Lindsey opened her mouth to speak when footsteps alerted her of someone’s approach. She turned as a man stopped beside her. “Hey, Rogers. You got a visitor,” Cowboy announced.

Used to quick assessments, Lindsey sized up her new visitor. Medium height and build, he was nothing like his roommate. Glasses sat on top of his nose, encasing light brown eyes. Dark hair, conservatively cut, matched his yuppie-style clothing. Opposites attract, as they say, and Todd Rogers and his roommate were indeed just that.

She extended her hand. “Mr. Rogers, I’m Lindsey Paxton. I’d like to talk to you about Elizabeth.”

She watched as his eyes went wide. Her thoughts went to Jack the Ripper, a conservative businessman who had a nasty side. Could that be the case with Todd Rogers? Was there a nasty side hiding behind Mr. Prim and Proper?

“Who do you represent, Ms. Paxton?” he asked tersely.

“I’m with the FBI.” Which wasn’t a lie. She was. She was just on leave. “Care to see my badge?”

He nodded and walked past her. “No, come on in.”

Cowboy pulled his hat off his head and flattened himself in the doorway, allowing Todd to enter. Waiting for him to move, she was surprised when he didn’t. Instead, he waved her forward, a dare in his eyes. Lindsey raised one eyebrow. “Forget it, Cowboy. Step aside.”

He laughed and slowly complied.

Once inside, Todd motioned towards a small, wooden kitchen table. Sliding into a seat, she pulled out a pad and pen from her briefcase. “Sorry for Rick,” he said, motioning towards the door. “He is a real ladies’ man.”

She assumed Rick was Cowboy. “And you’re not?”

He laughed. “No, hardly. In fact, had Elizabeth not approached me, I might not have had the good fortune of knowing her.”

Rick’s comment about her wild side came rushing back. “How did you meet?”

“At a bar.”

“The Pink Panther?”

His eyes widened. “Yes, did Rick tell you?”

Behind her Rick responded. “Nope, I didn’t say a word.”

Lindsey didn’t turn. She’d already known Rick was there. She could feel his gaze riveted on her back. Ignoring him, she focused on Todd. “Why did you and Elizabeth break up?”

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. It was a long moment before he replied. “I guess it just wasn’t right between us.”

Rick interjected, “He means she wasn’t satisfied with one man. She liked to play.”

Lindsey watched Todd’s eyes as they seemed to cloud over. “Look, Ms. Paxton, I loved Elizabeth, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with her death. Isn’t Williams going to trial?”

Lindsey nodded. “Yes, but the evidence is circumstantial,” she said truthfully. “Without more evidence, he could go free.”

His expression registered understanding. “So tell me what you need from me.”

He was making things easy on her. His willingness to help without asking too many questions kept her from explaining her role in the case. And she was damn thankful for that little prize. “I need you to tell me every little detail you can think of that might help.”

They spent the next hour talking about Elizabeth and her habits, likes, and dislikes. Things her parents wouldn’t know, because college-age kids didn’t show that side to them. Rick’s frequent interruptions, though irritating, did offer insight. Several times, things Todd left out of his stories, Rick brought to light, and then Todd would elaborate. When she felt she was out of questions, she stood and stretched. “Well, you have given me a lot to check out. I appreciate your time.”

Next stop, the Pink Panther.

* * * * *

Lindsey arrived at the Pink Panther only minutes later. Located a few blocks from Todd’s place, she had walked. She wasn’t surprised to find the front painted pink, which made it stand out amongst the row-to-row buildings. She stuck her sunglasses in her purse as she pulled the doors open. Her eyes strained against dim fluorescent lighting. Blinking several times, she stood still and willed her eyes to adjust. Shadows danced along the walls, and she searched for a source. Odd, rainbow-colored spotlights were placed in each corner of the room.

Taking several tentative steps forward, she let her eyes drift around her surroundings. Barstools and tables lined a large dance floor. A doorway at the far side of the room gave her a glimpse of what appeared to be several pool tables with pink velvet coverings. “Classy,” she muttered under her breath.

A bar ran the length of the far wall. Smoke climbed into the air from a lone ashtray sitting near the cash register. Bingo. Signs of life. She made her way towards it, ready to get answers and be on her way. This place gave her the creeps. Knowing it was somehow linked to four dead woman—maybe more, if Hudson and Williams were innocent—made the feeling worse.

Lindsey leaned across the bar, trying to see inside an open door directly across from her. “Hello,” she called. No response. She tried again but louder. “Hello.”

This time a gruff-looking, overweight man came through the door with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked at Lindsey and then down at the ashtray. “Damn, if I didn’t do it again.”

He moved forward and stubbed out the cigar. His eyes went to Lindsey, irritation clear in his look. “What do want, lady?”

Nice, she thought. “I want to ask a few questions about some girls who have frequented your place of business.”

He snorted. “Hey, if their ID says they’re legal, we did our job.”

Guilty bastard. “I hadn’t given your ID procedures any thought, but you’re full of great ideas.”

His reply was quick and vehement. “Don’t play games with me, lady. What exactly do you want?”

Lindsey watched his face. “I want to know about four dead girls who just happened to party here the night they were murdered.”

“I don’t know nothing about any dead girls,” he said roughly.

“I see we have a visitor.”

A slight accent laced the voice that came from behind. Lindsey turned her back to the bar, facing the newcomer. He was tall, deeply tanned, with a menacing presence that crawled up her skin like a snake. Slowly he sauntered towards her, his movements graceful, his demeanor arrogant. His tan pants and matching blazer were expensive and well tailored. He reeked of money, power, and something more sinister. The word “evil” came to mind.

“She’s talking about some murdered girls,” the bartender grumbled.

“Is that so?” the dark stranger asked, sauntering across the room and stopping way too close to Lindsey. He stared at her with eyes as black as coal, his deep, heavy brows framing them in a forbidding way. To some he might have been attractive. To Lindsey he felt dangerous. “Paxton isn’t it?”

Lindsey almost gasped. For him to know who she was seemed impossible. She managed to keep a blank expression. Showing any sign of weakness seemed imprudent. “And you are?”

“Victor Ruzo, Ms. Paxton,” he said coolly, almost too coolly, “the owner of the Pink Panther.” He motioned with his hand to indicate their surroundings.

“Just the man I need to speak with.”

He leaned against the bar, his eyes watchful, intent. “About the murders,” he said, as if he found the subject intriguing.

Lindsey’s composure started to waver, and she was thankful for her practiced, courtroom poker face. “Yes,” she said leaning on the bar herself, trying to seem as cool as he did. “Why don’t you tell me about the murdered girls?” She paused for a beat. “Did you know them well?”

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, changing the subject, as he flagged the bartender.

“Need something to calm your nerves?” she asked.

He brushed aside her question. “Vodka, Larry, and bring the lady one as well.” Then he turned back to Lindsey. “I didn’t know any of those girls, Ms. Paxton.”

She rejected his response. “They all knew this place.”