Linda Lee was a stripper and they all knew she was a common tramp.

But they hadn't known her the way Steve Bentley had. To them she was a sultry, raven-tressed Venus, cynically exhibiting her body to anyone who had the price.

But to Steve, she had been herself, a honey-skinned child with hair the color of freshly spun taffy, a warm-kearted kid with soft lips and a soft, living body. For him.

And now she was dead.

Looking down at the cold shape on the mortuary slab, Steve swore he would find her killer. And make him pay.