Page 1 of Nocturne

PROLOGUE

Los Angeles, January 9, 1947

The Biltmore Hotel lobby gleamed with false promises. Elizabeth Short watched the glittering crowd from her perch on a velvet settee, her black hair a stark contrast against her pale skin. She’d carefully applied her signature bright red lipstick in the ladies’ room moments earlier, checking twice for smudges. In this world, appearance was everything.

She crossed her legs at the ankle, consciously elegant despite the fraying hem of her black skirt, which she tried to tuck under. Three dollars remained in her handbag—enough for another night if she skipped dinner again. Her stomach growled in quiet protest.

Elizabeth checked her watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. Her contact was late. That didn’t surprise her. The past few months she worked as a courier for Mickey Cohen and his associates, she was always left as an afterthought. No one bothered to be on time for her, she was just a mule for one thing or another.

Though tonight, she had been promised something different. She’d been so close to quitting, so spooked by what she’d seen recently on the job, yet Cohen managed to wrangle her in for one last thing. Told her that if she did this, she’d be given a new opportunity and a lot of money.

She needed a lot of money. That was more valuable and solid than the false promises that were always given to her as payment. The person she was meeting tonight represented someone with connections, someone who could make things happen for a girl with her particular look, but he also promised money, and that was the one thing she could count on.

She’d heard the rest before, anyway. In Hollywood parlance, that could mean anything from a legitimate screen test to something decidedly less savory. Elizabeth was desperate, not naive. But desperation won out tonight. The thought of getting enough money to finally get out was like oxygen she didn’t even know she’d been deprived of. This city wore you down like that, little by little, until you didn’t even notice you were face down in the dust.

She sighed heavily and rose, deciding to give it five more minutes before cutting her losses and returning to the boarding house. As much as she needed the money from this one last job, there was also relief. She could find another way, a proper way.

As she gathered her purse, a prickling sensation crawled up her spine, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Elizabeth scanned the lobby carefully. A middle-aged couple dressed in fine clothes arguing in hushed tones by the concierge desk. A bellhop helping an elderly woman with her luggage. No one seemed to be paying her any attention.

And yet that feeling remained.

She moved toward the grand entrance, heels clicking against the marble floor. Outside, the chilled night air carried the peculiar Los Angeles mix of orange blossoms and automobileexhaust. Elizabeth hesitated on the top step, uncertain which direction to take.

“Ms. Short?”

The deep male voice came from her left. A tall figure stood partially obscured by shadows, only the ember of a cigarette betraying his presence.

That chill on her spine returned, the feeling of being so openly watched by someone she couldn’t see.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed our appointment,” he continued. “But perhaps we can still salvage the evening.”

Elizabeth squinted into the darkness, the ember flaring. “You’re late,” she said, straightening her shoulders and putting on a brave face. “I was just leaving.”

“A thousand pardons.” He stepped forward enough for the hotel lights to illuminate his silhouette but not his features. Tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed. “My associate was supposed to meet you, but he was…unavoidably detained.”

Something in his phrasing made her skin crawl, but Elizabeth had spent her life ignoring such warnings. “Your associate said there was an opportunity for me. Said he’d pay handsomely.”

“Indeed.” The cigarette arced through the air as he discarded it. “A rare opportunity for someone with your specific qualities.”

Elizabeth took a small step back, not trusting the peculiar way he saidqualities. “I should go.”

“Of course.” His voice remained pleasant. “My car is this way. We can discuss the details en route.”

“I meant I should go home,” she clarified, clutching her purse tighter.

“Ms. Short.” Something in his tone changed, became more compelling. “I promise this will be worth your time. Just a brief conversation.”

Against her better judgment, Elizabeth found herself nodding. “Just a conversation.”

His hand emerged from the shadows to gesture toward the street. “After you.”

The car looked the same as she’d seen following her around—a gleaming black Cadillac with leather seats soft as butter—but of course she couldn’t be sure. There were so many of them in this town. And if she let herself think about it too much, she might just bolt.

So she sat rigidly in the passenger seat, watching the city lights blur past the window. They’d been driving for twenty minutes, moving away from the glittering center of Los Angeles toward areas she didn’t recognize. She hadn’t lived there long enough to know all the neighborhoods yet.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, no longer bothering to keep the unease from her voice.

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