I met Mac in the street. “We are not going to shoot him unless he makes a move on one of us. Apparently, Julie and Striker were fighting earlier. We’ll assess what’s going on and try to defuse the situation and send him on his way. Then I’ll be calling Spoon and letting him know I have a relocation job. That way, he won’t be back.” I motioned for her to follow me.
“Your mother is lucky. Spoon is a bad boy without the criminal tendencies; in fact, a decent citizen, as far as I can tell,” Mac said. Spoon had a checkered past, but he’d overcome it and made something out of his life, and now gave back by helping others. He still had connections, but he kept his hands clean.
Liam ran across the street. “I want to come along,” he said when he handed me his keys.
“No, you will not!” My eyebrows went straight up. The thought of something happening to him had me rattled. “What happened to your eye?” It was red, with faint bruising around the corner.
“Striker elbowed me, claimed it was an accident.”
Mac retrieved her Beretta from a thigh holster and shoved it in the waistband of her skirt. “Any of your friends ask, tell them the other guy is in the hospital. You’ll get a rep for being a tough guy.” She smiled at Liam.
I winked at Liam and shook my head slightly, letting him know that was a bad idea. “You can sit in the Hummer and fiddle with the electronics. Figure out how Fab renders the GPS useless.”
“I accidently got Fab in trouble for that.” Liam frowned. “Creole came around the corner just as I asked her how she did it. They exchanged threats, and she stomped off while he was still talking. Creole said, ‘I’d like to strangle her.’ I told him that she was your best friend and you’d be angry. He thanked me for reminding him.”
I ruffled his hair. “You’re more mature than some of the adults around you. We’ll be back.” I turned to Mac. “Sneak attack—we unlock the door and surprise them.”
We cut diagonally across the street and skirted along the path through the banana trees that ended at the back of Cottage Two. From that vantage point, we had a good view of the front door and the rest of the driveway before making our final run.
“What if we’re wrong and they’re all lovey dovey?” Mac pulled off her mid-calf, full jean skirt and dumped it on a chair next to the office door as we passed. Her electric-yellow spandex shorts were quite a contrast to her white, ruffled cotton blouse.
“Then you apologize for us, and we leave.”
“Yeah, great,” Mac groaned. “How about ‘Striker, if you weren’t such an a-hole, we wouldn’t be here.’”
“Nice apology.”
Mac scoped out both sides of the cottage. She shook her head, which meant Striker wasn’t crawling out the bathroom window. He’d only get stuck, but that hadn’t stopped previous tenants from seeing it as a way to flee.
I pressed my ear to the front door. Even with the air conditioner on, I could hear a loud male voice. Looking at Mac over my shoulder, I knew that she could also hear it. I pulled my Glock, inserted the key in the lock, held up my fingers up, 1-2-3, and kicked the door open.
Julie and Striker had their backs to me. Both jumped and turned around with looks of shock, and the color drained from Julie’s cheeks.
“What the hell?” Striker yelled, taking a step forward.
I brandished my Glock. “Take another step, and I’ll shoot you. Do you want him to stay or go?” I asked Julie.
Striker grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her to his chest and wrapping his arm around her neck. “We’re leaving together, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“A records check shows that you’re on probation. Looking for a trip back to prison to finish your original sentence? Maybe even get some extra time?” I asked.
Julie gasped. “I thought that was all behind you.”
“You’re standing in the way of us being a family,” Striker insisted. He clearly believed his own delusions.
“Let go of my mom!” Liam yelled from the doorway.
“Liam, go back outside,” Julie said frantically.
Liam launched himself on Striker’s back, effectively breaking his hold on Julie. She jerked away. Striker rolled to one side, heaving Liam to the floor. The thud made me flinch.
“How could you?” Julie screamed at Striker, rushing past him, only slowing to kick him in the shin, which left him hopping as she scurried to her son’s side.
Mac waved her Beretta at Striker. “Julie’s brother is a sheriff. Want me to call him?”
“Do not call anyone, especially not Kevin.” Julie helped her son to his feet.
I made eye contact with Striker and aimed my Glock at his crotch. “Mac, you see this guy on my property again, shoot him.”
Julie moved in front of Striker, making herself a human shield. “It’s over.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ve moved on, and I’m in a relationship. You need to do the same. Please don’t come back here. I don’t want any dead bodies.”
Mac opened the door, keeping him in her sights.
Striker brushed by me. “This isn’t over, bitch,” he said to the room in general, grinding his teeth.
“Get moving.” Mac stepped away from the door and kept her distance. Once he cleared the outside steps, she followed him.
I shoved my gun back in the holster at the small of my back. “Are you okay?” I hugged Liam and whispered, “What happened to staying in the SUV?”
“It was cowardly, and I wanted to help,” he said, straightening up to his almost-six feet.
He had grown up in general and looked more like a young man than a teenager. He took after his Uncle Kevin, his brown hair bleached out by the sun, but Liam was a good inch taller and better-looking.
I looked over Liam’s shoulder and asked Julie, “You okay?”
Julie had clearly been crying, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “Thank you.” She looked ready to burst into tears again.
I felt sympathy for her, having made a few poor man-choices in my past. But the last thing I wanted was Striker lurking around and anyone getting hurt. “Striker ignored my first warning and came back. It’s not going to happen again. I have a problem-solver for these kinds of issues—Spoon.” When I first met Spoon, he’d offered me his “problem-solving services” for anything, big or small, and he’d never let me down.
Julie said, “But—”
“Mom, it’s better for someone else to send him packing; that way, he won’t blame you.” Liam put his arm around her. I caught his eye and inclined my head towards the door. “I’m going outside,” he said abruptly, and headed out.
I cleared my throat rather than saying something inappropriate to get Julie’s attention. “This way, by the time Brad finds out, Striker will be long gone, and my brother won’t end up in jail for killing his useless ass. You know my brother’s protective when it comes to you and your son, don’t you?”
“Brad doesn’t—”
I held up my hand and struggled not to yell. “Oh yes, he does need to know.” My words still came out louder than I wanted. “Take it from someone who’s had to deliver less-than-positive news in the past. He might flip, but not as bad as he will if he hears it from someone else. You can’t hide this. This is a small town, and even smaller when it comes to gossip. If anyone saw Mac escorting him off the property with her gun drawn, that tidbit will have raced down the block already and soon to be hot news on the dock.”
“If you hadn’t barged in,” she bristled, “I could’ve handled Striker, talked sense into him, convinced him that we’d both moved on.”
How many women believed that right up until something bad happened?
“Sometimes a person needs help,” I said in exasperation. “You can ask any of us at any time. I would never say no and neither would Fab or Mother.”
Her shoulders sagged. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my booking.”
“I can take Liam to my house, and you can pick him up when you’re done with your voiceover
.”
Julie hesitated. “Are you going straight home?”
What was she asking?
She noticed my questioning stare. “I just don’t want him to go on a job with you.”
“I would never do that.” I tried not to sound offended, but I was. “I’m only stopping at the Farmer’s Market. If you think it’s better for him to stay here by himself, then I rescind the offer.”
“I just worry and will probably do so even after he’s married with kids of his own.” She grabbed a large tote bag that was stuffed full. “I need to apologize to him before I leave and reassure him it won’t happen again.”
“Liam loves you. He called me because he was worried Striker would hurt you. If it weren’t for him, you could also be sporting a black eye. Or worse.”
“That was an accident,” she said emphatically.
“Are you sure? Liam doesn’t think so.” I couldn’t tell what the woman was thinking. She maintained a neutral expression, having gotten her emotions under control.
Julie flew out the door and across the driveway to where Liam stood. He met her in the middle, and they shared a few words. They laughed, and he picked her up and twirled her around, setting her back on her feet.
I closed up the cottage and double-checked the locks.
Mac beelined in my direction, holstering her gun. She’d retrieved her skirt and pulled it back on as she moved to join me, concealing that she carried.
“Where did Striker go?” I whispered to her.
“Loser got into a junker a few houses down; had to crank the engine several times before it kicked. Then he used Corker’s driveway to turn around, damn near hitting a parked car, and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.” Mac craned her head and scanned the street.
“You’re the best. But don’t expect a raise,” I warned.
“In lieu of money, I’d consider us even if you’d let me shoot the next loser.”
“Who’d deal with the sheriff and the paperwork?” I asked.
“Killjoy.”
Julie continued to laugh as she climbed in to her RAV, honking and waving as she exited the driveway.
I handed Liam back his keys. “Let’s go have fun.”
“Is Granny coming over?” he asked with a smirk.
I started laughing. “I dare you to call Mother that to her face.”
Chapter 36
The non-stripping female employees at the Gentleman’s Club all wore the same costume—a black bustier with a full skirt that didn’t quite brush the bottom of their butt cheeks. Tilly had informed us that we had to purchase our own G-strings. I had to pinch myself to keep from making a retching noise as I wondered how I would withstand ten-hour shifts with floss in my crack. I compromised on a pair of lacy boy shorts that I knew would be wedged there before the night was over.
Twirling in front of the mirror, I admired my elevated cleavage, admitting that it looked damn impressive. Maybe I could borrow this outfit for a sexy dinner at Creole’s. I fished out a pair of black onyx earrings from my jewelry box and a matching bracelet watch, a gift from Mother. When I bent at the waist, the round part of my cheeks flashed me in the mirror. My legs were tan, so I ditched the stocking idea and shoved my feet into low, chunky-heeled pumps with a strap. I twisted my curls into a loose bun and used a big clip to hold it all in place.
The plan to tell the guys at the last minute had fight potential written all over it, so I fessed up to Creole the night we accepted the job. It took him so long to respond, I got nervous, wondering if this would be the job where he’d draw the line and demand I bail on Brick. He grilled me on the details and extracted a promise that Fab and I would work the same shifts and leave the club together. If there was a hint of trouble, he’d better be my first call and not be told after the fact.
Creole and I had spent the day together, walking on the beach and tossing a Frisbee. We ended up on the deck overlooking the water at Bart’s waterfront dive, sharing a grilled seafood platter. Then I enticed him into his big bed, telling him I was in desperate need of a nap so I wouldn’t fall asleep on the job. We arrived back at my house in time for me to change my clothes and get to my first day on the job early.
After one last look in the mirror, I grabbed a sweatshirt jacket that would cover my backside for a just-in-case moment and crept to the stairs to survey the room before being seen.
The element of surprise eluded me. Creole’s and Didier’s heads immediately snapped up from where they sat opposite each other across the coffee table, commandeered for a game of poker. I contemplated a sexy entrance, slinging my leg over the banister, à la saloon girl from the old west, and sliding down. A flash of me tumbling over the railing headfirst made me reconsider. I descended the stairs, holding eye contact with Creole and adding just enough wiggle to my step to give him something to think about.
Creole wolf-whistled and cheered. Standing, he met me at the bottom of the steps, hand out.
I slipped my hand in his.
“You look really hot,” he rumbled into my ear, nibbling on the lobe. “Now go upstairs and put some clothes on. I’m thinking sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt.”
“Very nice, chérie.” Didier checked me out from head to toe.
“Close your eyes,” Creole barked at him.
“Ta da.” Fab stood at the top of the stairs, arms spread wide over her head, making her entrance like an exotic dancer. Not a stumble.
Creole kept me glued to his side as Fab breezed by into Didier’s outstretched arms.
“You two are not to be separated.” Creole looked down at me, then over at Fab. “Didier and I are in agreement about how much danger you will place yourselves in, and it’s a very low bar. Right, Fab?”
Fab glared back at him.
Didier tightened his hold on his girlfriend. “Fab reassured both Creole and I that this job was about gathering information and handing it over to Brick for him to take action, and that the two of you won’t be involved with that part. Correct?” Didier scrutinized us, one dark brow arched. “I’d like to hear a verbal confirmation that there will be no misunderstandings.”
I wanted to laugh at the frustration on Fab’s face. She’d never outright lie to him.
“You have my word,” I reassured both men. “No playing the hero, even if I have to put a bullet in your girlfriend’s a…backside to stop her.”
“You need backup for any reason—” Creole raised his voice slightly to reinforce his order. “Call or text the first number on your speed dial. I’ve arranged for a friend who lives out there in a shack he’s named ‘The Palace’ to show up. He assured me he can be there in five minutes. You’ll recognize him straight-off; he dresses in camo and smells rank.”
I smiled up at him. “You know the most interesting people.”
“This is a pot/kettle situation, considering the people you know. It amazes me – you can call the most unlikely people, and they never say no.”
Fab snorted. “That comes from her folksy, ‘How’s the family?’ crap. Ouch.” She stepped away from Didier, hands on her hips, and glared. “It’s true,” she huffed.
“Come on, sister.” I held out my arm. “Nice boobs,” I said with admiration as I looked at them neatly on display.
Fab ran a finger across her cleavage. “They came out good, didn’t they?” She smiled down at them.
Creole and Didier laughed.
“Only girls can get away with those kinds of compliments,” Creole sighed. “You two look hot.” He shook his finger. “Stay out of trouble.”
Didier took Fab in his arms, murmured something in French, and kissed her.
Creole laughed again.
Fab turned. “Eavesdropper.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, eavesdropper extraordinaire,” Creole grinned at her.
Chapter 37
One hour into my shift working the dressing room at The Gentleman’s Club, and I loathed it. My toes felt swollen, trapped in tight leather. I’d do anything to wear a pair of
flip-flops. The dancers would probably laugh at me; not a single one complained about strutting around in killer stilettos. I worried about Fab serving drinks to the drunks but knew she could handle men of any age.
My preconceptions about strippers were blown to bits after meeting the girls. A couple of them I’d met before, but by silent agreement, nothing slipped out indicating that we had met previously at Brick’s. Not after they were warned by the boss himself to keep quiet or else.
“Or else” had me wondering what action he would take, but I didn’t ask.
Most of the women had families to support and, in a couple of cases, children’s private-school education to pay for. There were a few working their way through college, who knew it couldn’t be done on minimum wage. Others were looking for a daddy. Few saw it as a long-term option, with the exception of a couple looking to get into management.
Brick had hired almost all female staff, except for a half-dozen burly men that guarded the exits; however, a woman was in charge of security. He’d given us the name of the two girls we had to befriend and snoop into their private lives—Octavia and Delight. I noticed a third girl, Nala, who showed up for her shift with a shiner, claiming to have run into a kitchen cabinet door. She spent quite a bit of time in front of the mirror, slathering on makeup to hide it.
The manager, Tilly, informed us on our arrival that the edict from Brick was that Fab work the floor as a trainee cocktail waitress and I the dressing room. We arrived early. The music was blaring and not all the tables were filled, but they were at half-capacity.
Given the choice, I’d rather be the cigar girl. I had a minute to chat with her while helping to fasten the tray across her shoulders, which she insisted didn’t hurt. She laughed, saying the harness she used forced her to have perfect posture. The tips were excellent, and due to her costume, the touchy-feely by over-amorous customers was kept to a minimum.
I helped the girls with their costume changes, fetched accessories, and refilled cold drinks, all the while asking questions under non-stop, frenzied activity. Fab had whispered a reminder to skim through the girl’s belongings when I got a chance. I balked at that idea, knowing I’d be tempted to shoot anyone I caught doing that. There wasn’t any reasonable explanation; they’d be convinced I was stealing.
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