Chapter twenty-Two.

Investing in a blonde wig and a pair of boots that had enough of a heel to lift her up above her normal five foot two until she was closer to five foot seven, she hoped that she was tall enough to make a good decoy. She had found an old pair of Rachel's pants mixed in with her laundry, back when she had moved and she pulled them up over her hips. Rachel had been graced with very long legs, so the pants were low enough to cover the height of the boots.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves of a shiny silver button down top and started pushing the buttons through the buttonholes. It was a bit tight across the chest, but it was made of some kind of stretchy material so that it wasn't too uncomfortable. Over that she wore a form fitting black blazer.

The man she was looking for tonight had been described to her in careful detail. He was tall, over six feet. He was bald, most likely his hair was shaved off since he appeared young. He was most likely a natural blonde; she had been told that he didn't have the black stubble on his face or head that a dark haired man would have. He had some kind of tattoo on his back that came up his neck, his clothes usually covered most of it, so nobody was sure what it was a tattoo of. His skin was very pale, he might be an albino, but nobody was sure about that. He didn't drink, but was often seen in some of the bars downtown, close to where a lot of the disappearances had occurred. Her feet were already sore by the time she had walked only a few blocks. She went in to the first club and ordered a Sprite with a cherry in it. Sitting at the bar, she had a good view of the room. There were several bald men in there; a couple of them had shaved their obviously natural dark hair so that struck them off the list. Sliding off her chair, she casually walked behind the men on her way to the bathroom. None of them had any tattooing on the backs of their necks. After primping in the restroom for a few minutes, she came back out and finished her drink. She left the glass on the bar and walked out, looking for the next club down the block.

She walked down a few more blocks and stepped inside another bar. This one had soft jazz music flowing from the speakers around the room. Mostly professionals in this bar, she didn't see anyone resembling the description she had been given. Taking a quick walk through the groups of people, there was nobody that was over six feet tall and bald at the same time. There was nothing at the next few places she stopped in at either. It was starting to get late, almost midnight. Deciding to try one last nightclub, she pushed the door open and went in. Ordering another Sprite, she leaned forward on the bar, watching the bartender fill her glass. She felt someone's eyes on her, and she looked up toward the end of the bar. When her eyes locked on his, she knew that it was him. Her stomach lurched in agreement. She looked back at the bartender as he brought her drink and she put a few bills down on the bar. His skin was so pale that he nearly glowed in the darkness of the room. He was also a very large man, very muscular. He reminded her of a professional wrestler. Luck was with her as she noticed the restrooms were at the other end of the bar, almost directly behind him.

Dana waited a full five minutes before walking to the ladies room. The man had not moved from his seat. She fought off a chill as she walked though the scattered groups toward the restroom door. Purposefully keeping her eyes forward to avoid looking at him as she passed, the moment she pulled the door open, she turned slightly to check the back of his thick neck. Just above the collar of his shirt was the top of a tattoo. The door closed behind her. There were two stalls, she went into one of them and locked the door. Just a few seconds later, she heard the door open again. She peeked under the door to see a pair of men's shoes. He was standing just inside the door. Her heart started to pound as she heard the door open again, women�s voices suddenly getting louder.

"Hey, you have the wrong room," Dana heard a feminine voice saying. "I'm so sorry, excuse me," she heard a man's voice say. Slowly she looked up over the top of the stall door. Barely catching the back of his pale, bald head as he walked away, Dana wondered how lucky she was. As she heard the other women chatting and giggling, she opened the door and came out. She walked over to the mirror to check her makeup and to make sure the wig still looked right. It was very authentic looking; she had paid dearly for the best. The pins were still holding it in place, as she lightly touched her comb to it, and then touched up her lipstick. She hated wearing makeup, but tonight it was an important part of her disguise. She was nearly unrecognizable; no one that knew her would ever guess her true identity. Waiting for the other women to finish, she walked out with them as if she was a part of their group. Looking up and down the bar and across the smoky room, she didn't see him anywhere. He was either in the correct restroom now, or he had left.

Dana found herself wondering if Detective Allen was still up. She wanted his company; she wasn't feeling very safe right now. She wondered what would have happened if those other women had not come into the restroom. Picking up a pack of matches with a cab company logo from the bar, she took out her cell phone and dialed the number. She did not want to take any chances tonight, not when she was so close. The cab company dispatcher told her it would be at least thirty minutes before a cab would arrive for her, so she found another seat at the bar. Two drinks later, the cab driver came in looking for her. Glad for the escort, she followed him to the car and got in, giving him the address for an apartment building four blocks from her own. Fastening her seat belt, she waited until he was almost there before giving him the correct address. From a corner at the end of the block from the bar, Avery watched the blonde get into the cab. She looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place from where.