It was built of cinder blocks that some enterprising soul had painted green. The paint, a particularly hideous shade, was peeling badly and showed the gray beneath, the way an old, peeling scab shows the pasty skin underneath.
It was barely noon, but there were nearly a dozen cars in the gravel lot.
Mel dropped her keys in her purse while she frowned at Sebastian. "Try to look less-"
"Human?" he suggested.
Elegant was the word she'd had in mind, but she'd be damned if she'd use it. "Less Gentleman's Quarterly. And for God's sake don't order any white wine."
"I'll restrain myself."
"Just follow the bouncing ball, Donovan, and you'll do fine."
What he followed were her swaying hips, and he wasn't sure he'd do fine at all.
The smell of the place assaulted him the moment Mel pulled open the door. Stale smoke, stale beer, stale sweat. There was a rumbling sound from the jukebox, and, though Sebastian had very eclectic tastes in music, he hoped he wouldn't be subjected to that surly sound for long.
Men were lined up at the bar-the kind of men with burly forearms littered with tattoos. This particular artwork ran heavily in favor of snakes and skulls. There was a clatter as four oily-looking characters shot nine ball. Some glanced up, their gazes sliding over Sebastian with a kind of smirking derision and lingering on Mel, longer and with more affection.
He picked up on scattered thoughts-easy enough, since the average IQ of the patrons hovered below three digits. His lips twitched once. He hadn't realized there were so many ways to describe a- lady.
The lady in question, one of three currently enjoying the atmosphere, sauntered up to the bar and wiggled her leather-clad bottom onto a stool. That wide, slicked mouth was pursed in a sexy pout. "Least you can do is buy me a beer," she said to Sebastian in a breathy little voice that caught him off guard. Her eyes narrowed briefly in warning, and he remembered his cue.
"Listen, sweetcakes, I told you it wasn't my fault."
Sweetcakes? Mel stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "Sure, nothing is. You get canned, it's not your fault. You lose a hundred bucks playing poker with your slimy friends, it's not your fault. Give me a beer, will you?" she called to the bartender, and crossed those long, lovely legs.
Trying to hulk a bit, Sebastian held up two fingers, then slid onto the stool beside her. "I told you- Didn't I tell you that creep had it in for me at work? And why don't you get off my back?"
"Oh, sure." She sniffed as the beers were slapped down in front of them. When Sebastian reached for his back pocket, it occurred to her that his wallet was probably worth more than the combined liquid assets of the bar's patrons. And that it was likely filled with plenty of the green stuff, along with a few flashy gold credit cards.
She hissed at him.
He understood instantly, and that would give her some food for thought later. His hand hesitated, then dropped away.
"Tapped out again?" she said, a sneer in her voice. "Isn't that just swell?" With obvious reluctance, she dug into her bag and unearthed two ragged dollar bills. "You're such a loser, Harry."
Harry? Sebastian's frown was entirely authentic. "I'll have some coming in. I got ten on the game."
"Oh, sure, sure. You'll be rolling in it." She gave him her back and, sipping at the mug of beer, scanned the room.
She had Rico's description. It took her less than two minutes to zero in on the man Rico's pal had called Eddie. Eddie was a real fun guy, according to Rico's drinking partner. He was the day man, the one who doled the merchandise out for transport and sale. And, according to Rico, he had a real soft spot for the ladies.
Mel swung her leg in time with the music and made sure she caught Eddie's eye. She smiled, fluttered, and sent out conflicting signals.
To Eddie her smile said: Hey there, big guy. I've been looking for someone just like you all my life.
To Sebastian, who had tuned in to her just enough to keep her from surprising him, it was: Fat, hairless jerk.
He turned and took a look for himself. Hairless, true, Sebastian thought. But it wasn't all fat stuffed into that sleeveless T-shirt. There was plenty of muscle mixed in.
"Listen, honey." Sebastian put a hand on Mel's shoulder and had it shrugged off.
"I'm tired of excuses, Harry. Sick and damn tired. They're all just a crock. You got no money. You lose all of mine. You can't even put fifty together to get the TV fixed. And you know how much I like my shows."
"You watch the tube too much, anyway."
"Oh, fine." She was fired up now, and she swung around to face him. "I work my butt off waiting tables half the night, and you give me grief because I like to sit down, put my feet up and watch a little TV. It don't cost nothing to watch."
"It's going to cost fifty bucks."
She shoved him, sliding off the stool as she did. "You just lost twice that in a damn card game, and some of it was mine."
"I said get off my back." He was getting into it now, almost enjoying it. Maybe it was because he remembered he'd been instructed to push her around a little. "Whine and bitch, that's all you do." He grabbed her, trying to make a good show of it.
Her head fell back and her eyes were bright with defiance.
That-sexy? Oh, yes, very sexy-mouth moved into a pout, and he had to struggle to stay in character.
She saw something in his eyes, very briefly, very powerfully. Mel's heart tripped right up to her throat and beat there like a big brass drum.
"I don't have to take this crap from you." He gave her a good shake, as much to settle himself as for effect. "If you don't like the way things are, you can try the door."
"You better take your hands off me." She made her voice tremble. It was embarrassing, but necessary. "I told you what would happen if you ever hit me again."
Hit her? Good Lord! "Just get your butt outside, Crystal." He started to push her toward the door and found his face pressed against a beefy chest covered in a sweaty T-shirt that announced that its owner was A Hard Driving Man.
"The little lady wants hands off, jerkface."
Sebastian looked up into Eddie's wide smile. Mel was sniffling beside him, really laying it on. Hoping for more even ground, Sebastian rose from the stool so that he and the knight errant were eye-to-eye.
"Mind your own business."
Eddie knocked him back on the stool with one blow. Sebastian was certain he was going to feel the imprint of the heel of that sledgehammer hand on his chest for years to come.
"You want I should take him out and mess him up, sweetheart?"
Mel dried her lashes and seemed to consider it. She hesitated just long enough to make Sebastian sweat. "No." She laid a trembling hand on Eddie's arm. "He ain't worth it." Fluttering, she turned her admiring face up to his. "You're awfully nice. There's hardly any gentlemen left in this world a girl can count on."
"Why don't you come on and sit down at my table?" He put a tree-trunk arm around her waist. "I'll buy you a drink and you can take a load off."
"That's real sweet."
She sauntered off with him. Wanting to put on a good show, Sebastian made as if to follow them. One of the contestants at the pool table grinned and slapped a cue on his palm. Suitably warned, Sebastian skulked down to the end of the bar and nursed his beer.
She made him wait an hour and a half. He couldn't even order a second beer without breaking his cover and was enduring nasty looks from the bartender as he nibbled on peanuts and made the last half inch of his drink last forever.
He'd just about had it. His idea of a good time was not sitting in a smelly bar watching some sumo wrestler paw the woman he'd come with. Even if he didn't have any emotional investment. And even, he thought darkly, if that woman giggled with every appearance of enjoyment every time one of those ham-sized hands rubbed her leg.
It would serve her right if he just strolled out, caught himself a cab and left her to it.
In Mel's opinion, everything was going just fine. Fine and dandy. Si
r Eddie, as she called him-much to his delight-was getting slowly and steadily drunk. Not pie-eyed, just nice and vulnerable. And he was doing plenty of talking. Men just loved to brag to an eager woman-especially when they were juiced.
He'd just come into a nice chunk of change, so Eddie said. And maybe she'd like to help him spend a little of it.
She'd love to. Of course, she had to get to work in a couple of hours, and she didn't finish her shift until one, but after that-
When she had him softened up, she gave him a sob story. How she and Harry had been together for almost six whole months. How he ran through money like water and kept her from having a good time. She didn't ask for much. Just some pretty clothes and a few laughs. And now it was really bad, just plain awful, because her TV had broken down. Here she'd been saving up for a VCR so she could tape shows while she worked, and now the TV was on the fritz. Worse, Harry had blown his money and hers on cards, so now she didn't even have the fifty to fix the set.
"I really like to watch, you know?" She toyed with her second beer. Eddie was working on number seven. "In the afternoon they got these shows, and all the women have these pretty clothes. Then they switch me to the day shift and I miss out. I can never catch up with what's happening. And you know-" She leaned forward, confidentially, so that her breasts rubbed against his forearm. "They got these love scenes on them. Watching them just gets me so- hot."
Eddie watched her tongue peek out and run around her lips. He plainly thought he'd died and gone to heaven. "I guess it's not much fun watching something like that all alone."
"Be more fun with somebody." She gave him a look that told him he was the only possible somebody. "If I had a set that worked, it might be nice. I like daytime, you know. When everybody else is working or shopping, and you can be- in bed." Sighing, she ran her fingertip around her mug.
"It's daytime now."
"Yeah. But I haven't got a TV." She giggled, as if it were a great joke.
"I might be able to help you with that, baby."
She let her eyes widen, then brought her lashes coyly down. "Aw, gee, that's really sweet of you, Eddie. I couldn't let you give me the fifty. It wouldn't be right."
"What do you want to toss money at an old set for, anyway? You can have a new one."
"Oh, yeah." She snorted into her beer. "And I could have me a diamond tiara, too."
"Can't help you on that, but I can get you a set."
"Come on." She shot him a disbelieving look and let her hand rest on his knee. "How?"
He puffed out his massive chest. "Just so happens, I'm in the business."
"You sell TVs?" She cocked her head and had her eyes blinking in fascination. "You're pulling my leg."
"Not now." He winked. "Maybe later."
Mel laughed heartily. "Oh, you're a card, Sir Eddie." She drank again, sighed again. "I wish you weren't fooling. If you could get me one, I'd be awfully grateful."
He leaned closer. She could smell the beer and smoke on his breath. "How grateful?"
Mel wiggled toward him, put her mouth to his ear and whispered a suggestion that would have made the worldly Sebastian stutter.
Short of breath, Eddie finished off his beer in one gulp and grabbed her hand. "Come on, sweet thing. I got something to show you."
Mel went along, not bothering to glance in Sebastian's direction. She sincerely hoped that what Eddie was about to show her was a television.
"Where're we going?" she asked as he led her to the back of the building.
"My office, babe." A sly wink. "Me and my partners got a little business back here."
He took her over a rubble of broken bottles, trash and piles of gravel to another concrete building, perhaps half the size of the bar. After three raps on the door, it was opened by a skinny man of about twenty wearing horn-rims and carrying a clipboard.
"What's the deal, Eddie?"
"The lady needs a TV." He swung his arm over Mel's shoulder and squeezed. "Crystal, honey, this is Bobby."
"Meetcha," Bobby said with a bounce of his head. "Look, Eddie, I don't think this is a good idea. Frank's going to be mad as hell."
"Hey, I got as much right as Frank." Eddie bulled his way in.
Ah, Mel thought, and sighed. For real.
The fluorescent bulbs overhead shone down on the blank single eyes of more than a dozen televisions. They sat cheek by jowl with CD players, VCRs, stereo systems. Tossed in for good measure were several boom boxes, personal computers, telephone answering machines, and one lonely microwave oven.
"Wow!" She clapped her hands together. "Oh, wow, Eddie! Look at all this! It's like a regular department store."
Full of confidence, and swaying only a little, Eddie winked at the nervous Bobby. "We're what you call suppliers. We don't do any retail out of here. This is just like our warehouse. Go ahead, look around."
Still playing her role, Mel walked over to the televisions, running her hands over their screens as if her fingers were walking in mink.
"Frank's not going to like this," Bobby hissed.
"So what he don't know he don't have to not like. Right, Bobby?"
Bobby, who was outweighed by a hundred pounds, nodded. "Sure, Eddie. But bringing a broad in here-"
"She's okay. Great legs, but not much brains. I'm going to give her a set-and then I'm going to get lucky." He moved past Eddie to join Mel. "See one you like, baby?"
"Oh, they're great. Really great. Do you mean I can really have one? Just pick one out and have it?"
"Why, sure." He gave her a quick, intimate squeeze. "We got this breakage insurance. So I'll just have old Bobby there put down like one got busted. That's all there is to it."
"Really?" She tossed her head, moving just far enough out of reach that she could easily slip a hand into her bag. "That's great, Eddie. But it looks to me like you're the one who's busted."
She pulled out a nickel-plated.38.
"A cop!" Bobby nearly screeched the words, while Eddie's face settled into a thoughtful frown. "Jeez, Eddie, she's a cop!"
"There you go. Don't," she warned as Bobby edged to the door. "Just have a seat, Bobby. On the floor there. And sit on your hands, will you?"
"You bitch," Eddie said, in a considering voice that put Mel on guard. "I should've smelled cop."
"I'm private," she told him. "That might be the reason." She gestured with the gun. "Let's take it outside, Eddie."
"No woman's going to double-cross me-gun or no gun."
He lunged.
She didn't want to shoot him. She really didn't. He wasn't anything more than a fat, second-rate thief, and he didn't deserve a bullet. Instead, she twisted, veering left and counting on her speed and agility and his beer-induced sluggishness.
He missed and rammed headlong into a twenty-five inch screen. Mel wasn't sure who was the victor, but the screen cracked like an egg, and Eddie went down hard.
There was a sound behind her. When she whirled she had time to see Sebastian wrap an arm around Bobby's throat. One quick squeeze had him dropping the hammer he'd been lifting over Mel's head.
"It probably wouldn't have made a dent," Sebastian said between his teeth as Bobby crumpled bonelessly to the concrete floor. "You didn't tell me you had a gun."
"I didn't think I had to. You're supposed to be psychic."
Sebastian picked up the hammer, tapping it gently against his palm. "Keep it up, Sutherland."
She merely shrugged and took another look at the loot. "Nice haul. Why don't you go call the cops? I'll keep an eye on these two."
"Fine." He was sure it was too much to expect her to thank him for saving her from a concussion, or worse. The best he could do was slam the door behind him.
It was nearly an hour later when Sebastian stood by and watched Mel sitting on the hood of her car. She was going over the fine details with what appeared to be a very disgruntled detective.
Haverman, Sebastian remembered. He'd run into him once or twice.
Then he dismissed the cop and
concentrated on Mel.
She'd pulled off the earrings and was still rubbing her lobes from time to time. Most of the goo on her face had been wiped off with tissue. Her unpainted mouth and naturally flushed cheeks made a devastating contrast with the big, heavy-lidded eyes.
Pretty? Had he granted her pretty? Sebastian wondered. Hell, she was gorgeous. In the right light, at the right angle, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Then she might turn and be merely mildly attractive again.
That held an odd and disturbing sort of magic.
But he didn't care how she looked, he reminded himself. He didn't care, because he was plenty peeved. She'd dragged him into this. It didn't matter that he'd volunteered to come along. Once he had, she'd set the rules, and he'd had plenty of time to decide he didn't like them.
She'd gone alone into that storage building with a man built like two fullbacks. And she'd had a gun. No little peashooter, either, but a regular cannon.
What the hell would she have done if she'd had to use it? Or-Lord-if that mountain of betrayed lust had gotten it away from her?
"Look," Mel was saying to Haverman. "You've got your sources, I've got mine. I got a tip. I followed it up." She was moving her shoulders carelessly, but, oh, she was enjoying this. "You've got no beef with me, Lieutenant."
"I want to know who put you on to this, Sutherland." It was a matter of principle for him. He was a cop, after all, a real cop. Not only was she a PI, she was a female PI. It just plain grated on him.
"And I don't have to tell you." Then her lips quirked, because the idea was so beautiful, so inspired. "But, since we're pals, I'll clue you in." She jerked her thumb toward Sebastian. "He did."
"Sutherland-" Sebastian began.
"Come on, Donovan, what does it hurt?" This time she smiled and brought him in on the joke. "This is Lieutenant Haverman."
"We've met."
"Sure." Now Haverman was not only piqued but deflated. Women PIs and psychics. What was law enforcement coming to? "I didn't think missing TVs was your gig."
"A vision's a vision," Sebastian said complacently, and had Mel hooting.
"So how come you passed it to her?" It didn't sit right with him. "You always come to the cops."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 256