She was with two other women, and all three seemed to be having fun—smiling and talking as they watched the mob gyrating on the dance floor. A man in his early thirties approached Amber and put his arm around her waist as he whispered something in her ear.
“Hot. The word you’re looking for is hot. Why would a woman this beautiful have to turn tricks for a living?” Jack mused.
“They all have their reasons.”
“Her friends don’t look like…colleagues,” Jack said, her gaze fixed on the trio. “Do you think she’s picking that guy up?”
“Could be.” Lucky bastard. “But I doubt it’s work-related. She’s not dressed for the occasion.” Chase knew working girls always dressed to seduce, and although Amber certainly looked sexy, she wasn’t in the usual working-girl attire. Besides, Priscilla had said Amber saw only one customer at the brownstone. That didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t making something on the side by picking up other guys, but her behavior tonight didn’t support that theory. She didn’t seem interested in the man beside her, or in flirting with any of the others in the club, for that matter.
“If she leaves with him, we can follow and get her alone when she’s done,” Jack said. “Eyes only for now.”
“Difficult, but I’m not complaining.”
“True martyr.”
“You never answered. Vice?” Chase asked, while they both followed Amber’s every move.
“Porn.”
“Still?”
“I haven’t been near it since Cass.”
“You’ll go back. Revisit your collection. Marital bliss is nothing but a contradiction in terms.”
“Seriously, what’s fucked you up so bad?”
“Life. And I’m returning the favor.”
“He’s getting pushy.” Jack leaned over the railing to get a better look.
Chase had seen it, too. The guy’s hands were all over Amber, who was trying politely to push him away. She got irritated every time she saw this happen to any woman. Some assholes thought they could do whatever they wanted. Paid for or not, no jerk had the right to hurt a woman. “I’m going down.”
“What are you doing?” Jack called after her as she headed for the stairs.
“Introducing myself. It’s time to get some answers.”
Chase stopped a few feet away and watched as the guy tried to palm Amber’s ass. She shot him a nasty look, but he was undeterred.
“Come on baby, give me a chance.” He slurred his words.
“I’m not interested,” Amber replied. “Now, please, leave me alone.”
“Just one kiss.” The man pulled Amber close and tried to kiss her.
Chase quickly closed the few steps between them and jerked the guy back by his collar. “The woman asked you to disappear, yet you’re still here.”
The guy pivoted for a face-to-face confrontation, but soon realized he had to look up to accomplish that. “Who the hell are you, butch?”
Amber looked relieved.
“Her lover, gnome.”
The man turned from her to Amber, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “You’re kidding me.”
Amber smiled and gazed provocatively at Chase with doe-soft hazel eyes. “What took you so long, honey?”
Chase released the drunk’s collar and pushed him aside. “Got tied up at the office, baby,” she replied, and gave Amber a slow kiss on the softest lips she’d ever encountered. Amber didn’t pull away; in fact, she put her arm around Chase’s waist and cuddled up against her.
The tipsy suitor shook his head. “No fucking way,” he said as he headed off in pursuit of more available companionship.
“Keep walking,” Chase called after him.
Amber pulled her arm away as soon as the guy disappeared into the crowd. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you with that kiss. I’m Brett Coltrane,” Chase said, using only the first name the EOO had given her to use as cover for this job. As she always did, she altered the last name to pay homage to one of her favorite musicians: this time, John Coltrane.
“Heather. And you didn’t.”
How ironic, Chase thought, that she was the one using a fake name tonight. The woman’s answer confirmed her suspicion she wasn’t working the club. Amber was her escort alias. “I haven’t been here in years.”
“It’s my first time. The girls dragged me here.”
Chase looked over to Heather’s friends only to verify her original assessment. Married soccer moms with station wagons. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d say whatever you’re having, but I don’t like alcohol,” Heather replied.
“You can ask for what I’m having if you don’t mind Diet Coke.” Chase smiled and lifted her glass. “I don’t drink.”
Chapter Nine
November 18, 1:40 a.m.
Heather had to look away for a moment and pretend to study the crowd. Her charming savior unnerved her in an exciting and totally unfamiliar way. She’s gorgeous, has the most penetrating blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and she doesn’t drink. “I think we’re the only ones,” she finally replied.
“Join me at the bar for a Coke?” Brett asked.
Heather gestured toward the bar and Brett led the way. The drunk was a moron for calling Brett butch, she thought. Androgynous was a better word. Yes, she had a certain swagger to her walk, and her clothes—black button-down shirt, black jeans, leather boots— encased a tall frame that was all lean athleticism. But Brett was decidedly feminine as well. Her short blond hair, cut stylishly, with long bangs, gave her face a softness that matched her low, melodic voice. And her incredibly long eyelashes and full, soft lips, along with the curves of her high, round breasts, were all woman.
Brett embodied the type of woman she found irresistible, and she possessed a certain arrogance and confidence that drove Heather crazy. Why had those attributes put her off-kilter so easily? She hadn’t let anyone tempt her in years, and had especially steered clear of relationships once she started working for Direct Connect. No lover would support or even understand her decision and need to take that course, and she was in no mood to explain or excuse herself. The last time she’d dated or had been involved had been… She thought a moment. More than two years ago, she realized with a start. Had it really been that long?
That had also marked the last time she’d had sex with a woman. Although a lesbian, she refused to see female customers for Dario. Sex with women was too personal, too much a part of who she actually was and therefore not up for purchase. She’d dated men until she was nineteen, when she fell in love, her eyes finally open to the allure of women and her true sexuality. After that, she hadn’t looked back. She’d had a total of three relationships and no one-night stands. All three partners, however, had complained about her obsessive need to take care of her brother, and for that reason, none of the unions lasted more than three years.
Heather never cried when they ended. Her brother was her priority, and if she had to make sacrifices as long as he lived, then so be it. They had only each other and she would never let him down.
As Brett closed in on the ridiculously crowded bar, Heather tight behind her, the shoving intensified as people jockeyed for space to place orders or sought opportunities for groping and caresses. Heather tried to steady herself as bodies pushed up behind her, but her high heels made it impossible, so she put her arms around Brett’s waist to keep from falling against her.
The crush of the mob left little room to breathe. When Brett turned around slowly, a raised glass in each hand, every part of their bodies rubbed up against each other. As Heather tried to ignore the sudden rush of exhilaration coursing through her, Brett flashed her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” Heather shouted over the music and voices. “I can’t help it. It’s a madhouse.”
Brett looked at her for a long time and finally brought her mouth to Heather’s ear. “I quite like that you can’t help yourself,” she whispered.
&
nbsp; Heather shivered at the sound and touch of Brett’s lips against her ear. Unsettled, she pulled her head away and they edged through the crowd around the bar to an area less congested. “So what do you do, Brett?” she asked, eager to change the topic.
“Graphic novelist.”
“I don’t read them, but my brother’s a fan. I take them over to him every week.”
“What does he read?”
“Uhm, let’s see. Hellraiser, Sandman, Walking Dead, Watchmen, and Landor the Demon.”
Brett grinned. “We should exchange numbers, then, in case he ever wants the last one signed.”
“You know the author?”
“As much as anyone can know themselves.”
“No way! Landor the Demon?”
“Yes.”
“It’s his favorite. He’ll have a fit if I tell him I met the creator. I’d love to get an autographed copy.”
Brett fished her cell out of her pocket. “Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call you when the next issue is released. We can get a cup of coffee and I’ll personalize it however you want.”
Heather thought about this. She rarely gave her number to anyone, never to strangers. The cell was exclusively for her brother, work, and friends.
Brett must have noticed her hesitation. “That’s okay. You don’t know me so—”
“No, it’s not a problem.” She gave her number before she changed her mind. “Make it out to Adam, if you would.” Her brother would be thrilled, and he had so little reason to smile these days she just had to take the risk.
“And what’s your last name, Heather?” Brett asked, still in the process of entering Heather’s name into her phone.
Heather laughed. “This is getting personal.”
“Would you like it to get personal?” Brett asked as she put the phone away.
“I don’t have time for personal, I’m afraid.”
“Married, career before pleasure, or both?” Brett asked.
“Career.”
“What do you do?”
“I work for a small fashion house,” Heather said. “Mostly running errands, but I hope to join the big boys one day.”
“What do you do when you’re not on the clock?”
“I take care of my brother. He has chronic kidney disease. What time I have left, I spend on my own designs.”
“And all of the above prevent you from seeing anyone.”
“Let’s just say I’m not willing to burden another with certain aspects of my life. Nor am I prepared to change the status quo to please them.”
“I don’t consider taking care of a sick sibling something that should be negotiated or judged. Unless, of course, that’s not the whole story.” Brett raised one brow, insinuating she knew Heather wasn’t being entirely straight with her.
Heather, taken aback by Brett’s insight, had to look away. “You’d be surprised.”
“At what people can run from, or at what the whole story is?”
Where was Brett going with these questions? Heather wasn’t sure, but she felt increasingly uncomfortable. “The first,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Of course. The first,” Brett said with an edge of sarcasm.
“Uhm, you know what? I should really get back to my friends— round the party animals up and get going. I have to be up early and I’m done with the loud music.” Heather knew she was babbling, but she didn’t want to leave an opening for further conversation.
Every time anyone pushed her for personal information, her paranoia made it seem as though her escort job was somehow suddenly public knowledge. She knew she risked running into a client, but most of her johns, if not all, were married and wouldn’t even acknowledge her outside the brownstone. But what if someone did, or pointed her out to a friend? Heather didn’t want to think about that right now, didn’t even want to entertain the thought that Brett knew what she did. As always, Heather figured if she made a quick exit, she’d be safe.
“I hope we meet again.” Brett sounded sincere.
“Call me when you have the next issue,” Heather said, and turned to walk away.
“I will.” Chase watched Heather disappear into the crowd, surprised at her inexplicable feeling of frustration. Their interaction had yielded some useful information, but it had spurred more questions than answers. Heather was definitely more complicated than the call girls she knew, with perhaps more valid reasons for doing what she did. And her sexuality intrigued Chase. Heather was undoubtedly lesbian. Yet Priscilla had said she never did girls on the job. She knew it wasn’t unusual for lesbian call girls to reserve same-sex coupling for their private lives. But if that was the case, why had Heather bolted when they were obviously attracted and were in one of the city’s most notorious pick-up clubs?
No, she wasn’t at all the kind of call girl Chase was used to. For a moment, she regretted she’d never gotten the chance to find Heather for an evening during the countless times she’d called agencies in New York.
Jack materialized by her side, jerking her from a vivid daydream about what an encounter with Heather might be like.
“It’s about time. I thought we might be here all night,” Jack said.
“I couldn’t very well tell her I knew she was a call girl and ask about her client.”
“So what do you have?”
“I’ll tell you back at the hotel. Let’s get out of here.”
“Tell me now.”
“It’s too damn loud in here, okay?” Chase said, irritated.
“What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Nothing. I just need some fresh air.” Chase wanted a moment of peace to reflect on her interaction with Heather. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the woman unsettled her. Maybe because Heather was so opposite what she expected. She was classy, graceful, well spoken. A dedicated sister and a woman with dreams. A woman whom Chase, under normal circumstances and in another life, before she swore off feelings and relationships, would have…Would have what? “I’ll be outside. Move it or take a cab back.” She pushed past Jack and headed for the door without looking back.
Jack caught up just as she reached the car, halfway down the block. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Chase got in and started the engine. “Nothing.” She pulled away from the curb and headed toward the hotel.
“And those were my thirty seconds of caring,” Jack said. “Now, what happened with the prostitute?”
“Stop calling her that. Her name is Heather.”
“Fine. Whatever. Do you think she had something to do with the money transfer?”
“I doubt it, but we can’t exclude the possibility. She did volunteer that she’s taking care of her sick brother, which has to require significant funds.”
“Is that her story for turning tricks?”
“I think she was sincere, but I’ll have Reno do a thorough background on her.”
Jack dialed Reno’s number and Chase relayed what she knew.
Once at the hotel, Jack hesitated outside her door. “I saw her give you her digits. Are you going to call her?”
“I told her I would.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“I said soon.”
“What the hell, Landis? Are your boxers in a knot because you didn’t get to hit and quit the hooker?” Jack said, a little too loud.
Chase hated the term anyway, but to hear it right now made her want to punch Jack. Her hands curled into fists. The problem was, the action would have been too complicated for even Chase to analyze. She forced herself to calm. “I’m going to bed.”
Jack propped her shoulder against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “In case you haven’t been informed, I’m the one running the show. You’re here to assist me because Pierce blackmailed me into taking you along. So drop the attitude and give me answers. Cass’s life is at stake, and I’m not in the mood to put up with your shit. Understood?”
; Chase took a few steps and came eye to eye with Jack. “I am nobody’s assistant.” She poked Jack on the chest. “This is my bus, and if you want to continue riding it, it would be wise to get off my case. I’ve worked solo for over ten years and there’s a good reason for that.”
“Let me guess. It’s because you’re crazy.”
“It takes a certain amount of crazy to survive what we see, and that applies to all of us,” Chase said, referring to her EOO colleagues.
“Then it’s because you—”
“It’s because no one can be trusted. No soldier, no op, no government.” Chase smiled. “And especially no deserter.” She barked the last.
“Fuck you,” Jack shouted, and pushed Chase away roughly. Chase hit the wall across the narrow hall. “You have no idea what they did to me, so fuck you for taking their side,” Jack said, and slammed the door to her room.
Chase checked her watch and went quietly toward her own room. She knew she was giving Jack a hard time for going AWOL, but if Jack thought they could pick up where they’d left off, she was mistaken. And neither was Chase going to take a backseat on this mission and let someone she couldn’t trust call the shots. A fellow op was missing and she would do her best to get her back, but she was doing it because it was her duty and not for Jack. Jack had lost the right to expect any favors when she lied, deceived, and ran from the only friend she’d ever had.
She called her publisher and asked him to courier a proof copy of next month’s Landor the Demon to the hotel, so she’d have something in hand if and when she needed to see Heather again. She spent the next half hour making her already tidy hotel room more to her liking. The maid had been in, but Chase stripped the bed, inspected the bedding, and remade it with military precision. Then she refolded the towels, scrubbed the bathroom, arranged the drapes, and neatly centered the items on the desk. Finally satisfied, she took a warm shower, hoping it would defuse her irritation and restlessness. When that didn’t work, she grabbed her sketchpad and sat on the bed, distractedly penciling in some artwork for her next installment.
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