Four Seconds to Lose (25 page)

As usual, I could count on Nate to handle the situation. After delivering a blow to the guy’s gut in a quiet corner of the parking lot outside—I watched that surveillance tape too, with a big fucking grin on my face—Nate dragged him to the black Camry he pointed out as his and left him writhing in pain on the ground while he searched his wallet and car, taking down as much information as he could. Once Nate had confiscated the loaded gun that he found beneath the seat, he tossed the guy into the driver’s side as if he were a chew toy. Next to Nate, everyone looks like a chew toy.

Nate made it clear that if anything ever happened to Charlie, that surveillance tape would go to the police along with all of Ronald’s info, and then it would be a race to see who got to him first, me or the cops.

And Ronald would want it to be the cops.

As a parting gift, Nate dropped one last brutal punch to the douchebag’s nose and left him there, cupping his face against the rush of blood. I imagine Ronald Sullivan spent the night in a lot of pain and, possibly in the ER.

Nate and I know we’ll have to watch our backs for a while. But if I see the guy here again, I won’t hesitate to put him down.

“And her father’s still locked up, right?”

“Yes, sir. He won’t be getting out for a
long
time.”

“Thanks for the quick turnaround, John,” I offer before I hang up, looking at the clock as I take a long draw of my drink. It’s four thirty. Charlie was supposed to be here at four for that administrative work and she’s never late. I shouldn’t be surprised that she hasn’t shown up. After last night, I’ll be surprised if she comes at all.

She hasn’t answered my calls, though the florist confirmed that she received my flowers this morning. I’ve never sent a woman flowers. I hope it wasn’t too much. I hope she didn’t think it was tacky. I’m still at a loss for what to say, what to do, how much time and space I should give her.

What if she won’t want me once she knows what I’m all about?

My hands find their way behind my neck, where they clasp tightly. How is this going to go? Will she see me as another Ronald Sullivan? Or someone as violent as her father? Or some other guy who’s probably taken advantage of her in the past, who may still be doing so?

Maybe she will see me as any or all of them. Maybe I’ll spill my guts to her and she’ll run away from me and into the arms of a normal guy with normal parents and a normal career. Maybe that would be for the best.

■ ■ ■

I’m sure my body visibly slackened the second I walked out into the club earlier tonight, to see Charlie behind the bar. I had convinced myself that she wasn’t coming in, but she’s here, mixing drinks, smiling at customers.

Avoiding me.

She immediately shifted to the opposite end of the bar when I approached her. I’m not going to lie—that felt like a punch to the heart. I fought the urge to throw her over my shoulder and demand we talk. I had to hide out in my office to calm myself.

But now I’m back, because I can’t stay away from her. It’s ten o’clock. I’m just waiting for her to attempt to get up on that stage again. I
will
throw her over my shoulder if she tries that.

“Cain!” a familiar voice calls out, a second before a hand smacks my shoulder. It’s Storm’s fiancé, Dan, and Ginger is lining shots up in front of him.

In my peripheral vision, I catch Charlie looking up at the sound of my name being called, but her eyes are already down when I try to make eye contact. With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Dan for the time being. “What are you doing here?” I
am
genuinely curious, given that he’s not the type to frequent strip clubs. He hated Storm working here—rightfully so—and was only too happy the day she quit.

A guy behind him, who’s obviously part of Dan’s group, slaps his back and shouts, “Celebrating! You’re looking at Special Agent Dan Ryder.”

Dan just shakes his head, but he can’t keep the wide grin from escaping.

And I can’t help but match it, announcing, “Next round’s on me!”

When John did the background check on Dan—of course I had Storm’s guy investigated—he came back stamping Dan as the last true boy scout. And everything Dan has done since that day has only strengthened the claim. The guy inherited a shitload of money a few years back from his oil-tycoon grandma. Enough that he could be spending the rest of his life lying on a beach, fishing . . . doing anything, really. Instead, he kept chasing criminals, holding out hope to join the DEA. And he finally made it. He’s about to be chasing dangerous lowlifes, making a big difference.

Dan’s one of the few good guys. And being friends with him has helped me out greatly. For years, I’d routinely have cops at my door, looking for reasons to shut me down. I’ve been hauled into the station, questioned for hours, tailed around the city. I did get shut down once for a few days, until my lawyers worked their magic. Since Dan started dating Storm, though, I’ve had only a handful of issues. Everyone loves and respects the guy. Sure, I still get the odd threat, but all I need to do is give Dan a call and the threats seem to disappear on their own.

“What about a dance for the special agent?” one of Dan’s friends shouts.

I’m already shaking my head, a laugh escaping. “Storm would have my balls in a sack if she heard that anyone touched him.”

The friend—drunk and clearly not interested in spousal approval—waves his wallet toward China. “We’ve got a grand. She’ll take that!”

Dan gives me an almost imperceptible head shake, his eyes widening as he takes in China’s electric-blue dress. There’s no need. With a wave, I catch Nate’s attention and, pointing at Dan, I mouth, “No dances.” It’s not worth being murdered by a pregnant woman. Or more likely, her best friend and henchwoman, Kacey.

To Dan, I ask, “So, does Storm know?”

“Yeah, Nora knows.” Dan still refuses to acknowledge her by the name everyone else calls her, even though she doesn’t mind it. “I just got the call at the end of my shift. The guys decided to bring me here to celebrate.”

“When do you start?”

He takes a long sip of his drink. “Next week.”

“New job, wedding, baby on the way . . . You’re going to be busy.”

“Yeah.” Dan’s head bobs up and down as he scratches the back of his neck, adding absently, “And it’s about to get a lot busier from the shit we’re hearing on the streets.”

Another one of Dan’s officer friends lifts his shot glass in the air, saluting, “To Special Agent Dan Ryder, newest member of the DEA!” A loud cheer explodes from around us.

Seconds later, I hear a squeal of panic. My attention flies to the bar to find Ginger hovering over where Charlie was just standing. Looking down.

chapter twenty-two

■ ■ ■

CHARLIE

“Charlie?”

I open my eyes to see a masculine furrowed brow and rows of shelves and boxes. I’m lying on the couch in Cain’s office.

“Are you okay?” Cain is seated on the couch, his body hovering over me protectively. I feel the warmth of his hand as it cradles my neck, and the intimacy of his thumb as it gently rubs back and forth, catching the corner of my mouth—and my breath—with each pass.

What happened? Oh, right.

Cain is friends with a DEA agent.

Cain is a law-abiding citizen who hates anything to do with drugs and he’s friends with a DEA agent.

And
I
am trafficking heroin.

“Charlie?”

“I’m fine,” I croak out.

Ginger runs in with a glass of water and I immediately move to sit up. With a hand sliding beneath me to my shoulder blades, Cain helps me, his other hand smoothing the skirt of my short dress down to a respectable level. I shudder in response.

“You dropped like a bag of bricks. What happened?” Ginger frowns.

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Not sure. Just got dizzy for a minute. I’m fine now.” I’m so not fine. My heart is racing.

I’m supposed to be gone. I should be on a bus, close to Louisiana or Alabama—wherever my coin toss lands me. I would have been, if the bank had released my money. They told me it would take twenty-four hours to withdraw such a large sum from my accounts. When I protested that it wasn’t
that
large a sum, I learned that Sam had deposited 25,000 dollars instead of the ten he mentioned. I’m wondering if that’s his way of apologizing. That’s typically how Sam operates, after all.

It’s funny . . . the second the teller informed me that I couldn’t pull all that money out—that I couldn’t leave today after all—a sudden lightness washed over me.

Relief.

Relief that I had a valid excuse to stay for one more night.

It was like fate intervening, pointing me
once again
toward Penny’s.

I can have tonight with Cain. I’ll take
one night
with him, with whatever he’s willing to give me, to earn myself memories that I can hold on to.

Cain’s concern hasn’t disappeared. “Was it too hot? Too loud? What did you eat today?” There’s a frantic tone to his voice that tells me the I-don’t-know-what-happened brush-off isn’t going to work and he’s truly worried about me.

“Oh, crap.” I roll my eyes rather dramatically so he doesn’t miss it. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I
completely
forgot.” That’s partly true. I didn’t eat, but I was well aware of it. I just didn’t feel like it, my stomach twisting and churning into anxious knots.

Cain heaves a sigh. “Can you walk?” He stands and holds a hand out. I take it, and an electric current instantly dances along my limbs and through my core.

“Good.” His eyes drift to my mouth. “I can’t have you passing out behind my bar. You need to eat.”

■ ■ ■

“This place is nice,” I admit, peering out over the white railing to Biscayne Bay just below. We’re seated at a small corner table on a patio with palm trees hovering behind and a band playing soft alt-country music in the opposite corner.

I was careful to watch for tails on my way to work, and again, when I climbed into Cain’s Nav. But now, we’re far away from the noise of the club, the hustle of Miami’s streets, and for the first time all day, I feel safe. Sheltered.

A rare, broad smile on Cain’s face tells me that he’s pleased. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants. I live just over there.” His index finger points out one of the tall luxury condominium buildings on the water. It doesn’t surprise me. Cain has “downtown bachelor” written all over him. He adds as an afterthought, “I haven’t been here in a while.”

“What does that tell you?” I mutter dryly.

His head dips once in assent. “Yes, I know. I need a life. Storm and Nate keep reminding me.” A light chuckle escapes his lips.

It acts as a sedative for me, warmth and relaxation creeping into my limbs. The waitress arrives with a bottle of wine and we say nothing, silently stealing glances at each other as she fills our glasses with cabernet, the soft buzz of conversation and music floating around us.

When the waitress leaves with our order, Cain finally speaks up, his voice calm. “You scared me tonight.”

I feel my cheeks burning. Now that the shock has worn off, I’m more embarrassed than anything. “I don’t do that often.” I’ve actually never passed out before but I don’t want Cain to know that, so I make sure my hand is steady as I take a sip of my wine. He watches me do so quietly, leaning back in his chair in a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top and looking casual yet tailored. His dark hair, normally styled tidily, is slightly unkempt now, and there’s the slightest five o’clock shadow across his jaw.

He’s a kind of handsome I’ve never seen in real life. I can’t believe I’ve been stripping for him nightly on a stage. And he’s been watching me. And he kissed me last night with a kind of reckless abandon I didn’t know possible. And now I’m sitting across from him at a table. And I’m desperate to go home with him tonight.

The Cain I’ve been using as a prop onstage all these weeks is an emotionless man who wants nothing more than sex. He’s aggressive and demanding and walks away when he’s gotten his fill. Aside from a lustful crush, it’s difficult to picture myself forming an attachment to a man like that.

But the Cain I experienced last night is nothing like that prop. That Cain is passionate and gentle and, I’m afraid, has the ability to consume me.

That’s a treacherous position to be in, for a girl who is running.

Tomorrow.

“Charlie?” He leans forward to plead softly, “Am I forgiven?”

I don’t blame him for investigating his employees. But still, not many people go to that level of trouble. “Why not just a simple background check?”

A hand slides up to his neck, to that tattoo, rubbing it slowly as his eyes drift over the crowd. “I know the kind of world I live in, in this industry. I do a lot of things to protect myself.”

I hesitate. And then I remind myself that tonight is my only night with Cain. “
Why
do you do what you do? I mean the club . . . the apartment building . . .”

His face crinkles into a quick smile and then relaxes into a look of contemplation. As he takes a sip of his wine, I suspect he’s collecting his thoughts. Deciding what he wants to admit to. “Over the years, I’ve had to arrange for a lot of apartments for the dancers. Abusive boyfriends . . . infested complexes . . . ,” he gestures at me, “dangerous neighbors. It made sense to buy a building so I had a safe place to send them.” His teeth visibly clench. “I didn’t want anyone knowing that I owned it. But Tanner accidently let it get out . . .”

“Why does it matter?”

He sighs. “I don’t want the dancers feeling overwhelmed by me.” There’s a pause. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just . . . I’m afraid they’ll think I’m trying to own them. I want to help these women get away from this lifestyle. The last thing I’m trying to do is exploit them.”

“But, you’re . . .” I let my voice drift off as I see him frown.

“Yes, I’m exploiting them because I own and operate the strip club where they work.” I hear the tightness in his voice and I’m sure I’ve offended him. “I know exactly what it looks like. I feel conflicted about it every day.” His finger drags up the outside of his wineglass to catch a drop of wine. “I made most of my money before I ever opened a club. Penny’s earns a lot, but I don’t take the cuts other owners would. The dancers tip out the bartenders and bouncers, but I don’t take anything. They keep everything else that they earn. I also spend a lot of time and money trying to help where I can. Counseling, tutoring, whatever they need.” A dark, serious gaze settles on me. “If they’re going to choose this life, I can’t stop them. But I can give them a safe place while they’re in it, until they can decide to get out of it.”