Careful What You Kiss For (19 page)

“So in a minute, we get the broom. And then, yeah, we have to mop it or something.”

The kitty litter already appeared to be working, turning the liquid gunk into solid gunk. “How did you know to do that?”

“One of my guys did this when some stuff spilled at the store. It worked pretty good.”

“I’m impressed.”

“It’s nothin’.” Despite brushing off the compliment, his cheeks tinged pink.

Once again, Tensley felt a stab of sympathy for him. The guy must not receive many compliments.

She cleared her throat. “So, the store.” She kept her tone casual, nudging the blobs of congealed soap with her toe while pulling out her virtual pencil and notepad. She had to remember anything and everything about Gary that might somehow be helpful to Max. “How’s everything going there?”

Razor went to the corner to retrieve a broom and dustpan. “Same as always.”

That would be helpful if she had any idea what the “same” was. “How did Wiggle Wednesday go?”

He turned and stopped, broom in one hand, dustpan in the other. He frowned, bringing his brows together in a deep V. “I told you ’bout that?”

She sure hoped so. Tensley held her breath.

Razor thought. “Guess I must have.”

She exhaled slowly, quietly. “And I said I thought it was a great idea.” The fibs were rolling off her tongue now. Then again, maybe she
had
said that.

“Yeah, well. Pop doesn’t think so.”

She took the dustpan from him and bent down to position it. “I would think he’d be fine with anything that brings in customers.”

Instead of answering, he concentrated on sweeping.

The globs clunked their way into metal pan. Tensley tried again. “Hardware’s a tough business to be in right now.” As if she knew anything about it. At all. She glanced up at him.

“No shit. Sometimes there’s only one or two customers all day.” He flashed a toothy grin. “But it’s still the only place you can get a screw for under a buck.” He chortled at his joke.

Her sympathy for him ran screaming from the building. Tensley rose and emptied the dustpan into a bin. She reached for the broom. “Give that to me. You go. I’ll finish this.”

Razor shook his head. “Can’t. Pop said — ”

“He says a lot of things,” she interrupted. “Most of them bullshit.”

There went that V in his forehead again. She’d never seen anyone who could make thinking look so painful.

“Go,” she repeated, pushing him toward the door. Or trying to, anyway. The man was as solid as a brick wall. “Buy another bag of kitty litter before Tawny finds out hers is gone and dumps the used stuff over your head.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, man. She would, too.” This time, he let himself be pushed. “But what about your bum leg?”

Oh. Her leg. She couldn’t even remember which one she was supposed to have hurt. She settled for an overall grimace. “Falling like that didn’t help, but I can take care of this.”

He hesitated. “I should help.”

“No. You shouldn’t. Because then both of us will be limping. Tawny will hurt you.”

“She might not — Yeah, she will.” His expression turned bleak. “You’re gonna clean up fast and get out of here, though, right?”

“Right.”

She opened the door and he lumbered through it. She had just shut it behind him and turned to debating her next move — because this confidential informant stuff was a lot harder than she’d thought — when it opened again and Razor stuck his head inside.

“I’m not kiddin’,” he said. “If Pop finds you still here — ”

She didn’t have time for this. Before he could finish the sentence, Tensley had reached down and thrown a blob of litter/soap at his head. He ducked and closed the door fast enough that it only hit the wood, spattering harmlessly to the floor. “Ma-a-n, babe,” she heard him say from the other side.

Tensley’s fingers ached for a piece of paper and a pen. At the very least, the police department should give every confidential informant a checklist to follow, so she didn’t have to make her own.

Eavesdrop.
Check
.

Ask questions of unsuspecting party.
Check
.

Get damning documentation.
Um … not yet.

Keep from getting killed.
Ch-e-ck.
So far, anyway.

Then again, maybe three out of four wasn’t bad. She’d only been on the job for a day.

• • •

Once she’d cleaned the supply room, minus the shine she figured had to be lurking somewhere beneath the soap film, Tensley slipped back through the door, closing it behind her without a sound. Several minutes with her ear to the wall had convinced her Gary was not in his office, which meant she might have an opportunity to try to get into it.

She took one step toward the office and then another, the back of her jeans crackling with caked-on soap.

How hard could it be to break in? What were the odds she’d get caught? She’d been caught once today, so she might have used up her share of bad luck. On the other hand, she’d been caught once today … . One more time and Gary would forget she was his son’s girlfriend and make sure she never tried again.

Tensley pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes at the closed door. She was on a mission.

She pictured Max’s face, his voice, when she was able to find and give him what he’d asked for. He’d lift and twirl her, round and round, like the prince in a Disney movie, as her hair streamed behind her. They would laugh. The birds would sing. Small forest animals would peek out from behind the trees. Music would appear from out of nowhere, strings soaring, as Max pressed against her, his heart pounding, his skin warm beneath his princely clothing, his über-hard cock growing by the second, promising everything it had delivered on in high school … . And then some.

Eyes closing, she swayed on her feet and had to reach for the wall as the movie in her head continued to play. There went her clothes, sheer, floating … and carried off by happy little bluebirds. She was naked in Max’s arms now, wrapping her legs around his waist and ripping the buttons from his shirt even as she moved against that bulging, hot, huge —

“Lila!”

Sucking in a breath, she opened her eyes, the instruments in her mind’s orchestra all ending on a different sour note at once, cymbals crashing to the floor.

Milo stood at the end of the hall. He extended both hands in a plea. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I … uh … .” What was she doing, besides fantasizing about a man she had no business fantasizing about because not only did she not belong in his life, she didn’t even belong in her life? She blinked. “There, uh, wasn’t any soap in the bathroom … and I came to get some … and there was an accident … and I cleaned it up.”

He clasped his hands together, shaking them at the ceiling as if to ask,
why me?
“Gary went behind the bar, looking for his Maker’s Mark.”

She shook her head. “So? It’s his place. If he wants his — ” Midway into a shrug, she stopped. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Milo said. “Oh. There isn’t any.”

Because she’d emptied out the bottles, making drinks.

“Pepper told me nobody’s ordered or paid for the good stuff,” he continued.

“Oh,” she said again.

“Tell me you stashed it somewhere. Maybe so it wouldn’t get mixed up with the cheap stuff.”

He sounded as though he really did want her to say that.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I used it.”

“Damn, Lila.” Milo rubbed his face. “Gary’s gonna kill you.”

So much for checking “keep from getting killed” off the list. “The customers seemed to like it.”

“I’ll bet they did.” He heaved a sigh and jabbed his finger in the air, pointing down the hallway toward the curtained entrance. “Get back out there. I’ll call my buddy and get more here pronto. Gary asks anything, you tell him you put it away to keep it safe. Soon as I get it, I’ll slip it to you without him seein’.”

“I … um … thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna pay me back.”

“I will,” she promised.

He pulled out his cell phone. “Get your butt back out there.”

So she did, crackling denim and all. She would have to stay clear of those hoses or there could be an unexpected bubble show behind the bar.

Come to think of it, though, it might distract Gary from killing her over a bottle of Maker’s Mark.

Or, well, four bottles. No wonder the tips had been so good.

• • •

By the end of her shift, Tensley’s feet were killing her and she never wanted to see, smell or use liquid soap again. Her jeans were in a not-wet, not-dry, not-gonna-bend state sure to draw puzzled looks if anyone could actually see her in this darkness.

Milo’s buddy had delivered on the Maker’s Mark, thank God. There had been a few tense moments when Gary approached the bar, thunderclouds on his face, but he’d turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Once Milo had slipped her the paper bag, she’d stashed it in a safe place and waited to triumphantly pull it out and pour Gary’s stupid drink. But he didn’t show. Not then or later.

Before leaving the club, Tensley stopped in the dancers’ dressing room. She pulled off her shoes, sinking into a worn leather chair to rub her feet.

And just as quickly slid off the chair and onto the floor, landing with a thump.

A giggle from not far away. Tensley looked up to see the red-headed woman she remembered from her first night, now in jeans and an oversized pink top, instead of the scraps of black she’d been wearing then. With her face scrubbed of all makeup and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, she looked like a teenager on her way to a football game.

“What are you doing?” the woman asked as she closed the door to a locker. The name on it, scrawled in marker pen across masking tape, read, “Fiery Farrina.”

Tensley did her best to rise from the floor with at least a small amount of grace, failing miserably as the heel of her foot slipped and she landed on her backside yet again. Even her feet, apparently, were coated in soap.

“Here.” The redhead walked over and put out a hand.

“Thanks.” With the help of the other woman, she was able to move back into the chair. This time she anchored herself by gripping the arms. “I had an accident. With soap.”

The woman grinned. “Why does that not surprise me.”

Good to know … or not … that some things carried from one life into another.
Tensley was apparently as clumsy as a stripper as she had been as a corporate executive. She lifted a shoulder. “Shouldn’t store that much soap on a cabinet that isn’t anchored to the ground.”

“Wait.” The redhead frowned. “You were in the supply room?”

A raised voice from the other side of the door. “Sarah, your ride’s here.”

“I’ll be right there,” she called. Then she turned her attention back to Tensley. “Nobody but Milo goes in there.”

“I — guess I forgot.” Tensley looked away. “What’s the big deal, anyway? There wasn’t any soap in the restroom. I went to get some.”

“You serious?”

Tensley felt herself slipping down the leather again. She gripped the chair’s arms until her knuckles turned white. “Despite all appearances to the contrary, yes.”

Sarah lifted one brow. “I gotta go.” She pointed a finger at Tensley. “Don’t go into Gary’s hallway again unless you’re invited.” Sarah headed for the door.

Interesting. “So how do you get invited?”

The woman paused, her hand on the knob. She looked back at Tensley, her gaze clear and steady. “You show Gary you won’t make trouble, you don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, like in the supply room, and you don’t ask questions like ‘how do you get invited.’” She turned the doorknob.

Great. So far, she was zero for three. “Wait!”

Sarah hesitated.

“I like being … a part of things. Could you put in a good word for me?”

“Tensley, I’ve got a kid to feed. You know that. I can’t — ” She pulled her mouth tight. “I can’t risk making Gary mad. About anything.”

No. She hadn’t known.

Sarah looked back again. “You going to be okay? You’re not going to trip over something and break your leg or knock over a candle and burn the place down?”

Well, there weren’t any guarantees, but … . “I’ll be fine.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.” Sarah tossed her a smile and went out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Tensley released her hold on the chair and allowed herself to slide back onto the floor, wincing as her now-tender backside hit the floor.

Again.

• • •

Max waited in the shadows near the door to Tensley’s apartment building. It wasn’t safe for the place to have this good a hiding spot, he noted with disgust. The building manager needed to get off his ass and cut down some of these trees, making it less likely that someone other than a cop could be hanging out here. Waiting.

The thought of someone going after Tensley made his blood boil. Job hazard, he told himself. Nothing personal, just because it was Tensley he was thinking of. He was trained to go after bad guys.

Still, he might have to get an axe and take these trees down himself.

His phone vibrated. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. Rhonda. Ever since her most recent divorce, she called Max when she couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night. Most of the time, she’d talk about what they’d been through together. And then she’d cry.

Max hated it when she cried. He felt so helpless, his first instinct was to crush the phone in his hand out of pure frustration and his second was to throw it as far away as possible.

Instead, he listened. When moisture pricked at the backs of his eyes, he squeezed them shut, put the phone on speaker, set it down, and began cleaning his service revolver. The methodical steps helped him distance, which kept the phone intact but didn’t do much for Rhonda.

But this time, he pressed ignore on the phone, mouthing
sorry
as he slipped it back into his pocket. He’d call her after he’d had a chance to check in with Tensley to see if she’d learned anything.

Right on cue, he saw her. Moving toward the door to the building, her head bent as she searched in her purse. He shook his head, knowing he’d have to have a talk with her about being such an easy target. Any lame ass creep could be hanging around here at night.