“Would you like a dance, honey?”
It’s the last thing I want. But the dancer is already taking a seat in my lap as another two swing over to Jesse, spreading their manicured fingers across each of his Valentino-covered shoulders.
My oldest friend doesn’t move an inch. Then again, he was always that way.
Too honorable. Too good. Too caring to put up with the likes of me.
Or this place.
I consider that before I speak.
“Heath, I gotta be honest here…” He hisses as Pink Lingerie swings a circle against my crotch. “Your choice of meeting venue is a little…”
“Naked?” I shake my head, apologizing as I remove the manicured hands skimming over my body. “I know.” He nods to the undulating ladies, dismissing them. “An old friend of mine owns the place. I’d figured it was the last place the press would come looking for me.”
“You obviously don’t know these New York City slickers much now, do you?”
“I don’t,” I answer, the smile fading from my face. “But I’m beginning to. And because of you, I’m hoping to learn a lot more.” He glances over at me. “What do you say, Jesse? Can you hear me out?”
But my time is up. I’m feeling trapped. And the more I look at my surroundings, the more caged I feel inside the strip’s club VIP. Like, everybody is looking at me.
My pulse starts to pick up, paranoia working its way under my skin, and the paranoia solidifies into poison when the writhing dancer in my lap clamps down even harder, hissing softly in my now-reddened ear.
“Just relax, baby.” I can feel her smile spread against my skin. “David told me to make sure you stick around, have a good time.”
My mouth twitches. Stick around? Good time, huh?
This was looking more and more like a ploy—a plot. I watch as the waitress orders another whisky for me, convinced I’m too torqued up by the paid-for ten-dollar dalliance to notice. I don’t like where this situation is heading. I stand up immediately, setting the blonde stripper to the side, and she collapses against the pleather sofa with a soft thud, her pink mouth set into a surprised “O.”
I glare down at Jesse.
“Jesse, do me a favor.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“I’ve gotta book it. Next round’s on me.” I take out a Franklin-printed bill, setting it at the table. “Next time, you’re tempted to meet me here for a business meeting…” I smirk, my voice lowering. “Don’t. It’s too fucking dangerous. Give me a five-minute head-start before you head out. Don’t talk to anyone on your way out.”
I shrug farther into my coat.
Without another word, I head down the stairs of VIP, storming towards the front door. But two bodybuilder-types in black block the front double-doors. I stretch to my full six-three height, tightening my fists.
Tie on or not, I’m every bit the street kid my spoiled father didn’t want me to be. I’ve never backed down from a fight. I meet their beady eyes.
“Boys…” I add on an exhale. “Let’s skip the ‘We can do this the easy way or hard way’ bullshit, and get right to it. Either move out of my way…” My eyes sink into slits, my pulse thrumming. “Or I’m going to make you move.” The room grows hot around me. “It’s your choice.”
The air thickens for a second, the lights seeming to dim. The bouncers at the door wait a few beats, as if processing what I’ve said, and as offense finds its way up their red necks and to their furrowed faces, they stomp slowly towards me, their chins jutted outward. Providing my fists with an easier target. I raise my hand to take aim.
Until someone grabs it. And I turn my head, my eyes disbelieving what I’m seeing behind me.
The dancer.
She’s younger than I noticed before, her eyes bright. Beneath her blonde curtain of bangs, she peers at me—all brown-eyed doe, and I lower my already-bruised arm, my gnarled knuckles dropping to my side as she squeezes them.
I see the plea in her eyes.
“Don’t.” She whispers up towards me. “That’s what they want you to do.” She lowers her lashes, flicking them up once again. “You’re being watched.”
She nods at Bouncers Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, and they part ways. But not before she hands me a slip of paper.
I expect the name, Candy, to be printed on its surface along with a number. Tempted to chuck it away, I take it instead. And what I read on it makes every hair on my body stand on end, the very blood in my veins run completely ice cold.
I hit the double doors, running—my head pounding as loudly as my feet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
VIOLET
Why didn’t you change out of your skirt? my body screams at me.
My feet are cold. My hands are freezing.
My gloves are stuck to my skin, and as I try to pry the front door of the SparrowHead building open with my hands, the Burberry scarf around my neck nearly goes flying down the sidewalk.
The weatherman said it’d be snow; he never said there’d be a monsoon of it.
Light flurries at five o’clock turn to a steady fall, and five hours after Marilyn drops me at my cozy brownstone, I finally get back to work, my fingers buzzing to begin a night of research on the Fletcher case after getting caught in one of the worst traffic jams in Brooklyn.
My taxi was already in Manhattan by the time Jack Frost comes to kick ass, and one blistering cab ride later, I bluster onto the familiar Manhattan floor of the SparrowHead lobby, bundled up, my body shivering as I cross the shiny gray tile. Making a beeline towards the elevators to the oh-so-intimate sounds of Hanson’s “MMMBop” playing in my iPod headphones, I flash my badge at Security Guard Sam and flounce into the elevators, my mood better than it’s been in days.
Maybe it’s because of the smell of the snow. Maybe it’s the holiday season. Or maybe it’s because of the conversation in the cab with my Chicago realtor. An end to a chapter I should have closed two years ago.
I can’t stop the smile on my face.
Telling her to let my ex, Jeffrey, sell the whole damned condo is the best decision I’ve ever made.
With Marilyn’s voice in my head and the Hansons in my speakers, I try to exit the elevators onto the thirtieth floor of King & Sparrow, an extra pep in my step. But something stops me. I slam head-first into a brick wall, before realizing that it’s someone’s body. Built like cement and just as hard, the imposing person forces me to backtrack on my feet, my own body trembling as I glance up and into the face of anger itself.
I balk when I realize who it is. Heath.
He looks livid. And oh so handsome.
In a navy suit so deep it’s almost black, his dark copper-colored eyes burn down towards me, searing into my skin. His jaw tight, his hair windswept and tousled, he looks every bit of a blazing angel come down to earth. But when he opens his mouth, nothing but the devil himself comes out.
He locks me in against the elevator wall, his stare hot enough to singe. He places his arms above my head, and when he does, I can feel the emotion coming off him in waves. Snatching my earphones from my ears, I can think nothing, say nothing, as worry and rage radiates from his steady glare.