“Well?” he said, a smile on his face. He had the trace of an accent. She couldn’t place it.
Vanna hesitated. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. But this guy wasn’t the sort of bum who lurked around bus depots looking for a handout or a drink. In fact, she wondered why he was at the bus station at all. He looked like the type who should have been flying. Then again, she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Did all the men in Chicago look like this? If so, this hadn’t just been a good decision—it was a fucking awesome one. And who knew? Maybe he had some blow.
So she gave him that “maybe I’d like to know you better” smile and answered his question. “What’s funny? Nothing. I’m just so fucking glad to be in a real city.”
The man’s grin widened, and he nodded. “I know what you mean. Where are you from?”
“Colorado. What about you?”
“Originally? Poland. Kraków. But I live here a lot of years.”
“Why Chicago?”
He waved his hand. “Look around. You can do anything you want. Get anything you want. Even in the bus terminal.”
“Anything?” She ran her hand up her arm.
He folded his arms. “What do you want?”
She favored him with the smile that made the boys back in Colorado get hard. “What are you offering?”
When he smiled back, she could tell from his expression that she’d roped a winner.
Chapter 38
Savannah
Vanna realized later she never had a chance. Men like Lazlo were vultures waiting to swoop down to snatch their prey. At the time, though, she thought it was luck. She was due for a break. She kept flirting with him, and he flirted right back, making veiled references to a party and the fun they could have. Finally he came in for the kill, although she didn’t know it then. She was only fifteen, for Christ’s sake.
“So what is your name, sweetheart?”
“Vanna.”
“Ha! Like the TV show, eh?”
She grinned. “Don’t I look like her?” She twirled in a circle, letting him get a good look.
“Better.” His gaze turned calculating. “You must be hungry.”
She smiled seductively. “Starving. How did you know?”
He laughed. “Come with me. I buy you food.” His arm went around her shoulder.
She shrugged. “Okay.” Just like that. She was on her way. In a new city. Not hard at all.
They left the bus station and started walking toward the skyscrapers. Despite the frigid air and dark sky, the city threw off a throbbing, pulsing energy just waiting for Vanna to own it. No wonder her mother and sister—it still sounded weird to say that word—loved the place. A block into the walk, though, even with her mother’s jacket, she started to shiver. She’d have to get warmer clothes. Maybe Lazlo would spring for them.
In a few blocks they came to a twenty-four-hour greasy spoon. Lazlo led her inside and bought her a hot dog and a Coke. She’d been hoping for something more substantial, maybe steak. At least pizza. But this was better than nothing. She wolfed down the food.
“Ah. You were hungry,” he said.
She peered at him from under her eyelashes. Some fashion magazine said it made a woman look sexy. “What’s for dessert?” She made her voice sound throaty and suggestive, another trick the magazine advised.
He looked at her and smiled. “We have dessert someplace else.”
“Good.” She settled back in the booth. “But you should know…I only like certain flavors.”
His brow creased as if he didn’t understand.
She was trying to telegraph that she did blow. Not smack, not angel dust, not Ecstacy. Just blow. “You know, the white stuff.”
He still looked puzzled but spoke as if he understood. “Yes, white. You will see. Only white.”
He led her out of the hot dog place. She still wasn’t sure if he got it. “So. You got any wine?”
“Wine?” He frowned again.
“I like white. They go together. White and white,” she said.
“Oh yes. We have white.”
“Great.” She looped her arm through his. They kept walking toward the skyscrapers. They were getting so close she imagined she could reach out and touch them.
“Is your place nearby?”
“Of course.” He patted her arm.
They turned right and started down the street. This street wasn’t so well lit, and the sidewalk was cracked. Vanna had to keep her head down so she didn’t trip. After a couple of blocks, she said,
“How far away are we? I’m cold.”
“We almost there.”
“So, Lazlo, why were you at the bus station? Did you just get into town yourself?”
He answered two beats later. “I come from Milwaukee.”
“What were you doing there?”
Again a hesitation. “Business.” His tone grew less charming. Even gruff. Vanna stole a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, not at her.
Two blocks later they came to a shabby door front above which a neon sign flashed, “Hotel Leon. Rooms by the Week.”
Vanna swallowed. This wasn’t the kind of place she was expecting. Where was the penthouse? The spacious condo? He opened the door and guided her in.
“This is where you live?”
“Sometimes.”
They walked into a narrow lobby with a small elevator at the back. The front desk occupied one side of the room, but no one was behind it. A warren of tiny cubbyholes held keys with plastic labels attached. An occasional pink message slip peeked out. Lazlo already had a key, so they took the elevator to the third floor.
The room, small and musty, was one step up from a fleabag. A queen bed with a floral spread sat against the wall, and there was a desk with a chipped surface that was marred by several circular white rings. The bathroom flooring consisted of tiny tiles, the kind they used before she was born. She’d been in worse places, but she was disappointed. She thought Chicago hotels would be bigger, better, more upscale. She flopped down on the bed.
“So. Here we are. The party begins.” His smile was cold, almost a sneer.
Vanna forced herself not to recoil. She knew what he wanted. It would be no big deal after he gave her the blow. “I thought we were having dessert,” she said.
“We do.”
She tried to smile. “Hmm. You said you had my flavor.”
He started to unzip his pants.
“Hey. Wait a minute. Where’s the blow?”
He looked over, the smirk still on his lips. “Yes. You will.”
She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t think you understand.” She frowned. “First the coke. You said you had coke.”
He laughed. “Coca-Cola. Sure, I get you one. After.”
Was he being stupid on purpose? “That’s not the kind of coke I mean. You know that.”
“You’re not choose. I will.” His English suddenly deteriorated, and his accent grew thicker. What was going on?
“Lazlo, I want to score some blow. Cocaine. That’s why I came with you. I thought you knew.”
His expression turned grim. “Come here, Vanna.”
A ripple of fear streaked up her spine. She covered it with bravado and pointed her finger at him. “Listen up, dude. Unless you have what I want, this party is over.” She tried to head toward the door, but he was faster and got there first, blocking her way.
She scowled at him. “Get away from that door.”
“Take your clothes off.”
“What the fuck for? You welshed on our deal.”
His face took on a malicious leer. “Deal? I tell you deal. You take off clothes. Right now.” He stepped out of his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Fondling his cock, he lifted it up for her to see. Engorged and throbbing and huge, it wasn’t circumcised. Again, no big deal. In any other situation, she’d be thrilled with his erection. She’d made it happen. She was in control. The little blond fuck angel.
Not this time.
She tried once more to shift the balance of power. “First, you give me what I want.” She ran her fingers lightly across his dick. “Then I’ll give you what you want.”
Vanna wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Lazlo belted her across her face. She staggered back, her head exploding into a mass of pain. She felt her eyes roll up, and she listed to one side. Her arms involuntarily flailed out, as if hoping he would steady her. But he just stood there. She covered her mouth with her hand. When she pulled it away, her palm was bloody. A tooth felt loose.
“Now!” Lazlo crossed his arms. “Take off your clothes.”
His eyes gleamed with a frenzy that frightened her. She tried to back away, but his hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing so hard she almost sank to the floor. She tried to shake them off, but he had her pinned.
“Fuck off. That hurts!”
He slapped her again. The pain reverberated around her skull. Her cheeks stung, and her heartbeat thudded through her temples. She groaned, too dizzy to focus.
“You do what I want.”
She tried to struggle, but she was no match for him. With his hands still gripping her shoulders, he shoved her back onto the bed. He tore her clothes off. Then, making sure his weight was on top of her, he slipped off his shirt. He had a lot more hair on his chest than the boys in Colorado. Too much. An oily, sweet smell oozed from his skin, as if he’d overdosed on cologne to mask the odor of not bathing. She squirmed, but he pressed down on her with enough weight to make her efforts useless. She had no choice.
“Okay. All right.” She panted. “What do you want?”
He grunted, straddled her with his knees and elbows, and shoved his cock in her mouth.
Chapter 39
The light in the alley slanted toward the house across the street where the kids lived with their mother. They needed it more than she did, Georgia figured. But enough light seeped through her bedroom shade, producing a filmy glow that highlighted Jimmy’s face as he slept. One of his arms was stretched over his head. The other lay by his side. A peaceful expression, even the hint of a smile, was on his lips.
She gazed at him, a jumble of emotions roiling her brain. Who was this man who’d made such sweet love to her? Who explored her body but allowed her to explore his, too? Who let her think she was the aggressor but then took control exactly when she wanted? He’d brought her to a place she thought was long dead. Where had he learned to do that? Should she trust it?
He was a cop, but there was something different about him. Police work breeds a darkness in a cop’s soul, a darkness so vast that even the most perfect day is marred by its shadow. Some cops come to terms with it; others bury it in a bottle or drugs. Still others, like Matt, her former lover, never did settle their account. Managing requires a delicate balance. Becoming a PI was no guarantee of basking in the light, either. The only difference was that now she could choose how much to take on.
But Jimmy didn’t seem to have those demons. Granted, she didn’t know him well, but she had the sense that he had made peace with the dark side. Either he’d never faced evil, which, despite the fact that Lake Geneva was a lazy resort town where DUIs and drug busts were more the norm than murder, she doubted; or he had not allowed it to consume him. Which would make him a special cop. And an even finer man.
As if sensing she was awake, he turned onto his side and smiled, sleep dusting his eyes. She smiled back and lightly traced a patch of light that fell across his chest. Then he gathered her in his arms, and she stopped thinking.
Chapter 40
Morning sun poured through the shade, waking her. Jimmy’s hand was cupping her breast. It felt right, she thought drowsily. The way it was supposed to be. As she came fully awake, though, she scooted away and rolled over. He grumbled in his sleep and reached for her, as if trying to recapture their intimacy. When she didn’t respond, he slowly opened his eyes. His disheveled hair and welcoming expression made him look sexy, and she thought about making love again, but something stopped her. She threw the covers off her side of the bed and went into the bathroom.
When she came out he was on his back, hands behind his head, watching her. She saw approval in his eyes. Still, she felt exposed and dove back under the covers. She propped her head on her hand.
“Good morning,” he said.
“I’d say so,” she replied.
He smiled at that and started to stretch. “Do we have to get up?”
“I’ll take you out for waffles.”
“Is that a bribe?”
“Payback.”
“Payback?” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re a hard woman, Georgia.”
She shrugged, which was difficult while she was naked and in bed, but she tried.
“I get it, you know,” he said.
“Get what?”
“It’s morning and you’re not sure what happened last night. So it’s safer to describe it as a mutual give-and-take. I take you to dinner and change your tire. You let me sleep with you and buy me breakfast. We’re even. All paid up.”
She let out a breath. Damn him.
“It’s okay.” He paused. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
*
It was almost noon by the time they finally did get up, which had to be the latest she’d risen in years. They took showers together, which made them even later, and it wasn’t until early afternoon that they were seated in a booth at the pancake house in Wilmette. The only reason to go to Walker Brothers was for the apple pancake, a delicious creation of apples, cinnamon, sugar, and dough that was known all over Chicago, if not the country. Georgia rarely allowed herself the luxury of all the calories, but Jimmy admitted never having had one. After it arrived with steaming mugs of coffee, Georgia cut a slice for Jimmy and one for herself. She watched as he chewed. His eyes went wide.
“I’ve never tasted anything like this.” He shoveled another huge forkful into his mouth. “This has got to be the eighth wonder of the world.”
“We think so.” She stopped. When had she become so proprietary about Chicago food? She sounded like a preening idiot. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have to get back to Lake Geneva?”
“I told you you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He cut himself another slice of pancake and grinned. “Especially after a kickback like this. I knew there were perks to being chief of police.”
His response confused her, and her expression must have shown it, because his grin suddenly faded. “I called in on my cell. Everything’s quiet.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. Then, “I’ve been thinking about last night.”
“Me too,” Georgia said softly.
“Actually, I was thinking about the assholes who shot out your tire.”
Georgia felt a spurt of disappointment. “Oh.” She switched into PI mode.
“You made a good point. They had a chance to kill you, but they didn’t. The question is why.”
“I still think it’s a warning or—”
“Or what? Why, given the chance to eliminate a target, do you not take it out?”
She thought about it. “Retaliation, maybe? Force the target to reveal themselves? Send a message?”
“Or scare you.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
“Maybe you should.”
She sat back. He was going cop on her, recycling the conversation they’d already had. She knew why. If they kept going over the same ground, maybe she’d remember something new. Some key fragment or scrap of information that would make sense of last night’s attack. Jimmy the cop was different from Jimmy the lover. A lover whose warmth and passion she’d wanted to bask in just a while longer.
But he obviously didn’t. Was he taking a cue from her—what had he said? That this was payback. They were even. Is that what he thought? She was simply trying to be careful. Keep her feelings in chec
k. She wanted to restart the conversation, but she didn’t know how. Reluctantly she focused on what he was saying.
“Lets assume for a minute it’s not related to Savannah.”
“Why?”
“Just run with me for a second. Brainstorming, they call it.”
“Okay.”
You’ve been a PI how long now?”
“About five years.”
“You’ve obviously worked a lot of cases. More if you include the years you were a cop.”
“I was just a beat cop. I dealt with simple stuff. Especially on the North Shore. House burglaries, stolen cars, that kind of thing.”
“No angry offenders?”
“Most are dead or in jail.”
“What if they did their time, got out, and decided to get revenge for something you did to them?”
She shrugged. “Comes with the territory. But you know as well as me they usually don’t go after us. They go for the stoolies. Anyway, there’s no way I can track them all.”
“That’s my point. No matter who’s targeting you, we’re back where we started. Somebody doesn’t want to you to do what you’ve been doing. But you keep trying to find out who. Georgia, today is a new day. Let the police handle it.”
Seizing an opportunity to reconnect, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I love that you’re concerned about me. I’ll be careful. But I can’t back off. Not yet.”
He didn’t reply, and a moment later he withdrew his hand. He left soon after.
She paid the check, then trudged to her car. She’d done it again. Made sure to keep a man she liked at a distance. What did they call them—self-fulfilling prophecies? Well, she’d likely made one happen. So why did she feel more alone now than before?
Chapter 41
Georgia had a choice. She could drive to Riverwoods to stake out Chad Coe or head back to Benny’s to pump Bruce Kreisman again. She might pick up new information, perhaps even a name that would lead to the assholes who had messed with her car.
Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) Page 12