room. A small lamp shone in front of the window. It was her Goofy lamp. She loved the damn thing. He’d got it for her last year when they’d taken a trip to Disneyland. For one whole week, he’d had her all to himself, and more than once the thought of never coming back had crossed his mind. He was a cop—he knew how to disappear—and the temptation had been awfully strong to take his daughter, find a quiet little town in California, change his name and start a new life. In the end he’d resisted, of course. Not because he didn’t want to hurt Marsha, not even because it was against the law, but because Lisa deserved better. She had the right to a father and a mother, regardless of how selfish and egocentric the mother happened to be.
He got out of the car and started up the sidewalk, his thoughts turning to the woman he’d had dinner with the night before. He’d put Elizabeth Benoit into the same mold as Marsha, and he hadn’t even known her. Just because the two women were beautiful, he’d assumed Elizabeth was as self-centered as his ex. A stupid premise, he realized now. Still, he’d known other beautiful women who definitely thought the sun revolved around themselves, and to guess Elizabeth was the same hadn’t really been that far out of line.
He’d been wrong, though. Very wrong.
Knocking on the door and waiting for it to open, he thought back to the conversation at the deli. Elizabeth Benoit loved her sister, loved her and wanted her back, no matter what. Despite her innate mistrust, she’d realized she’d needed his help. He wondered once more about the pain he sometimes saw in those eyes. Who had hurt her so badly? Why hadn’t she ever married?
The doorknob turned and John smiled. Lisa always answered it when he was expected. But Lisa wasn’t standing there when the door opened. Marsha was.
She looked surprised to see him, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d once loved. She really was beautiful. “John! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Lisa. Since yesterday was out, I wanted to visit with her a bit.”
“John…” She shook her head and said his name with resignation. Unbelievably, just beneath the surface, he heard a hint of sympathy, then decided he was imagining it. “I told you the other day that Lisa had a birthday party to go to this evening. That was why I had to have her hair cut. Weren’t you listening?”
He inhaled deeply and let the air out on a sigh. “Obviously I wasn’t.”
“If you’d pay attention when we have a conversation, these things wouldn’t happen.”
He couldn’t argue with the truth, could he? Especially as he’d been thinking of Elizabeth at the time. “Then I have to wait until next week?”
Her expression softened minutely. “We’re going to Galveston in the morning,” she said. “If you want to come down to the beach house, you could see her there.”
Marsha’s father owned a huge beachfront villa, and every weekend in the summer, the whole family met there. “I don’t have the time. It takes two hours to get there when the traffic’s bad. And I’m on call this weekend.”
Her bitter tone returned with the mention of his job. She’d never liked his being a cop; it didn’t hold enough status, not to mention earn enough money. “Then I guess you’ll just have to wait. And don’t blame it on me, either. You have the option.”
Her changed attitude brought back all the wrong memories, and he responded in a voice less than kind. “All right. But you have her here and ready next Thursday. I don’t like going so long without seeing her.”
She gave him a curt nod, and he walked away, not even bothering to say goodbye. The door slammed behind him before he was even off the porch.
Back in the truck he sat for a moment and fumed. Why go home? He’d just sit there and get madder. He wheeled the vehicle around and headed for the Richmond strip. Within ten minutes he pulled into the parking lot of the Esquire Club.
He found a spot but didn’t get out right away, choosing instead to sit for a moment and check out the setup. He wanted to calm down, too. He couldn’t work when he was this angry. He’d miss things, important details. He took three deep breaths, then looked out the window at the nightclub.
Stuccoed and well lit, it had the appearance of a home on River Oaks Boulevard. Looking exactly like a miniature Tara, the front stretched at least seventy-five feet with white columns going from one end to the other. A series of regularly spaced windows, wide and arched, lined the wall. Behind them, he could see men and women moving about, as if at a party. The setup looked pretty good, but then these joints usually did—in the dark.
Stepping out of his vehicle, John wove his way through the parking lot, his initial impression of wealth reinforced by the cars he passed. The vehicles were mainly European: BMWs and Mercedes, even a few Rolls-Royces. No good ol’ boy pickups here—except for his. Reaching the veranda where scattered groups of men stood, John saw several faces he recognized from the news. Many of the men were smoking cigars, expensive clouds of blue hanging over their heads. Their laughter was full and assured. With a glance he could tell who they were, even the ones he didn’t recognize. They were the high-rollers of Houston. Powerful men. Rich men.
John pushed his way through the crowd and into the club where the smells of expensive perfume and call-name liquor hit him hard. People flowed around him in what looked like the entry hall of an elegant home. From somewhere in the rear came the faint strains of music, but certainly not the overwhelming blast that usually assaulted you when you entered a bar. A discreet sign near the door announced a fifty-dollar cover and a two-drink minimum. Before he could decide which role to take—cop or patron—a young woman approached him. Red sheath, high heels, blond hair.
“Welcome to the Esquire Club,” she said. “How may I direct you this evening?”
It was a novel approach, he’d give them that.
“What do you feel like tonight?” she prompted when he didn’t answer right away. “We have the club divided into different areas depending on your mood. Wild music? Something soothing? A little country or rock and roll?” She smiled seductively, then put her fingertips on his arm. “Name your pleasure, sir. We have them all.”
“I’d like to see Mr. Lansing.” He spoke politely and made no move to pull out his badge. He didn’t have to. For some reason, he felt this one would know the drill.
She blinked, then her expression hardened minutely. “Of course,” she answered, her voice still cordial but now lacking the coquettish tone. “Let me see if he’s in.” She reached for the phone sitting on a nearby desk, but John reached out faster.
Smiling, he stilled her movement. “What do you say we just go to the back? Surprise him?”
“Mr. Lansing doesn’t like surprises.”
“That’s too bad,” John said. “Just take me to his office.”
She hesitated a second, because there was nothing else she could do. With a curt nod she started toward the rear of the club. John followed, but his steps were slower. He took his time, looking into the separate areas as they passed by.
Different music flowed from each one, matched by the decor. The first resembled a gentleman’s study. Padded leather chairs were grouped around square wooden tables, and the air was filled with the same expensive smoke he’d noticed earlier. No doubt imported—and illegal—cigars. He didn’t recognize the music, but it was slow and seductive. A woman in a flowing sheer dress was moving dreamily to it on a small stage near the front of the room. Beneath the gauzy fabric, she wore a G-string and nothing more. Some of the men were watching her, but most were talking among themselves, drinks on the tables before them. There were just as many women in the room as men.
The next room thrummed with rock music, and it had the look he’d come to associate with this kind of club. Low lights, a long bar across one wall. The hazy miasma of smoke smelled cheaper here. The walls were painted black and mirrors lined the area behind the bar. Small round tables dotted the floor, just large enough for two drinks and the