White Knight

by Mari Carr

  She rubbed her eyes wearily, too tired to think. She couldn’t keep trying to exist from day to day. When she’d come to L.A., she’d had a plan, a goal. She looked one last time at the comfortable bed, wishing she could lay her head on the pristine white pillow. Then she stood up and headed back to the bar.

  “How you doin’, kid?” Bill asked.

  Shea had instantly liked the bartender. He was a gruff-looking man—ex-Marine, according to Emma—in his mid-forties. He was quick to laugh and just as quick to eviscerate rude drunks. As long as patrons behaved at his bar, all was well.

  “Fine. I finished cleaning in the theater.”

  “Great. The other gals took care of the dance floor area and the bar. I’m just about to finish a few things. You mind checking the bathrooms for me one last time? Make sure there aren’t any drunks curled up in the corner and the lights are off.”

  She grinned. “I don’t mind. I’ll do it before I head out.” The back door to the club led to a parking lot. Shea recalled seeing an all-night diner across the street from the lot. Maybe she could have a cup of coffee there, caffeine up and try to figure out her next move. If she could remain awake until daybreak, she could hit the subway with the commuters and head back to the cheap motel to catch a few hours of sleep on the lumpy mattress.

  “Oh hey. Here’s your bag.”

  She’d asked Bill to stow her duffel behind the bar. She was ashamed to say everything she owned in the world was in that bag. He’d remarked on the size of it when she’d come to work, but mercifully hadn’t questioned her. “See you tomorrow, Shea.”

  She took the bag and hitched it onto her arm. “Good night, Bill.”

  Walking down the hallway, she heard Bill humming as he worked. She opened the door to the men’s room, peering inside. The place was empty. Switching the lights off, she crossed the hall to the women’s bathroom. It was also deserted.

  She recalled the bed on stage…the clean sheets, the soft mattress.

  An idea formed. A terribly stupid idea.

  Glancing back toward the bar, she noticed Bill had gone to the kitchen. She took a deep breath for courage—then walked into the bathroom and turned off the lights.

  The room was plunged into darkness and her heart began to race. Her earlier exhaustion gave way to nervousness and fear. What the hell was she doing?

  Feeling her way across the room, she let herself into the stall farthest from the door. Sitting down on the toilet, she waited in silence. Too many minutes later, she heard the sound she’d been dreading and anticipating. She lifted her feet and sat frozen. The back door opened then closed. She heard a lock being thrown into place.

  Shea remained where she was for fifteen minutes longer then lowered her feet and stood.

  She’d done it. She was locked in the club. Christ, she was insane. She’d just gotten the job and with one foolish, rash act, she’d probably jeopardized it.

  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her mini-flashlight. Switching it on, she pulled off the white blouse and black mini Emma had supplied her with earlier. She didn’t want to wrinkle the material since she’d have to wear it again tomorrow and she certainly didn’t have an iron.

  She pulled on a t-shirt and loose sleep shorts, brushed her teeth then left the bathroom, walking toward the stage, grabbing a blanket from the hutch along the way. If she was going to lose her job, she’d at least make it worth her while. When she reached the bed, she slipped off her shoes and lay down. She covered herself with the simple blanket but didn’t dare crawl between the sheets, already feeling guilty for taking advantage of Emma’s kindness. She took out her small travel alarm clock and set it for eleven. She prayed no one found her. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, she’d be smarter, be able to figure out what the hell she should do next. For tonight, she was too tired and the bed was too soft.

  * * * *

  Travis watched his new waitress curl up on the bed and fall asleep. He had watched her all night as she’d worked. Emma had stopped by after the show to tell him how impressed she was with the new girl’s waitressing abilities.

  He didn’t give a damn about her drink-slinging talents. Travis had been fascinated by her face. She was pretty, but it was the look of determination and—for lack of a better word—hunger that caught his eye. He recognized the exhaustion, the desperation and fear written there. He’d come to know those emotions well. He also felt a definite attraction. That would come as a surprise to Emma, who often accused him of taking the California-girls dream too far. He typically surrounded himself with tall, slim, suntanned blondes. Shea, with her dark hair, pale complexion and curvaceous body, didn’t fit that bill.

  He’d watched her walk into the women’s room on one of the security monitors and been surprised when she didn’t come back out. After Bill locked up, he’d waited patiently. She didn’t disappoint him. Travis watched her sneak out with flashlight in hand. He picked up his phone, ready to call the police. However, her attire confused him and he paused. She appeared to be dressed in pajamas.

  When she walked to the stage and lay down on the bed, he rose, watching her through the two-way glass. That was when he realized her goal wasn’t robbery, it was rest.

  He stood watching her for nearly half an hour. Once he decided the exhausted girl was deeply asleep, he quietly crept down the stairs at the back of the stage. Shedding his shoes at the foot of the staircase, he padded across the stage until he stood next to her. Dim lighting from his open office door illuminated her face.

  Shea Landon. Emma had told Travis her name. While he was typically absent from the main parts of the club, there was very little that happened in the place he didn’t know about.

  He was curious about the petite woman. Reaching down, he picked up her duffel bag, retrieving the mini-flashlight she’d used earlier. He didn’t feel guilty about searching her stuff. After all, the woman was squatting in his club. Best to make sure she didn’t have a weapon.

  Her bag didn’t answer his questions. If anything, it added more. There were several changes of clothing, some toiletries, a wallet and four books—all of them reminding him of the romance novels he’d been reading lately. Who the hell was this woman?

  He replaced her things and put the duffel back on the floor. Shea rolled over and curled into a ball, nearly losing her blanket in the process. Travis slowly and carefully pulled the blanket up until it once more covered his sleeping waitress.

  He was losing his mind. If he had half a brain, he’d wake her and fire her ass. Shea mumbled something incoherent and he grinned.

  “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he whispered.

  She sighed, but didn’t stir.

  Fuck it. He wasn’t going to fire her. Where was the fun in that?

  He climbed the stairs to his office, shutting the door. Usually he headed to his apartment but he didn’t want to leave Shea alone. Grabbing a blanket from the chair, he lay down on the couch. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt sleepy, his usual insomnia remaining at bay. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was of Shea. He didn’t know who she was, but she’d done something no one had done in a very long time.

  Surprised him.

  * * * *

  The waves crashing on the shore pulled him from his restless slumber. Lord Travis Knight had been home nearly six months and the sea still tormented him. The sounds that had comforted him throughout his childhood were now threatening, reminding him too much of the terror he’d barely escaped when the war with Napoleon finally ended, the cursed emperor at last exiled to Elba. May he rot in hell there.

  Travis had never feared the ocean before, but now the thunderous roar reminded him of the sound of a thousand horses’ hooves, hammering out a deadly beat as they approached. Death following behind with her arm raised, sword in hand, recklessly taking lives without thought, without care.

  He stroked the long scar on his left cheek, recalling how closely Death had come to claiming him. Sometimes in the midst of
a cold, dark night, he quietly prayed to her, begging her to finish the job.

  A loud banging at the door disturbed the perpetual silence that permeated every crack and crevice of his home. He’d lost his parents to a fever while at war. They’d left him to wear an ancient, unwanted title, alone in this musty old mausoleum.

  The knocking at the door continued. Finnegan would answer it and send the usurper on his way. Travis lay back on his bed and sighed heavily as he faced the beginning of yet another endless day.

  “Milord?”

  Travis glanced toward the door as Finnegan opened it and entered. The man had served under Travis’ command in the regiment. It was Finnegan who had saved his life on the battlefield, delivering him home and tending to his wounds. After Travis recovered, Finny stayed on, taking on the role of butler, valet and jack-of-all-trades.

  “What?” Travis let his annoyance show.

  “You have a visitor, sir.”

  Travis raised his eyebrow, equal parts anger and surprise. “I don’t see callers. You know that. Send whoever it is on their way.”

  When Finny didn’t leave the room, Travis stared, frowning at the unflappable old warhorse as he fidgeted, ill at ease.

  Finny cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I tole her you don’t see no one, but—”

  “Her?”

  “Lady Landon, from the estate next door.”

  Travis groaned. It seemed his reprieve was over. The only reason he’d been spared so long was because Shea had been in London for the season when he returned home. She’d stayed in the city longer after her mother had taken ill and needed care. It appeared the elder Lady Landon had recovered well enough to make the trip home at last.

  Travis dressed quickly, not bothering to check his appearance in the mirror. Shea was certain to find fault with it regardless.

  Finny directed him to the parlor where she was waiting.

  Travis paused at the door, mentally preparing himself. Shea Landon was his oldest friend in the world, the two of them having grown up together. She was also a bluestocking, far too outspoken and opinionated for his peace of mind.

  Conversations with Shea often left him off guard. She knew him too well and he feared she’d make him a project if she saw how far he’d fallen. He was content to wallow in misery and he didn’t need Shea trying to change that state.

  Shea glanced up at his entrance. It had been years since he’d seen her, but somehow he didn’t recall her looking quite so…beautiful before. She crossed the room, hugging him tightly.

  Her scent was familiar, reminding him of far happier times.

  She pulled away to look at him and shook her head. “You look dreadful.”

  He nodded, not offended by her observation. He and Shea didn’t mince words and they didn’t lie to one another. “And you look lovely.”

  She smiled but he sensed a sadness in her eyes he’d never seen before.

  She raised her hand, lightly tracing his scar with her fingertips. “I was terribly worried about you.”

  Travis grasped her wrist and gently pulled it away from his face. “As you can see, I am well.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I see.”

  Her tone told him just how much she saw. He needed to distract her. “You’re home to stay, I assume?”

  “Yes, Mother is feeling much better.”

  He crossed the room, sitting behind his large desk. He felt the overpowering need to place some distance between them. “I’m glad to hear that. I appreciate the social call, Shea, but I’m afraid I have a great deal to—”

  “Oh, this isn’t a social visit. I’m here to offer you a business proposition.”

  Travis reared back in his chair, surprised. “Business?”

  Shea nodded. “I’ve endured my fifth season in London. I think it’s safe to say I am officially on the shelf.”

  “I don’t agree.” There was a new radiance about her he’d never seen before. Surely other gentlemen of the ton must see it.

  She gave him an appreciative smile that said she didn’t believe him. “It’s neither here nor there. I have no desire to enter the parson’s mousetrap with any of those fops. Unfortunately, there are rules in society associated with unwed women. I’m feeling constrained by them.”

  “Constrained by what rules?” He was a fool for asking the question. Shea was the only person in the world who could surprise him and she did it on a regular basis. Her mind worked in ways he couldn’t begin to fathom or understand. All he knew was she had a plan and he was in trouble.

  “I want to learn about pleasures of the flesh. Sex. And I want you to teach me.”

  Travis sighed. Trouble indeed.

  Chapter 2

  Shea stepped carefully onto the toilet seat and lifted the ceiling tile above the stall in the club’s bathroom. She’d begun hiding her duffel bag there when she took up temporary residence at the club.

  After spending her first night in the bar, she’d continued to sleep there every night for the past eight evenings. Shea had never slept on such a soft bed. She’d been reluctant to return to the motel in East Hollywood. Hiding out in all-night diners or Laundromats after work until she dared to return to the dangerous area wasn’t something she could keep up without dropping into exhaustion.

  Actually, the club made an ideal impromptu home. There was a small shower stall in a bathroom backstage for the performers, so bathing was easy. She simply rose each morning, took a quick shower, ate a granola bar for breakfast then read her book until it was time for Emma to arrive. Due to the club’s security system, she had to do some clever maneuvering, hiding in the storeroom until Emma arrived at work and disengaged the alarm. Once Emma was ensconced in her office, Shea snuck out the back door, roaming around the neighborhood, eating a quick lunch or doing laundry until it was time to return for work.

  Pulling out her wallet, she placed the evening’s tips in the pouch, relishing the growing thickness of the wad of money. Hopefully in a couple more weeks, she’d have enough tips saved for a deposit on an apartment. Scoundrels was positioned in the center of high-priced downtown L.A. She’d use up every bit of her money if she stayed in one of the ritzy hotels in this area. She simply had to avoid being caught for a little while longer. Guilt tweaked her conscience for abusing Emma’s kindness, but she couldn’t come up with a better way of saving money and achieving her goals.

  She’d written a list of plans for the future while on the bus from Vegas. She’d accomplished the first—get a job. Now she was working toward the second—get an apartment. By saving her money, rather than blowing it on hotel rooms, she was that much closer to her third and main goal. Once she was established in L.A., she intended to save enough to go to college to study business. Someday, she’d find a way to pay Emma back for the few weeks of safe lodging in the nightclub.

  Shea returned the bag to its hiding spot and stepped down carefully. She wiped her nose before washing her hands, silently attempting to will away a coming head cold. Gazing at the mirror, she realized she looked like shit. Her eyes were watering and puffy, her nose red.

  I can’t get sick. I can’t get sick.

  Unlocking the bathroom door, she stepped out into the hallway, checking her watch. It was midnight. If she could make it two more hours, she could crawl into her comfy bed onstage and sleep. Surely all she needed was rest to get rid of the woozy feeling in her head.

  She sneezed.

  “Uh oh.” Emma appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “You feel all right, Shea?”

  “I’m fine. Um, allergies,” she lied.

  “It’s not allergy season. You sure you’re okay?”

  Emma’s concern for her well-being helped ease some of Shea’s loneliness. “Really. I’m fine,” she repeated, her hoarse voice betraying her.

  Emma studied her face. “No. I don’t think you are. Tell you what. Finish up those last two tables in the theater and I’ll have Jenny cover your area in the dance club section. I think you should head home early.”

&nb
sp; Shea panicked. “Oh no, I’m fine, Emma. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Shea. I can’t have you waiting tables, sniffling and sneezing all over the patrons. Trust me, this is better for both of us. You need to go home and rest.”

  Shea tried to think of another argument but her head felt full and fuzzy. She was definitely getting sick. Shit. “Okay.”

  She slowly finished serving the final tables in the theater. Usually after a fetish show performance, the crowd split into two groups—those who remained to drink and chat at the comfortable tables and those who headed to the dance floor on the other side of the bar. Tonight, the theater crowd had cleared out earlier than usual. She had to give props to Emma and Mr. Knight for their creativity in the designing and management of Scoundrels. It offered something for everyone.

  Pocketing the last two tips, she wiped the tables and glanced at the mirror above the stage. Shea still hadn’t seen the mysterious Mr. Knight and she’d become increasingly curious about him. Emma confided that they’d gone to school together, so she knew he was in his mid-thirties. Other than that, and the fact he never came out of his office, she knew little else.

  Emma walked toward her. “There you are. Good lord, Shea. I told you to go home.”

  She’d hoped she could stall. “I was just about to head out.”

  Emma began to walk with her and Shea groggily panicked. Much as it hurt her to do it, she was going to have to dip into her savings and get a hotel room for the night.

  “Here.” Emma handed her a bag of cough drops. “Zinc. It’s supposed to help ward off colds. Lucky for you, it’s Saturday. You’ll have two days to rest and relax before having to worry about work again.”

  Shit! It was the weekend. Shea’s pile of money shrunk even more as now she’d be forced to get a room for three nights.