Ha! Marc lost his temper first, and suddenly I was in very good spirits.

Of course, my mood was also elevated by watching Kevin struggle not to vomit.

I held my hand out to Kevin, but he slapped it away and pushed himself up on his own, glaring at Marc over my shoulder as he stood. I wanted to tell him that he’d be singing soprano if Marc hadn’t beaten me to the punch, but he looked like his pride was in pretty poor shape without hearing what might have been. Pity.

One hand pressed into his stomach, Kevin took several deep breaths with his eyes on the ground, clearly mentally assessing his injuries. When he finally looked up, he seemed angry but surprisingly calm.

If Marc had just been thrown into a wall by a single punch, he’d have come up spittin’ and swingin’. For that matter, so would I.

Kevin looked past me as if I weren’t there, glaring at Marc. “You know, I wasn’t the one who just suggested your girlfriend take her clothes off for cash.” Although, actually, that’s exactly what he’d done. “Maybe you should have taken your irritation out on that little prick.”

“He’s human,” Marc growled, his fists still clenched. “He gets an automatic walk. Once. And since I don’t plan to see him again, he’l probably live. But this is your last warning to watch your mouth—if you want to keep your canines.”

A weak, hot breeze blew down the al y from the end opposite us, fluttering several scraps of paper and bringing with it the unmistakable stench of mold. When one of those scraps failed to settle into the shadows, my attention centered on the door Jeff had come through. A single sheet of paper flapped against the dented metal surface, hanging from a long strip of Scotch tape.

“Um, Marc?” I stepped careful y over a splintered crate on my way toward Forbidden Fruit’s rear exit. “You’re going to have to see the little prick again. Soon.”

“What?” Glass crunched behind me as Marc’s boot came down on a broken bottle. He stopped at my side, fol owing my gaze to the homemade poster printed in black on hot-pink paper.

In the center of the page was a black-and-white photo of a stereotypically buxom blonde, smiling with her beautiful, thickly lashed eyes as well as her mouth. The caption at the top read, “Have you seen me?” Beneath the photo was the name “Kellie Tandy” and a list of her vital statistics. Below that, the poster read: KELLIE VANISHED DURING HER SHIFT AT FORBIDDEN FRUIT ON

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2008.

IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION REGARDING HER WHEREABOUTS, PLEASE CALL 555-7648. $$ REWARD $$ FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT

HELPS US FIND HER.

“Remember the bundle of ones in Bradley Moore’s wal et?” I asked Marc, still staring at the poster. “The only building within five miles of that damn field was a strip club. Do you believe in coincidence?”

Marc shook his head slowly, and when his frown deepened, I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “Harper wasn’t at the Cajun Bar and Grill. He was at Forbidden Fruit.”

Chapter Twelve

September 11th. The stripper had been missing for three days, since Thursday, the day we’d buried Bradley Moore in Arkansas. Then yesterday—Saturday—Parker and Holden found Robert Harper’s body in the alley behind the missing stripper’s place of employment. I saw no obvious connection, but like Marc, I didn’t believe in coincidence.

Kevin focused on the picture of the missing girl, and his forehead crinkled in confusion. “Wait,” he said, his voice rising in pitch as his words rushed out. “Greg said your men found a dead stray here. Guy named Harper. So who’s Bradley Moore, and what does he have to do with some psycho killing Robby Harper? And what the hell does all that have to do with a missing stripper?”

My father had given Kevin only the information he needed to know, which included nothing about the foreign tabby or the body we’d buried in Arkansas.

“Robby Harper?” I asked, turning to watch Kevin through narrowed eyes as his familiar use of the dead stray’s name sank in. I ignored his questions in favor of one of my own. “You knew him?”

Kevin shook his head as if to clear it. “Only by reputation. He…uh, used to sneak across the boundary line every so often to party in the Big Easy. Guess there’s not much to do in rural Mississippi.”

“And, of course, you reported him for trespassing, right?” I asked, already well aware that he hadn’t.

Marc took a threatening step toward him, and Kevin shrugged, slouching back. “It didn’t seem important enough to bother Greg about.

Especial y considering all the trouble he was having keeping tabs on you.”

He shot an accusing glance my way before turning his attention back to Marc, who represented the biggest threat. So far as he knew, anyway.

Kevin’s last statement rang in my ears, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. My immediate impulse was to correct his misconception with my fist, but a slow, deep breath brought my temper back under control. See, I really was growing up. Mostly.

“He was not having trouble with me,” I snapped. “And you should have reported Harper the minute he set foot in the south-central territory.”

“Come on, Faythe.” Kevin crossed his arms over his chest, as if unaware that Marc was prepared to maim him if he couldn’t justify his failure to report the trespasser. “We all know you have your father over a barrel. You won’t settle down with a decent tom, for no reason anyone else understands, and he can’t make you, so the best he can do is try to keep tabs on you until you listen to reason and give him some heirs.”