"I don't know why you're so angry. Everything turned out okay."
"You caused chaos. I hate chaos. A beautiful woman offering free sex to a barful of drunk men? I've seen recipes for disaster, sweetheart, but that tops them all!"
She smiled. "So you really think I'm a beautiful woman?" Wolfe looked at her incredulously, on the verge of pounding his head against the steering wheel. Her digression was an amazing thing.
"What I really think," he told her, "is that you're lucky you didn't end up having to give those guys what you promised them!"
She shrugged. "I wasn't worried."
"Then you were the only one who wasn't!"
"No. Seriously. I knew nothing was going to happen to me."
"Oh, yeah? And how could you have been so sure of that?"
"Because you told me so. You said as long as I was wired and you were listening, I wasn't going to get hurt. I believed you. And you were right."
She peered at him, those brown eyes wide, clearly going for the helpless doe-eyed look. Unfortunately, it was working. Not once in his life had he ever considered himself a sucker for anything, but those eyes…
Damn.
"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I really am. You're right. You were the boss. You told me to do something, and I didn't do it."
He exhaled. "Wendy—"
"No. You have a right to be angry. So if you need to yell some more, it's okay. Really. Go ahead. Yell. I deserve it."
He slumped with disgust. What was he supposed to do now? If she told him to yell, it took all the juice out of it. He just sat there, gritting his teeth so tightly his jaw ached.
"Thank you for saving me," she said. "That's twice in two days. I guess that kind of makes you my hero, doesn't it?"
Wolfe blinked with disbelief. Hero?
No. That was a crock. A great big crock of manipulation designed to keep him from being mad at her, and he wasn't buying it. He reserved the right to be angry about this from now until the turn of the next century.
How had this happened? How could he be berating her one minute, only to have her turn everything around until she was a damsel in distress and he was a knight in shining armor? She was overlooking the fact that she was a damsel who'd gotten herself in distress, and this particular knight should be banishing her to the dungeon forever.
She blinked those big brown eyes again. "So are you still mad at me?"
"Yes!"
She smiled. "No, you're not. I can tell. Your voice is angry, but your face isn't."
He shot her a narrow-eyed glare.
"Nope. It's still not. That's a trying to look mad face, not a really mad face."
"Well, isn't that just the sweetest thing?" Mendoza said from the back seat. "So are you two gonna kiss and make up?"
"Shut up," Wolfe muttered.
Then Mendoza started making little kissy noises, and it was all Wolfe could do not to reach over the seat and make sure he never used those lips again. Wolfe's job depended on him commanding respect, but with Wendy yapping about him being her hero and all that other nonsense, he couldn't have commanded respect from a teenage shoplifter. Ever since he'd picked Wendy up off the street last night, his clean, orderly existence had been turned upside down, and he couldn't deal with it any longer.
Big brown eyes or not, before this day was out, she was history.
* * *
Wolfe drove to the county jail and transferred Mendoza to the officers there, all without uttering another word. Wendy guessed that he'd barked all he was going to about the issue and now he was just going to fume in silence.
"Where are we going now?" she asked him.
"Bail bondsman."
Ah. To collect his money. Which meant she'd collect her money. A very good thing.
"After you get paid," Wendy said, "do you think you can give me my hundred dollars in cash? Minus whatever the clothes cost, of course."
"What makes you think I'm paying you anything?"
Wendy felt a shot of panic. "What are you talking about?"
"You didn't follow instructions," Wolfe said sharply. "I told you to lure him out, not lure me in. If I'd wanted to grab him by stomping in there and kicking ass, I'd have done it already. You didn't do the job, so you don't get the money."
Wendy opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Now that she thought about it, Wolfe had come into that bar only because she'd gotten herself into trouble, and now she expected him to pay her because he had the privilege of rescuing her?
She looked down at her clothes. "What about these? If I didn't earn the hundred, I can't pay you for them."
"I already have plenty of drop cloths. They're all yours." Oh, how nice. She always scrambled at the last minute for a Halloween costume, and now she had one for years to come.
A few minutes later, Wolfe pulled into the parking lot of Lone Star Bail Bonds, which was nothing but an old double-wide trailer with a little rust here and there and gravel spread out front to resemble a parking lot. He killed the Chevy's engine.
Wendy tried to quell the flutter of anxiety she felt in her stomach. She'd been counting on the hundred dollars so she'd at least have the feeling that she wasn't totally destitute. But what was she going to do now?
Then she saw the sign in the office window. She froze, staring at it with disbelief.
Did it really say Help Wanted?
She felt that familiar little twinge she always did whenever an opportunity presented itself that seemed to be just a smidgen beyond pure chance. Her wheels began to spin, telling her that if she could earn enough money to live here for a short while, she could buy another car and a few other necessities, then get back on the road to L.A. Once there, she could get a job to earn the rest of her money.
"Stay put," Wolfe said, opening the driver's door.
Nope. She had a job interview to go to. "I need to go to the bathroom."
Wolfe sighed. "Come in, then. But make it quick."
Inside the building, a woman in her mid-thirties sat behind a desk, a telephone pressed to her ear. Only one word could describe everything about her.
Plain.
Plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, plain beige shirt and slacks, and as she spoke on the phone, a plain number two pencil flew across the pages of a plain yellow notepad.
She hung up the phone, still scribbling. "Hey, Wolfe," she said without looking up.
"Hey, Ramona." He tossed the bail ticket down on her desk. "Got Mendoza."
"Good. I hate that guy. Maybe this time they'll throw away the key."
"I've got a line on Rudy Pagliani. I should have him by tomorrow."
"That would also make my day." For the first time Ramona looked up, zeroing in on Wendy, wearing the tight, watchful expression of a woman who didn't take crap from anyone. "Who are you?"
"Your new…" Uh-oh. She didn't even know what job she was applying for. "Employee."
Ramona looked at Wolfe. "Is she with you?"
"At the moment."
"What's she talking about?"
"I don't know," Wolfe said, staring at Wendy. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm applying for the job. The one on the sign in the window."
"I thought you were going to California," Wolfe said.
"I can't go anywhere until I have some money in my pocket." She turned back to Ramona. "Tell me about the job."
"Clerical stuff. Answering phones. Filing. Correspondence."
"I can do those things."
Ramona eyed Wendy up and down. "Sorry. I'm looking for someone a little more … dressed."
"No! You don't understand. I don't usually wear these kinds of clothes!"
"So you're a hooker looking for a day job."
"No. I'm an actress looking for a day job." Wendy sat down in the chair beside Ramona's desk. "See, I was passing through downtown Dallas last night on my way to Los Angeles when I was carjacked. He got everything I own. I was standing out on the street al
l alone in the sleet without a coat and freezing to death, and Wolfe saw me and rescued me. Then today he dressed me up like a hooker and let me do a job for him. I was supposed to hire Mendoza out of a bar—"
"Which she screwed up," Wolfe said.
"Which is beside the point," Wendy said sharply, looking back at Wolfe, "since I'm not applying for a job at a whorehouse."
Ramona leaned back in her chair, rubbing her nose with a tissue. "Do you have any experience?"
"No. Not really." She paused. "Well, I once played the role of a secretary in an off-Broadway production. Actually, it was so off-Broadway that it was practically in Jersey, but still."
"So you're not really a secretary. You just play one on the stage."
Wendy brightened. "Exactly."
Ramona reached for another tissue. "This isn't a job where a pretty face gets you by. You're going to be dealing with good people, bad people and everyone in between."
"I'm very adaptable."
Ramona blew her nose. "Are you married?"
"No."
"Got any kids?"
"No."
"Are you pregnant?"
Wendy drew back. "Is it legal to ask that stuff in a job interview?"
"Nope."
"No. I'm not pregnant."
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Use drugs?"
"No."
"Have an ex-husband, boyfriend or Internet stalker with a temper, who tends to follow you to work with a gun in each hand?"
Wendy smiled. "I'm guessing you've had some employee problems in the past."
"You don't know the half of it."
"What does the job pay?"
Ramona named a figure that wasn't the most money Wendy had ever made in her life, but it certainly wasn't the least.
"Works for me," Wendy said. "Now, I am eventually going to California, so I might not be able to work for very long."
"Whatever. Can you start tomorrow?"
"You bet."
"You're hired."
Wolfe looked at Ramona incredulously. "You're hiring her? Just like that?"
"Hey, I've run an ad in the Morning News for the past week. Exactly two people have applied for the job—a woman with six kids who wanted to bring four of them to work with her, and a man who wanted to work inside a metal building so aliens couldn't read his mind, Hell, yes, I'm hiring her."
Wendy held out her hand. "I'm Wendy Jamison."
"Ramona Stockard," the woman said, then drew back as if she was going to sneeze. She fumbled in the tissue box, only to find it empty. Wendy reached into her bra, pulled free a wad of toilet paper and held it out. Ramona stared at it strangely, but grabbed it. A moment later she let loose with a sneeze that rocked the walls.
Wendy grinned. "See how handy I am to have around?"
Ramona sniffed miserably and dabbed her nose. "You always stuff your bra?"
"Only when I play a hooker. My secretarial boobs aren't nearly this impressive." She looked down at herself. "Speaking of which, I'm a little uneven now. I'd better go unstuff myself."
She started to trot off, only to turn back with a questioning look. "What did you say my job title is again?"
"Peon," Ramona said.
Wendy smiled. "Well, I shouldn't have any trouble living up to that, should I?"
As she headed off to the bathroom, Wolfe just shook his head. He'd never seen anyone who could talk themselves into and out of situations the way that woman could.
"So, Wolfe," Ramona said with a sly expression. "I've never seen this side of you before."
"What side is that?"
"The side that picks up sweet young things off the street and dresses them like tramps."
Wolfe felt a headache coming on. No, actually, it was just an extension of the same headache he'd had ever since the moment he'd first laid eyes on Wendy.
"I can't believe you hired her," he told Ramona. "That woman is a loose cannon."
Ramona shrugged. "She seems pretty sharp to me."
"I didn't say she was stupid. I said she was unpredictable."
Ramona sat back in her chair. "So maybe I'm a sucker for a hard-luck story. It appears you were, too, when you picked her up last night."
"What was I supposed to do? Let her stay out on the street and freeze? She slept on my sofa last night. That was all."
"Hmm. So where's she sleeping tonight?"
"At a women's shelter."
Ramona sat up straight. "You're taking her to a women's shelter?"
"What else am I supposed to do with her?"
She gave him a look of utter confusion. "Are you blind? Fate dumps a cute little thing like her right in your lap, and you don't know what to do with her?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Ramona."
"For once, I wish you'd get your mind into the gutter."
"My personal life is none of your business."
"Oh, will you cut that out? Our personal lives have always been each other's business."
She was right. Few people on this earth knew anything about him at all, and Ramona was one of them. Which meant that she had to know just how much a woman like Wendy would drive him crazy. Yet Ramona was still looking at him as if he was the one who was a few cards short of a full deck.
Ramona stared at him long and hard. "For once in your life, would you get a life?"
"I've got a life."
"You know what I mean." She nodded down the hall. "Why not start with her?"
Wolfe made a scoffing noise. "She's already driven me half nuts. I'm not interested in taking the rest of the trip."
"Maybe you need a little insanity in your life. And a little something else, too. Know what I mean?"
"Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. And if the day ever comes when I need somebody to analyze my sex life, you'll be the first person I call."
Ramona sighed. "You're hopeless, you know that?"
"No more hopeless than you are. When's the last time you got laid?"
"I've got a business to run. And the boys don't exactly hang around my locker waiting to ask me out." She blew her nose again. "Oh, hell. Face it, Wolfe. We're both hopeless."
Ramona wrote him a check for the apprehension, which he was sticking in his wallet just as Wendy came out of the bathroom. The cavernous bra and the twenty pounds of toilet paper that had been stuffed inside it were gone, and now that stretchy little top was left to cling to the real thing. Most men's attraction automatically leaned toward bigger than smaller, but Wolfe would take perfection over size any day. It appeared the old adage was true—the best things really did come in small packages.
"Let's go," he told her, pretending that he hadn't been staring.
"Uh … where exactly are we going?"
Those big brown eyes again, this time looking very wary. Suddenly he felt like crap for what he was about to do, but did he really have a choice? Did he want this woman underfoot any longer, turning his life upside down?
"I'm taking you to a shelter."
Her face fell. "No. Please don't make me go to one of those places. Let me stay with you a little longer."
"No way. I told you I like my privacy."
"Just for a few weeks until I get on my feet again."
"I said no."
"I'll clean your apartment."
"It's not dirty."
"Do your laundry."
"No, thanks."
"Wash your cars?"
"Nobody touches my cars."
"Even the Chevy?"
"I put dirt on the Chevy."
"Oh, come on, Wolfe! Isn't there something I can do for you in exchange for sleeping on your sofa a few nights?"
"Try food," Ramona said. "He doesn't eat worth a damn."
"No kidding," Wendy said. "You should have seen what we had for breakfast this morning."
"Those god-awful power-bar things?"
"Yeah. I've never tasted anything so disgusting in my life. If you had a million or two of them, you could build a bunker
that even a nuclear bomb couldn't—"
"Hey!" Wolfe shouted. "You two want to shut up?"
Wendy smiled. "Now, is that any way to talk to your new live-in gourmet cook?"
He stared at her with utter disbelief. No was a very short word. What part of it did she not understand?
"My cooking is legendary," she went on. "Wait until you taste my chicken teriyaki."
"Not interested."
"Duck à l'orange?"
"Nope."
"Lobster Newburg?"
"No way."
His stomach was used to plain and simple food. All that orange Newburg teriyaki stuff would only clog his blood vessels and send his cholesterol through the roof, and he wasn't about to give in to something like that.
No matter how good a home-cooked meal sounded.
"Wait a minute," Wendy said. "I know the problem. You just don't want anything that swims or cackles." She put her finger against her chin, then gave him a calculated look. "How about beef Wellington?"
Red meat? Now, that was a little more like it.
"Beef Wellington," Wendy repeated, drawing out the words seductively. "New potatoes. Broccoli in garlic-butter sauce. French silk pie for dessert. And maybe a nice bottle of Australian merlot. How does that sound?"
Wolfe thought about the dozen or so TV dinners sitting in his freezer right now. Piles of pasta with a few scraps of chicken. Three of those almost made a meal.
Then he thought about beef Wellington.
Wendy stared up at him hopefully. Ramona tap-tap-tapped her pencil against her desk, giving him a look that said she reserved the right to berate him about this through eternity if he said no, and he sure as hell didn't want that. Just because Wendy cooked him one meal didn't mean he had to let her stay around forever, did it?
He twisted his mouth with disgust. "Okay. You can make dinner, then stay overnight."
"How about two weeks?"
Wolfe looked at her incredulously. "I said one night!"
She blinked helplessly, injecting a note of shameless pleading into her voice. "Ten days?"
He glared at her. "Through the weekend, and that's it."
"How about a week?"
He slumped with resignation. "You are such a pain in the ass."
Wendy smiled. "One week it is."
"One night," he said sharply. "Unless I decide otherwise."
"And just when will you be making this decision?"
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