likely to run again if she found out Kay was in town had ultimately worked. Francesca had hated using it.
“I don’t know the artist. Are you currently involved with anyone?”
He’d pushed the last piece of uneaten pizza aside, his forearms resting on the table as he peered at her.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
He grinned, spread his hands. “You’re a woman. I’m Italian.”
“Yeah, right.” Head bent, Francesca half smiled. “I’ve been watching you for two days, buster. And a womanizer you’re not.”
Sitting back, he narrowed his eyes. She hadn’t seen him look so serious before. “That’s true,” he told her quietly. “But you intrigue me, Francesca. You hide so much more than you show.”
Longing for her sunken mattress at the Lucky Seven, Francesca moved around some crumbs on the dark wooden table. “You’ve got an impressive imagination.”
“No, I’ve got an uncanny ability to read people.” If the words had carried even a hint of bravado, a hint of anything other than sincerity, she’d have had no problem getting up and walking out.
Instead, she sat there, unfocused and quietly panicking. She couldn’t like him. Didn’t want to feel anything.
She only wanted to find Autumn.
And her sister had been at Guido’s.
“I’m a little disappointed my friend didn’t show this weekend,” she said, working hard to concentrate through the fog of exhaustion she’d brought upon herself. “I was really looking forward to seeing her.”
“Did you call her?”
She shook her head. And then wished she hadn’t as the thickness inside her skull didn’t keep up with the movement. “I tried. There was no answer.”
“You think something happened to her?”
Holding her head perfectly still, Francesca shrugged. “She moves a lot. Not being able to reach her for weeks on end isn’t all that unusual.” An understatement if ever she’d heard one.
“Still,” he said, leaning on the table again, bringing his face with its kind brown eyes closer to hers. “She must be pretty special if you came all the way from Sacramento just to see her.”
“Like I said, I’m taking some time off, anyway, and hadn’t seen Vegas in more than twenty years. It sounded like fun.”
Or might have if fun wasn’t so far removed from what her life had become.
And then, because she couldn’t wait any longer, Francesca pulled out Autumn’s picture. “But you’re right, she is special,” she said. “See?” Instead of the photo with the pink hair and the lip ring, this was an age progression of Francesca’s favorite portrait of her sister. Autumn was one of those girls whose guileless beauty, even as a child, caused people to take a second look.
The lighting in the bar was more atmospheric than illuminating and Carl sat back, holding up the photo as he studied it.
“I’ve seen her.” His words made her heart pound—and brought an unexpected and instant rush of tears. Francesca camouflaged them by bending down to her bag on the floor, rustling for her car keys. She clutched them as she slowly sat back up.
“In here?” she asked when she could trust herself.
He nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Recently?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, or I’d remember better. But I know she’s been in. Seems to me she was here all the time a while back. Hanging out with a bunch of girls. And then she quit coming in.”
Damn. It was the first in a string of words that Francesca screamed silently. And, had she been in her room, would’ve said out loud.
“That’s the way it is with them,” Carl continued, his gaze on a couple who’d just approached the bar. “One by one they seem to drop out of sight.”
“What’s that about?” she asked, with no possible solutions of her own to offer. She frowned, wishing her head was clearer. That was it for margaritas. Period.
“I’m not sure.” He handed the picture back to her as they stood. His break was over, which no doubt explained his preoccupation. “They’re young and they’re female,” he said. “I figure it’s either the result of hurt feelings or finding a boyfriend. Girls that age seem to forget they ever had girlfriends when they find a steady guy. My job is just to provide a relatively safe place for them if they choose to come here.”
Didn’t paint a pretty picture of her sex, but remembering back to her own teen years, Francesca had to admit Carl was at least partially right.
So did that mean Autumn had a boyfriend? Hurt feelings? Or had her sister dropped out of sight for other reasons? Like needing to pay the rent?
According to the Vegas police, too many runaways ended up working the streets to stay alive. The city abounded in prostitution opportunities. The younger the prostitute, the better, as far as some johns were concerned.
“What do those girls do?” she asked Carl, afraid to hear the answer. They walked to the door together, and she liked how he felt beside her, strong, reassuring. As though no matter how bad his answer, it would still be okay.
An illusion in the town of illusions.
“I have no idea.” Not a great answer, but better than the one she’d feared.
“How do they all know one another?”
Standing in front of her at the door, blocking the bar from her view, he shrugged. “I’m not even sure they do know one another before they start hanging out here,” he said, his focus fully on her again. “I run a clean, safe place. Word about that kind of thing tends to spread in a town like this. Someone meets someone in line someplace and mentions coming here sometime….” His voice trailed off.
“You’re probably right,” she said, her hand on the door. Other than their initial handshake, he’d never touched her. But Francesca felt as though she’d been hugged. It had been a long time. “While I’m in town, would you mind if I hang out here a bit? See if I hear anything about my friend?”
Carl grinned. “I’d be happy to have you….”
Carl’s words had been more than acquiescence to her request. They’d contained a not-too-subtly-veiled invitation.
If she came back, she’d be encouraging him.
He was a nice guy. A man comfortable in his own skin. And gorgeous skin it was, too.
He brought comfort to a life bereft of human intimacy.
Out in the darkened parking lot, she slid into her car, a new weight added to emotions that were already overburdened.
The flicker of candle flames reflected in Melissa’s
