14 by Ellison J. T

Author:Ellison, J. T. [Ellison, J. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, thriller, Suspense, Crime, Romance, Adult, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781426854026
Goodreads: 7963659
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2008-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

Nashville, Tennessee

Thursday, December 18

9:30 p.m.

Taylor finished up her paperwork, showered and changed at the station. Knowing she could put it off no more, she took the 4Runner up Church Street, ignoring a call on the scanner about a drug shooting down in the Lischey Avenue projects. Not her problem, not tonight. B-shift homicide could grab that one. But she pulled into the parking lot of VIBE with murder on her mind.

Lots and lots of murder, coupled with a few she’d like to commit herself. She watched an upscale pro dip around the corner of the building with a john on her heels. Ten bucks he didn’t know he would be rolled by the girl’s pimp for a couple hundred once they’d done the deed. She debated going after them, then decided to skip it. For tonight, she wouldn’t be a cop. She’d just be a girl who was about to get married, out on the town for a fun night with her friends.

How in the world had she been talked into this?

The music spilled from the doors. She recognized one of her favorite bands, Garbage. Shirley Manson wanted to know “Why do you love me?” and Taylor laughed to herself. How apropos for a bachelor/bachelorette party.

She crossed the parking lot and ducked inside the club, the music pounding and thumping, the lights flashing. A scent tickled her nose, sweet, with an overlay of patchouli, like a sex-drenched head shop. Girls dressed in see-through negligees with paste-on nipples and G-strings wandered past her, looking her up and down appreciatively. The black-floored stage was covered with a trio of girls, a threesome act—one blonde, one brunette, one redhead. They writhed and twisted around each other, and Taylor couldn’t help but stop and watch for a moment. The obvious choreography that had gone into the dance was impressive. Not being entranced like the men sitting in a semicircle in front of the stage, Taylor was able to see past the nudity, see the work the girls put into their performance. They were all young, probably thought that this road was temporary.

Taylor had seen it too many times before—the girls who worked the clubs were favorites among the rank and file at Metro. They were safe, protected to an extent, until they crossed swords with the wrong guy. Then they’d end up like those Spanish girls from the massage parlor this afternoon, or like Saraya Gonzalez, murdered in cold blood.

Taylor didn’t see Sam, so she took a table in the back. She reveled in the few minutes of alone time, the first she’d had all day. She ordered a beer from the scantily clad waitress, demurred the invitation to be escorted to a private room in the back for a special lap dance and sat back, tuning out, not really seeing anything happening in front of her.

Nagging at the back of her mind was the story of sexual slavery the Spanish girl had told her. Saraya Gonzalez. The name was pretty, but that face, while delicate and attractive, had been so vacant.

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