"That we do. Whatever it takes, right?"

"Have you ever indulged in the service of professional pleasure?"

"I told you how I feel about the topic," Jack said. "I think it's disgusting, and I refuse to partic.i.p.ate in the trade." Her hypocrisy was irritating. She wasn't above working for criminals who likely dealt in the skin trade but had a problem with Chase buying s.e.x? Jack, of all people, was in no position to judge her.

"You're a hypocrite, Harding." Chase pushed away from the bar and eased into an opening in the throng of people pa.s.sing by.

Jack stayed on her heels. "Just because I used to work for sc.u.m doesn't mean I liked it or adopted their habits."

* 83 *

Chase turned to look at her. "So you were held at gunpoint to work for them?"

"I did it because I thought I didn't have options. I was wrong, and if I could take it all back, I would. Trust me, no one feels s.h.i.ttier about my past than I do, so let it f.u.c.king rest." Jack pushed past Chase and into the crowd around the dance floor.

It was hard to see much of anything this close with all the bodies pressed up against each other, so Chase sought a better vantage point. She tapped Jack on the shoulder and pointed at the narrow gallery above. Jack nodded and followed. They both let out a sigh of relief once on the quiet balcony.

"I'm getting too old for this s.h.i.t." Jack took another sip of beer.

"What was your vice of choice?" Chase was curious because she knew there had to be something. "Before, of course, you found...

love?"

"And my time machine works. We're back in 1989 and you still can't handle that word," Jack said.

"Only now it's practically a Pavlovian reaction." Jack smiled. "Can you at least try for an inward cringe?"

"And hide the cynic in me? Never."

"Is it because cynicism is still the only thing sustaining you?"

"That, and PEZ," Chase said.

Jack smiled. "I figured. I found your Spider-Man one in the glove compartment. Empty. They should have thrown you in rehab years ago."

"I make no apologies or excuses for my addiction. PEZ may even be what led me to discover my preference in temporary companions." Chase tried to sound serious.

"I can't wait to hear this one."

"Look at the similarities. Both can be bought, variety in faces, they're sure to please, and most importantly, both are disposable." Jack rolled her eyes. "Screw rehab. You need a shrink."

"Been there, done that, then did her."

"And you even managed to pay for it by the hour." Chase laughed. "I always get my money's worth. But she did help me discover one thing about myself."

* 84 *

"Is this going to get graphic?"

"My skin doesn't react well to polyester carpeting." Jack laughed, nearly choking on her beer. "What an insightful moment for you. I'm all goose b.u.mps."

Chase checked her watch. One twenty. Where was Amber? Two minutes later, she spotted their target amidst the crush of people at the edge of the dance floor. "Four o'clock." Jack immediately followed her gaze. "About time." The crowd around Amber thinned enough for them to get a better look. "She's...h...h...ho..." Chase stuttered. Amber certainly knew how to dress to show off her exquisite hourgla.s.s figure and long legs to best advantage. Her top was corset-like, exposing the ivory skin of her shoulders and arms while hugging her high, perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the flat plane of her abdomen. A strip of black silk along the top and bottom outlined the white designer garment, and a matching ebony ribbon laced up the back.

Black Dolce & Gabbana jeans-tight, and low-cut-accentuated Amber's firm a.s.s and the curve of her hips, and designer heels gave her a statuesque presence. She wouldn't have looked out of place on any New York runway.

When the call girl turned toward them, Chase inhaled sharply.

Amber's medium-brown hair, cut to her shoulders, shone with brilliant golden highlights and was layered to frame a perfectly balanced oval face. Her long neck and cla.s.sically delicate features reminded her of a young Grace Kelly, but Amber's ready smile and easy laugh added an enticing approachability to her cool elegance.

She was nothing at all what Chase expected.

She was with two other women, and all three seemed to be having fun-smiling and talking as they watched the mob gyrating on the dance floor. A man in his early thirties approached Amber and put his arm around her waist as he whispered something in her ear.

"Hot. The word you're looking for is hot. Why would a woman this beautiful have to turn tricks for a living?" Jack mused.

"They all have their reasons."

"Her friends don't look like...colleagues," Jack said, her gaze fixed on the trio. "Do you think she's picking that guy up?"

* 85 *

"Could be." Lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. "But I doubt it's work-related.

She's not dressed for the occasion." Chase knew working girls always dressed to seduce, and although Amber certainly looked s.e.xy, she wasn't in the usual working-girl attire. Besides, Priscilla had said Amber saw only one customer at the brownstone. That didn't necessarily mean she wasn't making something on the side by picking up other guys, but her behavior tonight didn't support that theory. She didn't seem interested in the man beside her, or in flirting with any of the others in the club, for that matter.

"If she leaves with him, we can follow and get her alone when she's done," Jack said. "Eyes only for now."

"Difficult, but I'm not complaining."

"True martyr."

"You never answered. Vice?" Chase asked, while they both followed Amber's every move.

"p.o.r.n."

"Still?"

"I haven't been near it since Ca.s.s."

"You'll go back. Revisit your collection. Marital bliss is nothing but a contradiction in terms."

"Seriously, what's f.u.c.ked you up so bad?"

"Life. And I'm returning the favor."

"He's getting pushy." Jack leaned over the railing to get a better look. Chase had seen it, too. The guy's hands were all over Amber, who was trying politely to push him away. She got irritated every time she saw this happen to any woman. Some a.s.sholes thought they could do whatever they wanted. Paid for or not, no jerk had the right to hurt a woman. "I'm going down."

"What are you doing?" Jack called after her as she headed for the stairs.

"Introducing myself. It's time to get some answers." Chase stopped a few feet away and watched as the guy tried to palm Amber's a.s.s. She shot him a nasty look, but he was undeterred.

"Come on baby, give me a chance." He slurred his words.

* 86 *

"I'm not interested," Amber replied. "Now, please, leave me alone."

"Just one kiss." The man pulled Amber close and tried to kiss her. Chase quickly closed the few steps between them and jerked the guy back by his collar. "The woman asked you to disappear, yet you're still here."

The guy pivoted for a face-to-face confrontation, but soon realized he had to look up to accomplish that. "Who the h.e.l.l are you, butch?"

Amber looked relieved.

"Her lover, gnome."

The man turned from her to Amber, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. "You're kidding me."

Amber smiled and gazed provocatively at Chase with doe-soft hazel eyes. "What took you so long, honey?" Chase released the drunk's collar and pushed him aside. "Got tied up at the office, baby," she replied, and gave Amber a slow kiss on the softest lips she'd ever encountered.

Amber didn't pull away; in fact, she put her arm around Chase's waist and cuddled up against her.

The tipsy suitor shook his head. "No f.u.c.king way," he said as he headed off in pursuit of more available companionship.

"Keep walking," Chase called after him.

Amber pulled her arm away as soon as the guy disappeared into the crowd. "Thank you."

"I didn't mean to scare you with that kiss. I'm Brett Coltrane," Chase said, using only the first name the EOO had given her to use as cover for this job. As she always did, she altered the last name to pay homage to one of her favorite musicians: this time, John Coltrane.

"Heather. And you didn't."

How ironic, Chase thought, that she was the one using a fake name tonight. The woman's answer confirmed her suspicion she wasn't working the club. Amber was her escort alias. "I haven't been here in years."

* 87 *

"It's my first time. The girls dragged me here." Chase looked over to Heather's friends only to verify her original a.s.sessment. Married soccer moms with station wagons.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"I'd say whatever you're having, but I don't like alcohol," Heather replied.

"You can ask for what I'm having if you don't mind Diet c.o.ke." Chase smiled and lifted her gla.s.s. "I don't drink."

* 88 *

ChaPter nine.

November 18, 1:40 a.m.

Heather had to look away for a moment and pretend to study the crowd. Her charming savior unnerved her in an exciting and totally unfamiliar way. She's gorgeous, has the most penetrating blue eyes I've ever seen, and she doesn't drink. "I think we're the only ones," she finally replied.

"Join me at the bar for a c.o.ke?" Brett asked.

Heather gestured toward the bar and Brett led the way. The drunk was a moron for calling Brett butch, she thought. Androgynous was a better word. Yes, she had a certain swagger to her walk, and her clothes-black b.u.t.ton-down shirt, black jeans, leather boots- encased a tall frame that was all lean athleticism. But Brett was decidedly feminine as well. Her short blond hair, cut stylishly, with long bangs, gave her face a softness that matched her low, melodic voice. And her incredibly long eyelashes and full, soft lips, along with the curves of her high, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s, were all woman.

Brett embodied the type of woman she found irresistible, and she possessed a certain arrogance and confidence that drove Heather crazy. Why had those attributes put her off-kilter so easily?

She hadn't let anyone tempt her in years, and had especially steered clear of relationships once she started working for Direct Connect.

No lover would support or even understand her decision and need to take that course, and she was in no mood to explain or excuse * 89 *

herself. The last time she'd dated or had been involved had been...

She thought a moment. More than two years ago , she realized with a start. Had it really been that long?

That had also marked the last time she'd had s.e.x with a woman.

Although a lesbian, she refused to see female customers for Dario.

s.e.x with women was too personal, too much a part of who she actually was and therefore not up for purchase. She'd dated men until she was nineteen, when she fell in love, her eyes finally open to the allure of women and her true s.e.xuality. After that, she hadn't looked back. She'd had a total of three relationships and no one-night stands. All three partners, however, had complained about her obsessive need to take care of her brother, and for that reason, none of the unions lasted more than three years.

Heather never cried when they ended. Her brother was her priority, and if she had to make sacrifices as long as he lived, then so be it. They had only each other and she would never let him down.

As Brett closed in on the ridiculously crowded bar, Heather tight behind her, the shoving intensified as people jockeyed for s.p.a.ce to place orders or sought opportunities for groping and caresses.

Heather tried to steady herself as bodies pushed up behind her, but her high heels made it impossible, so she put her arms around Brett's waist to keep from falling against her.

The crush of the mob left little room to breathe. When Brett turned around slowly, a raised gla.s.s in each hand, every part of their bodies rubbed up against each other. As Heather tried to ignore the sudden rush of exhilaration coursing through her, Brett flashed her the s.e.xiest smile she'd ever seen.

"I'm sorry," Heather shouted over the music and voices. "I can't help it. It's a madhouse."

Brett looked at her for a long time and finally brought her mouth to Heather's ear. "I quite like that you can't help yourself," she whispered.

Heather shivered at the sound and touch of Brett's lips against her ear. Unsettled, she pulled her head away and they edged through the crowd around the bar to an area less congested. "So what do you do, Brett?" she asked, eager to change the topic.

* 90 *

"Graphic novelist."

"I don't read them, but my brother's a fan. I take them over to him every week."