Mortal Sin by Laurie Breton Page B

I didn’t love. I kept telling myself it didn’t matter, that I’d already been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. I came pretty close to convincing myself it was security that counted, above all else.”
    “What happened to change your mind?”
    She leaned back in her seat, braced her head against the headrest. “Kit came to live with us. Remy’d already raised one family, and becoming instant daddy to a belligerent teenager at that particular point in his life simply wasn’t on his agenda. I had to make a choice.” She tilted her head, and he caught a glimpse of a wry smile. “The divorce was quite civilized.”
    He circled around the Common and picked up Commonwealth Avenue on the other side. It was broad and lovely, lined with ancient and majestic trees, and deserted at this late hour. “This is a big city,” Sarah said. “She could be anywhere. How do you know where to look?”
    “I grew up here. And it’s not all that big. Girls work the streets in relatively concentrated areas. I thought we’d try Kenmore Square first. There are dozens of bars in the blocks that surround Boston University, not to mention scores of testosterone-laden college boys with wads of disposable income.”
    It was past midnight and five below zero, but Kenmore Square was in full party regalia, brightly lit and heavily populated. The bars and most of the restaurants remained open until 1:00 a.m., and on Saturday nights they swarmed with college students and young singles right up until last call. He cruised the Square slowly, his gaze methodically and thoroughly scouring the sidewalks as he drove. They passed a young couple striding briskly, heads down and coat collars turned up against the frigid night, bare hand clasped in bare hand. A mixed-gender group clustered on a street corner, cigarette smoke rising in a cloud above their heads as they talked and laughed, expending the youthful energy they’d spent all week reining in.
    He stopped for a red light, sat idling while a half-dozen drunken college students crossed the intersection in front of him. Pinpointed in his headlight beams, a heavyset blonde staggered and would have fallen if her giggling companions hadn’t caught her and guided her to the other side of the street.
    “A lot of college boys,” he said, “get lucky before they leave the bars. They’ve learned that most girls, if you pour enough alcohol down their throats, will follow you anywhere. The boys who don’t pick up a girl in a bar are stuck making do with the hookers who wait outside to snare the less fortunate souls in their traps. Over there.”
    He nodded in the direction of a slender black girl with bare legs and spike heels who leaned casually against a lamppost. His stomach soured as a lanky young man walked up to her. They carried on a brief, intense conversation before she shook her head and went back to leaning. The boy walked away, shoulders slumped in disappointment.
    “How do you pick them out?” Sarah said. “I wouldn’t have even noticed her. The way young girls dress nowadays, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
    “I’ve had years of practice. It’s not just the way a girl dresses, but the way she walks, the way she holds her body, the aura of ownership she flaunts while she’s parading around inside her own little corner of the world. These girls are very territorial. You’ll see them, night after night, walking the same beat. And in this case, I cheated.” His mouth thinned. “Her name’s Terry. She’s one of my girls. Or at least, she used to be.”
    He checked his rearview mirror, yanked the steering wheel to the right. Double-parked and set his four-way flashers. Pulling a flyer from the stack Sarah held in her lap, he said grimly, “I’ll be right back.”
    Terry didn’t seem surprised to see him. One glance into her eyes told him she was flying high on some illicit substance, which explained why she wasn’t shivering in the skimpy outfit she wore. She