Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (8 page)

She smiled and blew me a kiss. “Later, shug.”

I fi red up a Marlboro the second she left.

It boggled my mind that she was pregnant. Th rilled

as I was to be the fi rst person she’d confi ded in, it bothered me how she viewed my relationship with Martinez.

It wasn’t vanilla, but it wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination, either.

After my divorce I’d avoided normal relationships. I wanted hot sex and nothing else. Can’t be disappointed by bad relationships if you’ve got no expectations in the fi rst place.

Not a disappointing thing about Tony Martinez.

So, why did I want more with him? I didn’t want 76

to change him. Yet, would it kill him to take me out to dinner once in a while? Or any place besides Fat Bob’s and my house?

I inhaled. Exhaled and stared at the ceiling.

Th

ree months ago, after I’d wrapped up the case that’d brought Martinez into my life, we’d taken a week-long vacation in Florida. It’d been idyllic. No bodyguards, no friends, no business, no ghosts, just us.

We spent hours strolling on the beach, talking if the mood struck us, discovering our common interests, lazing in bed. Martinez redefi ned the perfect lover; he was attentive, aggressive, inventive, sweet, demanding, and generous. After the intensity of our hook-up, I think we both expected that week would be a fl ing. We’d burn ourselves out with lots of steamy sex and move on.

It hadn’t turned out that way and by mutual agreement we felt we were starting something instead of ending it.

After our return to South Dakota, things went back to the way they’d been. I hadn’t seen him at all during the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, which had been my choice.

Th

e minute the bikes roared out of town, I expected he’d relax his guard and we’d do normal “couple” things.

Wrong.

We never went anywhere together in public. It drove me apeshit, until I realized that
was
normal for us.

77

Didn’t mean I liked it. Just meant I’d let it slide until he either changed, or I got sick of it.

Th

e door hinges groaned as Kevin strolled in. “What was up with Kim? She looked like she was crying.”

“She was.”

“Why?”

“Bad hair day.”

Kevin frowned. “She okay?”

“Yeah. Makes her feel better to see what a screwed up mess my hair is on a daily basis.” I crushed my cigarette in the seashell ashtray. “What’s up?”

“Wondering where you were on the employment checks.”

“Halfway through. Why?”

“Want to take a break and grab lunch?”

Th

e phone rang. Kevin was closer to my desk so he answered it. In a clipped tone he said, “It’s Martinez.”

“Th

anks.” I grabbed the receiver. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I need you to come to Fat Bob’s.”

“When?”

“Right now. Hang on. I’ve got another call. I’ll explain when you get here.”
Click
.

I hung up. I hated when he did that. Why had I been so upset that he hadn’t called me when our phone conversations usually ran along those curt lines?

“I take it you have a better lunch off er?”

78

“Not better. Diff erent.” I managed a smile. “Can I take a raincheck?”

“Sure. Without being a pain in the ass, I’ll remind you we’re supposed to go out to June’s at 2:00, so keep your afternoon delight brief, okay?”

I doubted there’d be anything delightful about Martinez’ summons.

79

You’d think being the girlfriend of El Presidente I’d get special perks, but no; I was still forced to enter Fat Bob’s through the back door.

Big Mike escorted me into Tony’s private offi ce suite.

We weren’t alone. I gave Jackal—the new Hombres enforcer—a feral smile.

He growled.

Since I didn’t smell food I doubted the gig with Martinez included lunch. Jackal acted like he hadn’t been fed. It didn’t help my frame of mind he looked as if given the chance he’d chew me to pieces.

Jackal didn’t like me. I didn’t like him. Big fucking surprise.

From the second I’d met Jackal my distrust had kicked into overdrive. Beady blue eyes, long rat brown 80

hair and rattier beard, shaggy Fu Manchu mustache. He strutted around like a rooster with a corncob shoved up his ass.

Bad looks and bad attitude aside, what bothered me the most was Jackal’s lack of respect for Martinez. Th e

rest of Martinez’ Hombres brothers—be they bodyguards or employees or patched in members of the club—treated him with deference. After all, he was the Commander-in-Chief, the supreme badass of the biker universe. He held the highest offi

ce in the Hombres organization: Na-

tional President. His word was law.

Jackal acted like a law unto himself. He treated Martinez’ bodyguards like idiot employees. He treated me like a low class whore. Oftentimes, and this is what fried my circuits the most, he treated Martinez like he was doing him a favor by working for him.

But it was none of my business. I kept my mouth shut, a diffi

cult feat for me in any situation, especially when it came to someone I cared about.

Martinez kept me waiting while he fi nished up a phone call.

Jackal glared at me.

I ignored him and smoked. I wished Big Mike would bring me a beer or even a crappy microwave Chuckwag-on sandwich. Hell, I’d settle for a packet of BeerNuts or a red-hot Tijuana Mama pickled sausage.

81

Martinez left his cell phone on the desk and sauntered over. Instead of sliding next to me on the comfy loveseat, he straddled the hard-backed chair opposite the coff ee table.

In front of others, Martinez stayed a respectable distance away from me and never gave any indication anything was going on between us.

But when we were alone, I couldn’t pry him from my side with a crowbar. It bothered me and I felt ridiculous that it did. We were adults. I didn’t need him to hold my hand to prove he and I were an item. Not that anyone besides Kim and Kevin and Martinez’ bodyguards knew we spent nights together.

Th

e sense I was his dirty little secret persisted.

I ground out my smoke and glanced up to see both Martinez and Jackal studying me like a science experi-ment. “What?”

“You said anything to her yet?” Th

is from Jackal.

Martinez shook his head.

“So she don’t know nothing about it?”

Again, Martinez shook his head.

“When did you plan on talking to her?”

“Hey, Jack
ass
, I’m right here in the room. You can talk directly to me.”

His eyes glowed the demented yellow of his namesake.

“Tell your bitch to watch her mouth or I’ll muzzle her.”

82

At times like this I missed Harvey, the former enforcer.

God. I was seriously screwed up if I looked back on his death threats and sneering stoicism with fondness.

“I don’t have to put up with his shit, Martinez.” I shouldered my purse. At the door I remembered someone had to unlock this fortress before I could escape.

When I spun around, Martinez had boxed Jackal in on the couch. He was speaking in the low menacing tone that sent shivers up my spine.

Without moving his gaze from Martinez’s face, Jackal recited, “Sorry, Miz Collins.”

Martinez glanced at me over his shoulder. “Stay.”

With a resigned sigh, I traipsed back to my lonely little corner of the couch. “What’s going on?”

He paced to the desk and picked up a half-empty bottle of water. “I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

He and Jackal exchanged a “How do we play this”

look.

Another weird feeling rippled through me.

“Have you done any bartending?” Jackal asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because we need you to—”

“Let me handle this,” Martinez said.

I lifted my brows. Did he mean handle this situation? Or handle me? Why hadn’t he asked this
favor
83

when we were alone last night?

He sighed. “Someone is ripping me off . Cash drawers are coming short. Started out small amounts, but we’re down more than $500 some nights.”

“Has someone been watching the employees?”

“Not with any success. If I hang out, the bartenders and the wait staff are on their best behavior.”

No kidding. No one would be stupid enough to steal right in front of him. “What about surveillance systems?”

Martinez said, “Security cameras aren’t an option.”

I hated to think it was because he didn’t want physical proof of the Hombres’ illegal activities. “What do you want me to do?”

“Work for me.”

“Come again?”

“If you went in as a new hire, no one would suspect you were a plant.”

“But I’ve been in Fat Bob’s plenty of times. Someone is bound to recognize me.”

“He’s not talking about Fat Bob’s,” Jackal said.

“He’s talking about Bare Assets.”

My mouth dropped open. “You want me to go undercover in a strip club?
Your
strip club?”

Martinez didn’t even blink.

Jackal retorted, “At least he didn’t ask you to go undercover as a stripper. Not that you could pull it off .”

84

“Shut up, Jack,” Martinez said. “You’re not helping.”

Evidently they’d discussed this option in depth before I arrived. I sat there and gaped at him. I didn’t know what to say. Well, besides a resounding
no
.

My continued silence increased Martinez’ agitation. His expression hadn’t changed, but I’d been around him enough in the last few months to gauge his diff erent moods.

“Say I agree. When would I start?”

“Th

ursday. I’d need to tell Crystal today so she can fi t you in the weekend shifts.”

“Who’s Crystal?”

“Th

e club manager.”

“Won’t she be suspicious if
you
tell her you hired me?”

“She brought the shortages to my attention.”

“I don’t know if I trust her,” Jackal said.

Did he mean Crystal? Or me? I faced Jackal.

“What’s your part in this?”

He grinned nastily. “What part of
enforcer
is unclear?”

Martinez didn’t deny he’d let Jackal handle the punishment portion of the situation. Th

en again, I hadn’t

expected him to.

“One problem: I know a helluva lot more about sucking down drinks than making them.”

“Big Mike volunteered to give you a crash course,”

Martinez said.

Great.

85

“Most guys who hang out in Bare Assets drink beer or mixed drinks.”

Seemed he’d thought of everything.

“So. You in, or what?” Jackal asked impatiently.

I glanced at Martinez, leaning nonchalantly against the wall—Antonio Banderas and a fl inty-eyed young Steve McQueen rolled into one. “Why me?”

He sipped his water. Either he was considering his answer or he didn’t plan on giving me one.

Which he knew drove me crazy.

“Are you asking me this
favor
as an investigator, Martinez?” I’d promised Kevin I would keep my relationship with Martinez on a strictly personal level. I hadn’t told Tony in so many words, but I suspected he knew.

When he didn’t respond and continued studying me in that unnerving manner, I felt entitled to provoke him.

“Or is this your subtle way of getting the chick you’ve been fucking to learn some new moves?”

Without breaking eye contact with me, Martinez said, “Get out,” to Jackal.

Jackal’s boots hardly touched the carpet as he hustled to the door.

I said, “Stay right there.” If the question made Martinez uncomfortable, all the better. “You brought this up in front of him.” I pointed to Jackal. “If it is Hombres business, he deserves to hear why you think I’m the best candidate for the 86

job. So, answer the goddamn question, Martinez.”

For once he didn’t hedge. “Fine. You ran a restaurant in Minneapolis. You know the routine, how to handle customers, what kind of suspicious behavior to look for, which is one of the reasons I asked you.”

“And the other reason?”

He grinned. “No male bartenders at Bare Assets.

Guys are more inclined to buy drinks from a hot chick than from another guy.”

If he thought that “hot chick” comment and sexy smile would win him points, he was sadly mistaken. My eyes narrowed.

“Ooh, watch out, boss. She’s going all self-righteous and feminist on us now,” Jackal jeered.

Th

en I knew if I continued to push and argue, Martinez would lose credibility with his new enforcer. I realized that’s exactly what Jackal anticipated, so I let it drop.

“You honestly think I’ll fi t in?”

“Yeah.”

Not exactly the ringing endorsement I’d hoped for, but the bottom line was I wanted to do it. If for no other reason than to hear what Martinez’ (female) employees thought of him. Was he an asshole who made them cower in fear? Did he take special interest in the skills of his dancers? Or did he audition them personally?

87

Pathetic, my petty jealousy, but there it was. “Fine.

I’ll do it.”

Th

e lines around his eyes relaxed. “Good.”

Something else popped into my head, something horrible. “Unless I have to wear a G-string and pasties.

Th

en no fucking way.”

Jackal snorted into his beard.

Martinez shot him a look. “Bartenders wear black.

Skirts, pants, shirt, whatever, just as long as it’s all black.”

Probably so they blended into the background and wouldn’t compete with the strippers. With my fl at chest that wouldn’t be a problem; I’d be wallpaper.

“How many days are we talking?”

“However many it takes.”

“Not good enough. Need I remind you I already have a job? I can’t just blow it off to do this favor for you, Martinez.”

“I’ll make sure Crystal schedules you to come in as late as possible. But I’d like to have you on shift Th ursday, Friday, and Saturday nights this week. Tuesday next week.”