by Rebecca York
He was tall and skinny, about forty she judged, with greasy dark hair that made Gillian want to wipe her fingers on her napkin.
He looked around the table and zeroed in on her immediately. Walking closer to her, he asked, “Who are you?”
Setting down her cup with a clatter, she said, “Gillian Stanwick.” She wished she’d been able to wipe the quaver from her voice.
“I wasn’t informed that we had a new girl,” he said brusquely. “How long have you been here?”
“Madam Dupré hired me yesterday.”
“Is that right?” He gave her one more long look, then strode out of the room.
When his footsteps had receded, she looked toward Pam. “Who is he?”
Pam spoke in a low voice. “Maurice Gaspard. He’s the owner, you know.”
“I thought that was Madam Dupré.”
“She works for him. Or maybe they’re partners. But he’s definitely in charge. If you think she can be nasty, watch out for him. I saw him drag—”
Pam stopped talking abruptly when Frank came to the kitchen door and looked at Gillian. “You’re wanted in the office,” he said.
“Yes,” she answered, standing so quickly that her chair vibrated. She knew that everybody still in the kitchen, including the cooks, was looking at her.
Telling herself to stay cool, she followed him down the hall to the office where she’d first been interviewed.
When she knocked, it was Gaspard who called out, “Come in.”
Even from where she stood, she didn’t like the tone of his voice. But her only choice was to comply.
“Close the door,” he said coldly.
Gillian complied, then turned to face the occupants of the room. In the kitchen, there had been no doubt that Madam Dupré was in charge. Now, as she sat behind her own desk, her features were pinched and her hands were clenched around her delicate china mug. The man named Gaspard was sitting in one of the guest chairs, his posture apparently relaxed. But when he swiveled around and turned toward Gillian, she saw that his expression was stormy.
He looked from Gillian to the madam.
“Please explain how this woman ended up under my roof.”
“She came with excellent recommendations. Since we had a vacancy, I was happy to get her.”
“You know that I expect to be consulted on the hiring of new personnel.”
“Yes, but I was sure you would approve. And I took the opportunity to fill out our roster.”
“Have you checked her references?” he asked, as though Gillian weren’t even in the room.
“Of course,” she said quickly. Then added. “I’ve done an initial check.”
“Finish the process,” he said, his voice low and very controlled.
“I intend to.” The madam cleared her throat. “She entertained two different customers last night. They both gave her excellent ratings. I believe she will be an asset to our business.”
Gaspard stroked his pointy chin, then swung his attention back to Gillian. The way he looked her up and down, then focused on her breasts, made her skin crawl. “I hope so,” he said in a low, silky voice, then went on, “Maybe I should find out for myself how well she does in bed.”
Gillian’s mouth had gone dry. There was nothing she could do but stand with her hands pressed to her sides, waiting to hear if he was planning to take her straight upstairs to try her out. And this time, she wouldn’t be able to put him to sleep, because her vitamins had long since worn off.
Chapter Eight
“I’m sure she’d be glad to give you a private audition later,” Madam Dupré said. “Right now, I believe we have other business. Don’t you agree?”
Gillian fought not to let her revulsion show on her face.
He waited long moments before answering, “Oui.” Then he gave Gillian a dismissive look and said, “Leave us now.”
“Yes, sir,” she managed, then turned and left the office. Sickness rose in her throat as she stood in the hall outside the office.
Yet she didn’t run down the hall. Instead she took a steadying breath, then pressed her ear to the door.
“I was disturbed to learn that another one of those young girls has disappeared,” Gaspard said, a dangerous edge in his voice.
“Take that up with Frank,” the madam snapped.
“I’d like to hear what you have to say about it,” Gaspard jeered.
Gillian wanted to hear more. But the sound of a chair scraping made her go pale. If Gaspard came to the door and caught her spying, she hated to think what he might do.
Every cell in her body urged her to run in the other direction, but she forced herself to walk away calmly. When she turned a bend in the hall, she felt as though she’d escaped her own execution.
Although she’d tried to prepare herself for this assignment, some protective instinct had kept her from conjuring up the image of anyone like Gaspard putting his hands on her. She ached to keep walking toward the back of the house, into the alley and away from this place. But that was not an option. And probably some alarm would go off if she stepped outside.
She squared her shoulders. Chin tipped up, she was heading toward the back stairs when she heard voices coming from one of the other rooms off the hall. A man was talking to Frank. The important client Gaspard had mentioned? She couldn’t see either one of the speakers, but the one she didn’t recognize had a suave, cultured New Orleanian drawl. Definitely a polished, upper-class accent. But the subject of his conversation didn’t sound upper class. When she realized what he was saying, the breath froze in her lungs.
“You have another of the young ones for me?”
“Of course, sir. A very lovely girl. Very young. Very inexperienced, the way you like them.”
“A virgin?”
“I can’t answer that for sure.”
“Yes, I understand. But I want the usual arrangement.”
“Of course, sir.”
Gillian clenched her jaw. From both conversations she’d just overheard, it sounded like something very nasty was going on in this house. The two men stepped into the hall. For just a second, Gillian caught the profile of the man who had made the special request for a girl young enough to be his daughter. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties; the skin under his chin sagged just a little, and his brown hair had a touch of gray at the temples. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t say what—not from the one quick look she got before he turned his back and walked in the other direction.
Intent on learning more, Gillian took a step forward. But as she started down the hall, a hand grabbed her arm—stopping her in her tracks.
FEAR ROSE IN HER THROAT and she jerked around expecting to see Gaspard’s fierce visage. But it was Pam who had just come from the direction of the kitchen.
“No,” she mouthed.
“But…”
The restraining hand tightened on her arm. “Stay out of it,” Pam murmured, pulling her into a room that looked like a private lounge.
“What’s going on?”
Pam spoke in a low voice. “You heard. It’s, you know, one of the guys who comes here because the house can provide him with tender young flesh.”
“What guys?”
“Some of them are important men in town. It’s better if you don’t know too much about it.”
“Okay then, what girls?”
When the other woman spoke again, her voice was tight. “You know. Runaways. Kids who come to the city because they have nowhere else to go. Gaspard trolls for them. He makes friends with the pretty ones and offers to find them a place to stay. Some of them fall for it.”
“Not any of the women I met at breakfast.”
“Well, some of them came from that part of the operation. They’ve grown up fast and joined our group. We don’t have too much contact with the others. They stay in another part of the house.”
Gillian looked back over her shoulder at the closed door, trying to imagine that other part of the house, and fel
t her chest tighten. One of the girls had apparently escaped this morning. But she wasn’t going to mention that to Pam since she’d have to admit she’d been eavesdropping. “Grown men, forcing themselves on teenagers. That’s…that’s immoral.”
Pam sighed. “If you were one of those churchgoing busybodies, you could say that everything that happens here is immoral.”
“But we came here by choice. Those girls didn’t,” Gillian answered.
Pam gave her an unsettling look. “I don’t know about you, but my choices were limited.”
Gillian might have pursued that line of discussion, but the previous one was more pressing. “Is there anything we can do to help those girls?”
Pam gave her a considering look. Then her features firmed. “What—do you want to get in trouble with Gaspard? Or didn’t you get enough of him a few minutes ago?”
Gillian nodded, thinking that it would be dangerous to risk another run-in with the man who owned this house. And dangerous to exchange too much information with Pam. As for Gaspard, she hadn’t even known about him before she came here. She’d bet that New Orleans Confidential hadn’t, either, since Alex had been pretty thorough in his briefings.
“Who is he?” she asked, hoping she could get more information out of Pam. Without giving too much away.
“Like I said, he owns this place. Or—he’s working for someone else.”
“Who?”
Pam tipped her head to one side, regarding her for sev eral seconds. “If you haven’t figured it out for yourself, I’ll give you a piece of advice. It’s not healthy to ask a bunch of questions. Just do your job and keep your mouth shut.”
Gillian felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Last night and this morning, she’d gotten a couple of pointers on the dangers of the McDonough Club. In fact, every moment that she spent here seemed to provide another lesson.
“Thanks for the guidance,” she answered, sincerely grateful for the reminder. Lowering her voice, she added what she hoped was an authentic touch, “I’ve always been on my own, until now. I guess I thought that working in a place like this would be safer. But…”
“Come get another cup of coffee,” Pam said, obviously changing the subject. “The coffee here is really good.”
“I noticed,” Gillian answered, then followed Pam into the now empty kitchen.
“We can sit out on the sunporch. It’s almost like being out of our cage,” her new friend said. Gillian wrapped her hands around her mug.
“Too bad we don’t have some of my mom’s blueberry muffins,” Gillian said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake.
“Your mom baked muffins?” Pam asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Sounds like you came from a warm and fuzzy home.”
Gillian wanted to say that she had. Instead, she mumbled, “It was okay—some of the time.”
Before they could drink any of the coffee, Dolly came downstairs.
“Where were you?” she asked Pam. “Did you forget you promised to help me with a new hairstyle?”
“Sorry,” Pam murmured, setting her own mug down.
“That’s okay,” Gillian answered. “I’ll just stay here awhile before I go up.”
She was making her way toward the sunporch as the back door opened and a man came in. She went very still.
IT WAS ALEX—for the second time in ten hours, wearing the brown uniform of a delivery man. But it wasn’t his clothing that startled her. Instead of a man in his thirties, he looked about ten years younger. Somehow he’d transformed himself from a hardened cop into a wet-behind-the-ears delivery boy. As she surveyed him assessingly, she decided that the altered look came partly from the way he’d styled his hair. Then there was the makeup that had darkened his skin, the way he walked and the hip sunglasses hiding his eyes.
She could only stare at him—speechless. It appeared that he must have known she was alone in the kitchen and he’d chosen that moment to seek her out again.
“Who…who are you supposed to be?” she stammered, then glanced around, thankful that neither of the cooks was in the vicinity to hear how stupid that must sound.
“I’m the substitute driver from Cajun Perks, in case you didn’t know where that brew in your hand came from,” he said, his chipper voice matching his appearance. “The regular guy’s sick, so I don’t know my way around. Where do I put the coffee, chère?”
“I’m new here. But as it happens, I can answer that,” she said, recovering quickly.
“Just let me get the bags.” He opened the back door and brought in a box holding several large bags of coffee. She set down her mug, then picked up some of the bags and led him to the pantry, where they stowed the beans with the other supplies.
Before she could ask what he was doing here, he answered the question.
“I want to have a look at the office,” he insisted.
“The office. You don’t mean, the madam’s office. The last I knew, she was in there with a guy named Maurice Gaspard.”
“I saw him out in the alley—on one of the monitors. He had a couple of girls with him. Who is he?” Alex asked.
“At breakfast, they told me he’s the owner. Or the senior partner. The madam is afraid of him.”
Alex took in her rigid stance. “I’d say you are, too.”
She couldn’t answer.
His eyes turned fierce as he gripped her by the shoulders. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing!”
“You’re lying.”
She swallowed. “He was angry because Madam Dupré hired me without consulting him.”
He gave her another long inspection and his words told her he was reading between the lines. “If he steps into your bedroom, I’ll be here before he can take two breaths.”
She nodded, knowing he was telling the truth and thankful that he’d made the offer. Still, she hoped he wasn’t going to come charging into the house like that, because they’d probably both blow their assignments.
ALEX DUG THE NAILS of one hand into his palm, struggling to get control of his emotions. He’d better calm down, because he was in danger of crossing an invisible line. From undercover agent to…what? He wasn’t ready to put a label on his feelings. All he knew was that he and Gillian had an assignment to complete and he wasn’t going to blow it.
But he’d decided last night that the sooner he got her out of this house of horrors, the better. Which was why he was back this morning—doing some strategic snooping.
“There’s another office near here,” he said, keeping his voice even. “We can have a look in there.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“We got some information from a guy who worked at the club before it changed hands. Was there a computer on the madam’s desk?”
“I don’t think so,” she answered.
He nodded in satisfaction. “Then we’ll have a go at the alternate location.”
She stepped back and let him lead her into the hall, then down a few paces to another door.
“I walked past here several times,” she murmured as he turned the knob.
The door was locked and he cursed softly under his breath. But he was prepared for that, too. Pulling a set of picks out of his pocket, he went to work on the lock. When he heard the mechanism click, he made a soft sound of satisfaction.
“Hurry up,” Gillian muttered, and he heard the tension in her voice. He’d like to question her some more about what had happened to her that morning, but he’d better not do it now. Pushing the door open, he led her inside, then locked the door behind them. The room was in shadow, and it took several moments for his eyes to adjust. In fact, there was a computer, a printer and a fax machine sitting on a desk.
Crossing to the equipment, he touched the computer keyboard. The screen sprang to life.
As he studied the directory, he saw a list of women’s names. Pam, Dolly, Babs, Lisa, Cindy, Amy and half a dozen others.
Gillian leaned over his shoulder and he felt the warmth of her body radiating to his. “Some of those are the names of the women in the house,” she said. “Others I don’t recognize. And there’s something else I have to tell you. A little while ago, I heard some more about the underage girls here.”
“The kids that Gaspard guy was bringing in?” Alex asked.
“Yes. They seem to be held captive in another part of the house. According to Pam.”
“Who is she?”
“Another one of the women who works here,” Gillian continued. “She says Gaspard makes friends with them on the streets and brings them in. I found out there are slimy guys who like them better in bed than the more experienced women who live upstairs.”
“Nice,” Alex muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“One of those men was here a little while ago, requesting a girl.”
“Anyone you recognize?”
“Well, there was something familiar about him. But I only caught a glimpse of his face. He looked like he was in his fifties. He looked upper class. And he spoke with a courtly Southern drawl. But he gave me the creeps.”
“Yeah.”
“What can we do about guys like him coming here?”
“Nothing. Not until we nail down the drug connection.”
She answered with a tight nod, and he turned back to the computer. “So some of these names could be those girls. Or former employees.”
“What happened to them?” she asked, unable to keep her tone perfectly steady.
He shrugged, keeping his own voice even. “They hit the jackpot and left.”
“Sure,” she murmured, and the cynical note in her voice made him want to turn and pull her close. Instead he focused on the computer. “This could be a record of what each of them earns or earned.”
“Or it’s a code,” she suggested. “Maybe it has to do with the drugs, only they’re being cagey.”
“Yeah.” When he tried to click on the Lisa file, he was asked for a password.
“Any idea what that might be?” he asked.
“No.”
He tried several possibilities, but he didn’t have enough knowledge of the operation or the players to make an educated guess. And he didn’t expect Gillian to know much more—not yet.