One to Keep (One to Hold) (18 page)

We were close enough to summer that the natural highlights still had me looking like the surfer walking into the biker bar. It was a stupid cliché, but I should be okay. Derek and I were still working out pretty regularly, and the ink on my arms was exposed. Along with the deeper cut-lines. I might look young, but I could kick ass if I had to. And anyway, trouble wasn’t what I wanted. I was after information.

Inside the place was dim-lit with neon signs scattered around the walls. A few big guys sat at the dark-wood bar that had metal plates lining the front. They all wore standard denim and leather biker outfits, and in addition to their long hair, they had bandannas around their heads. All of them had full beards, and none of them paid any attention to me.

A game was on the small television hanging in the corner, holding their gaze. At the pool table in the back, a few younger guys were cuing up. I took a seat at the wooden booth across from the jukebox, which was silent. I’d give it a few drinks before trying to mingle.

It only took a minute before a stacked waitress wearing frayed denim shorts and a white tank top came to my table. Her dark hair was tied in a ponytail with a red bandanna, and she wore too much black eye makeup around her brown eyes.

“What can I get you?” she asked, allowing her gaze to travel over my body. Her confident assessment of my physique gave me an idea.

“Vodka. Up,” I said, sitting back and flipping out a twenty. “And some info.”

Her eyebrow arched, and she picked up the bill. “I’ll bring your change for the drink. Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you the price.”

Turning on her heel, she walked lazily back to the bar. A small round tray was perched on her hand, and her ass wasn’t too bad, swaying as she moved. I figured she got all the action she wanted at this place.

Three minutes, and she returned with my drink. “My break’s in a half-hour. We can talk then.”

“What’s your name?” I took the drink and my change, leaving a few singles behind for her.

“Lylah,” she said, cocking her hip to the side. Only thing this girl was missing was the gum.

“Thanks, Lylah,” I said, taking a sip. “I look forward to it.”

The bar continued to fill as the minutes passed. A few guys smoked, reviving the stale scent already in the place, and the pool area was now full. Some played, most watched, all had longnecks. A guy fed the jukebox, and classic rock joined the noise. It wouldn’t be too long before I got the full Skinniflute experience.

Lylah showed up at what must’ve been a half hour later and slid into the booth across from me. “Where you from?” she asked, tapping a cigarette out of a box, which she then tilted in my direction.

I held up a hand. “No thanks. Princeton.”

She shrugged and lit it, leaning back against the booth as she took a long drag. “So what’s a pretty college boy like you doing in this dump?”

I’d let her think what she wanted about my occupation. “How long have you worked here?”

“About a year.” She blew a long exhale of blue smoke as she said it. “Moved up from the coast when I was eighteen.”

My insides tightened at that revelation. Could it be this easy? “Which one?”

She blinked, but answered. “Charleston.”

Yeah, it was too much to hope she might’ve said Myrtle Beach. I picked up my vodka and took another sip, thinking.

“Is that all you wanted to know?” she frowned. “That info can be on the house.”

“I’m just looking for someone, but I don’t know if you can help me.”

She took another long drag. “Your wife?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No.”

“Yeah, you’re too young and shiny to be married.”

Little did she know I almost was. “Ever heard of someone named Durango?”

“Oh, sure.” She said it so casually, my stomach clenched. “Toni came back a month ago. Got sick of following Ron around.”

She exhaled another long puff as my brow creased. I knew a Ron, but if it was the same guy, I was still stumped. I’d never done anything to him.

“Well, my break’s over,” she said, scooting out of the booth. “If you’re not a cop, I won’t charge you for the intel.”

“I’m not a cop,” I said, my hand resting on the short glass, which was now empty.

“Want me to freshen that?”

I glanced up at her then. “Sure. Thanks.”

She took the tumbler and headed back to the bar in the center of the place. The crowd seemed as big as it was going to get on this Thursday night, and Lylah returned much quicker this time with my refill.

“I’m almost done for tonight, but I’ve got some good news for you.” She leaned forward as she set the glass on the table.

“Yeah?” I only glanced briefly at the cleavage shot she was giving me. I’d be with Elaine tomorrow.

“Toni’s on the schedule for tonight. She’ll be in at nine.”

Adrenaline kicked in. The Budweiser clock hanging on the wall behind her said eight-fifteen. “Thanks,” I said, putting an extra twenty on her tray. “Keep it.”

Her eyebrow went up and she smiled. White teeth behind red lips. “Thanks…?”

She waited, and I thought about my answer. If she told Toni I was here, that might not help me.

“Brian,” I said, giving her a wink. Elaine’s ex was the first name that popped into my head.

“Thanks, Brian. I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

I nodded, opting not to do anything suspicious like tell her not to say anything. There was no reason to think a Brian looking for Toni would make her run.

* * *

Half-way through nursing my second vodka, I saw a new waitress enter behind the bar. I couldn’t see her face, but her hair was long and now dark brown, similar to Lylah’s, only this one wore hers in a side ponytail. She had on silver hotpants with silver heels, and I recognized both the shoes and that ass. Anger tightened in my stomach at the memory, but I kept my cool. She’d done a job, and I needed to know why and for whom. If it was Ron, I hoped she’d at least point me to him.

I waited, watching as she tied on a little black pocketed apron and picked up a small round tray. I didn’t see Lylah, and figured Toni had no idea I was here—or Brian was here—looking for her. She stopped and talked to the big guys still sitting at the bar. They’d been here longer than me and seemed to be regulars from the way they laughed and joked. Her hair was different, but I also knew that smile. She still wore beige glossy lipgloss, and her bangs hung in her black-lined brown eyes. It was all too familiar.

After another five minutes, she said something to the men at the bar and turned to make a pass through the room. She started at the pool area, gave the guys there a brief wave before turning around and facing me. Our eyes met and she froze on the spot.

Hers widened and then quickly narrowed, and she slowly walked to where I sat. The fact that she wasn’t even afraid to approach me after what happened spoke volumes about who I was dealing with. This female was a pro. She stopped at the wooden booth right in front of me and put a hand on her hip.

“What do you want, Mr. Knight?” Her voice was that same low purr I remembered.

“Have a seat?” I said, motioning to the empty spot across from me. A glance flickered to it, and she stowed the tray on the top of the booth, sliding across the glossy wooden bench.

For a moment, I only looked at her. She obviously dabbled in the business, and I must’ve been one fucked up shithead not to see it. Vodka would do that to a person. My eyes went to the half-full glass in front of me.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I guess you’re on the clock.” I couldn’t resist being familiar. She’d had my dick in her mouth after all.

Her lips curled slightly. “You went through a lot of trouble to find me. Is this your way of saying you want more?”

“No.” I tilted the glass, deciding just to say it. “Who hired you and why.”

She leaned back, studying me. “What makes you think I’d just tell you something like that?”

“I want to know who’s messing with me.”

“Go through your list.” She gave the room a quick, visual sweep. The patrons all seemed fine for now. “Haven’t you made any enemies?”

“Trust me, I’ve got assholes out there who’d like to get back at me, but sending you around is something special.”

She smiled, fixing those dark eyes on me again. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you want it. You did your job. I want to know who sent you.”

“I’ve got to get back to work.” She stood, but I stood with her, catching her forearm and not letting her leave.

“What do you want for it?” I said quietly.

She leaned closer, glancing down at my mouth. “You’re pretty special yourself.” She used the seductive voice that now turned my stomach. “I’m off at two—”

“Not interested.” I released her arm. “What’s up with you and Ron?”

Her eyes flashed then, and she stepped back. “Who told you about me and him?”

“Looks like you just did.”

Her hand lifted, but I caught it. “I wouldn’t start slapping now. Did Ron hire you?”

“No.” She jerked away from my grip. “His sister. She paid me five hundred dollars to teach you a lesson.”

My head spun at that response. “Stacy hired you?”

I momentarily lost focus as one question consumed my thoughts: Why would my ex-fiancé use her low-life younger brother to hire a call girl to seduce me? Half a grand to teach me a lesson? It didn’t make any sense.

At the same time, it had to be true. How else would Toni connect me to Ron’s sister?

“I never work for so cheap,” Toni continued, “but they said I could do as much or as little as I wanted.”

My eyes snapped to hers. “Which did I get?”

“Oh, you’re sweet.” Her brow arched. “You got the works.”

“And the crazybitch act?”

She exhaled deeply, twisting her lips into a frown. “Ron thought it’d be funny to scare you a little. Said you’d really hurt his sister. That wasn’t my idea.”

“So I got a bonus lesson.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Save it.” I wasn’t hearing any more of her shit. “What was the original lesson?”

“You’ll have to ask Ron. I only did what they told me to do.” She paused, watching my face. “He’s here in Raleigh if you want to see him.”

My attention returned to her, and her expression had changed. The faintest hint of compassion softened her tough-girl demeanor.

“You look pretty shook up,” she said, but I didn’t care. I was confused and pissed as I watched her pull a thick order pad from one of her pockets and scribble out an address. She ripped off the top sheet and handed it to me. “Ron’s a dickwad. I don’t care if you tell him I sent you.”

I folded the paper and stuffed it in my back pocket. “Thanks,” I said, dropping cash on the table and heading for the exit. She said something more, but I wasn’t listening. My brain was too distracted by this unexpected turn of events, and I was ready for her to be a thing of the past. I was ready for all of this to be explained and then gone. A freakin bizarre-assed blip on my radar screen.

* * *

I’d met Stacy’s brother Ron once on a dinner date in Chicago. He was high the entire time, and Stacy was worried I’d do something. But I didn’t have any intention of busting one of my fiancée’s close family members. Looking back, it all seemed so stupid.

The cinder-block shack Toni sent me to off Highway 1 was painted light blue and reminded me of something you might see abandoned near the beach. The yard was nothing but weeds and scrub, and sheets hung over the small windows. I parked the Charger in the driveway next to a beat-up Cobra and walked around to the side entrance facing the street. Cars shot by, and the door looked like I could kick it in without much effort. I was about ready to kick something in. Instead I banged and waited.

Several minutes passed, but I still waited. If Ron was anything like I remembered, it was no telling what was happening behind this closed door. Finally, I beat on it again, this time harder, and sounds came from inside. Two seconds and the door jerked open in a crack. My hand shot out and pushed it all the way open hard.

“What the fuck?” Ron stumbled back squinting. He wore jeans that barely stayed on his hips and a dirty white tee. I stepped into the dim room that reeked of cigarettes, pot, and burritos. “What the hell, man?” he continued.

I didn’t have time for his shit. I was ready to get this over with and be with Elaine. Lose this bad memory in her soft skin and sweet perfume.

“Do you remember me?” I demanded.

It was possible he didn’t because for one, he was out of his mind when we met, and for two, I was slightly bigger now thanks to Derek’s “kill the pain” weight-lifting regimen.

Without a word, Ron jerked around, trying to make a break for the back exit, but I caught him easily in one lunge.

“I can get your money by tomorrow,” he whined. “Just give me twelve hours.”

I had him by the neck, so I gave him a good shake. I wanted to punch him in the face, but I wanted him to talk first.

“Idiot,” I growled. “You don’t owe me money. I’m Patrick Knight. Stacy’s ex.”