Man Law

by Adrienne Giordano

  Someone bumped his shoulder and he scooted his chair back to give himself extra room. Unfortunately, people crammed in shoulder to shoulder and stacked themselves three deep at the bar. They’d all be loaded by the end of the night, and what a mess it would be.

  The pulsing under his skin began and he scratched at his arm in a hopeless attempt to minimize it. His nervous energy had returned. He’d always hated nightclubs. They were a hotbed for bad behavior. He didn’t mind a shot-and-a-beer bar so much, but these monster nightclubs could be a nuisance.

  Roxann leaned over, bumped his shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  Tonight was the first he’d seen her since she’d skewered him in her kitchen.

  “I’m good. You okay?”

  She smiled a goofy, no-teeth smile.

  “What?” he asked.

  When she put her hand on his shoulder, Mike’s eyes shifted in their direction. He didn’t like Roxi touching other men. Probably a holdover from his cheating ex-wife. Roxann was solid and Mike knew it, but old habits lived on.

  “You’re nervous,” she said.

  He backed out of her reach before Mike blew an artery. “I’m wound up. There’s a difference.”

  What a load of dog shit. He was nervous as hell. Something had him edgy. Years spent in the military, and the training that went with it, had his instincts working overtime. The thumping music zoned him into his immediate surroundings. He’d blocked out the sound yet everything around him heightened. A woman at the next table wore heavy perfume and the flowery scent instigated a sneeze. Someone laughed from the table on the other side when he could barely hear Roxann talking to him. His instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion and something in this place was definitely off.

  The band took the stage and Gina, her outfit showing off every inch of her slammin’ body, made all thoughts of bad guys disappear. Oh, crap. Don’t think about the V-neck T-shirt. All he needed was another boner. With his luck, Roxann would notice and she’d be mortified.

  “She looks fantastic,” Roxann said, smiling.

  Mike shrugged. He’d always been vocal about not liking his sister’s sexy clothes.

  “She always looks fantastic,” Vic said, earning a glower. He pointed to his head. “I’ve got eyes.”

  Mike ignored him.

  After the blowout last week, Mike hadn’t said anything to him about his potential involvement with Gina. Probably because Roxann had threatened to castrate him if he interfered again. She had the touch with reining him in.

  Roxann angled toward Mike and said something while stroking the back of his head. Vic had seen her do it a hundred times, but this time he clenched his teeth. No one ever touched him in the intimate way people do when they’ve been together awhile. Why it suddenly bugged him may have had something to do with the petite brunette on stage.

  The waitress put his water, a beer and a vodka on the rocks on the table. Vic told the girl to run a tab and, after giving him the I’m-available-if-you’re-interested stare, she strutted away. She was hotter than an August day, and a few weeks earlier he’d have been all over that action. Not now, though. He didn’t have it in him. Not with his feelings about Gina twisting him up.

  The band kicked into the Springsteen classic “Man’s Job.” Nice. They obviously knew the crowd pleasers.

  This song had a butt load of harmony, and Gina snapped her fingers, swinging those beautiful hips. She hit a high note, threw her head back and—oh boy, ladies and gentlemen—left the atmosphere. He’d never seen her like this, and had to smile. This must be freedom for her. Gina the dead firefighter’s wife gone. Gina the mother taking a break. This was just Gina.

  Their eyes locked and Vic, knowing the next few lines, hummed along.

  Yes, loving Gina would be a man’s job. His insides disintegrated. What the hell was going on with him? Could he handle being the man in her life? Could he make the changes necessary even to be in the running?

  His phone vibrated again. Vic shook himself out of his mental stupor and checked the ID. A text message that everything was quiet out back. So far so good.

  Gina stepped up to sing lead. Now, this would be fun. Vic surveyed the area, making sure no one approached the stage. He couldn’t imagine anyone penetrating the security they’d put in place, but something still dogged him. As crowded as this joint was, anything could happen.

  She adjusted the microphone to her height. “Hey, everybody.”

  A couple of boneheads a few tables over hooted and hollered, and Vic and Mike both turned. Drunks. This early. Fuck.

  “How about a little Aretha?” Gina asked, leaving Vic enthralled with the easygoing girl on stage.

  The crowd whooped as the band broke into “Chain of Fools” and Gina’s bluesy voice belted out the first line of the song. Her singing voice had a richness to it he’d never heard, and he smiled at the newness of it.

  Hell, even Roxann sang along.

  Gina had gone to the far off place again, bumping those hips, letting the music take her away from her problems. Any man in the place, besides Mike of course, would be crazy not to want her.

  When she got to the second verse, she set her sights on Vic and pointed at him. Say what?

  Mike shifted in his seat and Vic couldn’t blame him, because his own legs had liquefied. People focused on him and the walls crowded in bit by bit until all the oxygen had been squeezed out. Hey, floor, how about swallowing me whole? Vic didn’t know whether to be mortified, pissed off or happy that Gina thought about him that way.

  This up-and-down thing with her made him nuts. Totally fucking certifiable. He wanted her 24-7, but how the hell could they make something out of their broken lives? With her responsibilities and his baggage, it would be one hell of a heavy load for them to carry. He inhaled again, let his active mind simmer. Maybe they could carry the load together.

  He sat straight, noticed Mike looking everywhere but at him and almost laughed. Any other time, Vic would have capitalized on his discomfort, but not tonight.

  Mike would have to live with the situation, because Vic knew one thing for sure. He wanted Gina in his life.

  “We’re going to take a short break and be back.” Gina waved and glanced at the table as she left the stage. Oh yeah, you’ll hear from me on this stunt.

  The crowd continued applauding until the DJ cranked up Beyoncé.

  Vic drummed his fingers on the table for a second. “I’ll be right back.”

  Roxann had a whopper of a shit-eating grin on her face, but Mike not so much. Vic couldn’t worry about it.

  He had to talk to Gina.

  Gina came out of the backstage ladies’ room, pulled her phone from her purse to check on the kids and ran smack into a guy wandering the long narrow hallway. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, grabbing his arm to keep herself from going over.

  Three other doors—two dressing rooms and a storage room—dotted the long hallway, and she wondered why he’d be backstage. Maybe he worked at the club.

  The guy grabbed her other arm. “No, problem, gorgeous. You okay?”

  His shaved head and body-appraising leer gave her chill bumps. Creepy. When he zeroed in on her breasts, unease snapped at her and she burrowed into the wall. She smelled alcohol. Great. The music from the bar blared and the dressing room doors were closed. Where the hell was the band?

  “I’m fine, thanks. Just heading back to my friends.” She tried to sidestep him.

  Maybe if he knew people were close, he’d go away.

  As she moved, he put an arm on each side of her, caging her in.

  All those self-defense tactics Michael had drilled into her were about to be put to use. She knew not to go for the crotch first. Men expected it. Plus, he was a big guy, maybe six feet, and she’d have to hit him hard enough to ensure he wouldn’t recover fast and grab her. She’d poke him in the eyes. Or maybe a chop to the throat and then blast him with a knee to the groin. But that would really piss him off. She’d try reasoning first.
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  With her hand on his chest, she pushed. “You need to back off.”

  The drunk, already only inches away, took a step closer. “Or what?”

  So much for reasoning.

  “She asked you to back off.”

  The drunk swiveled his head and found Vic standing behind him. Thank God! The breath she’d been holding burst free. With his talent for soundlessly sneaking up on people, no wonder Vic excelled at the covert stuff.

  The drunk’s hands remained on the wall and Gina contemplated giving him that shot to the balls.

  “What?” he asked.

  Vic’s jaw tensed, but otherwise he didn’t indicate what he might be thinking.

  The guy finally faced Vic. Well, Vic’s chest anyway and she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Tough guy wasn’t so tough anymore.

  Vic got into the drunk’s space. “You like intimidating women?”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Security.” He jerked his thumb. “Beat it, asshole.”

  Rearing back and nearly knocking her with his elbow—jerk—the drunk took a swing at Vic.

  So not a good idea.

  Vic swept his right leg out, knocked the idiot off his feet, rolled him to his belly and jammed his knee between his shoulder blades. That’ll hold him.

  “Now, look, numb-nuts. I’m really not in the mood to rip your arms off and shove ’em up your ass. I’m going to let you up and have someone escort you out. Either way, you are not staying here tonight.”

  Gina stepped out of the way and stood behind Vic in case the drunk did anything stupid.

  “Let. Me. Up,” the jerk wheezed.

  Vic, ever the gentlemen, held his hand out for the guy, shoved him against the wall face-first and held him there. He unclipped his phone and dialed.

  “Meet me by the back hallway. We got someone needing help out.”

  He turned to her. “Wait here. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay, but I’ve only got five minutes before we go back on.”

  “I’ll be quick,” he said. “Unless this dipshit gives me a hard time and I have to throw him off the roof.”

  He gave the guy a shove and headed to the end of the hallway, where he dumped him off. Good riddance. Vic strode toward her and she steeled herself for a lecture on personal safety.

  “Are you okay?” He took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Why didn’t you drop him?”

  “I was about to let him have it when you walked up. I figured I’d try reasoning with him first.”

  “Next time, forget reasoning. He could have hurt you.”

  Gina checked her watch. Only three minutes before they went back on stage. Vic, still holding her hand, took a step closer. She’d backed herself into the spot where the drunk had pinned her. This time she liked the closeness.

  No doubt he wanted to ream her about getting carried away during “Chain of Fools.” He was lucky that was all she did, because she’d been thinking about jumping him since the pickle-in-your-pocket incident. She had no willpower when it came to this man.

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” she said.

  He smiled wide. “You didn’t embarrass me. Mike needed CPR, but I’m fine.”

  A laugh bubbled out. Poor Michael.

  “So,” he said, “you want to have dinner with me next weekend?”

  Just like that. Boom! He’d asked her on a date. At least she thought it was a date. They’d been spending a lot of time together over the past week. It could be a friendly thing.

  “Uh…a date dinner or a friends dinner?”

  “I think we’re friends, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Have I ever asked you out to dinner?”

  His eyes were getting greener by the second and sweat dripped down her back. “No.”

  “Then I guess it’s a date.”

  “Uh.”

  He stepped back, held up two hands. “I know we haven’t settled the whole thing about my job, but like you said last week, we’re stuck. We’ve gotta go one way or the other, and I want to go forward. We may decide we hate each other.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “Still. We don’t know if we’d even work out, and we’re worried about the kids and what could happen. I’m not going anywhere until this Sirhan crap is settled. Let’s take advantage of the time.”

  Why, oh why, did this make sense to her? Really, what were they so worried about? They might go out on a couple of dates and decide they drove each other crazy. They could just stay friends if it didn’t work out.

  “Gina, let’s go,” someone called from the stage, but neither of them moved. Her heart thumped louder than the music in the club and she battled her better judgment.

  “I have to go. Can we finish this later?”

  He dropped his head, but stepped back, his jaw tight.

  “You’re taking me home later, right?”

  “I’ll meet you here,” he said.

  “Okay. Think about where you’re taking me to dinner next week. I like anything. Particularly if you’ll be dessert.”

  The answer was yes.

  Vic tried smacking her on the butt, but she scooted away. He grabbed the back of her pants, spun her around and kissed the hell out of her. Plastered against the wall, her lush skin pressed into him. He knew he’d done the right thing. They’d be great together.

  “Hey,” one of the band guys said, storming around the corner and seeing Gina being mauled. “Oh. Sorry. We’re ready.”

  Vic grunted. His pants were bulging. Again. He wondered if men ever died from too many hard-ons. “I’m ready too,” he whispered in her ear.

  She laughed. “I guess you’ll have to stay that way.”

  “What else is new?”

  Chapter Nine

  Man Law: Never wonder if you should have thrown the asshole off the roof.

  Vic dragged his tired ass into his office, set his coffee down and dropped into the desk chair. Why did Mondays always have to happen on Monday? Why couldn’t Friday happen on Monday? Jeez, he was worn thin, his brain whacking out on him. Friday on Monday? What the hell?

  He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. He’d worn a nice shirt and dress pants today. Mike always wanted everyone all spit and polish when clients visited. As long as he didn’t need to do a song and dance, he didn’t give a shit. Right now he wanted a bed. And for a change, he wanted to sleep in it. Alone.

  After taking Gina home Saturday night he’d stayed to help the guys keep an eye on the house. With the kids sleeping at Mike’s and Gina alone in the house, it seemed the right thing to do. Only problem was, Gina the aerobics queen had a 9:00 a.m. step class on Sunday mornings. Then came the normal grocery shopping, kids’ birthday parties, sports, blah, blah, blah. He’d finally dropped into bed at midnight but was so overtired sleep wouldn’t come.

  If he didn’t get some downtime soon, he’d go ballistic and that wouldn’t be pretty.

  With a quick tap his laptop whirred to life. A couple of clicks later he was into his email. Sixty-four messages. He’d be here all morning.

  Leaning forward, he scrolled through the list, deleted all the junk mail and reduced the number to fifty. Not bad. The first four were operatives checking in. Old Marty got himself shot in the foot, literally, by some pissed-off Iraqi and needed medical attention. Wasn’t Marty the guy who’d complained that protection details were boring? That’d teach him.

  The next email came from one of those websites where people upload their home movies and send them to friends. The subject line said Howdy Doody Sent You a Video.

  Assuming the virus protection would do its job, he clicked the link.

  The video popped onto the computer screen and Vic jerked his head back. “What the…”

  Gina, wearing the wicked V-neck T-shirt and tight pants, belted out “Chain of Fools.” This was from Saturday night. Fuck a duck. He clicked back to the email. Howdy Doody? Who the
hell used Howdy Doody as a screen name? Gina’s voice boomed in Vic’s ears and he took a deep breath, tensed his muscles, let the breath out. The roaring in his head quieted.

  Stop and think about this. He clicked back to the video and studied it. Grainy. Probably a cheap cell phone. He pictured the bar in his head. The stage, the crowded tables, the bad lighting. He locked it into his brain and focused on the computer. The video was shot from roughly the same area where he’d been sitting. Maybe a little to the left, but the same vicinity. The cameraman swiveled the camera on himself and smiled.

  Son of a bitch.

  The drunk who’d harassed Gina in the hallway.

  “Yo.” A voice came from the doorway and Vic nearly bolted from his chair.

  Tiny, dressed in Dockers and a blue pullover, threw up his hands “Whoa. Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He went back to his computer but waved Tiny over. “Take a look at this.”

  “Hey,” he said from behind Vic’s chair. “It’s Gina. Cool. She’s pretty good. You shoot this?”

  Vic sat back. “No. That’s what’s pissing me off. It’s from Saturday night. And check this.” He hit the rewind button on the screen until they got to the man’s face.

  Tiny shrugged. “Who is it?”

  “That’s the dickhead that cornered Gina.”

  “Huh?”

  Vic didn’t have time for a lengthy explanation. “You wanna focus here or what? This asshole must have gotten my name and the company I work for from someone at the club. How else would he have my email address?”

  The phone buzzed. “Vic?” the secretary said.

  Why couldn’t that goddamned phone burst into flames? “What?”

  “Khalid Sirhan. Line one.”

  A thought bashed its way into Vic’s skull and he gripped the edge of the desk. Oh, no. Couldn’t be.

  “Whoa,” Tiny said for the second time since he’d walked in.

  “Tell Mike I need him in here,” he told the secretary, then grabbed a pen and paper and shoved it at Tiny. “Take notes.”

  “Got it.”

  Vic hit line one. “Sirhan? How you doin’ today?” he asked in his practiced, happiest-guy-in-the-world voice.