Nightwalker. Heather Graham
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and was visibly startled. After that she looked…frightened, rattled, though she continued to smile as she interacted with the kids.
He waved to her at one point, and she waved back.
The security guard with the broad shoulders and pleasant smile walked over to him. “You a friend of Jessy’s?” the man asked. “Not just a waiting parent?”
“No,” Dillon told him, shaking his head. “And yes, I’m a…friend of Jessy’s.”
“You can go on in if you want,” the guard said.
“Thanks,” Dillon said and headed toward the stage, Ringo still at his side.
He noticed a woman turn around as they passed, a puzzled look on her face. She drew her sweater more closely around her, as if she had suddenly felt a chill. That was the way it was for most people. They didn’t see the dead, couldn’t communicate with them, but something inside told them that someone was there.
Dillon smiled at the woman and kept going, hoping Ringo wasn’t feeling mischievous and wouldn’t tease her with a tap on the shoulder or a tug at her skirt. He moved quickly, because if you weren’t looking, Ringo wasn’t as prone to act up.
Jessy was still onstage, posing with the last of the kids.
She looked at him over the head of a toddler, and he sensed she wasn’t all that pleased to see him. But she was in performance mode, so she forced a smile to her lips.
“Very impressive,” he told her, reaching the stage. He saw her fellow cast members glancing his way and whispering to one another. He was being assessed, he knew.
“What a surprise to see you here,” she said.
He decided not to mince words. “I need to speak with you.”
“Oh? This isn’t a great time. I have to get out of costume, check my schedule for the next few days.”
“I’ll wait.”
She glanced away, biting her lip. She might be a good performer, but she was a lousy liar. She didn’t have a good excuse for refusing to talk to him, and she wasn’t going to invent one.
“I’m not having a great day,” she said. “I’m really tired.”
“I won’t take much of your time. And you have to eat, right? Why not let me take you to the fast-food establishment of your choice, and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”
She let out an uneasy sigh and gave in. “Sure. I need about half an hour.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” he told her.
She nodded curtly, and he couldn’t help thinking that she made a gorgeous pirate. Her costume wasn’t risqué, but her breasts rode appealingly in the cotton blouse above the top of a leather corset. Her skirt was long, but slit up one side for dancing. Her stage makeup was heavy and came complete with false eyelashes, but even so, up close, she was stunning.
And she was afraid.
He forced himself to take a step back. She was a bit too appealing, and he had to concentrate if he wanted to get to the truth behind Tanner Green’s death. And he just knew she wasn’t going to be receptive to anything he had to say. Most likely, given that he had been there last night, his very presence was probably anathema to her already.
And things weren’t going to get better.
“I’ll meet you at Chen’s. It’s just down the Strip,” she said.
“Thanks,” he told her again. “I’ll see you there.”
He watched her head backstage. Right before she left, she looked back—and not at him.
Then she shuddered—as if she’d seen a ghost—and disappeared behind a black velvet drape.
4
There was an incredibly simple answer to what was plaguing her, of course. She was simply seeing someone who looked like Tanner Green. It wasn’t as if she actually knew the man and could be sure it was him.
Bull.
She knew his face, and that was all that mattered.
That face was etched in her mind. She would never forget it. She had been looking into his eyes as he died.
Key words. He had died.
Maybe she had been listening to Timothy too much, and now she was seeing dead people just as he saw ghost dancers in the sky.
She winced as she sat down at her dressing table. Why on earth had she agreed to see Dillon Wolf? She didn’t want to, and she didn’t really understand why. The man was attractive, courteous, charming and, well, hot, as Sandra would have put it.
But…
He was somehow connected to the extremely odd visions she was having. How or why, she didn’t know. Everything was tied up in feelings of fear and unease, and she didn’t like feeling this way at all. At least the cops were leaving her alone; they evidently knew that she’d had nothing to do with Tanner Green’s death other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She reached for a makeup-remover pad and set to work. With her makeup gone, she looked young. And afraid. Hell, she was afraid. And she really hated that.
“Who’s the hottie?” April Brandon, one of her fellow pirates, asked, grinning.
“Pardon?”
“Tall, dark and super cool,” April said, sliding into her own chair in front of the long mirror.
“Oh, just a friend. No, not a friend. Not really.”
“An enemy?” April teased.
“No, no, I mean, I just met him.”
“Oh. Well, if you decide not to be his friend, introduce him to me, huh?” April winked at her, pulling her plumed hat from her head.
“You’ve got a boyfriend, remember?”
“Maybe, but I’m not blind,” April said. She pulled off her earrings, then turned around suddenly to survey the room.
Jessy felt as if a million goose bumps broke out over her body and asked, “What is it?”
“Footsteps on my grave, I guess,” April said, shrugging. “Sorry. I just had this creepy feeling. Ice along the spine or something.”
Jessy looked around, as well. She didn’t see anyone, but she felt uncomfortable even so. She had to get herself under control. How was she ever going to lead a normal life if she was suddenly afraid of invisible danger at every turn?
April gave a shrug and reached for her makeup remover. “Anyway, friend to friend? I’d go after him if I were you, if only just for the sex. And I’ll be wanting details when you do.”
Jessy groaned. “I prefer not to kiss and tell.”
“He’s an Indian, isn’t he?”
“The correct terminology these days is Native American.”
April rolled her eyes. “I call you an Indian all the time. People think I’m crazy, cuz you’re so light.”
“Timothy’s half Lakota,” Jessy said.
“So there you go. You are an Indian. Sorry, Native American.”
Jessy shed her boots and put them in the box under the table, then shimmied out of her pirate apparel, and quickly slid into her own sandals and knit sheath. “Gotta go,” she told April, giving her friend a pat on the shoulder.
“Take Mr. Creepy with you, okay?”
“What?” Jessy froze, turning around to stare at April.
April laughed. “Just kidding. That feeling of being watched, you know?” She shuddered.