Reversion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 3) (13 page)

“What are you trying to do? Cop a feel?”

“No,” he said, yanking his hands back. His cheeks blushed and he looked petrified. “I was just making sure—”

“Relax, I was just kidding about the whole cop a feel thing.”

“It didn’t sound like you were kidding.”

“I was. But seriously, Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I do this type of thing all the time.”

“I know. It’s just that I’m not used to a girl who can—”

“Kick your ass?”

“No, take care of herself like you can. I don’t meet a lot of women like you.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” she said, climbing up another level.

“It was.”

“Good, ’cause otherwise, I’d have to—”

“Kick my ass?”

“No, prove myself. I know how hard it is for a man to accept a woman with skills.”

“Trust me, I think I know what you’re capable of.”

Masago appreciated the vote of confidence, but she didn’t like the direction of the conversation. “Don’t you have some searching to do?”

“Wow, you’re one of
those
girls,” Lucas said with a serious look on his face.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t like compliments, even though you were totally fishing for one.”

Masago didn’t know what to say.

“Or was it because the compliment came from a man?” Lucas said with a touch of heat in his words.

Masago kept her temper in check. “Maybe you should start at the spot where you landed.”

“Look, I get it. Your father was impossible to please. He wanted another son and was never satisfied with you. But that’s no reason to take it out on me. I’m not like that.”

His attitude suggested otherwise, but she let it go. The pain in his knee was probably pushing his temper past the redline. “I’d suggest working your way out from the center point in concentric circles. It’s the most efficient search pattern.”

“Fine. Have it your way. But don’t lump me into the same class as every other male on this planet,” Lucas said, shaking his head. He wedged the modified hunting bow under his arm and hobbled his way to the left, mumbling something under his breath she couldn’t hear.

Lucas’ reaction stirred something inside her. It was a vision of her father, packing for his hunting trip. She closed her eyes, allowing the memory to fill the video screen in her mind.

Her father zipped his backpack shut, then bent down and kissed her on the cheek. He pulled away, taking his warmth and companionship with him.

“I will be back in two days,” he said, cupping a hand under her quivering chin. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, turned, and walked out the door.

She remembered the moment like it was yesterday. Her heart desperately wanted to call out to him—to tell him to be careful—to tell him that she loved him. But her brain took control, evaporating the words before they’d made it to her lips. The suffocating darkness took hold of her as she listened to the echo of her father’s footsteps growing weaker and weaker, until they disappeared. That painful goodbye was the last time she saw him.

Masago opened her eyes and doubled her grip on the mountain, fighting to contain the pressure building inside her heart. She failed for an instant, allowing a single tear to flow from her eye before she regained control. She brushed the tear away with her shoulder, then sniffed once before looking down at her hobbling friend.

He was facing the other way, busy moving dirt around with his makeshift crutch.

She turned the memory of her father off and took a deep breath before continuing her climb. Her moment of weakness went unnoticed.

Randol Larson tipped the cocktail waitress, who was wearing a skimpy, neon-green-colored bikini and took a sip of his first beer of the day. He watched her tiny, firm butt cheeks sashay from side to side as she walked under the glow of the overhead black lights. He couldn’t decide if the baby-faced server would be a good choice for a table dance. It was going to cost him more than double the going rate if he wanted that kind of personal attention from a rookie waitress instead of one of the club’s established pole dancers. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen and was stunning and tight, the perfect combination.

He took a moment to admire the table napkin’s black and white logo before putting his beer on it. It was a hand-drawn caricature of an eye-patch-wearing pirate, holding a beer in one hand and a gun in the other. There were two buxom beauties on either side of him, wearing only a smile and oversized chests. A deadly symmetry, but the theme fit the club.

The owners of Black Beard’s knew how to rob people and they did it with fake boobs, ear-pounding rap music, and ice-cold beer. An expensive proposition, but Larson accepted the illusion of it all. It was his only escape from the endless hours of bureaucratic bullshit that defined his legal position on campus.

He wasn’t allowed to look twice at the bright-eyed coeds that blanketed the campus every day, let alone touch them. But here, at this secluded, members-only club, he was free to do what he pleased, as long as he brought sufficient cash to back it up.

When his lunch break ran out—or his money—he would have to return to reality. But for the next ninety minutes he was happy to be in the one place where he could be anyone he desired.

For today’s visit, he was Dirk, a former hockey player for the Central Hockey League. He knew the girls would be drawn to his alter ego as long as he was stuffing tens down the front of their G-strings. Like most of the regulars, he had his favorite dancers, each of whom relied on his frequent visits to pay their rent. But since this was the last visit before he and his family left town for good, he decided to splurge on the beautiful, blonde waitress who’d been teasing him for months.

Time to go out in style.

He waited until the current song ended, chugged his beer, and tipped the forty-something dancer on stage who was covered in racist tattoos. He whirled to the left and headed for the service end of the bar where he planned to convince the server to join him for an hour-long session in the VIP room.

However, his cell phone buzzed before he could reach her. He couldn’t remember the last time his phone worked inside the club. The building’s metal roofing made it damn near impossible to get a decent signal, but for some reason, today the phone was working, with two bars of signal strength.

The screen said the call was from his wife, Nora. He couldn’t answer the call, not with the sounds of pussy and alcohol permeating in the background, not to mention the ear-blasting music that would soon start for the next dancer due on stage.

The DJ’s voice rang out across the club’s speakers. “Next up on stage one is the gorgeous Paige. Jasmine, you’re up in two. Paris, stand by.”

Larson made a sharp right, heading up the stairs. A tuxedo-clad bouncer was working the front door, but never made eye contact with him as he ran outside to catch the call before his wife was sent to voice mail.

“Hi, honey. What’s up?” he said after taking in a deep breath to load his lungs with air.

“Where are you?” she asked in her dominating New York accent. “You sound winded.”

His mind froze for a moment until he decided how to handle her probing question. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why do you think something is wrong?”

“Because you never call me while I’m working. We had an agreement, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“President Lathrop from the university just called. He’s looking for you. Where are you?”

“Dr. Lathrop? Why?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. But it sounded urgent. Where are you?”

“I stopped for lunch.”

“Why are you breathing so hard?” she asked in a skeptical tone.

“It’s noisy in the restaurant. I ran outside to take your call.”

“Did you break your promise to me and the kids?”

“No, baby, just a root beer and a patty melt. No alcohol. I’m a man of my word.”

“Why didn’t Dr. Lathrop call your cell? Why did he call the house?”

“I don’t know. My phone was sitting right next to me, but it never rang. Maybe he couldn’t get through. The cell towers might have been busy.”

“Then he probably left you a voice mail.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ll check.”

“The Stantons are joining us tonight. Texas Road House at eight.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Don’t embarrass me by being late again.”

“I’ve cleared my schedule tonight. I’m all yours.”

“That’s good to hear. Your mother is watching the children, and you know how hard it is to get her to babysit. We never get a chance to go out and I don’t want to miss this opportunity. So you’d better be there.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Love you.”

“Me, too. Bye.”

He stared at the front door of the club, deciding whether to call Dr. Lathrop back and miss the rest of his much-needed playtime, or go back inside the club and see what kind of mileage his wad of cash would generate with the gorgeous young waitress.

It was a given she’d go topless and grind her ninety-five-pound figure on his lap, but would she let him touch her and possibly more? Not knowing how far she’d go made the chase even more memorable; so did a dancer who liked to break the rules and get freaky in the back room.

He had his favorite booth in the secluded VIP room where there was no coverage from the ceiling-mounted, night-vision cameras. He hoped it would be available, allowing him to fully enjoy the newness of her scent while she worked her magic on his ego. He’d never get this chance again, not with the planned exodus from Tucson looming in his future.

Dr. Lathrop could wait, he decided, turning to head back inside to spend every last dollar in his wallet on the young talent. However, when he told his legs to move, they refused. Something else had control of them. Then, almost as if on cue, the vision of her sweet nipples entering his mouth disappeared and was replaced by mounting guilt. That damned phone call! He couldn’t believe the timing. His Viagra-inspired erection wilted, turning him around and sending him to his Lexus. He got in and drove west out of the parking lot.

He decided to wait at least ten minutes before calling the president of the university back, just in case someone was tracing the call. With the recent terrorist attack and the urgent nature of the president’s phone call, anything was possible at this point, especially with NASA’s secret facility located directly under the campus.

If Alvarez was right, the NSA was probably involved by now, so he needed to play it safe, even though this was his last day as a lawyer for the University of Arizona. That’s assuming he could stop Lucas Ramsay and his experiment tonight. If successful, he planned to type his letter of resignation, sign it, and stuff it into the mail slot on the president’s door before meeting his wife and friends for dinner.
A last supper
, he thought. After that, all he needed to do was pick up the rest of the money from the technology buyer tomorrow.

Play it cool. You’ve got this.

He needed to remember to stop by Griffith’s lab to drop off the material sample for lab analysis, otherwise his brother-in-law would be pissed. He couldn’t afford for that to happen; not with the way today was starting to spin sideways.

Just then, a memory flashed in his mind. It was from a few minutes ago when he was walking out of the strip club. His memory replayed the sound of the DJ’s voice blasting over the PA system, calling out the list of dancers due on stage. First up was Paige, then a girl who’s stage name was Jasmine.

General Alvarez had a daughter named Jasmine—a beautiful sports-aholic, who attended the university. But Alvarez said she worked as a bartender for a different gentleman’s club in town. Not this one. But he also knew young girls kept secrets from their fathers, especially from overbearing blowhards like Alvarez.

Larson’s heart skipped a beat, wondering if it could be her. Dancers and bartenders move around constantly, so it was possible. Shit, did his niece by marriage just see him drinking and carousing in the club? If she did, the general would soon find out, and so would Larson’s wife.

He thought about it a little more, but decided it couldn’t be Alvarez’s daughter. Why would Jasmine switch clubs and then decide to start pole dancing? Bartenders made great money and they got to keep their clothes on and the customers’ paws off. Plus, why would she dance using her real name and not a stage name? No, it couldn’t be her. Must be a coincidence. He shrugged the idea off and shut down the paranoia.

A minute later, his phone rang. It was the university president.

“Fuck. I can’t catch a break today,” he mumbled, pressing the call recorder icon to start the app. He pressed the answer button after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Larson, is that you?”

“Yes, Dr. Lathrop. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last hour.”

“Sorry, sir. I was at lunch and left my cell phone in the car by accident.”

“I left an urgent message with your wife. Did you receive it?”

“She just called. I was about to call you. Is there an emergency?”

“You could say that. Something has come across my desk. Something that must be dealt with, immediately.”

“What is it?”

“Not on the phone, Larson. When can you be in my office?”

“I’m ten or fifteen minutes away, depending on traffic.”

“Be here in ten,” Lathrop said, ending the call.

Larson terminated the audio recorder and put the phone on the console between the seats, wondering what the hell was going on. Maybe his boss knew about his proclivity for young strippers, or his drinking during lunch, or his selling of university secrets to the technology buyer. He slowed the car and changed lanes, turning into the parking lot of an apartment complex on the north side of the street. He cruised slowly, circling the lot, deciding whether to make a run for it now or continue west and meet with his boss.

What could Lathrop possibly know? Larson had been extra careful, but maybe he’d missed something. If he had, he’d better grab the wife and kids and disappear for good. He might have enough money saved, if they lived frugally and off the grid somewhere. Alaska or Montana would work, as long as it was near water.