The TrapThe Spadros Women’s Club was elegant in its own right, with piano black paneling trimmed in silver. Black roses lined the walkways. Dock 21 was close by, and there again was Zia.
She smiled shyly, gesturing for me to follow her onto the gangplank and into the yacht. The girl might be deaf, but she was quite pretty.
Morton sat at the table downstairs in the oak-paneled galley, loading his revolver. Today Morton wore a dark brown business suit and a dark brown Derby hat. He holstered his gun and rose when I came down the stair. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Spadros.”
“Good afternoon, Master Rainbow.”
Morton insisted I remove any makeup and jewelry, and cover my hair. “Your portrait is everywhere. This outfit is little disguise if someone recognizes you.”
With a shock, I realized he was
