Читать книгу A Kept Woman - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10

After Zack and Natalie left NIC, he took her to a furniture store, and now he stood in the middle of a mock living room, wondering what had come over him. He’d just met Natalie yesterday, and today he’d told her about his divorce. He’d admitted, without the slightest reserve, that his wife had boffed another man.

“What do you think of this?” she asked.

He turned to see her admiring a contemporary leather sofa, plumped with faux-fur pillows.

She reached for the tag. “It comes in ivory and black. I prefer the ivory, don’t you?”

He moved forward, wishing he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut, to keep his private life private.

“It’s twelve-hundred dollars.”

“I know. Can you believe it? At that price, I should get the love seat and the matching chair, too.”

He could only stare. “The love seat is nine-hundred bucks. And the chair and ottoman are another grand.”

She looked up. “So?”

“So get a grip.” Had she forgotten that WITSEC had put a conservative cap on her moving expenses? Or that a figure from the Bureau of Labor Statistics determined the amount of her monthly allowance? This wasn’t a high-dollar gig.

“Just imagine how it would look in my house.”

Zack shook his head. He’d had to discourage this kind of spending before. Career criminals didn’t have a clue. They didn’t know how to make their stipend last. And neither, apparently, did Natalie. “I already warned you about being on a budget.”

She ran her hand over the top of the sofa, caressing the upholstery with a lover’s touch. “This is Italian leather.” On a moaning-type sigh, she plopped her butt down, wiggling into the cushions. “You should feel how soft it is.”

He wasn’t about to get orgasmic over a piece of furniture. “How about this?” Attempting to redirect her focus, he walked over to a couch he’d spotted earlier. A simple, durable design with a three-hundred-dollar price tag. “It’s almost the same color.”

She followed him, making a disgusted face the entire way. “That’s taupe, not ivory. And I want leather.”

“By the time you throw in some tables, lamps, a TV, a DVD player, a stereo and the rest of your bedroom outfit, you won’t be able to afford a twelve-hundred dollar couch. Let alone a love seat and matching chair.”

She crossed her arms, but somehow she still managed to look pretty—long and lean and feminine.

“Don’t pout,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she argued.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t, but her lips were full and thick, glossed like sugar-glazed cherries. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in dessert.

She glanced back at the ivory sofa she’d caressed, her voice wistful. “I want that.”

And he wanted to find out if she tasted as good as she looked, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “I already told you. You can’t afford that.”

“I’ll use some of my own money. In fact, I’ll pay for all of it myself. I’ll buy my own furniture.”

“Bad idea.” He took her arm and guided her away from a salesman who’d been watching them. Or watching her, he should say. The old guy couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. “You have a business to consider, Natalie. You’ve got to get your priorities straight.”

She didn’t respond. She just gazed at him with disappointment in her eyes. And suddenly she reminded him of a wounded child. A street-smart little girl who wasn’t so smart.

He moved closer, close enough that no one could overhear. “How old were you when you met him?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Him. Lover-boy.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, fussing with the Goldilocks strands. “What does that have to do with a couch?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m not discussing this here.”

“Then I want the whole story when we get back to your place.” The truth, he decided. Not the rumors. Or the pieced-together profile he’d read in her file. “I can’t help you if I don’t know who you are.”

“They already made me talk to a psychologist.”

“Where you probably lied through your teeth.”

She turned away, and when she marched back over to the leather sofa, he almost gave in and let her buy the damn thing. Almost, he thought. But not quite.

Once she realized she’d lost the battle, she refused to shop for the rest of day. Zack ignored her temperamental attitude and took her straight home, intent on having the truth-versus-rumor conversation.

The moment, the very second he pulled into her driveway and parked the car, she leaped out, determined to ditch him. He had to give her credit for trying, even if she didn’t have a chance in hell at out-maneuvering him.

He caught up with her and took the keys out of her hand, unlocking the front door and gesturing for her to go inside. She made a beeline for the kitchen and started making the noisiest pot of coffee he’d ever heard, slamming cabinets in her wake.

“I take mine black,” he said.

“Well, bully for you.”

He leaned against counter. “I’m just trying to help.” Trying to understand her, he thought.

“I don’t want to talk about David.”

Zack moved to stand beside her, to take the glass carafe out of her quaking hands. “He hurt you.”

She turned to face him. “He made promises he didn’t keep. So what? Your wife did that to you, too.”

He ignored the emotional dig, the familiar jolt of pain it caused. “Just tell me how old you were when you met him.”

“Seventeen.”

“Son of a bitch.” Zack searched her gaze, probing deeper. “Did he touch you? Did that bastard—”

“No.” Uncomfortable, Natalie stepped back. Did he have to look at her like that? Did he have to make her feel like a victim? “David and I didn’t start dating until I was eighteen.”

“But you met him when you were underage?”

“Yes.” She took the carafe back, determined to keep busy, to make the coffee her system needed. How many postnightmare days could she survive without turning into a zombie?

“Was it at one of his strip clubs?”

She nearly spilled the water. “Who told you that?”

“Is it true?”

She nodded, ashamed of the girl she’d been, of the woman she’d become. “I auditioned to be a dancer.”

“How? With a fake ID?”

The coffee started to drip and a fresh-perked aroma filled the kitchen. “I had a girlfriend who worked there, and she helped me get an ID and set up the audition. I was only trying to pass myself off as eighteen. Fully nude clubs in California don’t serve alcohol, so they hire younger girls.”

“I’m aware of the strip-club ordinances in your state. I know the difference between topless and nude.”

Natalie shifted her stance. She was practically pinned against the counter, with Zack watching every move she made.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My ID passed, at first anyway.” Images of the past clouded her mind. Images of being alone on a stage, of her heart pounding its way out of her chest. “The club was closed, so all I had to do was audition for the manager. He seemed rushed, like he had a lot going on that day. He’d barely glanced at my phony license.” She paused to take a breath. “In the middle of my act, another man came in. It was David, but I didn’t know he was the owner. He was standing in a dark corner. The only thing I could see was the tip of his cigarette.”

“Did you finish taking off your clothes?”

“Yes.” The coffee was almost ready, but she didn’t reach for a cup. Her hands were clammy, her pulse erratic. “My girlfriend had been coaching me, teaching me what to do. I thought I was prepared.” But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. “I danced to the music and strutted along the tip rail. I even straddled the pole. I was naked, wearing a pair of four-inch heels and praying for it to end.”

He remained where he was, studying her with an intense expression. “Why’d you do it?”

“For the money, for a means to be self-sufficient. My mom was always kicking me out of the house. Half the time I had a place to live and half the time I didn’t. She used to bring home these really trashy guys, street-hustler types, and if they started checking me out, talking about how pretty I was, she’d blame me.”

“So you went to the nearest strip club and applied for a job?”

“What else was I going to do? Turn my mother in to social services? This was Hollywood, Zack. I grew up on the boulevard.”

“Tell me about the rest of the audition. What happened after you put your clothes back on?”

“The manager said I wasn’t ready, but that I could come back and try again. He told me to work on my moves, to loosen up. Then David came out of the shadows.” She could still recall the way he’d carried himself. His strength. His power. “He asked to see my ID, and suddenly I got scared. I wouldn’t show it to him. I grabbed my purse and split.”

Zack turned to pour the coffee. He handed her a cup and took a sip of his. Grateful for the interruption, Natalie doctored hers with milk and sugar.

“When did you see Halloway again?”

“A few days later. I was hanging out in front of a sandwich shop near the Wax Museum, panhandling with some other kids, and this Jaguar pulled up. No one paid much attention. We were used to seeing expensive cars.”

“How convenient for Halloway. Just running into you like that.” Zack’s tone indicated his disgust. “You know damn well he tracked you down. He went looking for you.”

Natalie tasted her coffee. What Zack said was true, but at the time, she hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d chalked up the panhandling encounter to chance. “David gave my friends some money and offered to take me to lunch.”

“Did you know he was a mobster then? Or did you find out later?”

“I knew. My girlfriend already told me that Denny Halloway’s son owned the club. David wasn’t as well-known as his father, but he was earning a reputation.”

“As what? A pervert? You were seventeen, and lover-boy was what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

“You’re eleven years older than me,” she pointed out.

He gave her a tight look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, she gulped the hot drink and felt it burn the back of her throat.

He didn’t let it go. “Are you comparing me to him?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Bull.”

She tightened her fingers around the cup. “It’s just the age factor.” And his commanding personality, she thought. The way he made her knees weak and her nipples hard. “I wouldn’t compare a deputy marshal to a mobster.”

“I sure as hell hope not.” He trapped her against the counter again, watching her the way a spider watched a fly. “What drew you to him? What was it?”

The same things that drew her to Zack, she thought. The same overpowering ingredients that lured her into his web. “He gave me a place to stay whenever my mother kicked me out.”

“He was just trying to get into your pants. Pulling the friend routine until he earned your trust.”

And what was Zack doing? she wondered. What was the deputy marshal’s agenda? “I thought he loved me.”

“He sure had your number.”

Natalie wasn’t about to disagree. She’d been putty in David’s hands. Or Play-Doh, she supposed, considering how young she’d been. “Love stinks.”

“Amen to that.”

She set her coffee aside, and he drained his cup and put it in the sink. “I guess you’ve been there,” she said.

He shrugged, and she wondered if his heart had turned cold, if he hated the woman he’d married.

He reached into his jacket for a cigarette. After shaking one from the pack, he stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Can I smoke in here? Or do I have to go outside?”

She almost gave him permission to light up, then thought better of it. David used to smoke in the condo he’d provided for her, but this was different. She had a voice now. She didn’t have to cater to a man’s needs. “Outside.”

“That’s what I figured.” He headed for the French doors that led to the barbecue deck.

Natalie followed, although she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she needed some air. Or maybe she just wanted to question him the way he’d questioned her.

They stood on the redwood planks, the sun at their backs. The lighter Zack had struggled with earlier ignited on the first try, and he lit the cigarette and inhaled.

“What’s your ex-wife’s name?” she asked.

He gave her a pissed-off look and she wondered if smoke was going to come out of his nose.

“Who the hell cares,” he said.

“I do.”

“You’re just trying to pay me back for interrogating you.”

His observational skills annoyed her, but she figured it was part of his training, part of his lawman’s psyche. “Why do you have to be such an ass?”

When he raised his eyebrows at her, she knew she’d gotten his goat. Score one for the mistress, she thought.

“Her name is Ida.”

“Ida?”

He nodded. “Ida-Humped-Another-Guy.”

Natalie couldn’t help but laugh. Trust Zack. “You did?”

He laughed, too. “No. Ida did.”

“Is that really her name?”

“Truthfully?” He flicked his ashes. “It’s Raquel.”

Suspicious, she tilted her head. “For sure?”

“Yep. That’s her. Mrs. Wreak-Hell.”

“Knock it off.” Without thinking, she took a playful jab at his shoulder.

He grinned and nudged her right back, knocking her off balance. She regained her footing and realized they were flirting. He seemed to realize it, too. All too quickly, they both sobered. And then neither of them could think of anything to say. Not a single word. Just awkward silence.