made a report, the backlog was so large it would be months-maybe even years-before they got around to running the DNA through their criminal database. She'd only come to the hospital for STD tests and emergency contraception.

"In the meantime, there are a lot of places you can go for support-group meetings, one-on-one counselors, anonymous chat rooms, and other resources. It's all in there." The nurse pointed to Val's papers.

Val supposed it'd be rude to throw the papers away right in front of the nurse. "Can I go now?"

The nurse nodded, then touched Val's shoulder. "It gets better, honey."

"Yes, it will," Val said with a dark edge that made the older woman frown.

Val brushed past the well-meaning nurse and stalked through the maze of sterile hospital hallways until she found the exit. Stacey stood from where she'd been waiting in the lobby. They walked in silence to Stacey's car.

From the driver's seat, Stacey asked in a tiny voice, "What now?"

Val took a deep breath. The next thing to do was to watch the video in detail and record every clue she could find about where her and Margaret's attacks had taken place and who the perpetrators might be, then go back to the Pana Sea with the gloves off and start f.u.c.king s.h.i.t up. Val opened her mouth to explain the plan to Stacey, but her voice choked before she could get a word out. A sob ripped from her chest instead. She put her head in her hands and cried as Stacey leaned over and hugged her tight.

Those evil b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. f.u.c.king Lucien. She would make them pay in the worst way possible.

After what felt like an eternity, Val pushed her despair away and regained control of her emotions. She let go of Stacey and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Will you watch the video and take notes, please? I don't want to do it myself."

Stacey nodded while pushing away her own tears. "I know they don't have a great track record with you, but you should really go to the police-"

"So they can shame me?" Val snapped. "Quiz me on why I was there? What I was wearing? What I was drinking? How s.l.u.tty I was on a scale from one to ten?"

"We have the video-"

"The video doesn't prove anything! It can be explained away as an amateur s.e.x tape that I consented to and now regret. Especially when they find out I was pretending to be a hooker."

"Val, please-they're not all like Sten. You can't do this alone."

"I've got you."

"We don't have the same resources as the police."

"No, but we're not bound by their rules, either."

"Let me go to the police, then. I'll make an anonymous complaint-"

"Don't bother." Val checked her watch, then pulled her gun from her purse and racked the slide back. "When my sister was raped, she was shamed and humiliated so badly she killed herself to make it stop. All the women who show up at our office come to us because no one else will help or believe them. You know what the police will say to me? That I learned a hard lesson: don't go home with strangers. Well, I have a lesson of my own to give." She snapped the slide back in place. "If you rape a woman, she might come back and kill you."

Val drummed her fingers on her car's steering wheel as she watched the Pana Sea's back entrance from a street perpendicular to the entrance's alleyway. It'd been quiet until a delivery truck pulled up a few minutes ago. Now a team of two men unloaded boxes of liquor, swizzle sticks, and other supplies from the back and carried them into the building. One of the men was Eric, the bartender from the night before. After a few minutes of ferrying boxes, the other man motioned to Eric, communicating something while pointing to the street at the opposite end of the alley. Eric nodded, and the other man walked around the corner and out of sight, probably to run some errand. The coast was clear for Val to have a few minutes of quality alone-time with the bartender.

She hopped out of her car and hurried across the street at a quick trot, careful to stay out of Eric's line of sight as she approached. Val watched him from the corner until he went inside again, then she ran to the far end of the van and waited for him to wander back out. When his back faced her, she stepped out of cover and tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned toward her, she kicked him hard in the shin. Eric yelped and fell to his knees.

Val unholstered her gun and knelt beside him. "Hi, Eric. Remember me?"

Eric clutched his leg and glared at her. "You b.i.t.c.h-"

Val cracked him in the face with the b.u.t.t of her Glock. He tumbled onto his side, cheek to the pavement.

"Every time you call me that, I'll pistol-whip you. Consider it sensitivity training."

He rubbed his cheek and cringed. "What the f.u.c.k do you want?"

"The guy who approached me at the bar last night-he called himself Lucien. Who is he?"

"I don't know."

She pistol-whipped him again. "That's for lying."

"I don't f.u.c.king know!" Eric spit blood onto the ground. "He shows up every other month or so. One of the rich a.s.sholes who like throwing money around and bringing wh.o.r.es back to their little clubhouse. That's all I know."

"Clubhouse? You mean he's part of a club?"

"Yeah-I think so. I don't know exactly what it is. I hear them talking about it sometimes when they're too drunk to keep their mouths shut. They call it the Blue Serpent. Only rich f.u.c.ks and their playthings allowed."

Val touched the mysterious scar behind her ear. The Blue Serpent-G.o.ddammit, it was a high-end rape ring. What was it about having a lot of money that turned people into depraved sc.u.mbags?

"Was Celine with Lucien the last time you saw her?"

"No. She left with some redheaded guy I've only seen a couple of times. They call him Ginger. Real original."

Val tapped her gun against her knee. "What did you put in my drink?"

"Nothing."

She whacked him in the face again. It felt good to make somebody pay, even a small fish. Eric writhed on the ground for a few seconds before pushing himself up, leaning heavily on one arm.

"What did you put in my drink, Eric?"

"Nothing! I didn't do anything to your G.o.dd.a.m.n drink, bitc-" He scowled at the pavement and wiped his mouth.

Val stood and pointed the gun at his head. If he was lying, he'd die. She didn't think she could stop herself.

Staring down the barrel of her gun, and maybe also sensing how willing she was to kill him, Eric's face crumpled and he burst into tears. "I didn't do anything to your drink, I swear! I just work here. I have nothing to do with those rich a.s.sholes. Please. I have a girlfriend, and she's got a kid and I'm like his father figure..." He sobbed, soiling the pavement with his tears and snot.

If Eric faked his pathetic pleading, he deserved an Oscar. Val rolled her eyes at the blubbering man, then sighed and lowered her gun. "Find another job, Eric. This place is about to go out of business."

She stepped around him and left the way she came.

Chapter Six.

Val bit her lip as she sat in her car, parked a safe distance from where she'd roughed up Eric a few minutes earlier. She stared at Max's face and phone number cued up on her cell. They hadn't talked in months, not since they'd broken up-not since she broke up with him, specifically. She'd tried to explain to Max how Delilah was always watching her, how they'd only been pushed together so they would have a child-a child that would be stolen from them. How they couldn't trust anyone. He swore they could work it out, pleaded with her to fight for their future, but she'd cracked. Throughout their time on the lam together, when Max had been wanted for murder, she'd accused him of running from his problems. But in the end, she was the one who ran. She was the weak one.

Per Eric, the Blue Serpent was a rich-d.i.c.ks-only club. Max was the only rich d.i.c.k Val knew personally. If she was going to infiltrate the club, it was either through him or not at all. No way would she try seducing another anonymous wealthy guy again. She swallowed hard, gave herself a figurative kick in the b.u.t.t, hoped he hadn't changed his number, then dialed him up.

The phone rang several times, then went to voice mail. "This is Max, leave a message."

"Uh, hi. It's...it's me, Val. I know you can probably tell it's me from your caller ID, but, you know, in case you deleted my number or whatever..." G.o.d, I sound like a loser. "Anyway, um, I need to talk to you-"

Her phone vibrated against her ear. She held it out to see someone trying to call her at the same time she left a message-Max. She switched over to him.