ave you found Mitchell yet?" Temple Nolan asked.

"Not yet." Sykes was annoyed that the mayor had even asked. If Sykes had found him, he'd have said so, wouldn't he? "I figure he'll hide out for a week or so, but then he'll either figure it's no problem that the girl died, or he'll get antsy and figure it'll be safe for him to find some action as long as he doesn't go to his regular places. I've got it covered. When he shows, I'll know about it within five minutes."

"Mr. Phillips wasn't a happy man. There was a big buyer lined up for the girl. Now the guy has found another source, and we're out the money. Mr. Phillips wants Mitchell dead."

"He will be. Just be patient. If I start beating the bushes for him, he'll hear about it and bolt like a rabbit."

"Mr. Phillips isn't in the mood to be patient. It was a lot of money."

Sykes shrugged. Virgins always commanded a high initial price anyway, but sometimes there was a special demand from someone willing to pay big bucks. Sykes couldn't see anyone paying that much just to have sex with a virgin, so maybe they had another reason. He didn't think there were any ritualistic sacrifices going on, but he'd lived long enough and seen enough that he didn't put anything beyond some people. Whatever happened to the girls after they were delivered didn't concern him, anyway. They were merchandise, nothing more.

"Like I said, he'll turn up, and I'll be waiting when he does." Sykes had to make an effort to keep the impatience out of his voice. How often did he have to say it? Mitchell was as good as handled. And in the meantime, business continued. "We have another shipment scheduled to come in next Tuesday night, five girls. I'd rather not take them to the usual place, just in case Mitchell has already talked to the wrong people. That's another reason I don't want to push too hard in finding him; if he gets scared, he may go to the D.A. and try to cut a deal, our names in exchange for protection. You got any ideas for another holding pen, to be on the safe side?"

The mayor rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. The problem was that they had to find a place that was isolated enough to be private, but not so isolated that some traffic couldn't be expected. Rural folk were incurably nosy. If they saw headlights where there shouldn't be any, they'd investigate—and they'd usually be toting at least a.22 rifle. Neighbors looked out for neighbors. That was nice if you were one of the neighbors, but it was a pain in the ass when you were trying not to be noticed. The usual holding pen was an old travel trailer set well back from a dirt road. During dry weather, the road itself was a warning system, with any approaching vehicle sending up clouds of dust that could be seen well before any car came into sight.

"I'll find something," he said. "If nothing else, I'll rent a big U-Haul truck."

They'd done that before, in a pinch. It was amazing how little attention was paid to the rental trucks. The girls couldn't take a bath—and God knows they always needed a bath—the way they could in the travel trailer, but if the client had to take delivery of merchandise that was less than sweet-smelling, well, this wasn't exactly a dating service. But it was also a pain in the ass to use a rental, because if you parked the thing, sooner or later you could expect a deputy to come check it out. So you had to drive around until it was time for the clients to pick up the girls, then meet them somewhere and make a fast exchange. A rental just wasn't the best arrangement.

The mayor's pager began to beep. He silenced it and checked the number. "I have to go, but I'll get back to you about the alternate location. Just find Mitchell, for God's sake!"

Daisy paused at the closed double doors of the Buffalo Club. After much consideration, she had decided this was the place and now was the time to debut her new look and try her new approach to man-hunting. She was tired from the long day of shopping and being cosmetically tortured, but she was also still riding high on elation. When she had arrived home after the shopping trip, she hadn't called out a greeting as she usually did, just walked into the kitchen where her mother and Aunt Jo were busy putting up peach preserves for the winter. Her mother had glanced around, then whirled in alarm, sharply saying, "Who are you?"

Daisy had begun giggling. The other women had then squealed in delight and thrown themselves at her, exclaiming over the blond hair and the chic haircut. The peach preserves hadn't been able to wait, so while they continued with their canning,

Daisy had fetched all her shopping bags out of the car and displayed her take, which reached truly amazing proportions.

When she carted all of it upstairs to her room and began hanging the garments in her closet, she couldn't resist trying everything on again. And though she was tired, when she put on one of her trim new skirts and that classic white sleeveless shirt, then the taupe heels, a thrill ran through her. That stylish, pretty woman was really her. She wasn't gorgeous, she never would be, but the uncluttered hairstyle made the most of her rather unremarkable features and made her look... oh, reserved, maybe, instead of just mousy. And Todd was right: that anklet gleaming on her right ankle was downright sexy.

It was a shame to waste this look. She might not be able to get her hair in exactly this style again. And she was already made up...

With that in mind, she drew in a deep breath and made a decision:

It was now or never.

So here she was at the Buffalo Club, a large, sprawling country music nightclub just over the Madison County line. It had live bands, a big dance floor, and sort of a reputation. The occasional stabbing and fight had been known to happen, but it wasn't so far gone that women didn't feel comfortable attending. Another plus was that the cover charge was just two dollars; after the money she had spent that day, economy seemed prudent.

If she gave herself time to think, she knew she'd chicken out, so she just forged ahead. She took her two bucks out of the slim envelope purse swinging from her shoulder on a narrow strap. Her everyday purse was big enough to hold a month's rations, but Todd had insisted she carry something more elegant. "Don't carry a lot when you go out," he'd instructed. "Just enough cash to get by, a tissue, a lipstick, and stick a credit card in your bra."

That was good, because that was about all she could get in the slim little excuse for a purse anyway.

A big guy wearing blue jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt collected her two dollars at the door; then he allowed her to pass and she stepped into a din of colored lights, loud music, and even louder conversation. Voices competed with the band and each other to be heard. The place was jammed. She was bumped from behind, shoving her into a tall redhead with big hair who gave her an irritated look.

Daisy started to mumble an apology, then remembered that she didn't mumble anymore. Besides, a mumble couldn't possibly be heard in here. "Pardon me," she said clearly, her head high as she moved away. Her hair looked better than the redhead's, she thought with a little thrill. She couldn't remember ever thinking her hair looked better than someone else's before.

She squirmed her way to a relatively sheltered spot where she could take stock. The bar, a big square, was lined with stools, and people stood three deep around it. Couples swayed on the dance floor, with colored lights flickering around them, while the lead singer of the band crooned a love song. The band was situated on a small stage behind a protective netting of chicken wire.

The chicken wire worried her. Maybe the Buffalo Club was a little rougher than she'd heard.

There were a multitude of tables arranged willy-nilly around the dance floor, but they were all taken. Sawdust and peanut shells littered the floor, while jeans-clad waitresses dipped and wove with deftly balanced trays through the swarming crowd.

She was overdressed, Daisy thought. Jeans seemed to be the dress code, on men and women alike, though every now and then she spotted a short skirt paired with a halter and cowboy boots. Todd would have sniffed and pronounced such an ensemble "tacky."

Daisy had kept on the pumps and the khaki skirt, and the

sleeveless white shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned. The gold anklet drew attention to her slim, bare legs. She looked cool and classic, not quite the usual thing at the Buffalo Club.

"Well, hello!" A hard male arm clasped around her waist and swung her around. She found herself blinking up at a smiling dark-haired man with a beer bottle in his hand.

"Hello," Daisy replied. She had to almost yell to make herself heard.

“Are you here with someone?" he asked, bending so his mouth was close to her ear.

Why, he was flirting. The realization zinged through her. This was a pickup! A man was actually trying to pick her up!

"Some friends," she lied, because it seemed prudent to do so. She didn't know him, after all.

"Would the friends mind if you danced with me?" he asked.

Because he was smiling and his eyes were friendly, she said, "Not at all," and with a grin he set down his beer, took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.

My goodness, that was easy! Daisy thought giddily as she slipped into the man's arms. He held her close, but not so close that she would have been embarrassed. For a moment she was terrified her dancing skills would desert her—after all, it wasn't as if she'd had a lot of practice—but he was fairly smooth and she found that, if she didn't think about it, her feet seemed to do what they were supposed to do.

"My name's Jeff," he said, again putting his mouth next to her ear so she could hear him.

"Daisy," she supplied.

"Have you been here before? I don't think I've seen you, and believe me, I would have noticed."

She shook her head, just to feel her hair swing and settle. "First time."

"Don't let it be the last—" He broke off, turning his head to glare in annoyance at a man who had tapped him on the shoulder.

"May I break in?"

"No," Jeff said rudely. "What the hell do you think this is, a prom? Go away. I saw her first."

The other man, lean and blond, also clad in the de rigueur jeans and T-shirt, grinned. "C'mon, Jeff, don't be selfish." Deftly he unhooked Daisy's hand from Jeff's and spun her away from him.

Daisy looked over her shoulder at Jeff, her eyes a little wide as she wondered what would happen. Jeff grinned and shrugged, then motioned to the table where he would be.

“Are you friends?" she asked the blond man.

"Yeah, we work together. I'm Denny, by the way."

"Daisy," she said again.

The love song ended and the band immediately swung into a foot-stomper. Lines formed, and Denny pulled Daisy into position. "Wait!" she protested frantically. "I don't know how to do this!"

"It's easy," he yelled back. "Just follow my lead."

The line dance involved some stomping and whirling, and she managed to stomp and whirl not too far behind the rest of them. She and Denny bumped into each other at one point and she began laughing at herself. She was so out of place here, in her old-money classic clothes, surrounded by jeans and tube tops, but this was fun. She hadn't been here ten minutes yet, and already two men had come on to her. That was more attention than she'd had in... oh, thirty-four years.

The line dance ended, and the band segued into another slow song, for a breather. Denny had barely gotten his arm around her waist when another guy cut in on him, and he surrendered her to yet another man. This one was older, probably in his fifties, with a close-cropped gray-and-brown beard, and not much taller than she was. He could dance, though. He grinned at her, said, "My

name's Howard," and expertly twirled her. Daisy laughed, giddy with excitement and joy as their hands caught and he twirled her back into his arms.

Howard didn't mind showing off his expertise, so Daisy polished up her rusty skills as fast as possible and did a credible job, she thought. She was nowhere near as good as he was, but at least she didn't stumble, and she didn't step on his toes.

After Howard came Steven, and after Steven was a guy named Mitchell who had big brown eyes and a shy smile. By that time Daisy was breathless and more than a little warm. "I need to sit this one out," she gasped, fanning herself with her hand.

Mitchell slipped his hand under her elbow. "I'll get you something to drink," he said. "Beer? Wine?"

"Just water, for now," she said as she walked off the dance floor and looked around for a place to sit. The tables were just as crowded now as they had been five dances ago.

"Ah, c'mon, have some wine," Mitchell cajoled.

"Maybe later. I'm really thirsty now, and water's best for that." Besides, she had to drive home.

"A Coke, then."

His big brown eyes said he wanted to buy her a drink, and she was thwarting him by insisting on water. She relented. "Okay, a Coke."

His shy smile bloomed. "Wait right here," he said, and plunged into the crowd.

That was easier said than done. The swarming, shifting crowd constantly forced her to move this way and that, and within five minutes she was quite a distance from where Mitchell had left her. She peered toward the bar, trying to pick him out of the mass of bodies, but she didn't know him well enough to recognize him in a crowd and, besides, it might take him a long time to get the drinks. The new shoes fit very well, but they were still new, she

had danced five dances, and her feet hurt. She wanted to sit down. She rose on tiptoe, trying to spot an empty chair.

"Looking for a place to sit?" a burly guy yelled, and looped a beefy arm around her waist before she could react, hauling her down on his lap.

Alarmed, Daisy immediately tried to jump up. He laughed and tightened his arm, pulling her back, and instinctively she put her hand down to brace herself. Unfortunately, she braced herself on his crotch, all of her weight bearing down on her hand.

He yelped, a high-pitched sound that rose above the din of music and voices. Suddenly aware of where her hand was and what she was feeling, Daisy squeaked and tried to leap up again, and her downward shove brought an even higher sound from the burly guy. Actually, it was now approaching a scream, one that brought heads turning their way.

Her face heated and she began struggling in earnest, but she couldn't find her balance or purchase, and wherever she put her hand seemed to be wrong. She felt something soft grind under her knuckles, and the burly guy turned purple.

My goodness, it was amazing how things escalated. Distracted by the steam-whistle noise coming from the burly guy, a man ac-cidently walked into a woman and made her spill her drink down her dress. She screamed, and her boyfriend swung at the other man. A chair overturned, a table was shoved, and there was the sound of breaking glass. People scattered. Well, some people scattered; others seemed to leap in their eagerness to join in the fray.

The melee was like a tidal wave, sweeping toward her, and she couldn't get to her feet to escape it.

An iron clamp suddenly wrapped around her waist and hauled her off the poor guy's lap. He collapsed on the floor, wheezing and holding his privates with both hands. Daisy squealed and clutched at the clamp, surprised to find it was merely flesh, but

there was no way she could wiggle free. Her feet didn't even touch the floor as she was swiftly carried away from the tangle of heaving bodies and swinging fists. The nightclub's bouncers were wading in now, cracking heads left and right and roughly restoring order, but Daisy didn't get to see what happened because the bouncer who carried her waded through the throng as if it were water, moving people out of his way with his free arm, and before she knew it she was bundled out the door and deposited on her feet with a thud.

How humiliating. Her first time in a nightclub, and she was thrown out.

Her face burning, she turned to apologize and found herself staring up at Chief Russo. The apology froze on her tongue.

There was the sound of more breaking glass inside, and a stream of people suddenly erupted out the door as the more prudent decided to leave while the leaving was good. The chief caught Daisy's wrist and hauled her to the side, out of the way The yellow neon sign spelling out the club's name spilled light down on them, not even giving her the protection of darkness. Maybe he wouldn't recognize her, Daisy thought in panic. Her own mother hadn't even recognized her—

"Well, if it isn't Miss Daisy" he drawled, in a very good imitation of a southern accent, and her hope of not being recognized was blown out of the water. "Do you come here often?".

"No, this is my first time. I can explain," she blurted, feeling her face turn red.

He stared down at her with narrowed eyes. "I can't wait to hear it. In the space of thirty seconds you castrated a guy and started a brawl. Not bad for your first time here. Let me know when you're planning on coming back, and I'll stay home that night."

Well, no way was he going to make her the blame for that fiasco inside, she thought indignantly. "It wasn't my fault. That man grabbed me, and when I put my hand down to brace myself, I..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to find a delicate way to describe what had happened.

"Grabbed his balls and smashed them flat against the chair seat," Chief Russo finished for her. "I was about to step in, but when he began hitting those high notes, I figured you had the situation well in hand, so to speak."

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident."

Suddenly he grinned. "Forget about it. He'll think twice before he grabs a strange woman again. Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

She didn't want to be walked to her car. She didn't want to go to her car at all. Wistfully she looked at the door. "I don't suppose I could—"

"No, your dancing is over for the night, twinkle toes. You need to get out of here before the sheriff's deputies show up."

She sighed, because she had been having such fun—until she had accidentally castrated the burly guy, of course—but she supposed the chief was right. The deputies might just arrest everyone and sort things out later, and she could just imagine what everyone would say if she got arrested. He took her arm and forcefully turned her toward the parking lot. "Where's your car?"

She sighed again. "Over there." She crunched over the gravel to her car, with Chief Russo looming beside her and his hard hand never loosening its grip on her elbow, as if she were a prisoner he expected to bolt. She was glad he hadn't handcuffed her.

Cars were leaving the parking lot in every direction, and the two of them had to weave their way through the traffic. When they reached her car, he released her arm, and she got her keys out of her bag, then unlocked the car. The chief opened the door for her and Daisy slid behind the wheel. "Have you had anything to drink?" he asked suddenly.

"No, not even a Coke," she said, forlornly remembering the brown-eyed man who hadn't made it back to her in time. She was so thirsty; starting a brawl was almost as much exertion as dancing.

He braced one arm on the top of the open door and the other on car's roof, leaning down to study her in the glare of the dome light. "You've been sandbagging," he finally said, his eyes narrowed again. He seemed to be studying the open collar of her shirt. "Hiding under those god-awful granny clothes you usually wear."

Even the chief of police had noticed how unstylish her clothes were, Daisy thought. How humiliating. "I'm turning over a new leaf," she explained.

He grunted and straightened, stepping back so she could close the door. She started the car, hesitated, then lowered the window. "Thank you for getting me out of there," she said.

"It seemed the smart thing to do. The way you were going, that poor guy was looking at dismemberment." He lifted his head, listening intently. "I think I hear sirens. Go home before the deputies get here."

Still she hesitated. "What about you?"

"I'll help them sort things out."

That's right; he didn't have to worry about being arrested. She started to ask him to keep quiet about her being there, but realized she had just as much right to go to a nightclub as he did. Besides, maybe she wanted people to know she'd been at the Buffalo Club. That would certainly change the way people saw her. She wanted men to think of her as approachable and available, and just improving her appearance wouldn't accomplish that.

"Will I have to give a statement?" she asked.

Exasperated, he snapped, "Not unless you keep hanging around. Now get your ass out of here while you still can."

Well! Without another word, Daisy stomped on the gas pedal, slinging gravel and making her tires squall as she fishtailed out of

the parking lot. Startled, she fought the steering wheel for a panicked moment before she remembered to take her foot off the gas. The tires stopped squalling as they gripped the road, and much more sedately, she continued down the road. She had never made her tires squall before in her life. Oh, my goodness, what if the chief had been hit by some of the gravel? She started to go back and apologize, but flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror and she decided it would be best to get her ass out of there, just as he had said.