by Lucy Farago
“This is nice. Mean would be me leaving you here to fend for yourself.”
“And Rhonda?”
“She’s the reason I’m being nice. Great gal, that one. Funny. And a ball-buster. Great combo. Not to mention gorgeous. Do you think when this is all over she’d go out with me?”
“No,” he blurted. “I mean, you smell. Look at you. Besides, aren’t you dating someone?”
“Broke up. Too bad, too. She had great hips. Perfect for birthing my babies.”
“How do you get away with shit like that? If I said that, a woman would slap me. You say it, they can’t wait to climb into your bed and give you those babies.”
“First off.” He took a long swallow from his bottle of water, then wiped a hand over his mouth. “I speak the truth. I want children. Second, you have trouble getting women in your bed?” He made a disgusted sound. “More like trouble getting them out. You’re such a man-ho.”
“Just because women want in doesn’t mean they get in.”
“When did you get scruples?”
“Can you even spell scruples?”
“F-U-C-K-O-F-F. And for insulting my intelligence, no update for you.” He turned to walk out of the kitchen.
“Dozier, you and I both know you’ll give me that update.”
“Yeah.” He turned back. “Just havin’ fun with the invalid.” He sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Blake to join him. “Bring coffee.”
Shaking his head, Blake grabbed two cups from the cupboard, filled them, and headed for the table. He handed one to Dozier and sat.
“Monty said they might have a lead. He hacked into London’s street surveillance and inputted that model’s face, seeing if it’d come up. Now, he doesn’t know who, but he’s fairly certain she wasn’t being faithful to Filipov.”
“How?”
“There was an apartment he’d tagged her going into on more than one occasion.”
“So? She was visiting a friend?”
“Overnight?”
It was possible. “He didn’t catch anyone of interest leaving?”
“Nah, but there’s a back alley, no cameras.”
“Any leads on whose apartment she was in?”
“They ran the records. Nothing popped. But each time she went in, she came out with an extra bag. A day later, she’d fly out. Seven times in the last year.”
“Which is it? Is she having an affair or picking up?”
“Or both?”
That was an interesting theory and triggered all kinds of other theories. “Maybe she wasn’t killed for the diamonds.”
“You think Filipov whacked his own girlfriend out of jealousy?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect she wasn’t a simple mule.”
“Something to think about. So, why you up so early?”
“No drugs. It’s a wonderful thing.” He smiled.
“Not if you’re in pain.”
“I’m okay. Pain is bearable.” He sipped his coffee.
“You were shot. Don’t re-injure something you might need.”
“Aww, you worried about me?” Blake placed a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.”
“In the head? I knew that already. Look, I’m going to shower. Anything you need?” He stood, taking his coffee with him.
“Nope, but thanks.”
“Cool, see ya later.”
After Dozier left, Blake drank his coffee, mulling over the new intel. It could be something. It could be nothing. He was leaning toward the former. Something caught his attention and he turned in time to see Rhonda sneaking out of the kitchen. “Where you going?” And why was she slinking away?
“You’re awake?” she said, stating the obvious and turning.
Blake’s mouth fell open. He knew she’d be beautiful, knew the makeup was a mask to hide behind. Her bright eyes had been wiped clean of black liner but there was still a rough edge to her. Someone who’d had Rhonda’s life would’ve lost her innocent glow a long time ago, maybe before finishing elementary school. She’d had it tough and Blake ached for her. But standing there, feet bare, in a pair of pink satin shorts and a tank top, she looked years younger.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Her horrified expression—of having been caught without makeup—softened. “Why are you up so early? Are you in pain?” She rushed over. “I left your pills by your bed. Do you want me to get them?”
He scowled.
“Cognizant of your injury,” she said with a rueful smile.
“You know, I’ll only let you use that for so long.”
“Fine, go screw yourself. Better?”
“Much, thanks.”
“Weirdo.” She sat and leaned back in a chair. “Okay, why are you up?”
“Nothing to keep me asleep. Why are you up?”
“Habit. I’d try and get up before my dad. Sometimes to finish homework from the night before. Especially if he’d gone out and I couldn’t find him till late. But mostly it was my quiet time.” She went over to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. “In the time between when I got up and had to get ready for school or work, I could be normal. I could forget my father was passed out in the other room.”
“Don’t you resent him? At least a little?”
“It was my decision to stay. He didn’t make me.”
“Why did you? I know he was your dad, but life with him couldn’t have been easy.” He didn’t point out the fact that she hadn’t answered the question. He suspected she did resent him, and for some reason, couldn’t admit it.
“Look what losing my mom did to him. He told me every day how much he loved me. I couldn’t leave him when he needed me so much. So, are you hungry?” she said, dropping the subject.
“Not yet.” His heart broke for the little girl she’d never been given the chance to be. “I thought about going outside for a walk. Care to join me?”
“Are you up to walking?”
“I think it will help me feel normal.” He wasn’t used to being cooped up. Any longer, he’d go stir crazy.
“Sure, let me get changed.”
“Two minutes.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“Sure it is. Now go or I’ll go without you.” He knew he shouldn’t do that to her. She’d never let him go alone. It went against her nature. But neither did he want to give her enough time to paint her face. He didn’t have a problem with how she wore her makeup. Hell, it had been one of the reasons he’d been attracted to her, her fuck you persona, but he wanted to get to know the real woman, the one she herself hid from.
She took too long to answer, so he pulled his ace.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” he said, rubbing his chest with the slightest of grimaces. “I mean pajama shorts off, sweats on, grab a jacket and let’s go.”
Her gaze shot to his hand. “Okay, wait.” She bolted out of the kitchen.
He headed into Dozier’s bedroom, pilfered a handgun, and tucked it under his sweatshirt. He decided it was better not to freak her out by bringing a shotgun. Dozier was overreacting. But alligators weren’t the only thing they needed to watch out for.
Rhonda returned. “Ready,” she said on a heavy breath.
Yes she was, he thought. He’d never seen a woman look sexier in sweats and no makeup. “Great.”
She made it to the backdoor in the kitchen before he did. Without waiting, she opened it. He eyed it, then her.
“You tear a stitch, it’ll be me dealing with it.” She nodded toward the door. “This thing is ancient and heavy. So while I’ll respect you wanting to do things for yourself, I won’t allow you to bugger up your progress. And before you open your big mouth to complain …”
Blake shut his mouth.
“Good boy. I do this for me, not you. So no doing anything that can make you bleed. We in agreement, or do I have to make Dozier tie you to the bed?”
He’d do it too, the bastard, simply for a laugh. Blake nodded.
“Nah-uh. Say it. Say you
promise.”
“Wow, you’re mean and a nag.”
“Say it,” she ordered.
“I promise, I promise.”
“Good.” She smiled approvingly. “Now, let’s go find us those gators.” She waved him through the door.
“Dozier told you?” Outside on the porch, Blake looked up to a clear sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
“Yup. You know where they are?”
“Yes, and why do you want to see them?”
“I’ve never seen one.”
“Don’t let Dozier see you so excited. He’ll think you’re nuts.”
“Oh, come on. They’re in a pen, right?”
He didn’t answer.
She’d taken a step off the porch when she turned. “Right?”
“Mostly,” he said, knowing it was wrong to scare her but loving the wide-eyed look of fear on her face. Stupid bastard that he was, he thought it made her more beautiful. But he’d had his fun, and it was time to be honest. “There’s a fence that divides them from the rest of the property. See.” He pointed to a gate some thirty feet to their left.
She followed his direction. “That fence stops them?”
“It stops them from getting close to the house. That outhouse-looking thing inside the fence, that’s where they’re fed. I think I remember Ryan telling me their pen covers two acres. There are turtles and fish in that water, snakes too, and any bird unlucky enough to land in there. They’re fed fish or some other kind of meat from their feeders, or in this case, from Dozier.” He smiled, knowing Dozier didn’t appreciate that particular chore. “What appears natural is actually a man-made habitat, complete with cypress trees and swamp.” No expense spared. Ryan had way too much money.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want gators for pets.” She stepped off the porch. “You sure they can’t get out?”
“It only happened once. Which is why Dozier is a little leery of the toothy creatures.”
“Once?” She stopped walking. “What do you mean, once?”
“Got into the house. Ryan was hosting the Fourth of July. The screaming was louder than the fireworks.”
“You’re not serious?” She looked a tad nervous and cute as hell.
“A guest had had a little too much to drink and forgot to latch the gate. Ryan swears they’re harmless. Alligators rarely attack humans. Come on. Let’s go see if Sonny and Cher are out.”
“He didn’t. Really? What kind of names are those?”
“There’s more, but I’ll have to show you.”
“Do we have to?”
“I thought you wanted to see them?”
“Not if they’re escape artists.”
“They had help. Come on,” he said, leading the way. “They’re probably deep in their swamp anyway.”
She followed, but a few steps back. When they made it to the fence, they were in luck. The two could be spotted just below the water surface.
“When it gets hot, they’ll come out and sunbathe. It’s too early for that now. I think Ryan got a third one, but you’ll have to ask Dozier.”
“Wow, they are ugly.” She peered into the pen.
“Yeah. Cher has a big scar on her back. Boating accident. They’re rescues. He claims he didn’t start off choosing gators as pets.”
“Oh, that’s nice of him.” She glanced back at the two reptiles, still in the water, appearing to ignore their onlookers. “I guess.”
“Yeah, that’s Ryan. Nice.” He laughed. “Look at the shed. Can you see the sign over the door?”
She squinted, then laughed. “I got you, babe”?
“Monty’s sense of humor.”
“Cute, I think. So how did they get them out of the house?”
“Food and a very fancy wire leash.”
“Glad I wasn’t there to see it. It would have been nasty if they’d decided the guests were food.”
“Like I said, they don’t normally attack humans, but if they do, you’d better be a master at the death roll.”
“Oh, I know what that is,” she said, proud for knowing. “I saw it on the Discovery Channel. They roll with food in their mouth to drown it, before they eat it or stash it under the water for later.”
“That’s right.” Blake didn’t watch much television, but he’d been known to watch nature documentaries now and again. At first it had been simply to learn about the wild world. He hadn’t been on many jungle missions like Ryan’s other men had. No, Ryan reserved all the pretty-boy bullshit just for Blake. But the times he had gone, he’d wanted to be prepared, to learn as much about his environment as he could. It was as important as knowing who they’d been hired to retrieve. “You like that channel?”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV but when I do, I want my reality shows to mean something.”
“What, butt implants and strange fetishes aren’t good television?”
“To each his own. So we walking or talking?” she said, hands on her hips.
“Wow, mean, a nag, and now pushy. Do you have any redeeming qualities?”
“I can whack a carrot out of your mouth with a bullwhip.”
“My kinda girl.” He took her by the hand.
Rhonda kept her hand in his, enjoying the familiarity that seemed to come so easily to them. It meant nothing, she told herself. They were just two friends holding hands and walking. “It’s a special talent of mine.”
“For real?”
“Maggie was afraid I’d accidentally whack a customer.” She made an air quote with her free hand. “So she made me stop using it in my act.”
“Yeah, not good for business. Killing the patrons.”
She rolled her eyes. “A few of them could’ve used a good whacking.” She couldn’t count how many times some creep had tried to cop a feel.
“Rhonda, can I ask you a question? Without you wanting to whack me?”
“Sure. I’m not half-naked and you’re not trying to grab my ass. Go for it.”
Blake didn’t say anything, simply stared at her with a blank expression.
She touched her cheek, patted it lightly. “What? I got something on my face?”
“Oh, sorry.” He shook his head. “That whole half-naked, ass-grabbing thing distracted me.” He smiled at her, one of the killer smiles he saved for when he flirted.
“Et tu, Brute?”
“Hey, I’m only human, and that is one fine ass.” He stretched his neck to look behind her.
“Stop.” She went to push him away and at the last minute stopped. He was looking better, more than better, and had almost forgotten he was still injured. She cleared her throat. “Question?” she asked, masking her sudden jab of lust with impatience.
“No whacking,” he warned. “But—did you enjoy stripping?”
He appeared to be gauging her reaction, most likely thinking she was going to whack him. But his question had simply caught her off-guard. She’d been asked that before and only Maggie suspected the real answer. To everyone else she’d say it was a job or it paid the bills, always avoiding to answer the question directly. She had the utmost respect for the women she worked with. For most of them, it was just a job. She couldn’t admit out loud that she hated dancing. And if she’d allowed herself to think that way, her father would have ended up in some county dump. So, because it was time to get on with her life, or maybe because in Blake she’d found someone like Maggie, who never judged her, she answered honestly for the first time in her life. “No, I didn’t like it.”
She was expecting Why keep doing it?, or Was there no other way? Instead she got, “I’m sorry.” And he squeezed her hand.
The breeze picked up and Rhonda tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ears. The clip holding her messy bun in place started to slip. She should fix it, retighten the bun, but that would mean letting go of his hand.
“It’s not easy doing something you hate when you feel you have no choice. Even knowing it’s your only choice doesn’t make it any better.”
Was he
talking about her … or himself? “Sounds like you would know.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “So when this is over, are you going back?”
“I doubt it.” Truthfully, she didn’t know.
The women she danced with, Maggie, they were her family. They never asked for anything other than Can I borrow your hairspray? What did she have if she left if she quit the club? She pressed her fingertips to the back of her neck, remembering her near-death experience and the night Jason left her for dead in the alley. He hadn’t meant to hurt her and, being mentally challenged, hadn’t realized his father was the serial killer murdering Maggie’s dancers. He’d not only left her physically scarred, but had made her realize life was short and hers had been shit.
“My surgery scars are healed enough now that I can go back if I want.” But the humiliation she’d had to relive when the papers ran the story of her attack led her to believe she wouldn’t. Thankfully, they hadn’t found out that much about her, but still, it was a reminder of how much she hated stripping. She never wanted to see her name in the papers again.
“But you’re considering it?” He retucked that stubborn strand behind her ear.
“I have to make a change in my life. I’m just not sure what that is.”
“Let me know. I can help. I have connections.”
“Thanks, but I think I have to figure this out on my own.” She was independent, but taking a handout would put her right back where she was now, having someone other than herself controlling her life.
“You’re smart and ballsy. You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m glad one of us is confident in me.” Maggie had told her the same thing, but it was nice hearing it from Blake.
They kept walking along the well-worn path until they came to one of the outbuildings, this one near the concrete pool. Surrounded by tall cypress trees, their long branches blew in the gentle breeze like gauzy wings. She could tell this building had been around a very long time.
“See this?” He pointed to the one-story building. “Did Dozier tell you it used to be the slave quarters?”
“He mentioned it.”
“Did he tell you about the blue ceiling? There’s another larger one in Savannah. But there aren’t many like it left.”
“Blue ceiling?”
“ ‘Haint’ blue. Many African cultures believed blue warded off evil spirits. So when the master permitted, they painted the inside of their quarters blue, the ceiling, around the windowsills, the doors. If you look at the porch ceiling you’ll see it’s blue too. It’s a tradition that spread in the South.”