Page 23 of Captive

I relax back against the chair and try to assess just what it is that has me so lightheaded. It's some kind of drug, but it's different than the ones I know about. I'm not sleepy or close to passing out cold. While my head is dizzy and my appetite is diminished, I'm still having rational thoughts. And as much as I hate to admit it, I feel pretty fucking good, without worries or trepidation. It's a sort of serene, happy place I've landed in. I feel my face warm as it occurs to me I'm past serene and feeling more than just a little aroused. The silky fabric of the dress rubbing against my bare nipples has tightened them to hard buds, and the same smooth, cool fabric pressed against my naked pussy has it aching for someattention.

Yoli brings over a fudge brownie. "These are to die for. Just in case. How are youfeeling?"

I look up at her. The room has slowed from a whirl to a slow spin. "Surprisingly, not too bad. Might even be able to take a bite of that brownie in a fewminutes."

"I told you it wears off pretty fast." She moves on to huddle with another group of friends. I'm in no state of mind to count the girls who are scooting around, bouncing from table to table and making rounds to the food table, but it seems there are at least three van loads of young women at the party. What a crime that the city has so many homeless people dwelling in its borders. And these are just the young females. But for one glorious night a month they get to leave their sidewalk or shelter or park bench and have a hot shower, wear silky clean clothes and eat themselves silly. It seems that I'm not going to have much to bring back to Captain Clark other than recanting the details of a nice party put on by an invisible group or person along with the embarrassing story of me getting stupidly high on druggedchampagne.

The wooziness in my head makes it hard to estimate how much time has passed, but as the chafing dishes empty and the dessert table is reduced to an ordinary table covered with a chocolate and strawberry stained tablecloth, the party goers seem to be losing steam. Everyone is sitting around looking satisfied and full and ready for a good long sleep. The scene reminds me of my aunt's house after the turkey has been dismantled into a skeleton and the last dinner roll has left the basket. There's a touch of sadness in the air, which I attribute to the party coming to an end and the stark reality of returning to thestreets.

I'm able to finish a portion of my food and half a brownie. Yoli was right. Some of the heady rush from the champagne hasdissipated.

Yoli is deep in conversation with Becky on the other side of the room. I haven't been much fun tonight and I'm disappointed. If I'd had my wits about me I might have found out more about the people behind the generous supply of food andtoiletries.

The room stretches on forever as I make my way across the floor to Yoli. Becky sees me first and makes some excuse to dash away before I reach Yoli'sside.

"Wow, she really doesn't like me," Isay.

"She's just upset about the news going around." Yoli looks at me. "You've probably noticed some cheer has been tamped down. It's hard because we don't want to let on that we know, especially with the cameras." For no apparent reason she feels the need to whisper the word camera. Her stunning proclamation helps clear my headmore.

"What news?" For the hundredth time I want to kick myself for gulping the blasted champagne. Tonight might very well have been a gold mine for my undercover assignment, and I spent a good deal of it in acloud.

Yoli leans closer. I can smell the expensive perfume she lavished on herself in the bathroom. "There's this girl Rachel. I didn't know her personally but I knew of her. She used to work a street corner near the strip club on the other side of town. She always came to these parties." Yoli waves her hand. "Before me. But people know her name because she was chosen. She got the golden ticket. Her best friend said she joined the Lace Underground and that was the last time anyone saw her." I know before she even continues how the story ends. "Until the cops found her body in a dumpster," Yoli adds with a dramaticflourish.

I cover my mouth to look shocked. "That's horrible. Does anyone know what happened toher?"

Before Yoli can answer a bell rings and the door opens. Rowan, who seems to be a jack of all trades, rolls in a large cart piled with freshly washed and folded clothes. Whoever is in charge of things seems to have a team of launderers working through thenight.

The large man with the tribal tattoos enters next with a rolling bin like the kind used in a hotel laundry room. It is piled high with brown paper wrapped packages. The sight of the packages revives the somewhat somber mood with excitedchatter.

Yoli takes off before answering. I decide it will be easier to pry information from her once we are back at the park and away from cameras and the other girls. I hang back and wait for the others to collect their clothes and their packages. Several girls, too excited to wait, open up the gifts and twitter with happiness like kids opening wrapped boxes at Christmas. The packages are filled with essential toiletries like toothpaste, shampoo and soap. There are even packages of new underwear. The inconsistencies of the night are as vast as they are perplexing. A delicious, endless supply of food but cameras are in place to watch over the diners. Hot showers complete with soaps, shampoos and cosmetics, but the unsuspecting bathers are being watched through one way mirrors. Tempting flutes of champagne that leave you feeling pleasantly vulnerable. It was like the ultimate mix of good and evil, like the nice stranger who offers you a bag of candy before yanking you into his van. And for one girl at least, for Rachel, the golden ticket Yoli likes to talk about landed her not in some fantastical place but in a city dumpster. That sobering thought helps remind me why I am undercover. My prime worry is that the night will end, we will go back to the park and I won't know much more than when I climbed into the blackvan.

I hang back, waiting for everyone else to get their things. The entire time, it seems Rowan is keeping an eye on me. It's not so much a distrustful eye as a proprietary eye. Like I'm some valuable possession that he doesn't want taken away. It's unsettling andunexpected.

I reach the cart with the freshly washed clothes. My ripped and torn jeans and t-shirt are the last items left. I reach for them, but Rowan takes hold of my wrist. My first instinct is to throw his grasp off of me. I quickly remind myself that I'm not Detective Tennyson but Tawny Smith, street kid with nothing to my name and little in the way of afuture.

"Hold on there, Red. You need to stay in thedress."

I look past his shoulder down the corridor where the others, including Yoli, have shuffled toward the bathroom to change out of their fairy godmother gifts and back into theirrags.

I look back at Rowan. He seems far too pleased with himself, like the cat who caught the big fatmouse.

"But everyone else ischanging."

"Yes, but you're not everyone, are you sweet candy?" Rowan releases my wrist and waits politely as the last girls leave the mainroom.

The adrenaline in my veins has leapt into overdrive. It seems my body has figured things out before my head. I blame it on the residual drug in mybrain.

"Make sure they all get to the van on time," Rowan mutters to the driver. The driver, an olive skinned man with piercing gray eyes, gives me a solid, unabashed once over beforeleaving.

Rowan walks around the cart to my side. He stares at me for a second and smiles. "I knew you were going to be worth a bounty the second you slinked into the park with those audacious curves and those amazing fucking lips. Follow me, Red. Things are about to get more interesting in your tragic littlelife."

There are just enough scary undertones in his words to make me consider running. I wouldn't even have to blow my cover. I could just as easily be a scared nineteen-year-old not wanting to be the kid who climbed into the van with the candyman.

But there's one big problem. I begged and pleaded with Clark to put me on the assignment. I assured him I wouldn't let him down. If I run at the first sign of danger, I will never be able to show my face at the precinct again. Maddox will never let me live it down and I can't stand the thought of him thinking I was a coward. Then, the emotions of that day when Maddox broke my heart, not once but twice, and in quick succession, come back to me. My chest aches with the thought of it. After several drugged hours of being inexplicably serene and happy, a strange, overwhelming sense of loss suddenly pulls at me, threatening to drop me to my knees with grief. It seems the chemical is wearing off completely and leaving behind a terrible void, exposing every raw feeling I have tamped down inside. It must be the aftereffects Yoli mentioned. It explains her elusive answer. This was no regularhangover.

Rowan motions me to move along. I push back the wave of emotion as best I can. My feet come unglued from the floor and I follow him, not as the wary detective but as the innocent, naive Tawny. Rowan unlocks a door at the opposite side of the party room. He leads me into a small room that has chairs, desks and computers. The monitors are connected to the cameras. I catch a glimpse of the first group of girls climbing into the black van before Rowan shuts off thescreen.

I scan the wall and see the transparent side of the mirrors. Many of the women are still changing back into their street clothes. Rowan hits a button to darken the mirrors, making themopaque.

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