Текст книги "In a Bad Way"
Автор книги: Karin Tabke
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
“I can’t change the past.” Izzy straightened up. “And I don’t want to. If he can’t handle the heat, then he can do what he’s doing, get out and stay out of the kitchen.”
Charlie hugged her tightly. “That’s what I love most about you, sweets. Take me as I am or don’t take me at all. You took me as I am, and I love you for it.”
“I love who you are.”
He pushed back and grinned, showing straight white teeth. His dark eyes beamed with affection. Charlie reminded Izzy of a younger, slighter version of Jonathan Rhys Meyer. His heavy hooded eyes, full lips, and expressive features could never mask what he was thinking or feeling. He had a lousy poker face. But he laughed often. He let the crap that the judgmental world they lived in threw at him, run off his back. She wished she could be as carefree and cavalier about her roots as he was about his sexuality.
He hugged her, then swatted her on the bottom as he rolled from the bed. “Get a shower and brush your teeth, you have hangover breath.”
“Yes, dear.” She laughed, forgetting for a few minutes that she was miserable. And she was miserable. Flynn had peeled away so many layers of her, she scarcely recognized who she was at her core. She wasn’t the same girl who woke up two mornings ago in the bedroom across the hall.
She had fundamentally changed and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Ignorance was bliss. At least, ignorance of the carnal knowledge that was Special Agent Flynn Ryker. What he’d awoken in her would forever be on the prowl for more. No one else would give her what he had. Confidence, orgasms, laughter, and for the first time in her life, something to focus on that was just for her. Something other than her tawdry past or the lows that searching for the sister had brought her to.
Alex. She felt so helpless. Getting the info out of Andre was no longer an option. She had no sex video. Wasn’t going to get one either. Wasn’t going to be put up to another one. She’d stick with Flynn’s story that she did have a video, but her phone was stolen at the gym.
Now how was she going to get the answers she needed? Maybe there was information in Boris’s office at the club? It was Monday and even though the club was closed, from what she’d heard, Sherry, the office manager, was usually there. At the very least Izzy needed her tips. She was broke, with barely enough left on her transit pass to take the bus to BART and BART to the city. So while she was getting her tips from her locker, where Andre would have put them, maybe she could make a little detour to Boris’s office and see what she could see.
Izzy showered quickly and as she walked into the kitchen, Charlie was cooking up a breakfast fit for a king and queen. “Your hunk of burning love sure knows how to shop and where. Love Whole Foods!”
Her stomach growled, and soon she was consuming a delicious brie omelet, toasted croissant, and fresh berries topped with cream. “A girl could get used to this.”
Charlie sighed and said, “A girl can wish.”
Once the dishes were cleaned and put away, Izzy grabbed her purse and said, “Will you be here when I get back?”
“Depends; where are you going and how long will you be?”
“I’m going to the club to get my tips and tell that crazy Cossack you met yesterday that you didn’t appreciate his rudeness!”
“Oh, hell no you aren’t. I don’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”
“Charlie, I’m already in trouble. I’ll probably be in more if I bump into the owner, Boris. He’s scary.” Izzy shivered when she realized she was going to have to face him sooner or later. Might as well make it sooner, right? “Not sure how long I’ll be gone, but don’t wait for me if you have to go.”
“I’ve got some laundry to do, I can do it here instead of at Steven’s.”
Izzy smiled, stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Okay, dear, I should be home in time for lunch. Fix us something yummy.”
“You got it, sweets.”
Smiling, Izzy strode out the door and headed for the bus that would take her to BART, which would then take her to the city. As she waited at the bus stop, her nerves started to get the better of her. What if Andre or Boris was there? Boris, not likely. Andre, maybe. He’d want the video. Instinctively, she knew he was not going to care that her phone was stolen. He’d push for another video with another man.
The lovely breakfast churned in her stomach. The thought of making a video with anyone other than Flynn made her sick. Exhaling, Izzy began to question the means to her end. How far would she go to find her sister? And at what cost?
Chapter Sixteen
Izzy looked at her watch. The bus was late. Instead of sitting on the bench inside the bus stop shelter, she paced back and forth along the sidewalk. She was nervous about snooping in Boris’s office. If she got caught, she’d have a hard time explaining why she was in there. But she’d hit a dead end, and she needed to act. Now. Izzy had known the minute she walked into Surf’s Up that the club was a front. For what, she didn’t know exactly, but she could guess. What on earth had gotten into her sister’s head to go to work at such a place? The Alex she grew up with would never have set foot in a place like that. Did her parents know? How could they not?
Izzy wasn’t psychic, but her gut told her there was a lot more to her sister’s disappearance than any of them thought. Her gut also told her Alex was in deep trouble.
With Flynn out of the picture, Izzy’s only recourse was to go to Oakland PD and San Francisco PD. Fill out a missing persons report, and tell them what she knew. In the meantime, she’d do what she had been doing at the club. Dig for answers.
Rolling her neck several times like a prizefighter getting ready for the title bout, Izzy mentally pumped herself up. She could do this. It wasn’t like Boris was a permanent fixture in the place like Andre. Boss man only showed up once a week, usually Saturday nights. She highly doubted he’d be there on a Monday. If he was, she decided she would ask him for a minute of his time. He’d want something from her for the information. Probably to show up to the private party Andre had told her about. Izzy swallowed hard. The thought of going to Boris’s private residence and dancing for his associates terrified her.
She felt like she was free-falling down the rabbit hole. There was no one to catch her if it all went to hell. Shaking off the fear that shook her resolve, Izzy focused on what she needed to survive right now. Her tip money.
Glancing at her watch again, she grumbled. It wasn’t like she had a schedule to keep, but she wanted to get to the club, get out of there while it was still early, then head to the San Francisco police department and, once back here, to the Oakland cops.
When her cell phone rang, she about jumped out of her skin.
It was Andre. Swallowing hard she answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, little girl.” He sounded exactly like Gru from Despicable Me. Just meaner.
“Hi, Andre, what’s up?” she asked in the perkiest voice she could muster.
“I ask you same question.”
“Not much.” Beginning to pace along the curb in front of the shelter, eyes to the ground, Izzy held her breath, waiting for the shoe to drop.
“You bring me video now.”
“I—ah, about that, I don’t have it. My phone was stolen at the gym yesterday.”
“But you answer your phone.”
“Yeah, it’s a loaner. I just got it this morning. I put a reward up at the gym for my phone. It’s locked, so no one can access it.”
“Did you make video?”
“Yes, I did. I think Boris will be happy.” She bit her bottom lip. “When do you expect he’ll be in next?”
“Boris tell me nothing. But now we both pay big price for no-show.”
“Andre,” Izzy implored, “I promise you, I’ll get my phone back.”
“Hope so, would not like to hurt little girl.”
“You would not hurt me!”
“Pain is good motivator.” He hung up.
She was still staring at her phone in disbelief when a white van came barreling around the corner at a high rate of speed. Izzy jumped back from the curb as it careened toward her. The van ran up on the curb and continued straight for her. Screaming, she ran for her life toward the low concrete wall behind the bus stop enclosure. The van sped by, but not before clipping the edge of the shelter.
It all happened so quickly she didn’t get a look at the driver.
In horror, she watched it come back around the other end of the street. Was he coming at her again? Backing up, she heard the air brakes of the bus as it pulled up behind her to the stop.
The door opened and she jumped in. The van sped past, turning left.
Shaken, she asked the driver. “Did you see that?”
Bored, he looked at her. “See what?”
“That white van that just passed tried to run me over!”
His dark eyes grew alert, sweeping her from head to toe. “You okay?”
“Yes, but—” She looked behind her to the sidewalk, where her purse and most of its contents lay strewn. “I need to get my purse. Please, wait just a minute.”
“Hurry, I’m behind schedule.”
She promptly exited the bus, scanning the road just in case, and picked up her purse and the contents that had spilled all over the sidewalk, including her brand new iPhone that thankfully hadn’t broken.
“You’re okay,” she said to herself, her shaky voice belying her words.
“You still want a ride?” the driver called.
Gathering her purse to her chest, she said, “Yes,” as she stepped back up into the bus. As she looked to her right, then left, and behind the bus, the coast was clear. Her instinct was to call Flynn, but he would think she was making an excuse to see him. And really, it could have just been a random act of assholeness.
Random acts weren’t unknown to her. One day last year, she was leaving the professor’s office on campus and as she was crossing in the crosswalk, a motorcycle came out of nowhere and clipped her arm. He would have run her over if she hadn’t been grabbed and pulled to safety by the man walking behind her. Last month she had been followed from the club to BART. It had creeped her out. Usually she was vigilant about keeping her eyes open and her head on a constant swivel. Digging through her purse she found her kubaton key chain. The seven inches of pink metal resembled a thick spiraled icepick. It was deadly in the right hands. Fisting it, she held it with a death grip. She had taken several self-defense classes and kickboxing. She knew how to use the kubaton. It was a menacing weapon, and she would not hesitate to jab it into a bad guy’s eyes, mouth, ear, heart, or wherever she could do some damage.
Sliding her Clipper card through the meter, Izzy moved to the empty back of the bus and sat down on the right-hand side. The bus lumbered away from the curb. As they made the right turn onto Telegraph, she gasped. The white van sat idling fifty yards ahead. This time she was ready to get the license plate number, but there wasn’t a plate. Didn’t matter. Quickly, she dialed 9-1-1. As they passed, she looked directly at the driver, who was disguised by a dark baseball cap and dark glasses. Let him see she was on the phone and draw his own conclusions. If he was still following her when she got to BART, then the cops could deal with him.
Halfway to BART, 9-1-1 was still ringing. Damn budget cuts! She looked behind her. The van was nowhere in sight. Sitting back into the hard plastic seat, she let out a long sigh and tapped the end icon. No sense in calling it in; she had no description other than that it was a white van, and he was probably long gone by now.
As the bus pulled up to the BART station, Izzy hurried off and froze as she saw the van rumbling toward her, just as the bus she had exited drove past her.
She was torn. Run after the bus that was heading straight for the van or make a run for the BART train. Deciding that staying in a public place would increase her chances of survival, Izzy sprinted toward the turnstiles, swiped her card and hurried up to the platform, praying the train would be waiting. It was. She hurried in and moved forward through each car in search of a cop, all while keeping her eyes on the platform, and terrified the driver of the van would materialize before she found a cop. When the driver didn’t show and the train began to move, she dropped to a seat and let out a shaky breath. Where was a cop when you needed one?
As the train pulled out over the tracks, she got a clear shot of the front of the station, where the van was still parked against the curb. With shaky hands she pulled her phone from her purse and took several pictures of the van as it started to move in the same direction as the train. As the distance between them began to lengthen, Izzy stopped taking pictures relieved to know that unless the van had an underwater package, she couldn’t be followed into San Francisco. As she reassured herself that it was just some weirdo, her phone rang to the tune of Bad Boys. Her gut did a whole different anxiety roll this time.
It was Flynn.
“Answer the damn phone, Isadora!” Flynn cursed, when he got her voice mail for the sixth time.
Angrily, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat of his car. Giving the car more gas, he roared through the streets of Oakland until he pulled up in front of the little bungalow on 34th Street. The same silver Honda Civic that was parked in the driveway when he’d dropped Pink off last night hadn’t moved. He surmised it belonged to the roommate, since there wasn’t a car in the driveway when he’d been there with Pink. Surely she had a car. He glanced at the empty street. Last night, cars had been lined up, but today everyone was at work.
He pulled the key from the ignition and opened the car door. He sat there for a long moment with one foot on the asphalt, the other in the car. Nervous energy rumbled through his belly. He knew that the minute he laid eyes on her, smelled her, he was going to want to touch her. If he touched her, he’d lose it. He couldn’t lose it. He was there for one reason: To deliver a message.
“Fuck it all to hell,” he cursed. He slid out of the car and slammed the door shut, then strode toward the front door. He knocked loudly. A minute later, the door opened slowly.
Instead of Pink, the same lanky man who had told him off last night stood wrapped in a red silk kimono-style robe. The roommate, Charlie, he presumed.
Setting his hand on his hip, Charlie cocked it, and with a raised brow and a bored voice said, “Can I help you, cherry thief?”
Flynn coughed and looked past him. Blocking his view, the guy closed the door almost shut, just the right half of his body visible.
“Would you tell Miss Fuentes that Flynn would like to speak to her?” It took every ounce of restraint he had not to push the slight man aside, stride into the house, and find her.
“Oh, would he now?” Charlie said flippantly.
“Yes. It’s an urgent matter, so if you could tell her now, I’d appreciate it.”
“Urgent as in you’re going to apologize?”
The question caught Flynn off guard. “Apologize?” For what?
“Yes, simpleton, for popping her cherry, then breaking her heart!” Charlie opened the door and moved to the threshold. He was angry. “Who does that to my sweet girl?”
“I—she wanted me to,” Flynn said lamely. He had no defense. They had both wanted it. He had no regrets either. And despite how things had shaken out between them, he knew Pink didn’t regret the night they’d spent in her little bed or what happened on the terrace in Half Moon Bay.
“But you took it knowing what she does for a living and then turned around and treated her like something you wiped off your shoe!” Charlie poked a finger in Flynn’s chest. Flynn allowed it only because the guy was defending Pink. “She’s pure, asshole. As the fucking driven snow, and you ruined her. Fuck, she didn’t need that from a guy like you.”
“A guy like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He wasn’t some slob off the streets.
“An asshole like her absentee father. Loaded, arrogant, thinks he can do anyone or anything because he’s connected and has a gigantic ego.” Charlie drew in a breath and expounded. “Your kind has no conscience, because you don’t feel anything. Like a cyborg, cool to look at, but no heart inside.”
Now Flynn was angry. He was none of those things. He was sure Pink had omitted the drugging-him-part of their night and day together when she talked to Charlie. He wasn’t going to out her, but damn it, he wasn’t the guy Charlie was making him out to be. It was supposed to be one night. One night for a lot of reasons, one being that he didn’t date and if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t going to date a strip club cocktail server who flashed her tits at his coworkers, regardless of the reasons. “She knew the score when she brought me here. I never promised her anything except what I gave her. So, back the fuck up and let me in.”
Charlie’s arm shot out across the doorway, blocking Flynn when he made to walk into the house.
“She’s not here. And even if she was, I highly doubt I’d tell her you were at the door. You have zero right to act like you have a right to be here.”
Flynn fisted and unfisted his hands. “I don’t believe you.”
Charlie smirked and stood back, opening the door. “See for yourself, Special Agent Dick.”
Flynn strode past him into the little house, heading straight for Pink’s bedroom. As he pushed open the door, the subtle scent of bubble gum hit him with the force of a cinder block to the face. For a minute he fought to breathe. His dick jerked against his pants. Visions of them sweaty and naked rolling around on the now neatly made bed flared in his mind’s eye.
When he’d first seen her face minus the heavy makeup and false eyelashes, he’d thought he’d never seen such a natural beauty. That still held true. Since that moment, he’d discovered there was so much more to her than the hot surface.
Jamming his hand through his hair, Flynn cursed under his breath.
“You see, Special Agent, as I said, she’s not here. I’d tell her you came looking for her, but I don’t want her to think you’re not still a dick when you are.”
Flynn turned furiously and moved into the opinionated roommate’s personal space. Ddamn if the guy didn’t stand his ground. A begrudging respect sprang up for Charlie. He didn’t blame him for being so protective of Pink; Flynn felt the same way. The pain in his left hand was a reminder. The irony struck Flynn. He’d busted his hand protecting Pink from an asshole and here this guy Charlie was willing to get his ass kicked protecting Pink from a different asshole.
“I never meant to hurt her,” Flynn said. “It was supposed to be just one night. It got out of hand.”
“She’s worth ten thousand nights, you moron. If you’d given her half a chance, you’d know that by now.”
Flynn got it. But he wasn’t a ten-thousand-nights kind of guy. “Look, she’s over her head at Surf’s Up. I need to talk to her about what’s going on there and hopefully talk some sense into her.”
“Just because you can’t handle her working there?”
“What she does is her business, but she’s in danger, and that’s my business.”
Flynn saw indecision flicker in Charlie’s eyes. “You’re telling the truth?”
“Yes, damn it. She won’t answer my calls. Where is she?”
“On her way to the club. Something about getting her tips and talking to a guy named Boris.”
“Shit. Call her on your cell, she’ll answer for you.”
Charlie turned and ran into the kitchen. He snatched his cell off his charger and called her. He held it up immediately. “It went directly to voice mail. Either she’s in the tunnel or she turned off her phone.”
“In the tunnel?”
“BART. She doesn’t have a car.”
Flynn nodded. “She probably turned it off so she wouldn’t have to listen to me calling her.” Flynn moved past the insolent roommate. He needed to get to the tiny dancer before Boris did. “I’m heading over there. Keep trying and if you get her, tell her under no circumstances to go into that club.”
“You are talking about Isadora Fuentes, right? Coz if you are, you should know she does exactly the opposite of what someone she doesn’t like tells her to do.”
“She likes me. If she didn’t, she’d answer my call,” Flynn said as he strode to the front door.
As he hustled down the front porch steps to his car, Charlie called, “That’s okay, Special Agent, because if you didn’t like her back you wouldn’t be here, and you know it!”
Flynn shook his head, not denying it.
“I know she likes you, FBI man! Too much for her own good, and that’s the problem! She’s an all-or-nothing girl! Don’t you dare go near her again unless you plan on sticking around!”
Flynn cracked a smile as Charlie called him out. She liked him? He liked her too, damn it.
