“Couple of months,” Delilah mumbled, still not making eye contact.

“According to you, Ginny Jones disappeared three months ago, and you both knew Mr. Dinchara prior to that. Makes it longer than a couple of months in my book.”

“Okay, maybe more like six months. Or eight. I don’t know. Who’s counting?”

“So you knew him prior to becoming pregnant.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She went deathly still, gaze fixed on her leftover pasta, arms straight at her sides.

“Delilah?”

“Dinchara is not the father of my baby,” the girl expelled in a rush. “I had a boyfriend. Someone I loved, all right? Someone who I thought loved me. So just fuck off. Don’t make this about my baby.”

“Then what’s this about? You’ve known Dinchara for nearly a year. Why rat on him now?”

“I told you why. He did something to Ginny-”

“What about Bonita Breen? Or Mary Back or Etta Mae Reynolds? Any of those names ring a bell?” Sal spoke up now, drawing Delilah’s attention. He had moved over, wedging her into the corner, letting her feel how hemmed in she was, how few options she had left.

“What? Who?”

“Or Nicole Evans, Beth Hunnicutt, Cyndie Rodriguez? Roommates, associates, partners in crime?”

Delilah frowned at him, looking distracted, frazzled. “Cyndie’s gone. Has been for months. What’s this got to do with Cyndie?”

“Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know. Where does anyone go? Away from here.”

“You knew her well?”

“Only well enough to trip over her every other week. That girl liked to party, know what I mean?”

“Drugs?”

“Please, she’d snort anything from superglue to cocaine. Guess you could call her an equal opportunity loser.” Delilah’s righteousness had squared her shoulders again, brought the defiance back to her eyes.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Hell if I know. Cyndie was one of those girls who was just…around. You’d see her here or there. Not like we were pen pals or anything.”

“You know her roommates?”

Delilah frowned. “Wait a minute. Two girls, right? One a brunette, the other a really badly dyed blonde? Yeah, now that you mention it, I saw her with a couple of girls from time to time. Once, they were lifting her sorry ass off the floor, dragging her toward the door. Guess they might have been her roomies.”

“Seen them around lately?”

“Nah, not really.”

“That happen a lot? Girls appearing and disappearing?”

“Happens all the time. Girls think they’ll try on the life, make a quick buck or two. But then it sucks ’em in and burns ’ em out. Then they’re gone.”

“Where do they go?” Kimberly asked.

“Work the loop,” Delilah said with a shrug. “If you’re not making it here, you head east to Miami, or west to Texas. Everyone’s got a story of a friend who lives here or there, making a thousand bucks a night. So off the girls go, to do the same old thing in a different city, as if they’ll suddenly strike it rich. Kind of funny, if you think about it. All us working girls are actually optimists at heart.”

“Do any of them ever come back?” Sal wanted to know.

“Sometimes. I don’t know. Maybe a year or two later. Unless they get into drugs,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then they’re just plain fried.”

“Cyndie, Beth, Nicole. What about them?”

Another negligent shrug. “Haven’t seen ’em. Why do you care?”

“Why do you care about Ginny Jones?” Kimberly asked. “Why do you think she didn’t set off to find greener pastures like everyone else?”

“Because she wouldn’t go like that,” Delilah said immediately. “She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

“You were that close?”

“Ginny was nice. No one appreciated that about her. They thought she was freaky. But she had plans, dreams, hopes. She was just…lost, you know.”

“Ever talk about her mom?”

Another shrug, but less certain this time. She’d gone back to staring at her pasta, and Kimberly could practically feel the girl picking through her brain, trying to find the least obvious lie.

“I think her mom died,” Delilah said softly.

“She tell you that?” Sal asked.

“She…implied it. Said she had no one. That she was all alone.”

“And you, Delilah,” Kimberly asked quietly, “what brought you here?”

The girl recoiled as if struck. Then her head was up, her eyes flashing hot. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Cops! Never around when you need ’em.”

“If you’d like to report a crime-”

“Fuck you!”

“Delilah-”

“No, I’m done. All right? You guys are no better than anyone else. Just a different pair of johns, ready to use and abuse to get what you want. Then you’ll kick me to the curb without even tossing me a ten-spot. Fuck it, all right. Just plain fuck it!”

Delilah darted her gaze between Kimberly and Sal, then, having made her choice, planted two hands on Sal’s chest and shoved him aside. Short of physically restraining her, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She stormed over him, several diners pausing over their meals long enough to gawk at the flash of bare legs.

The restaurant manager hurried over, giving them nervous glances.

“Check, please,” Kimberly said.

Manager scurried away. Sal collected himself.

“She’s a little hot-tempered,” Sal said.

Kimberly was already slapping money on the table, then heaving out of the booth.

“Come on, Sal. Little Miss Muffet is scared. Let’s see where she runs.”

DELILAH ROSE MOVED FAST FOR A PREGNANT GIRL IN four-inch heels. Despite her claims of returning to work, she bypassed five clubs, weaving her way in and out of the long blocks with the practice of a woman who knew her way around.

Huffing and puffing behind her, Kimberly and Sal were forced to hold back, blending into the crowds of young people swelling the doorway of each establishment, then fighting their way free only to latch onto the fringes of the next party strolling up the block. Inevitably, the group would veer off from Delilah’s route, leaving the investigators exposed and vulnerable until the next foursome came along.

Delilah had her head down, hands clutching her ragged blue coat closed. She alternated between a near sprint and sudden dead halts, where she glanced every which way with the heightened paranoia of a woman living on the edge.

She went up one side of the block, made a hard right, only to come back down the other side. To flush out quarry? Throw the diligent off her tracks? Kimberly was beginning to get dizzy with the effort of keeping up while simultaneously keeping out of sight, when suddenly, Delilah homed in on a banged-up Mazda wedged between two four-wheel-drive trucks.

The girl fished underneath the Mazda, finally pulling out a magnetic case bearing keys, and Kimberly felt her heart sink.

“Damn, she has a car.”

“I thought the police picked her up the first time at the MARTA station.”

“Well, apparently that taught her a lesson, because now she’s driving.”

Delilah had the door open, was sliding behind the wheel.

“Now what?” Kimberly muttered, holding her left side, which had begun to cramp from the exertion.

“Look,” Sal said rapidly, glancing at her rounded belly. “You go back for my car. I’ll stick with her. These city blocks with a light on every corner…Hell, you can pretty much walk ’em as fast as you can drive ’em. With any luck, I can keep her in sight until you can rendezvous with the vehicle.”

He tossed her the keys just as Delilah pulled out. Sal scrambled to follow, dashing for the intersection. Kimberly headed back as quickly as she could, gasping in spite of herself and hoping she didn’t throw up.