Chapter Six
Rick pulled open the heavy wood and glass door to the Ace Hotel. As soon as he stepped into the lobby, the odor he’d already come to associate with the old building hit his nostrils. It was a combination of old books and a faint hint of urine, with an undertone of the kind of furniture polish his mother had used when he was a kid, before she’d died. O’Cedar? Old Cedar? The resulting scent was not exactly pleasant, but it wasn’t exactly awful either.
As he started up the stairs, he saw the calves of Sin’s long legs and her red skirt. He stopped. She was sitting on the stairs, or huddling, to use a better word. What the hell?
Instinctively, he reached around to the small of his back, where his service weapon would have been if he were not undercover. At the same time, he glanced around to be sure there was nobody hiding, waiting for him. Before he took another step, he bent his knee to retrieve the only weapon he had, the small .22 strapped to his ankle. He’d tried Velcro® and a small snap holster, but what he liked best was what he’d used as a kid when he played cops and robbers: an elastic bandage. The gun slipped right out with no noise, and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as one might think. Also, if anyone caught a glimpse of it under his sock, it looked like nothing more sinister than a wrapped ankle.
He fitted the piece into his palm and continued climbing the stairs. He planned to nudge her with his foot, staying ready, just in case. After all, he knew nothing about her and he was beginning to wonder how she managed to be everywhere he went. He doubted it was coincidence. For all he knew she could be feigning sleep, ready to blow his head off as soon as he got close enough.
Paranoid much, Easterling? He shrugged and climbed another step, keeping an ear out for anyone who might be lurking under the stairs or just outside the door.
His weight on the next step caused it to squeak, which of course caused Sin to stir. Rick tensed, even though he felt a little bit ridiculous. She looked so small and helpless crouching there.
She pushed her hair back, wincing as she arched her neck. Then her drowsy gaze lit on him and she bounced up like a jack-in-the-box. The strap of her handbag slipped from her shoulder when she stood. She grabbed at it and lost her balance. In a move that was miraculous if not graceful, she managed to catch herself just as he reached out for her. The result was that her left hand latched on to the banister and her right palm slammed him in the eye at the same time as her bag swung and caught him under the chin.
He grunted out loud and swayed, but stayed upright and managed not to drop or fire his weapon.
“Oh—sorry!” she exclaimed, righting herself. “Did I hit you?”
He rubbed his eye, then opened it a bit. It took his brain a second to be sure he could still see. “Yes. Twice. Why don’t you ditch those shoes? They seem to be cursed.”
“I said I’m sorry.” She clamped her left hand on the banister, then backed up a step and turned, but he clamped a hand around her wrist. “Hang on a minute!”
“Ow! Let go of me!”
“What happened to your mouth?”
“Let—me—go!” Sin cried, twisting her arm.
“Calm down,” he said. “I just want to see—”
A door opened above them on the third floor. “Quiet!” a gruff voice yelled. “People are trying to sleep!”
“Shut up out there!” a female shrieked at just about the same time.
“What’s going on? What happened to you? What did you do?” Rick asked. He didn’t let go but he did relax his grip.
“What did I do—? Let—go!”
With a furious huff, Rick released her wrist, but he slid his arm around her and pressed his hand against the small of her back. “Come on. You can sleep on my couch.”
She eyed him narrowly. “What the hell are you talking about? Who said I need a place to sleep?”
“You did. This morning. Make that yesterday morning. Now come on before somebody calls the police.”
He felt her back stiffen. Because he mentioned the police? He guided her up the stairs, keeping his hand against her back for more than one reason. He didn’t want her to trip again, but he wasn’t going to let her get away until he’d found out how she’d gotten hurt.
Halfway up the stairs, she stumbled.
“All right! That’s it! Take those damn shoes off.”
She sent him a glare, but complied. He held out his arm for her to hold on to as she removed them. It surprised him how small she was without them. He was right at six feet tall, and in the clunky heels, she nearly looked him in the eye.
“There. Happy now?” she asked.
“Ecstatic,” he muttered as they continued to his room on the second floor. He unlocked the door and nodded for her to enter before him. With a suspicious glance, she did. Once the door closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad to be home, even if the home was temporary, not to mention crowded with Sin here. The day had been long and frustrating. But his relief was short-lived. Instead of his anticipation of relaxing and thinking about what he’d seen and learned on this first day at Beauregard’s Restaurant and Bar or better yet, getting a good night’s sleep, he was saddled with a clumsy waitress whose stubborn bravado didn’t quite mask her lack of experience.
She stood in the center of the tiny living room with her back to him. It was a straight, slender back with a delicate curve that narrowed down to her waist, then swelled again over very nice hips and buttocks. Just as he was reminding himself that he was not attracted to her—not in the least—she turned around and looked at him.
Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips and she winced.
He almost winced himself at her obvious pain, then scowled. There was no reason in heaven or hell for him to feel sorry for her. “Okay. Who hit you?”
“Nobody hit me.”
“Come on, Sin. I’ve seen a few bloody lips before. Left side. Lower lip near the corner of your mouth.” He mimed a right-handed uppercut in slow motion and his fist aimed straight for the cut. He felt guilty as hell when she recoiled. “Now what happened?”
“Oh that,” she muttered. For a moment, she stared at him as if she were trying to decide if she could trust him.
Uncomfortable under her gaze, he looked down at his feet, then headed past her toward the bathroom. “I’ll get something to put on it, and some bandages.”
“Seriously, it’s nothing,” she said quickly. “But could I have some water? You know, to drink?” She feigned a nonchalant pose. “Or maybe a beer?”
“Not until you tell me how you got that fat lip,” he answered from the bathroom, where he wet a washcloth and grabbed a styptic and a tube of antibiotic ointment from behind the mirror.
When he came back into the living room, he fully expected her to have fetched herself some water. But she was still standing right where he’d left her, looking like a wide-eyed doll, dressed in her short red miniskirt and long-sleeved black shirt. Her face was pale against the black hair and the dark red blood smeared across her lip and chin. The dark eye makeup was streaked, as if she’d been crying.
“Let me fix that lip,” he said, coming toward her.
“No, really, it’s fine.” Her tongue darted out to test her answer and she winced again.
“Well, it doesn’t look fine. I’ve got some—”
“It’s. Fine,” she repeated testily.
“Who hit you?”
“Okay, um—Rick. Get this straight.” She looked up at him. “Nobody hit me. I ran into a light pole.” She laughed. “Ouch, right?”
“You ran into a light pole,” he parroted. “With your face. You really think I’m that dumb?”
For a split second, something that looked like fear widened her eyes, emphasizing the whites, but then she narrowed her gaze. “A girl can always hope,” she tossed back at him.
“Where did you go after you left Beauregard’s?”
“What?”
“You said you were going somewhere that didn’t have a Prince—”
“Oh, that. Nowhere,” she said. “I was walking back here and tripped on a broken piece of sidewalk—”
“And ran lip first into a light pole?”
“Yes.”
He tried to wipe the blood from her mouth, but she grabbed at the cloth. “I’ll do it,” she said, dabbing at her lip then looking at the cloth. “See, it’s not bleeding.”
“It wasn’t, but you rubbed too hard. Now it is bleeding. Hold still while I put some styptic on it.”
She stood still.
He inspected the cut on her lower lip. It wasn’t big enough for stitches, but it was exactly where a right hook would land. It was slightly swollen and the skin around the cut was starting to turn blue. He pressed his forefinger against the smooth, discolored skin. “Looks like the light pole won,” he murmured.
She suppressed a nervous chuckle and it caused the corner of her mouth to tilt upward against his finger. He wanted to trace her lips like a blind man, first with his finger and then maybe his mouth and tongue. A flame ignited inside him, which he did his best to suppress. As much as he wanted to kiss her, he also wanted to grab her and shake the truth out of her, because he knew she was lying.
He looked up and saw that her eyes were closed. A small, quiet sigh escaped her lips and blew warm on his fingertip. He grimaced. Was that all it took to get a rise, literally, out of him? Her lips, even with the swollen cut, were so inviting he was afraid he was going to dip his head and taste them, which would probably earn him a fat lip. So instead he set his jaw and touched the styptic pencil to the cut.
Sin jerked backwards, pushing against his hand. “Ow! What is that? It stings!”
“It’s a styptic pencil. Stops bleeding.”
“What’s it made of? Hornet stingers?”
The smile curled his lips before he could stop it. “Get back here and let me put some ointment it.”
Sin glared at him. “Ointment too? No,” she said and held out her hand. “I’ll do it myself.”
Rick shrugged. “Fine.” He tossed the small tube of triple antibiotic ointment to her. When she reached out to catch it, he saw a red mark on her forearm close to her wrist. “What’s that?”
“What?” she asked as she palmed the tube of ointment.
“There, on your arm.”
She tugged on her sleeve. “Nothing.”
“It’s red. Did whoever attacked you grab you there?”
“No,” she said. “Now, could you move out of the way so I can go to the bathroom? That is if you don’t mind.”
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. “Really. It was nothing. On my way back here a guy thought he’d take my handbag. I thought I’d keep it.”
“You were mugged?”
She shrugged, looking disgusted. “Are you mugged if nothing is taken? He didn’t get anything except egg on his face, literally. I tried to put his eyes out with Mace. Don’t think I did. Stupid SOB.” She crossed her arms, not a relaxed motion. It was more protective.
Rick assessed her. People got mugged every day in New Orleans, especially on sketchy streets like Rampart. But why had she been so reluctant to tell him what happened when she could have used the mugging and the bloody lip to convince him to let her stay in his apartment. “What can you remember about him?”
She glanced at him, her tongue seeking out the cut again. “He sounded Cajun, and of course he was stupid. He was huge and he let me get the best of him. I left him standing in the street drenched with broken eggs.” She moved to slip by him but he stopped her.
He let her version of you should see the other guy stand for now. “What did he say?”
“Excuse me,” she said, trying in vain to push past him again. “I’ll just go this other way,” she said, backing away and aiming for the narrow space between the scarred coffee table and the couch. He took a step to his left and stopped her.
“What did he say?”
She spread her hands palms up. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll tell you. He said something like: Teach you be too good for a paying customer. Can I go to the bathroom now?”
“Not yet. Is that all?”
She glared at him.
“Is that all he said?”
“Why?” she cried in frustration. “Why do you care?”
“Because I found out who the bastard that grabbed you at the bar is.”
“You mean the guy whose wrist you broke?”
Rick nodded. “I didn’t break it. I just nearly did. One of the bodyguards told me that Beau knows him. So, not a good choice to screw around with anywhere, but especially in Beau’s own place.”
“Did you—?” She paused for a second. “Did you get his name?”
“No,” he said. “Why? Did you?”
“No,” she responded immediately.
Her gaze flickered. Sonofabitch! She was still lying. “You know who he is!” he snapped. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. “I really don’t—”
“Oh yes you do. What’s his name?” he repeated. “Listen to me, Sin.” He stepped forward and caught her by the arms, then let go when he saw her face scrunch in pain. “I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me this. How do you know who he is?”
“You’re still trying to protect me?” she asked, setting her jaw. “Why? What’s it to you?”
He was sure she hadn’t known the man at the bar before he’d grabbed her. So somehow, she’d found out after she’d left Beauregard’s. And he needed to know how she found out. “The guy who attacked you, was he sent by—the man at the bar?”
“You already know his name, don’t you?” she accused.
“Tell me everything the Cajun guy said.”
“I don’t get why it matters.”
“Could you please just trust me for a minute?”
She gave him a long look, a tiny furrow showing between her brows, as if she were making an important decision. Finally she shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “He said, You know who you turned down back there, bitch? T-Gros Grossman. You and your bartender boyfriend are as good as dead, you stuck-up, stupid—and then he used the C word.”
“Yep. T-Gros,” he said. “He’s been skirting the edge of the system for years. But never—” He stopped. Sonofabitch. He’d almost said too much. He’d almost sounded like a police officer.
Sin frowned. “What system?”
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “So he did send the Cajun guy to rough you up.” He gave her a long, searching look. “I’m glad you managed to get away from him. And a little surprised.”
Her brows shot up. “Surprised? Really? I told you I can take care of myself.”
“Well, be careful. You don’t know what’s going on out there. You know that Beau deals drugs, right?”
The odd, hard expression appeared on her face again, the one he’d seen after their first encounter on the stairs. But just like then, it quickly morphed into curiosity.
“Drugs? How would I know that?” she said quickly.
It was his turn to shrug. “Word gets around. How long have you been working there?”
“Oh, a while. But didn’t you just start today? Well, yesterday?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t born yesterday.” He eyed her narrowly. Was she working for Beau as more than a waitress? It would explain why she was so bad at her job. So if she were checking him out for Beau, he was playing right into Beau’s hands by allowing her to be this close to him, even for just one night. On the other hand, it could be the break he’d been hoping for. He might be able to find out a lot from her.
“So…drugs?” she persisted.
He nodded. “You want to be careful.”
“Careful?” She stiffened and lifted her chin. “About what? You think I do drugs?”
He didn’t answer her directly. “Just be careful. There’s some bad dope out there.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday either, you know.” She paused. “If you knew who Grossman was, why on earth would you try to break his wrist?”
He shrugged dismissively. “First of all, I did not try to break his wrist. If I’d wanted to break his wrist, it would be broken. Second, I did not know who he was. Now I do. I work for the man whose business he’s trying to horn in on, you know. Can’t hurt my job security to show some loyalty.”
“Okay, so you’re ingeniously clever. Why didn’t you figure out that he was going to get me back by sending one of his goons after me?” She actually sounded hurt, as if he had caused it. “Where was my knight in shining armor then?”
“That I didn’t expect. I half-expected him to send someone after me.” He shrugged. “Sorry. All I was doing was trying to keep you from getting into a situation you couldn’t handle.”
“Oh,” she said wryly. “Well, good job.”
“Hey, it sounds to me like you handled your guy just fine.” He debated asking the next question but what the hell? She’d probably think he was getting more information that he could report back to Beau. “What did the guy look like anyway? Did you recognize him? Was he the bodyguard who was with T-Gros?”
She lifted her chin and stared at him. “No. The man wasn’t black. He was dark, but as I told you, he was Cajun. He was big and strong; I was faster. Do you think you know him?”
“Probably not, but I’d like to find out who he is and give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“Well thank you again,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind, I am seriously about to burst.”
He stepped aside and allowed her to pass him and go into his bathroom. He heard the toilet flush then water running for a long time.
When she came out, she had washed her face. The eye makeup was gone and she looked fresh and young and glowing. Bits of hair had gotten wet and curled damply around her face.
He swallowed, trying to keep his attention on the cut at the corner of her mouth and off the sweet wisps of hair and her incredible eyes. “You were lucky to get away with a cut lip and—” he glanced up and down her body “—hopefully nothing else major. So, about the guy. Hair color? Build? Any distinguishing marks?”
“Distinguishing marks?” she said on a laugh. “Law and Order much? I guess he was tall, with thin hair and acne scars. I gotta say you’re kind of creeping me out. You’re sounding like the cops. My guess is that Pasty-Face—Grossman—sent him after me as a warning of what he’d do if you mess with him again.” She pulled herself up to her full height. “So if you don’t mind, next time, try not to terrify him with the threat of broken bones. I’m not sure I’ll survive it. Oh, and if you think some goon—or the police—will be showing up here between now and morning, tell me now. I don’t need any hassle with the cops and I don’t need you or your apartment.”
“Oh no? I think you waited out there on the stairs precisely because you’re still trying to get into my—let’s say into my apartment.”
Her face turned red. “Are you freaking kidding me right now? Okay. Well, I succeeded in getting into your apartment—” she used air quotes “—and now I’m going to leave.” She lifted her chin like a fighter too tired to spar any more. As if she were begging him to deliver the knockout blow and just get it over with. “I don’t need your charity or protection, I don’t need your pity and I sure don’t need any hassles with Grossman or anybody else who could get me fired or worse. Where are my shoes?”
“Over there.” He had set them on the scratched side table next to the couch. “They’ll still be here in the morning.”
“Actually, they won’t.” She took two steps toward the table and scooped them up. “They’re going with me right now. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired of the hot lights and rubber hose treatment. I didn’t arrange to get mugged so you’d take me in. I didn’t pretend to lose my keys. And I was perfectly comfortable out there on the stairs. It’s only until nine o’clock tomorrow, so although I really hate to hurt your ego, I’m going to be leaving now.” She hiked the strap back up onto her shoulder and, clutching the shoes in one hand, she started toward the door. She stumbled on a wrinkle in the rug, and he caught her by one arm.
“Oww, hey!” she spat, jerking her arm away.
He chuckled. “So it’s not the shoes. You can’t walk barefoot either.” He watched her limp over to the door and push it open. He expected her to turn back and ask him the question he was sure she’d planned to ask ever since she’d fallen on him earlier in the day.
Can I please stay here? He was sure of that. What came next might vary.
I’m running from my ex.
I owe a lot of money.
Beauregard thinks I stole something from him.
I’m not just a waitress, I’m a hooker and my pimp is going to kill me.
Maybe not a hooker. Not jaded or sad enough. Still, there were a dozen variations on the theme. But she didn’t say anything. She pulled the door open. He crossed the small room in one stride and slammed it shut. “Hang on. I am not done with you.”
She pulled on the door handle, to no avail. “You’re not done with me? Are you going to hold me against my will for my own good?” She looked up at him with a smirk, but he saw her throat move as she swallowed nervously.
He hated that she was afraid of him. Hell, he hated that she was afraid of anything. “Maybe. If I have to. What happened to your keys? Where did you lose them?”
“Hmm, let me think. Oh, right. I don’t know. Hence the word lost!”
He let the door swing closed and she immediately opened it and stomped out. Stomping in bare feet was not as impressive as she probably hoped it would be.
“Damn it!” he muttered. Was he seriously about to beg her to stay? “Sin!”
She was already at the top of the stairs.
“Hang on!” He crossed the distance between them in three long strides and caught her arm. When she gasped, he remembered the bruises put there by Grossman. “Sorry.”
She pulled her arm away and turned toward the stairs again.
“Sin, wait a minute.”
She stopped. “What?” She clutched her shoes against her chest. “What is it now?”
Below them, a door opened. “Hey! Shut up out there. Get a room!”
“Come back,” he said in a normal voice. “I don’t mind if you sleep on my couch. If a place to crash until tomorrow is what you need, be my guest. Try not to get the danged thing any more infested with—who knows what—than it already is though.”
Her gaze snapped to the cracked vinyl of the couch. “Infested? The couch is—?”
“Oh come on,” he said, willing himself not to notice the apprehension in her green eyes. “You were ready to play rough with a half-baked Pillsbury Dough Boy, you sent one of his henchmen packing, but you draw the line at a few bugs?” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Whatever. Do what you want. Stay or don’t. I’m going to bed.” And he turned around and stalked toward his room, irritated with himself at even offering her a place to sleep.
Of the things he already knew about her, the most annoying was her determination to do everything herself and her need to be in control of every situation. He’d never met a woman quite as stubborn and determined as she was.
As he flopped down onto his bed, he wondered how that stubbornness would translate to bed? He pitied the poor guy who ended up wrestling her for who got to be on top.
Crap. Now that vision was in his head and the poor guy was him. Worse, wrestling with her sounded like fun, even if she did end up on top, or maybe especially. He clamped his jaw and reminded himself that he was on a mission, and he didn’t have the time or the inclination to get sidetracked by a stubborn control freak, no matter how cute or sexy she was. He had plenty of determination himself. But immediately he realized that determination was no help at all with wiping out the vision of her sitting atop him.
“Rick?” she said in a small voice. “I’ll take the offer of your couch if you don’t mind.”