She stood up and stormed out of the restaurant. He could damn well pay for the tasteless chicken salad.

She stomped down the street, feeling like she was fourteen again, that cop looking at her with a patronizing face.

Listen, honey, leave the policing to the grown-ups, okay?

Damn Tatum, and damn that cop from nineteen years ago whose name she had intentionally forgotten. Damn all the FBI agents who resented her for taking a “real agent’s” job. Damn the condescension that kept following her despite all her achievements. Would there ever be a point where she’d get the appreciation she deserved?

There were tears of anger in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, swallowing hard, forcing herself to calm down. She stood still and focused on her breathing. A deep breath emerged with a tiny hiccup; the next one was completely smooth and steady. Her heart slowed down. The anger was there, but she was back in control.

Tatum called her name behind her. Damn it. She started walking away again.

“Zoe! For God’s sake, wait up.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Sure, whatever,” he said coldly behind her. “But I thought you might like to know they’ve identified the girl. There was a match with a missing person report. Her name is Krista Barker, and she was a working girl.”

A working girl. That was Tatum’s way of saying she was a prostitute without using the word prostitute. Without admitting she’d been right. She should have told Martinez when she’d thought of it. It would have made him more receptive to see she got things right.

“They’re on their way to talk to her roommate, a girl named Crystal. Martinez asked if we want to join him. Should I tell him you’re not interested?”

She whirled around, furious. Tatum looked at her, his face blank and cold.

“No,” she said coolly. In complete control. “I want to hear what the prostitute has to say.”

CHAPTER 14

Crystal fidgeted on the bed, occasionally glancing at the strangers who had come to see her. Agent Gray had said he was from the FBI, and Martinez was from the Chicago PD. The woman hadn’t said where she was from. Was she the FBI agent’s girlfriend? It sure looked that way. The way they were pointedly avoiding each other’s eyes was a dead giveaway. And the way they both nodded when the detective talked but actively ignored each other. Yeah, those two were banging each other, no doubt about it.

She wished they’d go away. She’d just had a morning client, which only happened, like, every third day. Men usually preferred the cover of darkness when paying for sex. A twenty-dollar bill sat in her pocket, and once the cops left, she could go downstairs to R. T., buy a rock from him, and smoke it—start the day on the right foot.

Her stomach rumbled. She could also get something to eat. When had she eaten last?

No, first a rock, then she’d try to get another morning client. Who knew? She might get lucky. Then she’d definitely buy some breakfast.

She wasn’t listening again, and the detective, Martinez, looked frustrated.

“Sorry, what?” she asked.

“When did you see Krista last?”

Krista. She missed Krista so much. Her friend had been what made life bearable. Krista could really make her smile, sometimes. They were always a pair, Krista and Crystal. People would laugh when they introduced themselves, like it was some sort of hilarious joke. Look at the two crackheads, Krista and Crystal. R. T. used to say they should start using meth instead of crack. Then they could say Krista and Crystal were doing crystal. Har-har, ain’t life just a barrel of jokes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “A week ago, I guess? Maybe more?”

“You reported her missing four days ago,” Martinez said.

“Yeah, then I guess maybe it was more than that. Because she was missing for, like, four or five days before I reported it.”

“Why did you wait so long?” Agent Gray asked.

She could feel the ants crawling under her neck. She always did after a day without crack. The day before had been crap. Only one customer, just wanted a BJ, and he had stiffed her, given her only ten bucks when he was done. R. T. had said he’d chase the guy, get the missing money, but he never did. What was the point of having a pimp if he didn’t stick up for you when it mattered?

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She’s been gone before. Krista was always disappearing. She had clients who’d pick her up for a day or two. Krista always got the classy clients.”

Because Krista was good looking, unlike her. Her teeth were still good, and she wasn’t as skinny.

“Do you know who those clients were?” the woman asked. What was her name? Zoe. She had freaky eyes. They burrowed into Crystal, digging up all her secrets. She looked away. God, she needed a rock.

“No,” she said.

“Who does?”

“No one.” R. T. probably did, but he’d kill her if she gave them his name. “Any progress? On the case? Do you think you’ll find her?”

Crystal knew the score. Girls like them, if they disappeared, they didn’t come back. Only Julia Roberts could disappear for a week and come back with a new wardrobe and a billionaire for a lover. A girl like Crystal, if she disappeared, you could be sure she was lying in a ditch somewhere.

But not Krista. Crystal always assumed her friend wouldn’t go that way. Krista was almost like Julia Roberts, in a way. She had this glow, this . . . aura. Like she was meant for something else.