by Judi McCoy
“You can hang the dress through there and to the left. It’s the dressing room my female members use. Got a fancy shower, lockers, even a couple of razors and a bowl of smelly soaps, just like one of them froufrou spas. My wife tells me I gotta provide a little class for my ladies, so I comply.”
Heartened by the fact that, eventually, she’d meet more feminine clientele, she entered a tidy area smelling of lavender. With a spotless tile floor and combination lockers lining the walls, it was clear the room was well tended.
Hanging her purchase in a vacant locker, she set her tote bag inside and spun the combination dial. She’d trawled two designer showrooms and a half dozen high-priced boutiques searching for sales, and found the sheath on a fifty percent markdown rack for six hundred dollars. She wasn’t about to lose it now.
Then she peeked into an adjacent room and took stock of the yellow-tiled bathroom. The spacious counter held double sinks under a mirrored wall and crystal clear bowls of disposable razors, cotton balls, and the aforementioned soaps. There was even a blow-dryer propped in a stand between the sinks. Checking out a smaller room exposed two sparkling commodes with locking doors, a large glassed-in shower stall, and a stack of fluffy yellow towels piled neatly on a white wicker table.
Feeling marginally better about the place, Ellie fought the urge to inspect the men’s locker room and returned to the gym. She was brave, not crazy.
“So, you ready?” asked Phil, standing in the center of the huge mat.
She walked to meet him. “I have questions.”
He placed his hands on his hips and grinned. “Ryder assured me you would.”
She could only imagine what the dastardly detective had said about her. “Sam told me I was enrolled in classes, but he didn’t say they were private.”
“Just the first one. I try to get to know each of my ladies, learn what they’re made of, that kind of thing. Hardly any show up on a Saturday, but you’ll meet ’em during the week.”
Digesting the info, she asked, “Am I dressed correctly or should I be wearing something more . . . casual?”
He again eyed her from head to toe. “You’re a little overdressed. The AC’s cranked to high, but thanks to the sweaty bodies and heaving breaths, it still gets warm in here.” He raised the scarred eyebrow. “You might want to wear a pair of loose-fitting shorts instead of those fancy pants for your next lesson. I love lookin’ at a tall, leggy woman.”
Wondering about those sweaty bodies, she almost raised an eyebrow of her own, but changed her mind after his sexist remark. “Do I have my own locker?”
“If you find an empty, it’s yours. Just give me the number and I’ll give you the combination.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “I got every key right up here.”
She decided to ask a question she’d almost posed to Sam but hadn’t because it would have caused a fight. “I’d like to pay for the classes. Is it possible you could refund Detective Ryder his money?”
He gave another cocky grin. “Ryder told me you’d ask. He also said I’d be dead meat if I did.”
“Oh . . . well.” Darn Sam and his macho sense of honor.
“Don’t worry about the detective. He still hasn’t gotten in tune with women of the twenty-first century.” He crossed his arms. “We’ll begin with the usual. You ready?”
“I—I guess so.”
“Okay. First thing you need to know is women have weapons, but most are either unaware of what’s at their disposal, are afraid to use them, or don’t know how. Which is it with you?”
Ellie shrugged. “Maybe a little of all three. I don’t believe in violence.”
“Oh, boy.” Phil’s mouth flattened, and he heaved a sigh. “Answer me this. If you were attacked, what would you do?”
“Uh, run?”
“The attacker surprises you from behind and grabs you around the waist.”
“Scream?”
“He holds a knife to your throat.”
“I can’t imagine—”
“Read the papers, Ms. Engleman.” His expression turned to granite. “It happens all the time, especially in this city.”
She did read the papers, but she skipped over those depressing stories. They made her sick to her stomach; they made her want to cry.
“I usually never walk alone. I have a dog.”
“German shepherd? Doberman? Rotty?”
“A Yorkiepoo.” When another idiot grin split his craggy face, she pressed on. “I know he sounds like a fluff ball, but he can be vicious if he’s pushed.”
“Ellie? May I call you Ellie?”
She nodded.
“Ellie, please. You’re killin’ me here. How about we get on with the lesson, and you’ll see what I mean. First off, do you carry keys?”
“Sure, for my apartment.”
He fished a key ring from the pocket of his baggy shorts and handed it to her. “Take these and show me what you’d do with them if you were attacked.”
“I read somewhere you’re supposed to make a fist and let the longest one stick out between your fingers.”
“Okay, so do it.”
She did.
“Good. Now come at me as if you’re gonna stab me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Sure you could.” He stepped toward her and clasped her shoulder, squeezing tight.
She pushed against his forearm with her opposite hand.
“Nuh-uh. Use those keys, babe. Aim for the fleshy part of my arm.”
Since his arm appeared to be a log of solid muscle, she wasn’t sure where he wanted her to jab. She raised the hand holding the keys, and he slapped it away.
“Do it like you mean it.”
She tried again, the movement faster.
He caught her wrist. “Better. One more time.”
She shot her arm upward and almost hit her target before he grabbed her wrist. “Okay, that’s better. We’ll work on it. Let’s move on.” He held out his palm, and she dropped the keys. “Next step. Turn around.”
Ellie swallowed, but did as he asked.
He slammed against her and wrapped his forearm across her throat. She screamed, but he cut her off with a choke hold.
Then he whispered, “Think, Ellie. Figure it out.”
Almost by instinct, she raised her foot and brought it down on his arch.
“Harder.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He pulled tighter against her throat. “Sure you do. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna hurt you.”
She jammed an arm backward, and her elbow slammed into his ribs. He huffed out a breath, but didn’t let go.
“A surprise attack. Nice move. But it wasn’t enough. Try it again, but imagine you’re fighting for your life.”
Ellie slumped forward. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Kevin McGowan’s handsome face stared down at her, the single bulb in her building entryway highlighting his elegantly arched brows and liquid gray eyes. “I had a good time. How about you?”
Ellie winced as she rotated her aching shoulder. Besides that, she was pretty sure she had a bruise on her upper thigh. Since Phil didn’t believe in coddling his clients, she’d arrived home at five with nothing on her mind but a long soak in a hot tub. Instead, she’d taken a quick shower and started the tedious requirements for wowing her evening escort.
She hadn’t gone to this much trouble for a guy since her date with Sam, and that had turned to crap. Yet she’d again spent an hour primping and using the standard bells and whistles needed to look her best for a night on the town.
“Think you might like to do it again?” he continued.
Her stomach gave a flip. The meal had been divine, the play entertaining, the night a success. And her attentive date was still trying to impress, lingering while he held her hands, letting her know he enjoyed her company and was amenable to more.
“I’d like that.” She smiled. “Very much.”
He inched forward. “Is it too soon
to ask if I can come up to your place?”
“I don’t believe in a timetable—”
“None of that ‘can’t go to bed until the third date’ business for you, I hope?”
“I don’t live my life, at least not my personal one, on a schedule. Business, yes, but that’s understandable, considering what I do. My customers depend on me.”
“Just like mine depend on me,” he echoed. “We have a lot in common, in case you haven’t already noticed.”
As far as Ellie could tell, they had nothing in common. Most of the topics they discussed revolved around her job and the antics of her canine charges. Whenever she questioned him about his law practice, he changed the subject. She found that strange, because even the judge liked to gossip about his cases, though he never mentioned anyone by name and they were all in the past. Perhaps Kevin was simply too honorable to do anything he felt might break client confidentiality, but a few nameless incidents would have piqued her interest.
On the plus side, it was also nice that he thought she performed a valuable service, unlike some men she knew, and enjoyed talking about dogs.
“I have a feeling our conversation will extend to more private things eventually,” he went on. “Either at your place or mine.”
“It’s just that I’ve had a long day.” A day that felt more like punishment than a lesson in self-defense. “I need rest or I won’t be able to move tomorrow.”
“Are you inferring you won’t get a good night’s sleep if I’m involved?” Before she answered, he added, “If I came up, we could test that theory.”
Not ready to be a test case, she shrugged. “I’m really beat, Kevin. Tonight’s not possible.”
He smiled again. “All right. How about if I call you sometime this week and we set up another meeting?”
“Fine.” She heaved a sigh of relief. “I really have to go in. My dog is waiting for his last walk of the day.”
“I’m willing to come along, if you want company.”
She gazed over his shoulder through the glass entry door at his taxi, double-parked in front of the building. “Your ride is probably growing impatient.”
He cocked his head in a “Who cares?” attitude. “So let him. Better yet, I’ll set him free.”
Ellie touched his shoulder. “No, it’s okay. Go home. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Leaning into her, he cupped her face and bent his head, grazing her lips with his own. Then he deepened the kiss, prodding with his tongue, searching the moist interior of her mouth when she opened to let him in. His arms slid to her waist and pulled her closer, then snaked around her back and pressed her spine.
The kiss stole her breath and heated her insides. Gasping for air, she rested her forehead on his jacket lapel. After a shuddering breath, she peered at him through her lashes, pleased to see the befuddled expression on his face.
“I—I’d better go inside. My dog—”
“Is waiting. Lucky dog,” he said, running a finger down her cheek. “I’ll call you.”
Ellie climbed the stairs, still amazed by the evening. When she opened her door, she almost stumbled over Rudy, sitting with his leash in his mouth.
“It’s about time.”
“I told you I’d be late.” She strode down the hall and into the bedroom, unzipping the dress as she walked. After toeing off her sling backs, she skimmed the sheath down her hips, arranged it on a padded hanger, and inspected it for flaws. A few wrinkles creased the midsection, but there were no food stains or tears, a major miracle considering her klutz quotient.
The dress fit her like a second skin, with a scooped neck that showed off her boobs, well-placed darts that sculpted her waist, and a short skirt that complemented her toned legs. The look in Kevin’s eyes when he’d first seen her told her he approved. Maybe the dress was worth the money she’d spent.
“You daydreaming, or are we going for my nightly constitutional?”
“As soon as I change.”
“I suppose a trip to the dog run at Carl Schurz is out of the question?”
She tugged on the sweats and tee she’d worn earlier and carried socks and sneakers to the kitchen. “For tonight, yes. But I plan to get a good rest, so we’ll go tomorrow. Promise.”
“With Viv and Mr. T?”
“If they’re up for it, sure.”
She stuck her keys in her pocket, snapped the leash to his collar, and led him into the hall and down the stairs. Turning left, they were a distance from the building when she remembered she didn’t have her tote, which meant she didn’t have her Mace or her cleanup bags.
“I hope you don’t have big business in mind,” she told him. “I forgot the doggie bags.”
He lifted his leg on a street sign stanchion. “Just a couple of quickies and I’ll be done.”
They walked in silence around the block, and she did her best to ignore anyone who looked ready to give Rudy a pat or start a conversation, especially if it was an older man. By the time they arrived back home she was annoyed at the way Gary’s murder had taken control of her life. She was a friendly person; she enjoyed talking about dogs, and she liked meeting new people. If she continued to be a fraidy cat, she’d never expand her business or her personal life.
To hell with Sam and his keep-to-yourself attitude. She was a big girl who could take care of herself.
Chapter 17
The next day, just before noon, Ellie grabbed detergent and stain remover from a shelf in her kitchen pantry and dropped the bottles in her wheeled hamper. “Sure you don’t want to take a trip to the dungeon?” she asked Rudy. “You never know what might be lurking down there, just waiting to jump my bones. It could be your chance to shine.”
The Yorkiepoo gave a huge and obviously bored yawn. “The laundry room stinks, like something died behind the dryers. One of these days I’m gonna find out what smells, but not today.”
“Oh, I see. You’re worried about me, but not enough to stop me from making the trip to the basement alone. Fat lot you care about my safety.”
He walked in a circle, curled into a ball on the cream-colored tile, and settled down for a nap. “Of course, I care. And you’ll be sorry when I’m proven right.”
“Don’t you mean ‘if’ you’re proven right?” When he didn’t answer, she opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a roll of quarters stored there for feeding the washers and dryers. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Think you can stay out of trouble that long?”
Resting his head on his paws, he closed his eyes. “It’s nap time. Try to keep the racket to a minimum when you get back.”
Ellie stuck the change in her pocket, headed into the hall, and, dragging the clothes hamper behind her, reached the far end of the corridor. Thanks to the unwieldy carrier, she had to take the building’s decrepit beast of an elevator to get to the basement. Depending on the outside humidity and the exploits of its last passengers, the confining space smelled alternately of three-day-old body odor, stale knockoff perfume, or recycled beer. She liked her condo too much to move, and this conveyance was the only thing about the building she despised.
Once she entered the elevator and pressed the correct button, the beast creaked and clanked its way to the bottom floor, then shuddered to a stop. Seconds passed while she waited for the contrary contraption to open its door. Finally, after she decided that next time she’d be better off wrestling the full hamper down three flights of stairs, the door slid wide with a harsh grating sound.
She stepped into the dim hall, noting the pale trickle of light emanating from a single dirt-encrusted casement window. Groping the wall, she flipped the switch, which allowed a bit more brightness from a naked bulb hanging overhead. Note to self: Call the maintenance company hired by the tenant’s association and inform them this is a piss-poor way to keep the complex safe.
Opening the metal door marked LAUNDRY, she looked inside, surprised to find it empty. On weekends, the area was usually
crowded with tenants lined up to use the half dozen washers, three dryers, and row of folding tables separating the machines. Then again, it was July, and many of the residents migrated to the Hamptons or Jersey Shore for a long weekend or a couple weeks’ vacation.
After sorting her clothes, she used spray stain remover to take care of the damage she’d done to her casual clothing and T-shirts. Spritzing dabs of mustard, smears of chocolate, smudges of grease, and a variety of questionable marks that could be dog poop, piddle, or both, she sighed. No doubt about it, she was a danger to whatever she wore.
Sometimes she thought that along with walking dogs, she should offer herself to one of the major detergent manufacturers as an expert stain maker. If their product got her clothes clean, it would work on anything. But there weren’t companies like that in the city, so the best she could do was carry a packet of personal wipes and a pen guaranteed to take out the most unsightly marks. Problem was, neither ever worked as well as was touted on the instructions.
She also took this time to sort through her unmentionables for anything too shabby or embarrassing to wear. Her mother paid a fortune for her lingerie, mostly La Perla, in a size so small the bits of lace looked more like colorful tissues than serviceable underwear. Ellie, on the other hand, preferred plain cotton bikinis in varying pastels.
She’d donned her frilliest lingerie last night, a fancy set she’d last worn on her date with Sam. Slipping into the dainty black panties, matching demi cup underwire bra, and sheer thigh-high stockings had made her feel sexy and adventurous, even naughty, if she was honest.
She hadn’t anticipated going to bed with Kevin, but she’d figured the Boy Scout motto, “Be prepared,” might serve her well. Kevin oozed sex appeal, and though he didn’t make her damp in all the right places, she wanted to be ready if he did. Sadly, it was Ryder’s searching hands and smoldering gaze that got her juices flowing, damn it.
Resting her elbows on the washer, she let her mind wander. She hadn’t been intimate with a man since her one-night stand with Sam, and that single evening had probably ruined her for another guy. Kevin had his work cut out for him if he expected her to melt in his arms like a quivering mass of Jell-O.