Shot Girl (11 page)

His words hung between us for a few seconds.

"So you didn’t just see it on TV?" I thought about how he’d caught me as I fell, his excuse for being there that he wanted to see what was going down. To call him a liar, however, would be the pot calling the kettle black.

Vinny sighed. "I was in the bar. I saw you talking to him before he went outside." He paused, then, "I saw that kiss."

Shit. But I asked him what I had asked Renee: "Did you see me kick him in the balls after?"

He frowned, stared at his bottle a second, then looked up at me. "No."

"I did. I kicked him in the balls." I knew the way it sounded the minute I said it: like I was trying to convince myself, too. Not good.

He snorted. "I took a short walk."

To walk off his anger. Yeah, I understood. I tried a smile on for size. "You should’ve seen him doubled over."

But he wasn’t amused. "Yeah, sorry I missed that." He paused. "I walked around the building. Near the parking lot."

I knew what he was looking for now, but I had to turn this around to something else. "So if you were there, why didn’t Tom round you up, too, to question you?"

Vinny studied my face for a few seconds. He was on to me. "He doesn’t know I was there."

I hadn’t seen him, either, except after, when he was standing behind the crime-scene tape with all the other curious passersby.

"You were in the back room, watching that show," Vinny reminded me, reading my mind. "No men allowed, remember? When I saw you come out and talk to Ralph, I moved out of sight."

"So were you watching me or him?"

Vinny licked his lips, and I could tell he was thinking about lying. But he must have changed his mind, because he said honestly, "Both of you."

"So since you knew he worked there and I was going to be there, were you trying to get some sort of clue about how I’d be around him?" I thought it was a fair question.

Vinny ran his hands over the stubble on his face. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t jealousy.

"Jesus, Vinny, did you think I was in some sort of danger?"

It was like someone hit a switch, and the smile was back, his eyes twinkling. "You, in danger? I know you can take care of yourself."

Yeah, right.

The waiter slipped the bill onto the table, and Vinny pulled out his credit card, putting up his hand as I opened my mouth to protest. I usually argued, but decided not to this time. I wasn’t in the mood, and the belly dancer was sashaying closer to our table, jingling as she moved. The sooner we could get out of here, the better.

We stepped out of the restaurant and crossed the street, where twenty-somethings were spilling out the door of Bar. I heard the rhythmic thud of a bass from somewhere within. I was too old for this, but the news about Ralph and my curiosity about Felicia had grabbed hold of me, and Vinny had grabbed hold of my arm, and within seconds we were swimming through a sea of firm, nubile bodies.

I wondered if I looked as old as I felt.

"Excuse me, ma’am," I heard from behind as a young man in a Boston Red Sox T-shirt squeezed past.

Yeah, I looked as old as I felt.

I tugged on Vinny’s hand. "Let’s get out of here. We really don’t belong here."

He wasn’t paying attention to me. I held his fingers lightly as we wove through the crowd. The music was so loud, I thought I’d gone deaf: Mouths were moving, I saw people laughing, and a chair skidded across the floor, but I heard none of it, my eyes taking in everything, my ears nothing.

I tightened my hold on Vinny’s hand, squeezed. He turned to me, smiling, indicating someone behind me. I turned to see a tall brunette with blond highlights wearing a tight camisole and short skirt, legs stretching down into stilettos. I had a flashback from the other night, when I wore something similar. But I wasn’t in my twenties. I must have looked like an idiot.

I wondered if this girl was the mysterious Felicia, but I remembered the health and science photo. The hair was the right color, but it was straighter and I didn’t remember highlights.

My hand was cold. Vinny was gesturing, talking with the girl, who held a tray of test tubes filled with a clear liquid. He handed over a few bills and took two, handing me one, leaning in toward her, and saying something in her ear before turning to me and shouting, "This is Ashley. She’s a friend of Felicia’s."

I nodded in what I hoped was a polite way before taking the test tube. I didn’t even sniff it; I downed the tequila shot and put the tube back. Vinny and Ashley were grinning at me, Vinny indicating he would buy me another. I shook my head and pointed back the way we came, not waiting for him, moving toward the door, then finally back out into the sauna outside.

A car passed, and I heard its motor rumble as it did. Okay, so I wasn’t really deaf. I hoped Vinny was getting some information about Felicia from Ashley. She’d been the only shot girl I’d seen, but then again, I hadn’t really been looking too hard.

A couple of guys were standing off to my left, cigarettes hanging from their fingers. That shot had brought back a taste I hadn’t had in a long time, and I inhaled the smoke, wondering if one cigarette could get me hooked again. It had been a few years since my last one.

I’d probably have a coughing fit and die on the sidewalk, just like Ralph.

I noticed one of them was looking at me, and I stared back.

"Hey," he said. His hair was spiky, an earring looped through one ear, and he was wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it.

I should’ve worn my Sturgis shirt again. Maybe I wouldn’t have been mistaken for a "ma’am" then.

Yeah, right.

He wasn’t hitting on me, since he was elbowing his friend in the ribs, a small smile on his face. He winked, but it wasn’t that sort of a wink—you know the kind. It was a teasing wink, one that questioned what the hell someone like me was doing here on a Friday night.

"Hi," I said, joining him and his two friends dressed almost exactly alike, except their black T-shirts weren’t sporting skulls. Might as well make the most of this. "You guys wouldn’t know if Felicia’s working in there tonight?" I cocked my head toward the door.

They glanced quickly at one another, smiles evaporating. The guy who’d winked frowned. "Who wants to know?"

It seemed pretty damn obvious who wanted to know: me. But I guess that wasn’t good enough. "Friend of a friend," I said.

That wasn’t good enough, either, since they started shifting from one foot to the other. The guy with the skull dropped his cigarette and ground it with the heel of his sneaker before asking, "What friend?"

I debated with myself for a second, then said, "Ralph Seymour."

"Guy who got killed last night?" the kid asked.

I nodded.

"You think she had anything to do with it?"

He hadn’t heard about the heart attack.

"Just want to talk to her."

"You a cop?"

I almost laughed out loud. Tom would have a field day with that one if he ever heard. "No. Ralph was my ex-husband."

Their eyes grew wide and they shifted again, but their eyes indicated curiosity.

"She’s not here tonight." The kid who spoke had a high voice, like it hadn’t changed yet, even though he had a goatee. "Not yet, anyway."

Shit. Was I going to have to stay here until closing just to see if she’d show up? I stifled a yawn. Where the hell was Vinny? Maybe I could leave him here and go home and go to bed. I calculated the blocks to my apartment. It wasn’t too far, although I’d probably have to take the shoes off—I was still sporting blisters from last night—and I wasn’t sure walking barefoot on the sidewalk was a smart thing to do.

Before I could make any sort of move, Vinny stepped out of Bar, took my elbow, and steered me across the street.

"She’s not here," he said.

"I know," I said, and he frowned.

"How?"

"Kids out front said she wasn’t. Where to next?" I put my hand over my mouth to cover up another yawn.

Vinny noticed. "Sorry I dragged you out," he said. "Let me take you home."

"But we have to find Felicia."

He didn’t respond as we made our way back to the Explorer. When we were settled in and on our way back toward Wooster Square, I put my fingers on his thigh, lightly tracing the muscle there. He glanced at me quickly, then back at the road. I took that as a green light and let my fingers do more of the walking, and when he looked at me again, I raised my eyebrows and grinned.

He didn’t grin back, but he didn’t move my hand.

Once the Explorer eased against the curb in front of my building, I felt pretty confident that I knew where this evening was finally headed. Vinny slung his arm around me as we ascended the stairs to my apartment, and when we got inside, he pushed the door shut and put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling my face to his and kissing me.

The heat I was feeling now had nothing to do with the air.

But just as quickly as he’d started, he stopped, staring into my eyes before moving away, pacing across my living room.

Something was wrong.

I let my eyes move around the room, taking in my space, the space I’d called home now for ten years. The Japanese print of Mount Fuji was on the wall behind the rocking chair. Ralph had given it to me as a wedding present. It was the only thing I had from him that I’d kept.

Vinny suddenly stopped pacing. He took my hand and led me to the rocking chair. I sat, and although I couldn’t see the Mount Fuji print anymore, I could feel it behind me.

Vinny knelt down in front of me and took my hands in his.

"I was in the bar last night when I heard the shots. I didn’t want to go through the front, but went out the side door, the one the deliveries come through. That’s where I went after I saw him kissing you." He paused. This wasn’t easy for him. I willed myself not to show any emotion. "I had a good view of the parking lot." His voice wavered slightly, and I’d never seen him like this before. My chest constricted, and I swallowed hard.

"I saw you leaning into the car, the gun in your hand. You put the gun under the seat."

Chapter 14

This wasn’t going the way I expected.

"You’re not going to deny it?" Vinny asked incredulously.

I shrugged. "What can I say? You’ve convicted me already."

"I waited all evening for you to say something, to tell me about last night, but you didn’t say a damn thing," he said.

"So you automatically think I’m guilty of something?" I glared at him. "We talked about last night. I told you he kissed me, that I kicked him."

I couldn’t look at him anymore, so I took a deep breath, reached back, pulled my hair up, and stretched my neck hard enough I heard it crack as I looked at the ceiling.

It was a light touch at first. The thin scars on his palms tickled my skin as his hands slid up my calves and under the skirt to my thighs. I shifted instinctively toward him as his fingers hooked around my underpants and tugged them down. My breath came faster; I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I had no idea that thinking I could shoot at my ex-husband would elicit this sort of a response, but my brain shut down as I felt his mouth on me.

Suddenly, he reached underneath me, yanking me closer to the edge of the chair. My head fell back as the chair rocked forward, slamming it against the rails, but I barely felt it. The wood was smooth under my ass. His hands slipped up under my shirt and unhooked my bra; my legs straddled his hips, grinding against the stiff cloth. His tongue teased my neck before his face shadowed mine, his eyes dark and smoky, a question in them.

He kissed me long and deep, stopping abruptly. I lifted my head slightly to meet his lips again, but he put a hand on my cheek, forcing me back. When he finally spoke, after a long moment, his eyes locked with mine, he said huskily, "Tell me you didn’t shoot at him."

I shook my head, uncertain if I could even speak—it was as if my body had completely taken over and there was no room for words anymore.

"Tell me," he said, not willing to let me out of it. "Why did you have your gun?"

I didn’t want to tell him. I sorted through the chaos in my head and finally said, "I’ve been getting phone calls."

Talk about killing a mood. He sat up—when did he have time to take off his shirt?—and I realized our moment was over, hooked my bra, and pulled my shirt back down. My skirt was still hitched up over my thighs, and I left it that way. Wishful thinking. Maybe this wouldn’t take too long.

"Phone calls from whom?" Vinny asked.

I shook my head. "I don’t know. The phone rings in the middle of the night, I answer, but no one’s there. Whoever it is hangs up."

Vinny frowned. "Not when I’m here."

"You’re not always here."

We’d tried to keep our nights together to four a week. We had to sleep sometimes.

"So it’s deliberately when I’m not here?"

I nodded, grabbing my underpants and shimmying back into them. Moment was most definitely over. Damn.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"It was only once in a while until about two weeks ago. Now it’s every night you’re not here."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I didn’t think much about it until recently," I said.

Vinny’s eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea who it might be?"

I frowned. "Why the twenty questions?"

"So you don’t? Have you tried calling star 69 to find out?"

I snorted. "Every time I try it, I can’t get shit. Some recording says the number I’m trying is blocked."

"Did you tell Tom about this?"

He wasn’t going to let up.

I shook my head. "No."

"But you’ve been carrying your gun around because of it?"

"Not so much because of it—"

"Jesus, Annie." Vinny stood up and started pacing around my living room. "Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why do I have to see you putting a gun in your car?"