Fire and Midnight

by Sandra Renee Appet

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2016 Sandra Renee Appet

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-024-6

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Audrey

  Thank you for your words of encouragement.

  FIRE AND MIDNIGHT

  Sandra Renee Appet

  Copyright © 2016

  Fire and Midnight is a delightful story full of characters you won't soon forget. I didn't want it to end!

  —New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Evanovich

  Chapter One

  Maybe she should adopt a cat, Jane mused as she unlocked the door. Drops of water rolled off her jacket onto the worn wood floor. Leaving her shoes on the mat, she flipped the light switch illuminating most of her cozy apartment, which was a far cry from the spacious home she’d left behind. The silence was the hardest thing to get used to. A clang echoed off the bare walls as she dropped her keys on the counter next to the copy of her divorce decree. She figured the signed copy had hit her lawyer’s desk that morning. She shoved the bundle of papers in the nearest drawer. “Out of sight. Out of mind,” she mumbled and padded with stocking feet to her bedroom and changed into a pair of sweats and her old Rutgers t-shirt.

  She checked her phone as she headed back to the kitchen and opened the fridge to survey her options. No messages or texts from Tyler. She pulled out some leftovers and a bottle of Cabernet Blanc and turned on the news. The drone of the television was a welcome diversion. Empty Nest Syndrome had arrived earlier than she had expected when Tyler, her only child, had jumped at the opportunity to take a summer class and move into his college dorm early. Her phone buzzed on the counter next to her plate. She glanced at the screen, hoping for a text from her son but smiled at the message from her friend, Charlotte.

  I have a surprise for you. Check your email.

  Charlotte had a way of lightening Jane’s mood even when she wasn’t around. Jane uncorked the bottle and poured a generous glass. She left the food container on the counter, carried her wine to the desk in the living room, and flipped open her laptop.

  “What’s up her sleeve now?” Jane took a sip, logged into her e-mail and clicked the subject line: Giddy Up.

  Jane,

  You’re my best friend in the world and I love you to pieces, but all work and no play has made Jane a dull girl. It’s time to get back in the saddle and what better place to do it than on your trip to San Antonio? So pour yourself a glass of wine (or two) and click this link. For once in your life, do something completely selfish. Do it for you…

  Xoxo ~ Char

  P.S. I’ve already signed you up (user name: JaneK PW: RideEm). Don’t bother to call and yell at me. I’m boarding a flight to LA.

  Intrigued, Jane clicked the link and was directed to a landing page containing a picture of a cowboy hat and boots along with the words:

  The Cowboys, A Personal Service: Are you searching for a companion with no strings attached? Look no further than our cowboys for hire.

  “What the heck?” Jane explored the website and discovered a whole new definition of a cowboy. The cowboys on the website didn’t wear dusty jeans and ride horses. They wore well-cut suits and drove sports cars. They spoke a range of languages, were versed in opera, wine, and art, and were perfect companions during getaway weekends or cocktail parties … at a cost.

  The Cowboys was a high-end male escort service.

  Jane poured another glass of wine. She took a healthy gulp and leaned back in her chair putting distance between herself and the screen. A bundle of emotions, mostly anger, raced through her veins. Charlotte, her happily single best friend, always had a steady stream of men at her door. Did she think Jane was so pathetic she had to pay a man to take her out? A vision of a greasy guy wearing a shiny shirt and gold jewelry flashed in her mind.

  “No way.” She shook her head and clicked around the site looking for instructions for deleting her account. Charlotte was damn lucky she was thirty-five thousand feet in the air because Jane had a few choice words for her. Jane clicked “About Us” in hopes of finding a phone number to call. No number was listed, but she jotted the e-mail address and continued reading.

  According to the website, escort services were legal as long as the escort was not compensated for sexual services. It went on to say if chemistry developed between the two parties, romance might occur, but it was never contracted.

  A few client testimonials followed…

  I travel all over the country on business. When I need to kick off my shoes (and other articles of clothing), I call The Cowboys. Their escorts are as charming and intelligent as they are good looking. I've never had a bad experience.

  Instead of a spa weekend, I schedule a date with Paul from The Cowboys. My tension automatically melts when I'm with him, and he gives a great massage.

  I'm recently divorced and had been feeling unattractive and unwanted. Jack from The Cowboys treats me like I'm the only woman in the world. One evening wasn't long enough, so I booked him again for next weekend. The entire weekend.

  She hovered the arrow over the “Meet Our Cowboys” page and clicked. A half-dozen pictures of men filled the screen, many appearing to be not much older than Tyler. She was about to close the site when brilliant blue eyes leaped from the screen and caught her by surprise.

  She drank in the image as she refilled her glass. A shock of dark hair framed his chiseled features. He wore a gray t-shirt that teased the promise of warm skin and thick muscles. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Incredibly Sexy poked at her long neglected fire that had turned into a pile of barely warm coals. She clicked his picture, which opened his bio and more images.

  “Hello there, Ryan Zeigler,” Jane slurred.

  Chapter Two

  A familiar pickup truck squealed to a stop in front of Ryan Zeigler’s house.

  “Hey, buddy!” Joe shouted, as Ryan dropped his gym bag onto the backseat of his convertible.

  “Morning, Joe. To what do I owe the honor of seeing you this early in the morning?” Ryan asked, knowing too well what his brother-in-law wanted.

  Joe cut the engine and stepped out of the truck, slamming the rusty door behind him, with two disposable coffee cups in either hand. “I have a job down the road and thought I’d bring you a cup o’ joe from Joe, you know?”

  “Thanks.” Ryan took the cup and waited for the inevitable request.

  Joe’s gaze darted over Ryan’s yard. “You can use a good weeding and mulch. Want me to send one of my guys over?”

  Ryan breathed out slowly. “What do you want, Joe?”

  “I’m a little short this month again. Got hit with some unexpected things. Isabel needs braces, and Maya’s throwing another damn party.”

  “You’re not drinking again, are you? If you are I’ll kick your—”

  Joe held up his hands. “No, Ry. I’m clean. I swear.”

  Ryan studied his face. “Gambling?”

  Joe shook his head. “It’s nothing like that.”

  Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “I told you after the last time I gave you money, that was it.”

  “I know, and I didn’t think I’d have to ask you again. I feel like such an asshole
for doing it, but I don’t have another choice. I hoped you were still…” Joe had always acted uncomfortable with Ryan’s profession as a male escort, but he never seemed to mind asking for the money Ryan earned doing just that.

  “Gave it up. The restaurant takes all of my time now.”

  Joe shrugged. “I don’t know how you can walk away from all that cash.”

  “I have to. I need to separate from it, and I need to do it now.” Ryan’s heart raced as the words tumbled from his mouth. It was the first time he’d admitted it to anyone except Camille. Not that there were many people to tell. Ryan kept that part of his life from everyone close. His brother-in-law had discovered Ryan’s secret quite accidentally.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do, you know? Don’t worry about us. I’ll figure something out.” Joe shuffled to his truck and yanked the door open. The screech of metal against metal tore through Ryan’s head.

  “Hey. I should be able to help. We can’t have Izzy running around with crooked teeth, can we? I’ll get back to you later.”

  The lines around Joe’s eyes softened. “You’re the best, Ry. I’ll pay you back someday. You know that, right?”

  “Sure, Joe. I’ll call you later.” Ryan had a better chance of making a clean break from The Cowboys Escort Service than he would recouping the borrowed money. His brother-in-law knew how to pull at Ryan’s heartstrings. He’d do anything for his sister, Maya, and his niece, Isabel. Family was family after all. Ryan climbed into his convertible and started his drive toward the tall office buildings and hotels dotting the morning San Antonio skyline.

  ****

  Ding. Ding. Beep. Ding. Ding. Beep.

  Ryan remembered a time when that familiar rhythmic ring had sent electricity through his veins. The excitement of what followed that call was close to what he’d imagined being high felt like. Now he dreaded the sound of the unique ringtone he’d assigned to The Cowboys. He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the display, not that he had to. He knew Camille was on the other end of the call, tapping her red fingernails on her desk, waiting for him to answer. He considered sending the call to voice mail, but Camille was a piranha when she wanted something, and she’d call incessantly until he answered. He’d given his notice the same night he’d broken off their twisted relationship. The problem was Camille didn’t believe him. In the past, she’d contacted Ryan for two reasons, and it was too early in the day for a booty call. By process of elimination, Ryan deduced she had a client waiting in the wings for his services. He poked the screen and raised the phone to his ear.

  “Hoping I was just kidding about quitting the business?”

  “How’s my favorite cowboy?” Camille purred.

  “Ex-cowboy.”

  “You’ll always be a cowboy to me.”

  “Is the word ‘no’ in your vocabulary?” Ryan descended the stone steps to San Antonio’s River Walk as the early morning sun chased the chill from the air. With the exception of a few joggers, the walkways were empty, showcasing the waterfalls, gardens, and nooks and crannies that made the River Walk one of a kind.

  “I didn’t get to where I am by taking that word seriously. If I did, I’d still be slinging drinks at a local dive. Come to think of it, so would you.” Camille never wasted an opportunity to remind Ryan of her part in his rise to the most sought after male escort south of Dallas. He often wondered if he would’ve been better off without her help.

  “How’s business?” Ryan asked, changing the subject.

  “Booming, which is the reason for my call.”

  “I figured you weren’t calling just to hear my voice.”

  “You do have the best bedroom voice in the business. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the first thing I noticed about you.”

  “Before you corrupted my morals,” Ryan said, wishing he were joking.

  “You mean before I made you a lot of money.”

  “More like before I made you a ton of money.” The truth was, their partnership had been mutually beneficial. She was right. Without Camille, he’d have spent years dancing and tending bar to save the capital necessary to open his restaurant, but anything to do with Camille came at a cost.

  “It must be expensive owning a restaurant with equipment and food to buy and people to pay. How’s it going?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Cam. You don’t care how Vine is doing. What do you want?”

  “I have an opportunity you won’t want to pass up.”

  “I’ve heard those words out of your mouth before, and look where that got me.”

  “Let’s see. Where did it get you, Ry? Rich, fucked, and richer.”

  “You’ve always had a way with words.” Ryan crossed the brick patio and stopped in front of slatted double doors. With the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and cheek, he slipped the key into the lock of Vine. He pushed the door open and surveyed the quiet elegance of his restaurant. He was still in awe of the place and the fact it was his. It was very different from the dive bar where he’d met Camille.

  He recalled the first time he’d seen Camille LeVan. She’d stood out in Le Tigre like a five-hundred-dollar pair of designer shoes in a row of flip-flops, and for good reason. She owned the place along with a host of other strip joints in the vicinity. The clubs did well, but it didn’t take Ryan long to discover Camille’s real reason for owning the establishments. They provided her with a free flowing inventory of recruits for her online escort service, The Cowboys. It wasn’t long before Ryan became her protégé. At twenty-six, Ryan had had a few years on most of the fresh-faced boys who crossed through the doors of Le Tigre looking to make a quick buck on their gym-built physiques, unlike Ryan, whose muscles were sculpted from framing houses and laying roof shingles under the sweltering summer Texas sun. Five years passed, and before he knew it, Ryan was Camille’s next in command, charged with training new recruits, not to mention fulfilling Camille’s every sexual whim and fetish.

  “We made an unstoppable team,” Camille said in the same tone she’d use to order her lunch.

  “At one time that was true.”

  “It still could be,” she snapped back.

  Not a chance. A vision of walking in on Camille straddling one of the new dancers continued to taunt him. She’d tried to compare the situation to Ryan sleeping with a client. “It was just business,” she’d explained. The scene served as a beacon signaling Ryan to rise above the murky darkness of sex and deceit masquerading as passion and love.

  Ryan took a deep breath. “As you always say, time is money, and I have a restaurant to run. Get to the point.”

  “Fine. I’m in a bit of a bind. I have a last-minute weekender coming into town. She’s a new client, and she requested you.”

  “You didn’t take my picture down yet?” His free hand rolled into a fist. He should’ve done it himself before he quit.

  “Haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’ve had a hard time keeping up since you left. You should’ve given me more notice,” Camille said.

  “I gave you plenty of notice to train a new boy toy. What about the guy you were treating to a personal new hire orientation a few months ago?”

  “Zackary? He’s just a baby. He’s not you.”

  “A guy half your age is good enough to take to bed, but not good enough to handle your website?”

  Camille laughed. “You’re getting cranky in your old age. Do me a favor and take this client for me. I still owe you last quarter’s commissions. I’ll double the payment as a bonus.”

  “You’re like a lioness in heat.”

  “You know I like to make the impossible possible. So you’ll do it?”

  He turned the key and pulled the door handle. “Whoa. I didn’t say that. Give me a second to check my calendar to see if it’s possible to make the impossible possible.” He strode pass the bar toward the hallway that led to his private office, unlocked his office door, and flipped the light switch before sinking into a chair and opening the date book on his desk, the one rese
rved for private and large-party bookings. Ryan made a habit of jotting any personal appointments and dates in it, as well, not that he had many. “Okay. When?”

  “This weekend, but you’d do the initial meet and greet Friday night over drinks.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Friday as in tomorrow?”

  “You got it. Are you in?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and glanced at the curly handwriting in Sunday’s box on his date book. His sister, Maya, had charged in last week to remind him about the date. “There’s no getting out of the party, little brother. I’m writing it in your book.” He’d been dreading the date for weeks. One of the curses of being not only the youngest, but also the only male sibling was that he’d always had more than one mother. His oldest sister, Susanna, had married a Marine and moved out of San Antonio, so Maya had taken over as mother hen. He loved his sisters, but didn’t love their Spanish Inquisition about how he worked too long and played too hard. Even his sex life was up for discussion, as far as they were concerned.

  “I have plans on Sunday.”

  “Take her with you,” Camille countered.

  He tapped a pen on his agenda book. Entertaining Camille’s client would earn him enough money to solve Joe’s current dilemma. Plus, he’d have enough left over to buy the floor-to-ceiling wine bottle chiller display case he’d had his eye on for Vine. His gaze moved across his desk to the brochure left by the commercial bar-equipment salesman.

  A beep signaling another call interrupted his thoughts. “Send me the details and I’ll give you an answer by lunch,” he said before ending the conversation with Camille and connecting the second call.

  “Boss, I’m at the fish market, and the scallops are the size of quarters. We can’t run the special today. They won’t do,” Chef George barked.