by Suzanne Ruby
“I’m already dressed. Sort of. I’ll walk Baby. You get dressed, because I have to regrettably boot you out so I can get to the lame meeting on time.”
Adam got up, leashed the puppy and left as if this was part of his normal morning routine.
After he and Baby were securely out the door and down the steps, she gulped the last of the coffee, took her empty mug to the kitchen and rinsed it out in the sink.
She also washed the spoon that he’d used to stir in the cream and sweetener, dried it with a hand towel and opened the utensil drawer.
There, on top of the spoons, sat the missing paperwork.
She lifted the first page, skimmed a little, then lifted the second page. Looked like a brief summary of the incident he had described. It even included the name of the accuser: Kelly, Madison.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. It felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. Seeing the woman’s name in print made it too real. Too personal.
All of a sudden, she couldn’t be certain of how many minutes had passed and she sure didn’t want him to catch her snooping. He’d been upfront about a life-changing accusation. She’d revealed her most devastating secret.
And neither one of them had bolted.
* * *
ADAM ESCORTED KIRBY to her car. She looked even better in that red dress in broad daylight.
Baby, however, had an agenda of her own. The puppy used Adam’s legs as a shield as Kirby attempted to pick her up and put her into the car.
“Somebody doesn’t want to leave,” she said.
“Somebody doesn’t want either of you to leave,” he said. And he meant it.
Sort of. He had to get his head screwed on for today and tonight, and these two beauties were a serious distraction. But with his late hours, he wouldn’t be home to feed and walk Baby, and it didn’t feel right to invite Kirby to stay.
He still didn’t know much about her, except that she wanted to be a reporter someday. Disappointing, yes. Liv had chased the spotlight and cheated in the shadows. Was a monogamous, drama-free relationship too much to ask for?
At the same time, he wanted Kirby to be happy. Truly wanted that for her. After all, she had been wounded in the worst way. No doubt about it.
He couldn’t imagine ever withholding affection from someone he claimed to love, but he’d heard similar versions from his other customers. She had no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed. Hopefully, he had convinced her of that much.
She hugged him goodbye and drove away. He hadn’t mentioned another date, but at least he’d talked about moving forward. That was, if he hadn’t scared her off with his legal problems. Hell, he was the one who should be scared. That was exactly the information he shouldn’t be talking about. With anyone.
His house was quiet until the phone rang. This was a call he’d better not ignore.
“Hey, Bernard.”
“Hello, trespasser.”
Oh, yeah. “Who told you?”
“Becker’s attorney is a good friend of a friend. Big city, small world. Good news is, they aren’t going to press charges.”
“Good. They wouldn’t have much of a case since I didn’t steal the saddles.”
“Oh, they’re moving forward with that. They’re not going to press charges for trespassing.”
Adam massaged his temple. “For Christ’s sake.”
“Did you print out your notes like I asked? Or are you too busy getting into more trouble?”
“Yes and yes. I’ll drop off a signed copy on my way to work.”
He walked over to the drawer where he’d stashed the goods, but the drawer wasn’t fully shut, as he’d left it.
Maybe he was being paranoid. Kirby and Baby had pretty much hijacked his brain and body last night. He was kind of surprised he’d managed to put the remainder of the ice cream back in the freezer.
“You there, Adam?”
“I’m here. I’ll be at your office in less than an hour. I won’t have time to chat about my newest indiscretions, so don’t even bring them up.”
“You’re one indiscretion away from having to find a new lawyer. Pull another stunt like the one you pulled yesterday, and I’m cutting you loose. You don’t pay me enough for the grief.”
“I don’t pay you at all.”
“Glad you admit it. So the least you can do is stay out of trouble.”
“Oh, I plan to. Right after I finish my shift as a male prostitute.”
“Very funny. Ride, is it? After we clear your name, you’re getting out of there.”
“If not sooner. But I’m not holding my breath. Don’t hold yours, either.” With that admonishment, he ended the call.
After all, Wild Indigo had yet to cough up an offer. In the meantime, only one thing could make his day less crappy.
With phone still in hand, he texted Kirby.
How about lunch? 1 p.m.?
I can’t. Tomorrow? she texted back.
Want to see u 2-nite. Meet for a drink at 5?
Want to see u 2. I’ll come to The Deep.
Definitely not.
Tomorrow then.
Can’t wait that long. 5 at The Deep, it is. I’ll book it.
Last thing he wanted was for her to come back to the club. Something told him he would regret it. But he’d regret not seeing her even more, and her best offer included the damn place. After what she confessed, he knew he shouldn’t push too hard.
The next number he called belonged to Fabian.
“You better not be backing out of the meeting and expect me to tell Lydia,” his friend said.
“No. I’m practically on my way now. As soon as I get dressed.”
“Then what do you need? I’m in the middle of something, if you catch my drift.”
No explanation required. The heavy breathing and deep moaning and squeaky box springs on the other end of the line said it all. Talk about multitasking.
“I guess you don’t have a pen and paper handy,” Adam said.
“Uh. If you want to wait a minute, I can get one.”
“That would be rude to your date, man.”
The female groans grew louder. The box springs practically screamed.
“Go ahead and tell me. I’ll remember,” Fabian said, somehow, in the middle of it all. “Just keep it short and sweet.”
“Like your lovemaking technique? Okay then. Private room. Five o’clock,” Adam said, even though he had no intention of breaking the cardinal rule at this point.
Well, maybe a few personal rules.
On the house.
8
BY THE TIME Kirby got situated at work, it was too late to dodge Seth. Thank goodness she’d be back at The Deep tonight. She wouldn’t have to lie about that part when Seth asked. And he was about to ask. She could read it in his face.
Fortunately, an email from Bettencourt himself was parked in her inbox, cheering her on. It was the first personalized correspondence she’d ever received from the notoriously impersonal news director. Finally, she was being taken seriously here.
It also meant she better not screw this up, which she had come dangerously close to doing last night.
Seth rested one oversized butt cheek on the corner of her desk.
Mental note: swab desk with disinfectant wipes.
“Any progress?” he asked.
She nodded but offered nothing else.
His smile twitched ever so slightly.
“Spill it, Seth.”
“You always can tell when I know something. What’s your secret?”
“I don’t give away my secrets.”
She resumed scrolling through her emails, panning for more gold from Bettencourt. All the while, her peripheral vision kept tabs on Se
th. She’d blossomed into something of an expert expression reader, and he practically flashed his proverbial hand despite his obvious efforts to play it close to the vest.
“Tell you what. You give me a hint at your secret, and I’ll give you a hint as to what else I know about Easy Ride.”
The possibilities of what he might know cut a swath through her, like a hot knife sinking into butter. Seth didn’t do “nice,” so whatever he was offering to kick up had to be dirt.
She was already confused enough, thanks to her onslaught of unexpected feelings for Adam. Any amount of unpalatable information would pretty much confirm her shaky judgment when it came to men.
All the more reason to hear it.
She stopped scrolling and gave Seth her full attention.
“Okay. I’ll share. But you have to go first,” she said.
“How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”
“You hold the keys to the kingdom around here. Why would I try to pull anything over on you? Besides, I respect you far too much.”
His defenses seemed to soften beneath flattery’s warm glow.
Bless his little weasel heart.
“All right,” he said. “Your gentleman friend’s real name is Adam Drake.”
He topped off the statement with a know-it-all smirk.
“Oh, please. I already know his name. Now I know you were the one snooping around on my computer. Why are you so infatuated by him? I’m pretty sure you’re not his type.”
“Very funny, Montgomery. And how convenient of you to already claim to know, now that I’ve stated it.”
“It’s true. You’ll have to come up with something I don’t know.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me what you do know.”
“I know he hasn’t always worked at The Deep. He had a more respectable career prior to his current job. How’s that for a secret? Happy now?”
“Respectable? Is that what he said? You need to be very careful around this guy. He did something even less respectable in his past. Do the level of investigative work you’re capable of and you’ll find out the rest.”
With that, he finally shimmied his way off the edge of her desk.
“How convenient to tell me absolutely nothing of value,” she said. “I know about the allegations of harassment levied against him. I even know the name of the accuser. Keep talking.”
“Now that’s an interesting twist, since the name of the accuser was never released.”
Seth half pursed his lips in anticipation of her reaction. Either he knew the name, or he was baiting her for something else.
“I’m sorry you don’t believe me,” she said. “But you have to know the name of the accuser. You did the investigation.”
“Yes, I did. I investigated a claim of sexual impropriety against Adam Drake. The name of the accuser wasn’t released because she was a minor.”
* * *
ADAM HAD NEVER been to Deep in the Heart on a Sunday morning. The place looked so lifeless without the crowds of people. Like a cavernous lung, complete with high wood-beam ceilings as its rib cage. It needed people and music and dancing in order to breathe.
Sunday night, however, the place practically hyperventilated, as if all the sinners felt depleted after confessing their sins at church, and returned in the evening to replenish.
The dance floor reminded him of Kirby and the night they met. Sure, he had suspected she was his client, with the way she clutched the ticket and had that panicked first-timer look about her as the ticket slipped from her hands. As fate would have it, Lydia had sent him out into the club to find Gentleman John. Instead, he found Kirby.
He reached the red door and plugged in his code.
The other guys had already arrived. Their expressions ranged from bored to perplexed. Lydia obviously hadn’t offered any hints regarding the nature of this mandatory meeting. Fabian’s messed-up hair and wrinkled T-shirt confirmed what Adam already knew. The guy had just rolled out of bed, sleep-deprived but fully satisfied in other ways.
Adam felt satisfied, too, for the first time in a long time. It felt damn good. But the similarity between him and his best friend ended there.
“Where’s Lydia?” Adam cast out his query to the group.
“She’s on her way. Traffic jam,” Fabian said.
“Any idea what this is about?” Adam asked.
A few of the guys shrugged.
Lydia finally arrived with her hair arranged in her trademark messy bun, which triggered thoughts of Kirby all over again.
“I’m sure y’all are wondering why you’re here,” she said.
Most of the guys offered less-than-enthusiastic nods.
“To begin, I got a complaint from the cleaning crew. Do not make me repeat what they claim to have found on the Corbusier in room two.”
Adam’s stomach pitched.
Cowboy Roy snorted.
“I figured it was you,” Lydia said. “Next time, please use a condom. Which brings me to item number two. Condom disposal. The cleaning crew also brought it to my attention that one of the toilets was clogged and requires a major repair. Anyone want to fess up? Who here wears a Trojan Magnum XL and went through more than one last night?”
Seriously? Were they really having this discussion? And did the cleaning crew really inspect the violation thoroughly enough to determine the brand and size of the offender?
Gentleman John sat up straight and raised his hand, as if he got bonus points for being freakishly endowed. He seemed pleased with himself until Lydia explained how the repair costs would be deducted from his earnings.
Nothing like the threat of a reduced paycheck to shrink a guy back down to normal size.
The whole thing felt surreal, and as casual as their discussions on what music they should pipe in, if any. Or whether the light fixture in the entry should be a contemporary Euro design or a 1930s-era Czechoslovakian crystal flush-mount chandelier.
“What should we do with ’em?” Cowboy Roy asked.
Lydia massaged her temples. “How about you stick to the house rule. Save that kind of activity for outside the club. Which brings me to point number three. Save that kind of activity for outside the club.”
This time, most of the guys snickered.
Lydia usually remained pretty cool, but Adam could tell she was starting to lose it. Her tight skin stretched further, and her face turned a medically dangerous shade of crimson.
“Okay, boys. Have it your way, while you can. I wasn’t going to mention this until I knew more, but apparently some female reporter is more than a little curious about the type of services we provide here. I don’t think I have to spell out what negative publicity could mean for us.”
“Is the reporter hot?” one of the guys asked.
Lydia didn’t dignify it with an answer. She simply shook her head and stormed out of the room. As soon as the clicking of her stilettos had faded, some of the guiltier parties burst out laughing.
She didn’t have to spell it out for Adam. If Lydia’s suspicions were true, and if the goings-on inside the club were made public, he’d be screwed.
* * *
SEXUAL IMPROPRIETY? With a minor?
It felt as though the air had been suctioned out of her lungs.
Kirby had refused to show that she was flustered. Not in front of Seth, of all people. No doubt he’d still read something into the fact that she’d excused herself to the ladies’ room, practically tripping over her own boots to get there.
She gripped the toilet seat and willed herself to heave.
Nothing.
In fact, she hadn’t eaten anything today. This latest disgusting news filled the void instead. Images of nubile sixteen-year-olds flashed before her eyes as she made her way back to the computer.
No wonder Adam hadn’t gone into much detail about the allegations. And she’d skimmed the document too quickly to pick up on it.
Thank God she hadn’t fully confessed about her job. Or, worse, allowed her libido to abandon The Deep and take Seth up on his offer to trade.
Once back at her desk, she texted Adam. She wouldn’t make it to the club tonight, as much as she could use some decent video footage and a confession or two for what she should have stayed focused on in the first goddamn place. No alternate plan, no explanation, no embellishment offered. She didn’t shut the door completely—no way she intended to drop the story—but she closed it enough to keep him out while she followed this unfortunate lead.
She logged back into her computer and typed in a name she had committed to memory. Kelly Madison. The search engine offered its findings. All seventeen gazillion of them, including several Facebook links.
She spent most of her time ruling out the obvious leads, leaving her with nothing of substance.
An hour later, the hungry ache in her stomach refused to be ignored. She plodded over to the vending machine, slipped in some quarters and pressed the three-digit number that would reward her with a much-needed bag of peanuts.
The machine unspooled a package of Flamin’ Pork Rinds instead.
Of course. She’d transposed the numbers.
The irony struck her with a vengeance. She practically ran back to her computer and typed in the transposed version of the name she’d memorized.
Like a stroke of atypically good luck, the first page of results offered a Madison Kelly in Houston, Texas, listed under Kelly Farms. When she clicked on the site, Madison’s name popped up beneath the name and photo of Todd Kelly, owner and trainer.
The website listed Madison as an employee. No photo.
Kirby’s imagination proceeded to draw one anyway. A very young, pretty one.
According to the site, Kelly Farms didn’t train on Sundays, but their office was open.
She picked up the receiver and punched in the number. She didn’t have a script in mind, but since she was looking to find out the truth, that’s how she would start.
“Kelly Farms. Todd speaking.”