Careful What You Kiss For (26 page)

Why hadn’t she known this? She’d probably lifted her Starbucks cup to him every day, expecting her coffee lecture, while he was going through the pain of losing his wife. “I didn’t know.”

“No reason you would.” He gave her a tight smile. “Look, your mama will come around some day.”

She could tell he didn’t believe that any more than she did. “I’m not holding my breath.”

“You’ve gotta make your own way, then.”

Impulsively, she leaned forward and gave him a quick, hard hug, catching a whiff of older man cologne.

“Go on, now,” he said gruffly. “You don’t need her.”

If only that were true.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar figure. A tall man, impeccably dressed, with a stride and half-smirk that turned her stomach. Mark Dorlan, Tanner Cable’s director of finance. She felt a brief panic that he would spot her, take pleasure in her humiliation, but instead … he looked straight through her and kept on walking.

He didn’t recognize her. Sadness washed through her at yet another reminder she wasn’t “in Kansas” any more. What a time to be stuck without a Toto.

“Goodbye, Arthur. I hope you get to see your grandchildren soon.” Tensley pushed her way out the building’s front door and began walking, her heart numb. Whatever irrational hope she’d held that Esme Tanner would welcome her apparently prodigal daughter home and reinstate her in her old job had disappeared as fast as a stripper’s bra.

Tensley would have to make her own way back. By helping the one man who had only ever proven to be her downfall.

The odds were not in her favor.

• • •

From his car half a block away, Detective Max Hunter watched Tensley walk out of the building, her head down, looking every bit as defeated as she had as a teen after a session with her mother. He still couldn’t believe Esme Tanner would acknowledge a daughter in Tensley’s line of work. The woman had never been able to see farther than a business card.

He straightened and put his hand on the metal of his car handle, determined to go after Ten, to tell her yet again that nothing her mother said or did mattered. Yeah, he’d told himself he wouldn’t get involved. To hell with that. This was Tensley and he wasn’t about to see her get hurt by that evil bitch. Again.

Then he saw something else. The face he’d been wracking his brain to put a name to. The man who didn’t belong in the strip club, but who had been there all the same. Max watched him stride past Tensley to greet a dark-haired woman carrying a leather briefcase.

With a building to link him to, the man’s name came back to him. Mark Dorlan, a senior executive with Tanner Cable. Max had filled in for his boss at a City Club meeting several months ago where Dorlan had given a presentation. Afterward, Max had understood where the term “death by PowerPoint” meant. Probably why he had blocked out the guy’s name; he didn’t ever want to have to sit through something like that again.

So what the hell had Dorlan been doing sneaking into the back office of Gary’s Gorgeous Grecians?

The woman Dorlan had greeted turned and began walking with him, away from the building. Their heads were close and a breeze pushed part of her hair over her face, but Max still recognized her. David Digman’s campaign manager. The same David Digman who was running for re-election to City Council. And the same David Digman who had received a donation from an organization that may have been set up by Gary Burns.

To quote a character from a book he and Tensley had spent a teenage summer reading out loud to each other on a blanket spread over a field of summer grass … curiouser and curiouser.

Or maybe more appropriate, to quote Detective Max Hunter … holy shit.

Tuesday must not be a big day for ogling naked women, Tensley decided as she wiped down the bar for the twentieth time that night. Better not be many more nights like this, when business and tips were practically nonexistent, or she’d never make enough money to get out of this place.

Only one possible upside to this little customer activity — Gary wasn’t around. She hadn’t seen him all night, which might give her an opportunity to make another run at his office.

She set the cloth down behind the counter and watched as the red-headed woman she’d talked to a few nights ago stepped onto the stage, in full Fiery Farrina costume. Tonight she carried a long black whip to accentuate the black leather and lace costume that made her pale skin glow in the blue spotlight. Her black boots had heels at least eight inches high.

The music pulsated as she moved forward on the stage, one long leg at a time, beckoning an invitation to the two lone men in the audience, each sprawled at a table of his own, drink in hand.

Fiery Farrina, aka Sarah, lifted her whip.

One man straightened; the other leaned forward. On the downbeat of the music, Sarah snapped the whip, causing both the men and Tensley to jump. She continued dancing to the music, wrapping her legs around a pole and teasing off the skimpy piece of leather that covered her breasts — all while never missing a downbeat and corresponding crack of the whip.

The two men were mesmerized. Tensley was fascinated. How did the woman manage to do so many things at once, while making every one of them look effortless? If Tensley were to try cracking a whip like that, she’d probably manage to snap one of her own fingers off.

Nothing like a dangling appendage to turn on a man. Tensley snorted at the thought and then put her hand to her mouth to cover for it, not that anyone could have heard over the pounding music.

Keeping one hand on the bar for balance, she began shadowing Sarah’s steps. One leg forward, then curling it around a virtual pole and doing a half spin. Wrist up and a crack of the whip in time to the music. And another crack of the whip. Not
that
hard.

A full spin and she did it again. Kind of fun. She pictured Max’s face, watching her on the stage, Tensley in full control — the take-charge woman she’d always wanted to be. Instead of the lovesick teenager she’d slipped back into as soon as he’d landed in her bed.

How pathetic. She’d been the only one to feel anything that night. As far as Max Hunter was concerned, she was a diversion. A game of woulda, coulda, didn’t.

Tensley dropped her chin, staring at the linoleum floor beneath the padded mat. She needed a new checklist. A short one. Get the dirt on Gary. Give it to Max. Get the hell outta here.

And if she never learned her lesson, then she never did. She was the only person she could rely on to change things. Even her best friend had let her down, putting her in a position where Madame Claire could wreak havoc on her life, without Tensley even realizing it.

Tensley raised her head, looking around Gary’s Gorgeous Grecians with a new resolve. Even if she screwed things up trying to get out of this place, they couldn’t get much worse than they already were.

Just ask her mother.

She spied Milo lumbering in her direction. “Hey!” she called over the sound of the two patrons clapping for Fiery Farrina. “I’m taking a break.”

The big man frowned. “Who’s going to watch the bar?”

“Who’s drinking right now?” Tensley gestured at the men. “They’ve been nursing those beers for half an hour.”

Milo twisted his mouth, clearly not happy. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.” He sounded injured by the negotiation.

“Great. Twenty, then.” She gave him a quick smile that wasn’t one. “Thanks.”

“Damn, Lila. What am I going to say if Gary comes in?”

“Is he supposed to?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Then don’t worry about it.” Tensley bolted from behind the bar and toward the back of the club before Milo could say anything more. She nearly slipped in liquid pooled on the floor. Someone’s stale beer. Great. “Hey, Milo,” she called. “Get someone to clean this up?” She pointed at the floor and then made sure she disappeared behind the curtain separating the employee area before he could say that it would be her cleaning it up.

She had enough trouble getting the smell of this place out of her clothes; she was pretty sure the combination of sweat, alcohol and lust was seeping out of her hair follicles now. No matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower, she could still smell it.

Once inside the dressing room, she sank into a chair, resting her head against its back and closing her eyes. Too bad she hadn’t brought a drink with her. She could use one.

“Smoke?”

Tensley opened her eyes. Sarah, still in costume, had dropped into the chair next to her and was holding out a cigarette.

“No. But thanks.” Tensley straightened.

“K.” Sarah lit the cigarette and snapped the lighter shut. She took a long drag and blew out the smoke.

“The routine with the whip,” Tensley ventured, “was really good. How long did it take you to learn to do that?”

“Thanks.” Sarah inhaled again and blew the smoke out. “I grew up on a farm. Been playing with ropes and whips since I was a kid.”

“I’d probably slice my arm off if I tried something like that.”

Sarah flashed a smile. “You probably would.” She crossed her legs and turned away.

After a few minutes of silence, Tensley ventured, “You’re a long way from the farm.”

“Yeah, well.” A half-laugh. “You get knocked up at sixteen, get thrown out of your house, that’s what happens.” She tipped her head, thinking. “I used to compete in team roping. Was pretty damn good at it, too. Maybe I should change my costume. Use a rope instead of a whip in my act.” She exhaled a stream of white smoke. “What do you think?”

“I like it. Tie up the guys in the audience until they cough up more tips.”

“No shit. Cheap sons of bitches.” The woman’s mouth, carefully lined in red lipstick, made an “o” when she exhaled.

“Tough way to make a living.” Tensley made it a statement, but meant it as a question.

“Only because, most of the time, it’s too much money to leave.”

“Right,” Tensley was quick to agree. “Especially when you have a child, I’m guessing.”

Sarah didn’t answer.

“How old is your … ” She took her best guess. “Daughter?”

The other woman’s expression softened. “Eight already. I can’t believe it.”

Tensley did a rapid calculation. If she’d become pregnant at sixteen, Sarah was only twenty-three or twenty-four. Her cautious eyes and the set of her jaw made her seem older. “Do you ever wish she could grow up on a farm, like you did?”

Sarah eyed her.

“I mean — ” Tensley struggled. “I don’t know much about farm life.”
Actually, I don’t know anything about farm life.
“But it seems like it would be a nice way to, you know, grow up. Quiet. Peaceful. Safe,” she finished lamely.

Sarah reached for an ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette. “I don’t want Halley within fifty miles of a farm. Or a rodeo. Cowboys are dangerous.”

“I think they’re pretty cute. Great butts. You know, especially when they wear those … .” She gestured at her legs, unable to think of the word.”

“Chaps,” Sarah supplied.

“That’s it.”

“Try a ripped cowboy wearing only his hat and a pair of tight, worn-in jeans.”

Tensley pictured him. “I’d go for that.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s how I ended up pregnant at sixteen.”

The chair next to them scraped against the floor. Tensley turned to see Terrible Tawny sit down, in full makeup, but dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with “#1 Bitch” written in green letters across it. Tawny shot her gaze toward Sarah. “Seriously. A cowboy?”

Sarah didn’t say anything, just lifted her shoulder.

Something about the movement created a spark of sympathy in Tensley. “Are you still with him?” she asked.

Sarah gave another one of those half-laughs. “That’s a good one.” She paused. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember me. Wish I didn’t remember
him
.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Gotta get dressed and out of here. Then I have to count up my tips and figure out if I have enough to pay for my kid’s music lessons this month.” She rose from her seat. As she passed by Tawny, she dropped her voice to add a question. “Do you know if I’m gonna get any extra time tomorrow?”

“Yeah, you will,” the other woman answered. “Get that babysitter to stay.”

Sarah hesitated, then nodded.

“Sarah,” Tensley called.

The woman looked back over her shoulder.

“Would you be willing to teach me how to work a rope sometime?”

Sarah frowned. “Only need one cowgirl act.”

“Oh. I wasn’t thinking of it for the act. I just think it looks like fun. I didn’t grow up on a farm. I grew up on a … city.”

Sarah drew her fiery brows together in a perplexed frown. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Thanks.”
A little too much enthusiasm
. She tried a correction. “You know, because it just would be good to know.”

Now Tawny was the one with the perplexed frown. “Girl, how do you get through life?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tensley lied. But it was only
this
life she had trouble with. Mostly.

After Sarah had gone, Tensley asked Tawny, “How do you get extra time?” She didn’t want to, God knows, she didn’t want to. But it could help her get Max what he needed and help her save enough money to get out from under this place.

Just in case Madame Claire wasn’t right about everything reversing.

Not going there.

Tawny shook her head. “That’s not for you.”

“How do you know?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“If it means more money, I won’t ask questions.”

Tawny’s laugh was short, hard. “Like that’s gonna happen. Ever.”

“You said yourself that I’m behind in my … ”
What was it?
Oh. “ … house rent.”

The other woman got up and went to her locker. She paused, hand gripping the lock, and turned to Tensley. “You don’t want to make money that way.”

Tensley sat up straighter. “Why not?”

“Told you. Can’t go ten seconds without asking stupid questions.” Tawny jerked the lock open and slammed the door against its neighbor.