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she looked away.
    “Thank you,” she said. “For coming, and for being honest.”
    Stone shrugged. “Tell me about Katrina.”
    Celia opened her purse and pulled out two pictures. She handed them to Stone.
    The first one was a family photo, maybe taken while on vacation somewhere. It showed a tall blonde girl, probably still a teenager, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a white peasant’s blouse and a denim skirt, and she was leaning against some kind of a sign post and smiling.
    The second image was a picture cut carefully from a glossy magazine. It showed the same person, older, wearing a blue bikini, standing with her legs wide apart and her arms folded across her chest to emphasize the deep cleft of her cleavage. The woman had long blonde hair, loose down over her shoulders, and a dazzling blue-eyed smile. She was wearing high heels. Her body was smooth and brown and flawless. Stone held the image up. Turned it to Celia.
    “A modeling job?”
    Celia nodded curtly. “Some men’s magazine , I think,” she said. “She sent me the photo about a year ago, when the work was still coming in for her.”
    “Did she do other types of photographic modeling?”
    The question hung in the air. Celia blinked, then shook her head. “You mean nude pornographic work?”
    Stone said nothing.
    Celia shook her head again. “I don’t know,” she said, then sprang from the chair suddenly, and wrapped her arms around herself, gripping her shoulders and pacing across the room in short impatient steps. Stone watched her but said nothing. She was biting her lip, her expression fraught and tense.
    “ Katrina is four years younger than me,” she started. “A beautiful young woman. Not just physically – but beautiful in every way.”
    “And she moved to California to become a model?”
    Celia nodded. “Ohio wasn’t big enough for Katrina,” Celia smiled, but it was a fleeting gesture that never reached her eyes. “She had stars in her eyes – and for the first few months everything seemed to be working out for her.”
    Celia paused. Stopped pacing the floor. Turned and stared at Stone. “Then she seemed to get mixed up in a different crowd,” Celia said vaguely. “She started sounding sadder when we spoke, and began talking about submission and bondage,” Celia said. “It was like she was being brainwashed.”
    “And she never gave you a name?”
    “Not a person’s name, no,” Celia shook her head. “She only ever mentioned a club called The Cage.”
    Stone moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did she mention any friends, anyone she worked with?”
    Celia tilted her head, like she was looking to the ceiling for the answer. She frowned. “Not in a long time,” Celia said. “She might have mentioned a friend when she first moved here, but I can’t recall any names. She was working as a barmaid between modeling jobs for the first few months though.”
    “Where?” Stone asked.
    Celia thought hard. “Floodtide…” she said vaguely. “No! Tidewater,” her eyes flashed. “It was a bar called Tidewater.”
    Stone nodded. “Good. Then that’s where we’ll start,” he said. “Right after lunch.”
    Celia scowled. “You’re hungry?”
    “No. I’m tired. I need to sleep, ” Stone said. “And the management or bar owner most probably won’t come in to work until this afternoon anyhow. He’d want to be on duty during the busy hours later tonight.”
    Celia wanted to protest but she bit her lip and fought down the burning flush of frustration. “So I just sit around and wait for you?” she sounded incredulous.
    “No. You find out where this bar is, and where The Cage is. And you report to the police,” Stone explained. “Let them know who you are and how to contact you. Let them know you won’t be going anywhere until you find your sister.”

Nine.

    The Tidewater bar was on the ground floor of the waterfront complex Stone had seen as he had entered town. The