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She nodded. He could feel the tension thrumming through her, figured if he didn’t get her out of there now, she was going to turn and run.
“It isn’t that far,” he said, setting a hand at her waist and urging her back to his car, not giving her time to change her mind. He led her around to the passenger door and helped her climb in, reached over and pulled the seat belt across her lap and fastened the buckle.
“Thank you.”
Always so polite. Almost prim. Angel Fontaine was about as far from his idea of a stripper as a woman could get. And yet he had seen her up onstage and she was hot.
Maybe that was the appeal. Sweet and hot at the same time—sort of like cinnamon candy.
He chuckled to himself as he slid behind the wheel. If Angel was a piece of candy, he’d be the man to eat her up.
Looking uncomfortable, she shifted in her seat. “About what happened tonight… I want to apologize. I’ve never—”
“It was only a kiss, Angel. Nothing to get upset about.”
She fell silent as he shoved the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life, then started to purr. He drove toward the café, pulled into the lot, which was full, but his luck was holding and a gray-haired couple in an old brown Buick was backing out. He parked in the space left behind, guided Angel inside, and they slid into an empty booth.
The Eatery had a kind of retro decor with pink-and-white vinyl booths and a long lunch counter with a row of round stools. The café had been there for years, had once been called Norm’s but that was a long time ago.
A waitress in a black skirt and white blouse showed up to take their order. Sheila, he recalled, frizzy blond hair and big boobs. He was kind of a regular, though he rotated his meal stops to keep his information channels open. In his line of work, you never knew what rumors might come in handy.
Sheila pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Hey, handsome, what can I get you?”
He looked across at Angel. Damn she was pretty. More so, he thought, without all that makeup. He tried not to look at her mouth, since now he knew exactly how good she tasted. “What would you like?”
“Just coffee,” she said. “Cream, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Two coffees,” he said. “One with cream. Thanks, Sheila.”
They made small talk for the short time it took for the coffee to arrive. Angel poured cream into her cup and daintily stirred.
She looked up at him and smiled, but it looked a little forced. “I’m…aahh…glad you asked me to come here.”
“Oh, yeah?” Here we go, he thought. He’d known something was off. He had a hunch he was about to find out what it was.
“The thing is, I heard you were a private investigator.”
“Of sorts.” He took a drink from the heavy white china mug in front of him, set it back down on the Formica-topped table. “That why you agreed to the dance? You wanted to talk to me about business?”
Soft color washed into her cheeks. “That was part of it. I really don’t…don’t know exactly what happened in there. I just…I guess I got carried away.”
Amen to that. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I…umm…want to hire you.”
“You in some kind of trouble?”
Her eyes rounded. “Me? No! Of course not.”
“Of course not,” he said with a hint of sarcasm she seemed to miss.
“It’s my sister. Her name is Rachael.”
“Then it’s Rachael who’s in trouble.”
“I don’t know. A little over six weeks ago, Rachael disappeared. I talked to the police, of course. Babs says they haven’t tried very hard…you know…because she’s an exotic dancer.”
He leaned back in his chair, trying not to be disappointed that her real interest came in wanting something from him. “So you want to hire me to find her. Is that it?”
“Not exactly. I want to hire you to help me find her. I could do some of the work, and that way it wouldn’t cost as much.”
“Okay, I get it. You want to hire me but you don’t have any money.”
She sat up straighter in her seat. “Well, I have a little. Some savings from my job back home, but I’ve gone through a lot of it for my plane ticket and phone calls. I could borrow some, maybe a couple thousand. I get the feeling you don’t come cheap.”
She was right. He charged up to a grand a day, plus expenses. She looked across the booth at him, bit her plump bottom lip, and heat throbbed low in his groin.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her coffee mug and the skin over her knuckles turned bone-white. “I thought…you seem to be attracted to me. I thought maybe we could…” She swallowed. “Maybe we could…you know…work something out.”
A jolt of anger slipped through him. It began to fade when he noticed her face had turned as pale as the hand that gripped the mug. He hadn’t pegged her for a prostitute. He looked at her and he didn’t buy it now.
Still, he could be wrong.
He stood up from the pink vinyl bench across from her. She had barely touched her coffee. He tossed down a five and a couple of ones, more than enough for the coffee and a tip, and hauled her to her feet.
“Let’s get out of here.” Angel didn’t protest when he caught her hand and led her toward the door, didn’t say a word as he guided her out of the coffee shop back to his car. But as she slid into the seat and fumbled to fasten her seat belt, he saw that she was trembling.
Johnnie fired up the powerful engine, slipped the car into gear and pulled out onto the busy street. It didn’t take long to drive the winding road up the hill above Sunset to the guesthouse on the estate that was his home. He used the remote to open the gate then turned into the long narrow driveway, pulled into the guesthouse garage and parked next to his Harley. Up the drive a little farther, the main house, a big white modern structure, edged out over the hill.
Angel flashed a look at the motorcycle as he helped her out, but she made no comment, just let him guide her up on the porch, waited while he unlocked the door, then walked past him into the entry. The lights of Los Angeles glittered in front of them through the wall of windows in the living room, a view that never failed to impress.
She stared in that direction. “It’s beautiful.”
He tossed his keys into the glass dish on the table in the entry. “I got lucky. I did some work for the lady who owns the estate. She’s older, feels safer having someone living in the guesthouse.” Eleanor Stiles was not only his landlady but also a very close friend. She was seventy and smart as a whip.
“Someone who was once an Army Ranger?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. My office is downstairs. I do most of my work out of the house.”
She looked calmer now, and yet he could feel her underlying tension.
“How about a drink?” he asked. “Maybe a glass of wine or something?”
He sensed her relief. “Wine sounds good.”
“White or red?”
“White…if you happen to have it open.”
The most polite hooker he’d ever met.
He opened the little fridge underneath the counter of the wet bar, took out an open bottle of chardonnay and poured her a glass, pulled out a Bud for himself and twisted off the cap. He carried the wine back to Angel, who stood in front of the window, staring out at the city lights.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? The lights go on forever.”
“I take it you aren’t from L.A.”
She shook her head. “Michigan.”
“Detroit?”
She steadied the glass, took a sip of wine. “Grand Rapids.”
Too old to be a runaway, but she was obviously new to the city. “So you came here to find your sister.”
She looked up at him with those big blue eyes. “Yes.”
Johnnie forced himself to concentrate. “Have you reported her disappearance to the cops?”
“I didn’t, but Rachael’s friend Barbara McClure called the police the day after she disappeared. They haven’t found her or even a clue as to what happened to her. I’m not sure they’re even still looking.”
He took a drink of his beer, set it down on a nearby table. Angel took a large, nervous swallow of her wine as he moved closer. Reaching out, he took the glass from her hand and set it down on the table next to his beer.
“So now you want to hire me to help you find her.”
“Y-yes…”
“And in exchange you’re willing to make a trade.”
She swallowed, nodded.
“I like this idea, Angel. I like it a helluva lot.” Then he hauled her into his arms, bent his head and very thoroughly kissed her.
Amy gripped Johnnie’s powerful shoulders and just hung on, reeling at the powerful jolt of desire that shook her. Hot lips, softer than they looked, moved over hers, nibbled the corners of her mouth. He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips apart and his tongue slid inside.
Heat engulfed her; need curled in her belly. She wanted to have his hands on her, wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to make love to her. She had never felt this way before, never experienced this intense, mindless hunger. She wanted to give in to it, let him have what he wanted.
What she also wanted.
She pressed herself more firmly against him, felt the heavy weight of his erection. He was going to help her. In return, she was paying him with her body. It didn’t matter that she was selling herself like…like a prostitute, behaving like…like a whore.
Her throat closed up. A little sob got caught there. She felt his mouth against the side of her neck, trailing scorching kisses along her throat, and her eyes stung. His fingers worked the buttons on her blouse and tears welled.
She wasn’t a whore. She didn’t sell herself to strangers.
What about Rachael? What if she isn’t dead? The awful thought both she and Babs secretly believed. What if she’s in terrible trouble and there is no one to help her?
He kissed her again, long and deep, but the desire was fading, replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The tears in her eyes slipped onto her cheeks.
Johnnie must have felt the wetness because he broke off the kiss and jerked away. “All right, that’s it!”
Hard fingers dug into her shoulders. Her head came up as he backed her against the wall and she stared into his dark, angry face.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And don’t even think of telling me your name is Angel Fontaine.”
She shook her head, misery sweeping over her. She had failed Rachael, failed herself.
“I’m so s-sorry. I thought…thought I could do it. I didn’t mean to lead you on, I just…” Fresh tears welled and the sob locked in her throat finally escaped.
Johnnie blew out a breath and eased her back into his arms. “It’s all right. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to work.” He held her a moment, giving her time to compose herself, then moved away.
“I was going to tell you my name,” she said, brushing away a drop of wetness with the tip of her finger. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just…”
“You just what?”
“There’s something about you… I don’t know, I just… When I get around you, I can’t seem to think straight.”
A corner of his mouth edged up and some of his anger faded. “Go on, let’s hear it.”
She swallowed. “My name is Amy Brewer. I’m not…not a stripper. I’m…I’m a kindergarten teacher.”
Johnnie groaned.
“The part about my sister is true. After Rachael disappeared, I flew out here from Grand Rapids. Babs—that’s my roommate, Barbara McClure—she and Rachael worked together at the Kitty Cat Club. They were friends. Babs got me the job at the club. She helped me deal with my…my inhibitions and learn to dance—which wasn’t all that easy. Eventually, I got the hang of it. And then I saw you and I found out you were an investigator and we sort of came up with this plan.”
“This plan being for you to sell yourself to me in exchange for my services.”
Fresh tears welled. She wiped them away. “I guess so. It sounded like a good idea at the time, considering…”
“Considering what?”
She looked him in the face. “Considering what happened in that room.”
Johnnie’s eyes seemed to darken. There was no mistaking what she meant. She was attracted to him or she wouldn’t be sitting in his living room.
“Anything else?”
“There’s more, but it isn’t important now.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?” He led her over to the sofa, as modern as the rest of the apartment, which had high, open ceilings, a sleek dark brown sofa and chairs, and everything perfectly in place. He was, after all, an ex-soldier.
He picked up her wineglass and handed it back to her, grabbed his beer, and sat down beside her on the sofa.
“Okay, tell me the rest.”
Amy took a fortifying sip. “Once I started my sister’s old job, I began to dig around. That’s the reason I came to L.A., to try to come up with information that might help me find her. There’s a man my sister dated before she disappeared. His name is Kyle Bennett. He’s supposed to be a movie producer. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going over to his house for—”
“No way. I know Kyle Bennett and the guy is a scumbag. He’s about as much a movie producer as I am.”
