Текст книги "A Little Too Hot"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Ten

I’M GRASPING AT  any distraction, so when Izzy calls and invites me to the movies the next afternoon, I suggest a double header. We’re in the middle of our second—the new Star Trek—when Izzy nudges my knee with hers.

“Is he hotter than that?” she asks with a jut of her chin at the screen, where Chris Pine and his yummy blue eyes gaze out at us.

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, glowing white in the silver light. “Oh, girlfriend! You got to go for it.”

I slouch deeper into my seat and stare up at the screen. “What if he says no?”

“Have you seen yourself? He’s not going to say no.”

“He’s on the rebound.”

“So?”

I look at her. “So . . . I don’t want to be his rebound girl.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re looking to marry the guy. It’s just a hook-up.”

I turn that over in my head and realize she’s right. “So, you think I should just ask him on a date or something?”

“Don’t overthink this, Sam. If he comes into the club tonight, just tell him you want him to take you home after shift. It’s that easy.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

She smiles and turns back to the screen, and I know I’m right.

WHEN WE GET to Benny’s, Izzy helps me with my boots in the dressing room because my hands are shaking so hard I can’t get the laces right.

“Chill,” she says, resting a hand over mine. “It’s going to happen.”

I let her slip my hands off my boots and lean back in the sofa. “He’s going to say no.”

“Then he’s an asshat,” she says, tugging on my laces. “But if you want him, you’ll never know if he wants you back unless you ask.”

“I feel so stupid,” I lament, throwing my hands over my burning face.

She finishes my laces and pats my leg. “You’re consenting adults. Ben and Nora have no say over who you see on your own time. There’s no reason for you not to go for it, and I’ll bet half my tips he doesn’t say no.”

I peek out from between my fingers. “You think?”

She grins at me. “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you bet all your tips?” She laughs and I cover my face again. “Oh God,” I groan, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

She pries a hand loose and pulls me up by it. “Showtime, girlfriend.”

Nora’s in the hall when we step out of the dressing room. “Move your tails. You’re late!”

She shoos us up the hall to our stages, and when I step out onto mine, the first thing I do, as always, is scan the crowd for him. It only takes a second to spot him, up near the bar, leaning against the rail that separates the mezzanine from the pit. He looks so relaxed, so sure of himself, that he stands out from the rest of the clientele. He tips his beer at me in a salute and smiles when he sees me gawking.

I suck the drool off my lower lip and watch him watching me on the stage. With every passing song, I gain more confidence when he hardly seems to notice the women circling him. Even on the occasion one swoops in, he brushes her off and his eyes never stray from me. I feel them move over me like a gentle caress as I dance just for him.

“Girlie!” Nora calls between songs, and I realize I’m totally lost in my fantasy. It seems like I’ve only been out here a few minutes. It can’t possibly be the end of my three hour shift.

I turn and find her at the door, peering out from behind the curtain, crooking her finger at me that I should come. I grab the last few tips being waved in the air at the front of my stage, and Jen brushes past me to take my place as Nora hooks my elbow and pulls me out the door.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, afraid maybe she found out about my plan.

She doesn’t let loose her grasp on my elbow as she marches me up the hall to the office, and my stomach is in knots until she grins at me. “You did something very right. You’ve got five privates. Had to pull you off early so there’ll be time before closing to make all your fans happy.” But then she lets me go and holds up her notebook, tapping the last name on the list with the end of her pen: Harrison Yates. “He’s paid for an hour again. If there’s something going on between you two, you better be keeping it outside this club, girlie,” she warns.

I roll my eyes and try to come off all casual, but my heart is racing. “I’m following the rules, Nora. I promise.”

One at a time she leads the first four in and I dance. I stay on my game by remembering that every passing minute brings me closer to my target. Two hours later, when Harrison walks in, all I can think about is what I want to do to him—what I’m going to do to him.

Nora gives me a meaningful look and closes the door.

Harrison’s gaze takes possession of me as it sweeps over my body. “I’m not sure I like sharing you with so many other men,” he says, stepping closer.

Say it, I coach myself. Don’t chicken out. “I know a way you could have me all to yourself.”

He tips his head in a question and something feral flares in his eyes.

“Where are you staying?” I ask, working to keep the shake out of my voice.

“I have a hotel.”

“Bring me home with you.” My heart is hammering against my ribs and I can barely breath, but I manage to get it out.

But when his face pulls into a grimace, I want to shrivel up and die. “Sam . . . one of the crew is staying in my room tonight.”

I back toward the door, embarrassed. “If you don’t want to—” But that’s as far as I get before he’s cut me off, a hand twisted into my hair and his mouth devouring mine.

His kiss isn’t gentle. It’s hungry and insistent. It’s rough and hot and angry. It’s so desperate that I ache with his need. His tongue slashes through my lips and I open wide, letting him have me, letting him taste all of me.

But then he lets me go and staggers back as if I’ve burned him. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” He shoves a hand through is hair and lowers his gaze. “You make me crazy. I can’t even think when I’m around you.”

“I don’t want you to think.”

His eyes lift to mine as I stalk toward him. They burn with need as I lay my hands on his chest, then smooth them up to his shoulders.

“What about the rules?” he asks, breathily.

“Screw the rules.” I push him backward until the sofa takes his legs out from under him, then climb astride his lap.

His hands glide over my curves, setting every nerve ending on fire. “I could almost forget the rest of the world exists when I’m in here with you.”

I know he means his fiancée, and it sends my heart racing. I want him to forget her. And I know how. I rock myself into the bulge in his jeans and start on the buttons of his shirt. When they’re undone, I let it fall open, then sit back and admire the view.

He’s incredible; sculpted and lean. And inked. A black tribal design runs up the left side of his torso from the waistband of his jeans over his left pec, and disappears behind his shirt.

I lean in and kiss him hard. He hesitates at first, but then his tongue swirls possessively through my mouth. His fingertips glide over the thin nylon of my vest, along the sides of my rib cage, raising goose bumps and tightening my nipples. His progress slows when they brush the curve at the underside of my breasts, but I shift on his lap, simultaneously bringing my breasts into his palms and grinding myself into his erection, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“God, Sam,” he breathes, “you are so fucking incredible.”

The sound of his desire boils my blood and makes me bolder. I sit back and slowly unfasten the three buttons down the front of my vest. His lips are parted and his eyes cloud a little as he watches, seemingly frozen in place. I lift his hands to my breasts and rock myself against him again.

He closes his eyes and his head drops back on the sofa. “Sam.” His voice is course with pure animal need, but I can’t miss the tinge of despair in it too.

“Forget her,” I whisper in his ear. “She’s gone. I’m here.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I run my lips and my tongue up his throat to the angle of his jaw and he groans. The next second he’s kissing me as if I were his beginning and his end. The feel of his hands—one on my breast, rolling my nipple under his thumb, and the other cupping my ass, grinding me harder against his erection—causes every muscle south of my waist to contract. He starts rocking his hips under me, finding a rhythm, and I move on top of him, unable to stop the moan as his pressure on my sweet spot sends shock waves through me.

He grabs my hips, quickening our pace, and I’m breathing hard, every nerve ending buzzing. But then he breaks our kiss and sucks in a sharp breath, growling as he wages some internal battle.

He tips his head onto the back of the sofa as I trace the pattern of his ink with my finger, and his chest heaves as he struggles for air. “What are we doing here, Sam?” he pants.

Looking into those blue eyes, I want to climb right into his soul and live there. “Whatever you want.” I grasp his face and pull him to me, kissing him deeper as my hand skims over the taut skin of his cut abs to the prize. “Everything.”

He rolls his head back and groans deep in his chest, and the sound causes a ripple through my groin. “You would have sex with me? Here?” he asks, his smooth drawl rough with need.

“I would have sex with you anywhere.”

This is so against Ben’s rules, but there’s no stopping now. My body is wired and it’s not going to be satisfied until it gets what it wants. My heart slams into my ribs as I reach for his zipper and drag it down.

He grasps my wrist as I start to slide my hand under the waistband of his black boxer briefs. His eyes burn bright in the dim light. “I need to be very clear here, Sam. You’re asking me to have sex with you. Right now.”

I press myself against him. “Yes,” I whisper in his ear.

He grasps my arms, easing me gently away from him, and something sad flickers through his blue eyes as he holds me fixed in his gaze.

I hold my breath, half afraid he’ll change his mind and half afraid he won’t. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m going to explode if I don’t have him.

He lifts a hand, cupping my chin, and brushes his thumb softly over my swollen lips. I part them, and as I take his thumb tip between my teeth and touch my tongue to it, his breath catches and his eyes slip closed in a slow blink. He lowers his hand and looks at me again, his eyes searching my face for something, before slowly shifting me onto the sofa. He gains his feet, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

Protection.

I’m so far gone I never even thought of it. A thrill skitters through me, pebbling my skin into goose bumps, and I can hardly breathe. This is it. We’re really doing this.

But he zips his jeans with his other hand as the wallet unfolds, and a glint of brass flashes in the dim room just as something else flashes in his eyes.

Regret? Pain?

He drags a hand down his face and closes his eyes, and for several beats of my racing heart he just stands there, breathing hard and saying nothing.

I sit here staring, not sure what’s happening, until he finally opens both his eyes and his mouth.

“Samantha West, you are under arrest for solicitation.”

Chapter Eleven

“YOU HAVE THE  right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law . . .” Harrison trails off, hauling a labored breath. “Sam? Are you hearing me? This is important.”

And that’s when I realize I’m just sitting here, open-jawed, staring at him. “What . . . ?” is all I can manage. I feel totally disoriented, like I fell asleep in front of an episode of Law and Order and it’s seeped into my dream.

His brow furrows as he fights to keep his gaze from dropping to my open vest. “Get dressed, Sam.”

We both fasten our buttons as he continues with my rights. By the time he’s done, I’m dressed, but I didn’t hear anything he said over the buzzing in my ears. As the weight of what’s happening slams home, the lights start to flash and my ears ring louder.

I stagger up off the sofa and, a second later, I’m on the floor without knowing quite how I got here.

“Shit!” Harrison barks as he drops to my side. “Sam?” He shakes me a little. “Sam, say something.”

His voice echoes in the distance as he says something else, but I don’t hear what it is. Gradually, I get my bearings, and when I open my eyes, I find him leaning over me, holding me in his arms. I lift my hand to his face and his gaze softens. But then I slap him. Hard.

He lets me go as his head snaps to the left.

“Bastard!” I leap to my feet and feel instantly dizzy again. I drop into the sofa as my head spins. “You’re a cop?”

He rubs his face and stands. “DEA.”

My mind reels as I try to make sense of this. I feel blindsided and betrayed, and even though I realize how ridiculous that is, considering I barely know Harrison, I can’t stop the torrent inside me as it all comes to a head.

“You fucking bastard,” I growl. “That’s all this was about? Just so you could arrest me?”

He takes a step toward me. “Sam, this isn’t about you.”

“Really? Because I’d swear you said I was under arrest.”

His jaw grinds tight. “This will all go away for you if you cooperate.”

And that’s when I remember what Nora said that first night. The cops are always snooping around, looking for a reason to shut Ben down. “Damn you!”

“Do you understand your rights?” He stoops down in front of me and reaches for my hand. “Sam?”

I yank it back and cover my face with it, suddenly disgusted by the same touch that set me on fire not five minutes ago. “You son of a bitch,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

Harrison pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a go,” he says, then tucks it back. “Sam, I need you to tell me if you understand your rights.”

“Yes,” I mumble into my hands.

“I’m sorry Sam.” His voice is low and soft, and I can tell he’s standing right in front of me.

I still don’t look at him. I want to rant. I want to scream. So, when “You know I’m not a hooker” comes out of my mouth sounding totally pathetic and defeated instead of furious, I hate myself.

In the silence that follows my statement, the sounds from outside the door change. The constant buzz of chatter from the club is punctuated by a scream, then shouting, and the steady pound of music abruptly stops. There’s more shouting, right outside my door, then the door flies open. I lift my head and see a black guy with a shaved head, maybe in his late forties, step through the doorway, gun drawn.

He reaches behind him and pulls a pair of cuffs off his belt, tossing them to Harrison. “Everything under control in here?”

“Arroyo and his wife should be in the office across the hall,” Harrison answers with a jerk of his head at the door.

“We’ve already got them,” the guy says, stepping back and peering down the hall.

“Who’s on collection?” Harrison asks.

“Jenkins.”

Harrison blows out a sigh and looks at me. “Stand up, Sam.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look away, fighting to keep the panic off my face. The only clear thought in my head is that this has to be a mistake. This can’t be happening.

OhGodohGodohGod.

“Sam, I need to—”

“No!” I snap, because right now all I want to do is choke the life out of him. I feel so dirty when I think of his hands on me. How did I fall for him so fast? First Trent, and now Harrison. What the hell is wrong with me that I’m so horrible at reading men?

He looks at me a moment longer, something deep in those glacial eyes hardening, becoming unbearably intense. But just when I think I’m going to have to drop my gaze, he spins for the door, slapping the cuffs into the other guy’s hand on his way out. “Can you get this, Cooper? I’m going to make sure Jenkins isn’t screwing up evidence.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Cooper comes over and stares down at me, jiggling the cuffs in his hand. “If you just do as you’re told, this will go so much smoother.”

“Fuck you,” I tell him without budging.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re so original. Did Casanova give you your Miranda warning, by any chance?”

“Yes.”

My breathing is coming in short pants as panic starts to get the better of me. In the hall past Cooper, I see cops moving back and forth. A big guy I recognize from the pit, with a buzz cut and one of the hugest heads I’ve ever seen, stops in the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, but now there’s a gun on his belt.

Cooper frowns in his general direction. “What the hell’s going on, Jenkins. I thought you were on evidence.”

“Montgomery’s got it. She our star witness?” he asks, jerking his enormous chin at me.

“The one and only,” Cooper answers, stepping back.

Jenkins claps his giant hands together, making me jump. “Let’s get her loaded up.”

I glare at Cooper. “So am I a hooker or a witness? I’m a little confused here.”

“Both,” he answers, grasping my arm. “Come with me, Jezebel.”

My head spins as Cooper drags me to my feet and clicks cuffs onto my wrists, tightening them until they pinch. I can’t help glancing in Ben’s office door as he pulls me past. Harrison’s broad back is to me as he stands at Ben’s desk. He turns his head and his gaze catches on mine for a spit second as he picks up a file and drops it into a box. The ice in those blue eyes now is so different than the warm pools I lost myself in when he kissed me just minutes ago. And that’s when I know for sure.

It was all just a means to an end. Everything I thought I felt was based on a lie.

In the last year, since I lost both Lexie and Trent, I haven’t really opened up to anyone. Katie knows what happened, of course, because she’s friends with both Lexie and me, but I’ve never really confided in her how much it tore me apart. I’ve never told Jonathan. I kept it bottled up inside of me because it was embarrassing to talk about. But I felt like I could open up to Harrison. I felt like we connected.

My fatal mistake.

Shame and betrayal slam into me like a freight train and my whole body goes cold. I stumble as Cooper guides me through the door into the club. He keeps me on my feet with a yank of my arm. When I catch my balance and look around, the lights are up and the club is nearly empty except for police and guys dressed in button-down shirts and either jeans or slacks, guns on their hips. Shouts cut through the low drone and I look up to see Big Pete pinned against the wall by three uniformed cops. Marcus is nowhere to be seen. As we cross the room to the front door, I see Brittany, Jen, and Izzy, still in costume, sitting at a table near center stage with a couple of guys in blue button-downs. Brittany looks up and glares at me. Izzy catches her glare and follows her gaze to where Cooper is ushering me none too gently toward the front door. Her face scrunches, and I’m sure I see sympathy in her eyes.

Damn.

Cooper tugs me to a black Charger in the alley and presses on the top of my head as he tucks me in back. Jenkins climbs in the driver’s seat.

We drive, but I can’t focus on our surroundings enough to know or care where we’re going. I close my eyes and tip over onto the seat so I’m lying on my side. I want to die. I am truly too stupid to live.

I’ve so thoroughly checked out that I don’t even know how long later the car rolls to a stop. I don’t sit up. Even when Cooper opens my door, I just lay here. Because the gravity of this is just now sinking in. I’ve been arrested for prostitution. My wheels are spinning, thinking of how to get out of this without anyone finding out.

Mom.

My gut tightens at the thought of her knowing what happened. She threw me out because she thought I was a fuck-up, and just to prove her right, here I am, going to jail. This is a nightmare.

“Come on, Jezebel,” Cooper says, nudging my thigh.

I drag myself to a sitting position and find we’re in a parking garage. “Who the hell is Jezebel?”

He gives me a cynical smile as he pulls me from the car by my arm. “A biblical succubus. She used sex to lure men to their deaths.”

“Great.”

Jenkins follows as Cooper directs me up a hall to a door. He presses his ID against the sensor and the door clicks open to a lobby inside. Jenkins skirts past us and punches the elevator call button. The middle door opens and we climb in, and when the door opens again, Cooper takes my arm and scans his ID at the glass doors, where UNITED STATES OF AMERICA DRUG ENFORCEMENT AGENCY” is printed in large gold letters. He guides me through into a reception area with a desk and a few chairs. The only person at the desk now, in the middle of the night, is a uniformed security guard.

We walk toward a door to the right of the desk. “When Special Agent Montgomery comes in, tell him to find us in Interrogation 3,” Cooper tells the guard on our way by.

We march up a corridor and he stops at a door, scanning his card again. The door clicks open and he escorts me into a small white room with a metal table and four chairs. At the end of the table is a tripod with a camera. He drops me into the chair it’s pointing at and pulls off the handcuffs.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me.

He slips out the door into the hall, and Jenkins leans his back against it, glaring down at me.

I fold my hands on my lap under the table so he can’t see them shake, because I get the pit bull vibe from this guy—if he senses fear, he’ll go for the jugular. “Are you ‘bad cop’?”

A self-satisfied smirk spreads over his ginormous face. “I am your worst nightmare. Give me five minutes and you’ll be spilling your guts.”

What do they think I know? I open my mouth to tell Jenkins there’s nothing to spill, but then close it again. Maybe, as long as they think there’s something I know that they don’t, I’ve got some leverage. I put up the bravest front I can despite my sweating palms and short-circuiting brain. “I’m not telling you anything.”

The doorknob rattles as someone turns it from the other side, but Jenkins doesn’t move to let them in. A prickle of panic flashes through me. Yep. He’s got “bad cop” down solid.

“Jenkins!” comes Cooper’s irritated voice from the other side of the door. “Move your sorry ass and let me in!”

Jenkins shifts off the door, giving me a menacing smile, and Cooper comes through with a thick manila file folder in his hand, a pad of while lined paper and an iPad on top of it. “What the hell is going on in here?” he asks.

“Just making sure we understand each other,” Jenkins says, settling into the chair near the camera.

Cooper lowers himself into the one across from me and fiddles with his stuff for a minute, opening the cover of the iPad and then the folder. “So, this is a pretty easy concept,” he says, his gaze lifting to me once he’s organized. “Tell us what we want to know and this will all go away for you. Don’t, and you’re looking at jail time.”

“What do you want from me? I’m not a hooker. I didn’t . . . I didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t even be here!” I bite my tongue when I feel myself start to come unhinged.

Jenkins snorts out a laugh and mutters, “Just keep it up and see where it gets you.”

Cooper blows out a weary sigh. “How about we start with the easy stuff? Your full name is . . . ?”

I lean heavily on the table, fisting my hands in my hair and using it to hold up the weight of my aching, thousand pound head. “Samantha West.”

I sound totally defeated, and a smirk curls Jenkins’s mouth as he drums his sausage fingers on the table.

Cooper’s eyes flick to me from the page as he writes that down. “Middle name?”

“Erin.”

He makes a note. “And you’ve worked for Ben Arroyo for how long?”

“Two weeks.”

The pencil in Cooper’s hand flips into the air and clatters to the table in front of me as his eyes flash to mine. “What?”

I swallow hard. “What, what?”

“You’ve only worked at Benny’s for two weeks?” he says, exasperated.

“Yes.”

He plants an elbow on the table and rubs a hand down his face in a weary gesture. “Christ, Blake. What the hell were you thinking?” he mutters.

“I knew he’d screw this up,” Jenkins sneers from across the table. “Don’t know why Navarro thought she needed to bring that sanctimonious prick in from L.A. when I could have gone deep.”

Cooper pulls his face out of his hand and looks me over. “Shut up, Jenkins.”

Jenkins slams his palm down on the table, making me jump. “If Arroyo walks on this because of Montgomery, I swear I’ll rip his misguided dick off and cram it down his throat.”

“Jenkins,” Cooper warns, “why don’t you go see if Blake’s in the house?”

He jerks out of his seat and slams through the door, grumbling something I can’t quite catch, except it still has to do with this Montgomery person and his dick.

“Okay,” Cooper says, opening the folder. “First things first. Did you ever see illegal drugs on the premises of Benny’s Gentlemen’s Club?”

“No.”

His eyes flash to mine. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

His gaze hardens. “Did you ever hear of any transactions between Arroyo or his wife and the other dancers?”

“Never.”

He purses his lips and thumbs past a few pages before slipping a paper out and turning it to face me. “So, as you know, this is Benjamin Arroyo,” he says, tapping the end of his pen on the top corner. The page is a collage of candid shots of men’s faces, and the one he’s pointing to is Ben. In the shot, he’s standing on the sidewalk outside Benny’s, talking to Marcus.

I nod.

“These pictures are of his known associates,” he tells me, sweeping his hand over the rest of the page. “Do any of them look at all familiar to you?”

“What if I say yes?” I ask, knowing if I do, it would be a lie.

“Then I’ll see what I can do to make this all go away for you.”

“And, if I say no?”

He shrugs. “Then there’s nothing I can do to help you. You’ll be held until your hearing, and you’ll go to trial.”

I haul a deep breath, then give the photos a cursory glance. “I’ve never seen—” But my gaze catches on a face in the middle of the page. It’s the guy who was flirting with Nora. The one who had Ben all uptight.

“You recognize someone?” he asks just as the door is flung open behind me.

“Montgomery’s in the house,” Jenkins’s says. “But he’s on the line with Special Agent in Charge Navarro.”

Cooper ignores him, sliding the pictures closer. “Which one, Jezebel?”

“None of them. I told you, I only worked there for two weeks. I don’t know anything. And I didn’t prostitute myself. Harrison Yates is a manipulative asshole. Can you say ‘entrapment’?”

Cooper just looks at me, but Jenkins breaks out laughing.

“Harrison Yates,” he guffaws. “May as well have called himself Prince fucking Charming.”

I look between him and Cooper, confused.

Cooper cuts him a glare then levels me in his sharp gaze. “Providing a perpetrator opportunity to commit a crime does not constitute entrapment.”

I think about all of our encounters. He told me he wanted to touch me. I’m pretty sure he kissed me first tonight. Is that enough? At just the memory, my skin prickles into goose bumps, my heart races, my breathing gets shallow, and a thin sheen of sweat breaks over my whole body.

Damn. How can I still want him?

Behind me the door clicks open, and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him, as if my thoughts summoned him.

“Find anything?” Cooper asks, looking over my shoulder.

“The evidence team is going through it now. Hopefully we’ll have something by morning.” That warm honey drawl causes me to shudder and I want to slit my wrists. “How’s it going in here?”

Cooper scrapes his chair back. “Excuse me for a minute, Jezebel.” He looks past me to where I know Harrison is standing. “I need to talk to Agent Montgomery in the hall.”

“Don’t call me Jezebel,” I grumble, but I don’t turn around as he passes me on his way to the door. I can’t look at Harrison. My body’s reaction to just being in the same room is totally unacceptable, and that’s without even seeing him. I won’t let him know he still affects me.

“Your boyfriend’s looking a little rough around the edges,” Jenkins tells me with a smirk after the door clicks closed, and that’s when I realize Harrison must have gone outside with Cooper and that Montgomery person that Jenkins seems to hate so much.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, turning and finding the room behind me empty.

Muffled voices come through the door, Cooper’s and Harrison’s, as best I can tell. The door opens a minute later, and the chair next to me scrapes back. I don’t look as Harrison lowers himself into it, but I feel the weight of his gaze.

Cooper finds his seat across from me and sets my bag on the table. “This is your purse?” he asks me.

I nod.

He reaches in and pulls out my phone. “And this is your phone?”

“Can I have it?” I ask, holding out my hand.

He flips it in his hand and looks at the screen. “What would we find if we went through your texts, I wonder?” he muses.

I think about that for a second and realize there would be nothing incriminating. I didn’t even text anyone about Harrison. “About a hundred raunchy texts from my friend, Jonathan; a couple of conversations with Katie and Izzy; and, I suppose if you go back far enough, you’ll find a thousand to-do lists from my mom.”

“Nothing from Ben Arroyo?”

“It wasn’t like we were friends.”

He sets the phone down. “Jezebel here was just telling me that she recognizes someone on this page,” he says to Harrison, sliding the collage in front of me again.

I blow out a weary breath and hang my head. “No. Actually, if your hearing wasn’t so selective, you’d remember I said I didn’t know anything. And you’d also remember I told you not to call me Jezebel.”

“Sam,” Harrison says, too close to my ear. “If you work with us, things will go a lot easier for you.”

I spin on him and find he’s leaning his elbows on his knees. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his skin and I scoot my chair back. But he gives me a focal point for all the fear and anger and betrayal. The cyclone of chaos tearing my insides apart spirals into a sharp point, and all I want to do is stab him with it. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Your girlfriend’s a little pissed, Montgomery,” Jenkins scoffs. “Think you need some work on your dating skills.”

Harrison cuts a look at Jenkins, but I’m still trying to work out what he said. He called Harrison, Montgomery.

When it all clicks, I stand so abruptly the chair flips over behind me. I glare down at Harrison. “Who the hell are you, exactly?”