by Shelly Ellis
She gazed at him, completely stunned. He was actually making this about him . . . about their having sex? What an ego this guy had!
“This has nothing to do with that, Keith!”
“Yes, it does. And I want you to know that you don’t have to try to get back at me for what I did. I know I was wrong for the way I handled it.”
“You really think that I’m going in there to get back at you?”
“Yes, I do, and you’re only putting yourself at risk by doing it. Look, I’ve tried repeatedly to make amends and start all over again with you, but—”
“Keith, this isn’t about us, damn it!” she snarled. “I’m not going in there to get back at you. I’m going in there to talk to the one man who might know where we can find Isaac! We’ve been to every shitty town within fifty miles trying to find this guy, and I’m not going to let him get away because you want to sit here twiddling your thumbs or talking about where we went wrong!” She flipped down the visor in front of her and opened her purse. She then pulled out her lipstick and a compact and gazed into the visor mirror. “You may have years of experience as a police officer and the ATF . . . You may even have experience being a detective, but I have experience at being a woman.” She pointed at her chest. “You say that you can’t just ‘roll up in there’ asking him questions, and you’re probably right. You can’t do it. But I can.”
“You really think that Big Red is going to be swayed by a pretty face and nice legs?”
She applied her lipstick and puckered her lips. She then opened her blush compact. She began to apply some to her cheeks. “Maybe. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“Stephanie, no woman is that gorgeous that a hardened criminal is going to just start spilling his guts because she winked at him. It doesn’t work that way. This isn’t the goddamn movies!”
She ran her fingers through her hair, admiring her reflection. “I know that, Keith, but what else have I got to lose?”
“Your life,” he said steadfastly, grabbing her wrist, catching her by surprise. His dark eyes gazed intensely into hers. “You could lose your life if you keep messing around, Steph. Or if not that, something else could happen to you in there. Don’t do this. It’s not worth it!”
She pulled her wrist out of his grasp and stared at him. “You’re just . . . just trying to scare me,” she said shakily. “I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine.”
“If I say I’m sorry, will that get you to stay? Will you give up this crazy idea of going in there alone, and let me handle this instead?”
She lowered her eyes. Her heart ached a little at his words.
But even if Keith said he was sorry, she knew he didn’t mean it. She could tell. He still thought she was some small-town floozy, a gold digger who had tried to use her body to win him over. He didn’t care about her welfare. He only cared that she was an unnecessary burden, some frustration that he had been lugging around with him since Virginia that he hadn’t been able to offload. He didn’t want her to go into the bar because he was worried about the drama she would unleash, but he didn’t have to be concerned. Like she told him, she was fully capable of taking care of herself. She could do this.
Stephanie gave her reflection one final glance before she flipped up the visor. She then dropped her lipstick and compact back into her purse and closed the zipper. She opened the car door.
“Steph!” Keith yelled. “Damn it, Stephanie!”
She stepped onto the wet asphalt and shut the door behind her, ignoring Keith’s calls. She then adjusted her denim skirt and jacket, pushed back her shoulders, and walked across the parking lot.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” a small voice in her head asked as she walked toward the bar.
Not really, but I’m not going back there now, she replied. She wouldn’t give Keith the satisfaction.
With each step she took she felt a growing mix of dread and excitement. A few men in the crowd near the door glanced her way and smiled. She smiled in return.
“Hey, baby,” one drawled to her. “Wanna dance?”
“Maybe later,” she said.
She was a Gibbons girl, after all. She had been trained her whole life for a moment like this. Big Red wouldn’t know what hit him by the time she was finished with him.
Chapter 26
Keith sat in the driver’s seat of his Ford Explorer, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for Stephanie. He glared down at the green digital numbers on the dashboard, then at the bar’s neon-lit doorway and grumbled loudly. She had been in the bar for almost two hours now.
What the hell is happening in there?
Of course, she wouldn’t text him or give him a call if she was having any problems. She was too proud to do something like that. But the least she could have done was send him a message to let him know she was OK.
He perked up when he saw the bar door open finally and he relaxed when a woman in a denim skirt stepped outside. It looked like Stephanie . . . but he couldn’t be sure. He squinted, trying to see her face as she walked out of the shadows and across the sparsely lit parking lot. His shoulders slumped when he saw her take a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket.
That definitely wasn’t Stephanie. She didn’t smoke.
In the glow of a street lamp, he could see the woman more clearly: the wrinkles that etched her brown, haggard face; the dark semicircles under her eyes; and her pinched lips. The jean skirt also looked about two sizes too small under closer inspection and her flowing dark hair was really a cheap wig.
The woman lit her cigarette and unceremoniously plopped on the hood of an old gray Cadillac parked in the row of cars facing his. He watched as she hunched over, tugging her jacket tighter around her to ward off the evening chill. Sensing his eyes on her, she suddenly looked up. Seeing Keith, she beamed.
“Hey, honey,” she called in her grainy smoker’s voice, tossing her fake hair over her shoulder. She stuck out her chest. “Lookin’ for a good time? Want some company tonight?”
Keith shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the barroom doors.
“Come on, baby,” she begged, taking a few steps toward his SUV, teetering slightly in her well-worn heels. “It won’t cost much. A good lookin’ man like you, I’ll even give a discount. Fifteen bucks for a hand job. Forty for a blow.”
No, he mouthed sternly, glowering at her.
She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes before plopping back onto the Cadillac’s hood. “Your loss,” she mumbled, before smoking her cigarette again.
Fifteen bucks for a hand job. Forty for a blow, Keith thought with disgust.
That was what Stephanie was competing with in there!
“Shouldn’t have let her go alone,” he mumbled to himself.
But what was he supposed to do, wrestle her to the ground? She was a grown woman and he had warned her, but she was so sure of herself, so hell-bent on proving she could do what Keith could not: squeeze information out of Big Red. She thought she could just bat her eyes, show some cleavage and some leg, and find out what they needed to know, but Keith knew better. If Stephanie wasn’t careful, she could easily get in over her head in there. Flirting and throwing on the charm may work with small-town millionaires, but men like Big Red were a lot rougher and dirtier. They would expect a lot more than a smile and an ass rub if you wanted to get something from them.
“And who says she wouldn’t be willing to do it,” a voice in Keith’s head mocked. “She did it with you.”
Oh, come on, he thought in reply. Even she has standards—and limits.
But Keith wasn’t so sure. He glanced at the dashboard again, resolving if Stephanie didn’t leave the bar in the next thirty minutes, he was going in after her. Thirty minutes. That’s how long he would wait. No longer. If he had to save her from herself, so be it!
With that declaration, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest, trying to calm his nerves. He took several deep breaths. It was an exercise
he had learned while in the ATF—how to focus, how to center himself before intense situations. It had seemed like mumbo jumbo when he first learned it, but it actually worked most times. He was supposed to visualize something serene. Keith focused until slowly, a vision came to mind. It was a crowded bar filled with people.
Not very serene, he thought.
He saw Stephanie holding Big Red’s chubby hand, guiding the gargantuan man through the throng of people in the bar into one of the back rooms. It looked like a utility closet filled with brooms, mops, and liquid detergents. He saw Big Red step inside first, then Stephanie squeeze in after him. It was a tight fit, but she managed. She winked and Big Red gave a big toothy grin, revealing his gold tooth. She then fell to her knees. Big Red licked his lips and leaned his head back against the wall. Stephanie lowered the zipper of his pants, stuck her hand inside, and . . .
“That’s it,” Keith thought, opening his eyes.
He threw open his car door and jumped down to the wet asphalt.
He wasn’t waiting another thirty minutes. He was going in there and dragging her ass out now!
Keith threw open the barroom door and was instantly hit by the smell of cigarette smoke and the heavy undercurrent of weed. The pungent haze burned his eyes, making them water.
He winced as he passed a wall speaker. The feedback nearly blew out his eardrum.
The blues band was playing at full throttle with a heavy bass and a driving rhythm that had several in the crowd screaming and shouting with delight. A few couples were grinding on the dance floor. One woman in a miniskirt and halter top who was nursing a bottle of beer did a lazy, drunken shimmy alone with her rolling eyes half-closed. A few people stood off to the side, pointing and laughing at her before one man grabbed her hand and roughly yanked her to one of the booths along the wall.
Keith’s eyes scanned the cavernous room. He looked at the bar, which was fifteen feet away. All of the bar stools were occupied, but none by Stephanie. The bartender—a rail-thin, dark-skinned man who stood in front of a glowing “Miller Lite” sign—simultaneously poured shots, smoked a cigarette, and watched Keith as Keith walked across the room. In his jaundiced eyes was a mix of mild curiosity and suspicion. Keith instantly stopped frowning. He relaxed his shoulders and loosened his fists. He didn’t want to raise any red flags this early—not until he found Stephanie, anyway. He nodded to the bartender. Though the old man still seemed wary, he nodded back at Keith.
Keith moved farther into the room, passing a few pool tables where men loudly talked trash and badly played pool. One bumped Keith’s shoulder as he passed.
“Watch where da fuck you goin’, man!” the surly player shouted over the music, glaring at Keith. His two front teeth were missing. So was his right eye. Keith decided that life had done enough to this man to let this one offense slide. He kept walking.
Keith drew closer to the back of the barroom and finally found Stephanie. She was sitting with Big Red at a table where the backwoods hustler held court with several other men. Two were the bodyguards who had come in with him.
Well, sitting with Big Red wasn’t an accurate description. It was more like Stephanie was sitting on him. She was perched on his ample lap, holding a perspiring beer bottle in her hand, throwing back her head as she laughed.
Keith was incensed. He watched as one of Big Red’s plump hands cupped Stephanie’s bottom while the other casually cradled her thigh. Keith instantly charged toward the table and when Stephanie saw him coming, her laughter died in her throat. She lowered her bottle and gazed at him quizzically.
Big Red noticed Stephanie had stopped laughing. He followed her gaze and stared up at Keith. He tilted his round head.
“Can I help you, brah?” he asked, revealing his 24-karat smile.
“No,” Keith answered succinctly. He then returned his attention to Stephanie. “Get up. It’s time to go,” he said firmly.
Stephanie blinked in amazement.
Big Red chuckled. “I don’t know. Don’t look like she’s fittin’ to go—least don’t look like it to me. Are you ready to go, baby?”
Stephanie hesitantly glanced at Keith’s stern face before looking back at Big Red. She laughed nervously and shook her head. “No, baby. I’m fine right here.”
“See that,” Big Red said, now gloating. He tightened his arm possessively around her waist. “She ain’t ready. So I think you need to move the hell along.”
“I wasn’t talking to you!” Keith barked, making Big Red’s smile disappear. “I was talking to her!” He suddenly returned his focus to Stephanie. “I said get up! It’s time to go!”
Stephanie gazed at Keith like she wasn’t sure if he was doing some great performance or if he was serious. Her eyes silently pled with him. “What the hell are you doing?” they asked.
“Baby, is this your man?” Big Red drawled.
“Uh . . .” Stephanie uttered anxiously. “Well, kinda yes . . . kinda no.”
“Then you better tell him to back the hell up, because he ’bout to get hurt!” Big Red sneered. He glared up at Keith. “You don’t know who you fuckin’ with!”
Suddenly, the two very large men who Keith had seen walking into the club with Big Red earlier now rose from the round table and slowly walked around it toward Keith.
Stephanie’s eyes widened with alarm. “Look, OK,” she said, putting down her bottle on the wooden table. She held up her hands and rose to her feet. “Really there’s no need for all of this. I’ll go! I just—”
Big Red roughly tugged her back down to his lap, catching her by surprise. She cringed after landing hard on his massive thigh.
“Nuh-uh, baby,” he said, pointing at her chest, “where the hell you think you goin’? No bitch walks out on Big Red. You go when I tell you that you can go!” With that taken care of, he suddenly glared up at Keith. “Look here,” he sneered, “I’m gonna—”
It was a split-second decision that Keith was sure he would later regret, but he did it anyway. The two bodyguards were drawing closer and Stephanie looked like she couldn’t get out of this situation even if she tried. So Keith did the only thing he could think of doing: he drew his gun.
Keith had contemplated leaving the Glock 22 back in his glove compartment before he came inside. He only had a license to carry in Virginia, not here in Florida. He could easily face a charge for gun possession carrying it around. Plus, he knew guns could make a bad situation twenty times worse in the wrong hands. He preferred for guns to be the last resort in a tight situation, not the first. But sometimes they couldn’t be avoided. You get backed into a corner and a gun could be the ultimate equalizer.
Before he pulled it out of the back of his waistband, he had glanced at the two men’s jackets and shirts as they approached to see if there was a telltale bulge to let him know they were carrying. He didn’t see any, but he knew that didn’t prove anything. Their guns could be tucked somewhere a lot more inconspicuous, but maybe not. Either way, it would take the guys some time to get to them. Thankfully, Big Red was too preoccupied with Stephanie to pull out his gun. So Keith took a chance—a massive one.
Everyone at the table gaped at him.
“What the . . . What the fuck?” Big Red murmured, loosening his grip on Stephanie. “Did this nigga just pull a gun on me?”
“Shit, she ain’t all that, man!” one of the bodyguards muttered, making Stephanie angrily furrow her brows.
Keith used the small window of surprise to his advantage. He grabbed Stephanie’s hand and yanked her toward him. He then wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Look over my shoulder and tell me if anyone’s coming toward me,” he said into her ear, keeping his gaze focused on Big Red and his bodyguards, keeping his Glock pointed at them.
“What?” she squeaked.
“Look over my damn shoulder and tell me if anyone is creeping up on me,” he whispered harshly.
She did as he ordered and slowly shook her head. “Uh, n-n-no . . . No one’s coming.”
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“I want you to keep lookin’,” he said. “I want you to walk quickly with me toward the door. Understood?”
Stephanie blankly nodded.
“OK, go!” he said, abruptly backing out of the room. Stephanie didn’t have time to argue. Before she knew it, she was being hauled off her feet.
Chapter 27
“Would you . . . put . . . me . . . down!” Stephanie shouted as Keith carried her toward his Ford Explorer.
One minute she was walking quickly out of the bar, trying to match his long strides; the next minute, her feet were dangling a good two inches off the ground.
She twisted and gave him a hard shove. Keith finally released her, dropping her like a heavy sack he was happy to be rid of. He tucked his gun back into his waistband.
Stephanie glared up at him. He glared back at her.
“Why did you do that?” she shouted in the parking lot, throwing up her hands. “He was telling me about Isaac! I had just found out where he was!”
“So why the hell were you still in there, huh? Were you hanging around for the ambiance?”
“I was gonna leave, Keith!”
“Then why hadn’t you left yet? You were in there for more than two goddamn hours! Why’d I have to come in after you?”
“You didn’t have to come in after me! I didn’t need you to come chasing me down like some psycho jealous boyfriend! What was that about?”
“I was saving you from yourself!”
Stephanie paused and screwed up her face in confusion. “What?”
“And it’s good I came in when I did! That slimy piece of shit had his hands all over you,” Keith yelled, curling his lip in revulsion, “and you were sitting on his lap like he was goddamn Santa Claus!”
She gazed at him, stunned. Keith threw open the driver’s-side door to his SUV and climbed inside. She opened the passenger-side door and climbed in beside him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, facing him. “Damn it! I told you that was what I was going in there to do! What did you expect?”