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“This place?” I asked, looking up at the storefront. It was one of the most expensive couture shops in West Hollywood. Not the discount costume racks I was used to when I played an extra. My curiosity level bumped up one notch.

“This place.”

I must have tried on every dress in the shop, and some more they had hidden behind the counter. The saleswoman gushed over each one, but the man stood in front of the dressing room critically, arms crossed, and rejected them one after another.

“Too sexy.”

“Too bold.”

“That’s not her style.”

I wanted to ask whoshewas, what kind of character I would be playing. The thought crossed my mind that maybe this guy wanted to take me somewhere as his escort. That would explain why he was dressing me up in such fancy clothes.

“That one. That one’s perfect.”

I looked up at the dressing room mirror. I had to agree with him. The dress was a dark navy A-line cut with a boatneck collar. It came down to just above my knee and hugged my curves loosely at the hips, accentuating my hourglass figure. The navy pumps had a bit of a wedge, giving me some more height than normal. I turned sideways and preened.Thiswas the kind of thing I should be wearing to auditions. Classy, but not ostentatious. Sexy, but not like a hooker. It was perfect.

“This belt would go perfectly,” the saleswoman said, hooking the gold-braided patterned belt around my waist. It clinked softly as it settled against the fabric.

“We’ll take it,” the man said decisively.

“Do you have earrings that would match?” I asked. The saleswoman scuttled off to find them.

“Earrings?” the man asked, frowning. “I don’t know if she wears earrings.”

“Trust me, she wears earrings,” I said. I didn’t know what this character was, but if she wore this dress, she would definitely wear earrings.

“Fine,” the man grumbled. “Leave the dress on, and cut the tags off.” He took out his credit card and left it on the counter. I turned sideways in the dress, admiring myself and fixing my hair. He went to make a phone call while the saleswoman rang up the purchase.

“All set?”

He held out his arm, and I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. So what if I was playing an escort? I could get into that role. I could get into any role.

Outside of the dress shop, a black sedan idled.

“This is our ride,” the man said, opening the back door. “Get in.”

I hesitated for a moment. Wasn’t this how horror movies started? A woman getting into an unmarked black sedan with some rich guy she didn’t know? This guy hadn’t even told me his name yet. What if he wasn’t from Paramount? What if he was taking me out to the back woods to kill me and wear my skin? Okay, okay, so I had an overactive imagination, but still.

“I’ll explain everything,” the man said, his finger tapping against his thigh. “Once we’re on our way.”

“Look, I just want to know what I’m getting paid,” I said. A fifty dollar extra role wasn’t worth this risk, and even though I was curious who this guy was, I had to go out and find another job.

“One thousand dollars,” the man said. “In cash.”

“Okay, then,” I said, sliding into the back of the car before he could change his mind. I didn’t know what I was doing, but Roger had just gotten me the best paid gig I’d had in years. And if the guy turned out to be a murderer, well, maybe I could escape and sell the story rights to Paramount. Win-win.

CHAPTER SIX

Rien

I cut through the brain, paring away the outside layers. The claustrum is down on the very underside of the neocortex. Right in the center of the brain. It’s amazing how our bodies try to protect us from being turned off, it really is.

I used the small scalpel to carve out that little curved piece of brain tissue. Gently, gently, I put the center of Bob’s consciousness on the metal surgical plate. It was a perfect specimen, the tissue as thin and unblemished as any I’ve ever come across. I smiled.

Bob was a typical Los Angeles businessman, I imagined. Faker than a three-dollar bill. His suit was a cheap Armani knock-off. I didn’t even mind sending it down into the incinerator with him. But he must have messed with the wrong people.

You only get sent to me if you mess with the wrong people.

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