In Your Wildest Dreams (40 page)

"Whas up, Miss Thang?"

She looked up to see a boy she knew from the streets, a kid called P.J. For some reason, though, it shocked her to see his clothes so dirty, his short Afro so nappy.

"You lookin' fine. What, you go and find yourself some sugar daddy? He buy you them fancy clothes you all ragged out in?"

Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. "I'm just get-tin' up on my own two feet is all."

He gave a nasty chuckle. "Don't he, girl—you done spread your legs and got yourself a sugar daddy to take care o' you." He was blocking her path and reached out to grab onto a lock of the hair hanging over her shoulder, twirling it between his fingers. "Sure wish I could get me some o' that."

She smacked his hand away and shoved past him. "You best get outta my way."

"Or what? You sic your man on me?"

She walked faster, praying he wasn't following. She felt people on the opposite side of the street watching.

"That's right, girl, you go run on home and give it to your man." Then he made disgusting slurping sounds, but at least his voice was fading in the distance. She didn't stop or look back for a full block.

When she finally paused to peek over her shoulder, he was gone. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal and her face cooled. She still felt shaky inside, but took a few deep breaths.

Damn that boy.

But no, wait, damn
her.
She'd gone way too soft. A week or two ago, she'd have given him what-for. She'd have said if he laid one dirty hand on her that she'd cut his prick off while he slept, or something else just as creative and ugly. It made her nervous to discover how quick her street-earned bravado had faded once she'd gotten back under a roof.

Shake it off, girl. Shake it off and toughen back up and get yourself a good job so you won't ever have to worry about fools like that again.

A few steps farther found her in front of a shop called
Les Couleurs,
whatever that meant. The front window overflowed with tailored ginger-colored dresses on headless mannequins, dainty rust-colored purses, and delicate brown shoes. Further back, she saw sections of pale yellow, warm olive, soft blue. Everything hung on fancy white racks or sat on sturdy white shelves. She bit her lip and thought, /
bet this is the kind of place Stephanie shops in.

A bell on the door gently tinkled her arrival, but it was mostly drowned out by the soft classical music. She walked quietly through the pretty dresses until she reached the counter in back. She didn't see anyone, but heard a man on the phone behind a half-closed door. "Come on now, darling, you know I love you."

She pursed her lips, wondering if she should do something to let him know he wasn't alone.

"Soon," he said, "soon. You just have to be patient." He let out a big sigh and Shondra bit her lip and stepped back from the counter, pretending to look at a rack of red dresses, just in case he suddenly noticed her.

"Damn it, Tiana, I give up," he snapped. "I can't fucking please you."

Shondra shivered, glad she didn't have the dude mad at
her.
At least not yet. Maybe this wasn't the best time to ask him for a job.

"Listen, I'm at the boutique by myself, no one's out front. I have to hang up." Another huge sigh. "Yes, darling, I know you could be here helping me if only I'd let you, but I can't exactly do that while Melissa is still the manager, can I?"

Sounded to Shondra like he was getting more agitated, so she decided to leave. She started toward the door as she heard him say, "Enough of this. I'm hanging up." She walked a little faster and had almost reached the exit when he said, "Can I help you?"

He sounded a lot friendlier than he had to the woman on the phone. Tiana. Pretty name; she fleetingly wished it were hers. She slowly turned to face him. "If you're busy, I can come back."

"Nonsense." He was older than Jake, but real handsome for his age. He flashed a disarming smile that made his eyes sparkle. "What can I do for you, dear?"

She cleared her throat and said, "I'm lookin' for a job. Do you have any positions available?" It had come out softer than she'd intended—something about him intimidated her, smile or not. Maybe it was knowing he wasn't always so nice.

He tilted his head and gave her a long once-over, making her glad she had on good clothes. "Do you have any work experience?"

She gave a quick head shake. "But I'm a fast learner."

"And how old are you, dear?"

"Sixteen." She swallowed, wondering if he'd ask why she wasn't in school. If it seemed to matter, she'd pretend she could only work afternoons and weekends.

He didn't ask, though—just said, "Actually, my wife, Melissa, handles the hiring. But tell you what—leave your name and number and I'll pass it on to her with my recommendation. Next time she's looking for a new clerk, she might call you."

Shondra kept smiling as she stepped up to the counter and wrote her name and Jake's phone number on the slip of paper the man offered.

He peered down at it. "Shondra," he said. "Well, Shondra, good luck on your job search. I'm certain someone will have a job for a girl as pretty as you." He concluded with a wink.

'Thanks," she said, her smile growing more forced as she turned and walked out, glad to be gone. He'd been nice—
too
nice,
icky
nice; she could tell that fast. She wished Melissa had been there. And it was only as she walked away, leaving all the pretty dresses and strains of violins behind, that it occurred to her he'd been calling someone besides his wife "darling."

Jake came back late that afternoon, still pissed—at everything—but trying hard not to feel it. Trying hard to feel like himself, the slightly better self he'd been lately. He wasn't exactly sure how to do that without Stephanie in his life, but he still had Shondra at his place, and she didn't deserve to have him acting like a jerk.

He was surprised to find the apartment empty, except for Scruff. The ever-vigilant mutt greeted him at the door, jumping up against him like they were pals. "Mangy, no-good
couillon,"
he muttered, scratching the dog behind one ear before he said, "Enough, get down."

He'd come back to keep searching for Tina. Now, more than ever, finding the girl seemed paramount.
Find her and Stephanie goes home.
Even if his stomach twisted at the thought, it would be best for both of them once she went back to Chicago.

He planned to start checking out the CBD tonight after dark. He'd decided not to call Stephanie for Melody's list—it wouldn't take rocket science to determine where the prostitutes hung out. He'd save himself some work, though, if he checked with Tony first, so he picked up the phone, dialed Tony's cell, and sat down in one of the old vinyl kitchen chairs.

"Hello."

"Hey pard, it's me."

"Why if it isn't Jake the Snake." Tony sounded too damn cheerful—he hadn't called Jake the stupid nickname for years, since back before Becky, during the immature time when they'd compared notes, bragged about conquests.

"Listen, I'm gonna hit the CBD later—look for our missin' girl. You hit any of the hot spots yet?"

Tony sounded more sober when he said, "No, actually. Been chained to my desk all day working a new case, so the CBD's wide open. Tell Stephanie I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to do any snooping yet."

Jake swallowed and figured he might as well get this over with. "You'll have to tell her that yourself."

As expected, Tony went on the alert. "Why the hell's that?"

"We're not
...
together anymore. I'm still lookin' for her sister, but that's it."

"Don't tell me you got pissed at her for coming to the house. Because if that's the problem, it was as much my fault as hers."

"That has nothin' to do with it."
Not exactly anyway.

"Then what the hell happened?"

Jake took a deep breath. "Not your business, man."

"I don't give a shit—I'm making it my business. She's a
nice
woman, Jake. The kind you hang onto."

"Well, she's free now. You like her so much, call her up and ask her out yourself." He'd skin Tony alive if he actually did that, of course, but he had a point to make—that he and Stephanie were through.

"You exhaust me," Tony said quietly on the other end.

"I never asked you to care."

"My bad luck that I do, I guess." He sighed. "Damn it, I thought you were
...
getting better." "Yeah, well, looks like a relapse." "Sometimes I really think you're hopeless, man." "I don't care."

'That's your problem. You need to
try
caring about something. Like Stephanie, maybe."

"Leave this alone, Tony. I mean it." He hung up the phone and let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then shut his eyes. He was so goddamned tired. The safety of sleep beckoned, the safety of turning off the world and not
having
to care.

But sleep wasn't always safe. Once upon a time, there had been those godawful nightmares—Becky and blood. He'd traded them in, it seemed, for sex dreams. A whole lot sweeter, but
...
not someplace he wanted to go at the moment. He didn't want to see Stephanie in his dreams any more than he wanted to see Becky.

Heading to the living room, he reclined on the weight bench and started lifting. It was kind of like hammering. Took just enough concentration that nothing else polluted his head—usually anyway.

He looked over when the door opened, nearly dropped 250 pounds on himself, and struggled to get the barbell in its resting place. "You're home," he said, sitting up. Shondra wore the official job-hunting outfit, so he tried to find a smile for her, despite how lousy he felt. "Been poundin' the pavement?"

She nodded, but didn't look particularly happy, either.

"No luck?"

Taking a seat on the couch, she let out a long sigh. "Nobody in the whole damn French Quarter needs any help."

"You covered the whole Quarter?" He arched a doubtful brow.

She replied with a shrug. "Felt like it." Bending down, she hugged Scruff against her leg.

"You'll try again another day." He braced his elbows on his knees. "Look real nice," he added.

This brought out a smile from his
'tite
fille.
"Everything fits! I wore the other skirt this mornin'. I went out and bought some groceries, like you said. Oh, and I need to get laundry out of the dryer. After that, I'll make dinner. Hamburgers and some of those frozen French fries."

He grinned, shocked and amazed and
...
feeling utterly lazy. "You had a busy day."

"Straight up," she said, sounding happy, kind of proud.

An hour later, the sizzle of hamburgers sent a deliciously greasy scent through the apartment, and Jake was surprised to find he
did
still want to eat, and he hadn't had a good, homemade burger in a while.
He sat in the living room, folding the clothes she'd washed, because it was the least he could do.

"What'd you say Stephanie's sister's name was?" she asked as they sat in front of the TV a little while later with plates in their laps. She'd changed into a pair of her new shorts and, at a glance, looked like any other teenager. Scruff
scared
down his own private burger, sans bun, from a plate between them on the floor.

Jake lowered his burger to the plate and turned to look at
her.
'Tina
. Why?"

"Oh. Never mind. Just
...
a dude at a boutique I was in today was talkin' to some girl on the phone named Tiana. I thought maybe
that
was her name—couldn't remember. It sounded like he was gettin' busy with this Tiana 'cause he told me he was married to somebody named Melissa, but he called Tiana 'darling' before he knew I was there."

The wheels in Jake's mind began to spin slowly. "What boutique?"

"Less Cowl-ee-ers, somethin' like that. On Royal Street."

"Les Couleurs,"
he said. "I know the place. Means colors."

"Makes sense. All the stuff inside was arranged by color."

"Damn it," he said. "What?"