Four Seconds to Lose

by K. A. Tucker

  ■ ■ ■

  I’m sure my body visibly slackened the second I walked out into the club earlier tonight, to see Charlie behind the bar. I had convinced myself that she wasn’t coming in, but she’s here, mixing drinks, smiling at customers.

  Avoiding me.

  She immediately shifted to the opposite end of the bar when I approached her. I’m not going to lie—that felt like a punch to the heart. I fought the urge to throw her over my shoulder and demand we talk. I had to hide out in my office to calm myself.

  But now I’m back, because I can’t stay away from her. It’s ten o’clock. I’m just waiting for her to attempt to get up on that stage again. I will throw her over my shoulder if she tries that.

  “Cain!” a familiar voice calls out, a second before a hand smacks my shoulder. It’s Storm’s fiancé, Dan, and Ginger is lining shots up in front of him.

  In my peripheral vision, I catch Charlie looking up at the sound of my name being called, but her eyes are already down when I try to make eye contact. With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Dan for the time being. “What are you doing here?” I am genuinely curious, given that he’s not the type to frequent strip clubs. He hated Storm working here—rightfully so—and was only too happy the day she quit.

  A guy behind him, who’s obviously part of Dan’s group, slaps his back and shouts, “Celebrating! You’re looking at Special Agent Dan Ryder.”

  Dan just shakes his head, but he can’t keep the wide grin from escaping.

  And I can’t help but match it, announcing, “Next round’s on me!”

  When John did the background check on Dan—of course I had Storm’s guy investigated—he came back stamping Dan as the last true boy scout. And everything Dan has done since that day has only strengthened the claim. The guy inherited a shitload of money a few years back from his oil-tycoon grandma. Enough that he could be spending the rest of his life lying on a beach, fishing . . . doing anything, really. Instead, he kept chasing criminals, holding out hope to join the DEA. And he finally made it. He’s about to be chasing dangerous lowlifes, making a big difference.

  Dan’s one of the few good guys. And being friends with him has helped me out greatly. For years, I’d routinely have cops at my door, looking for reasons to shut me down. I’ve been hauled into the station, questioned for hours, tailed around the city. I did get shut down once for a few days, until my lawyers worked their magic. Since Dan started dating Storm, though, I’ve had only a handful of issues. Everyone loves and respects the guy. Sure, I still get the odd threat, but all I need to do is give Dan a call and the threats seem to disappear on their own.

  “What about a dance for the special agent?” one of Dan’s friends shouts.

  I’m already shaking my head, a laugh escaping. “Storm would have my balls in a sack if she heard that anyone touched him.”

  The friend—drunk and clearly not interested in spousal approval—waves his wallet toward China. “We’ve got a grand. She’ll take that!”

  Dan gives me an almost imperceptible head shake, his eyes widening as he takes in China’s electric-blue dress. There’s no need. With a wave, I catch Nate’s attention and, pointing at Dan, I mouth, “No dances.” It’s not worth being murdered by a pregnant woman. Or more likely, her best friend and henchwoman, Kacey.

  To Dan, I ask, “So, does Storm know?”

  “Yeah, Nora knows.” Dan still refuses to acknowledge her by the name everyone else calls her, even though she doesn’t mind it. “I just got the call at the end of my shift. The guys decided to bring me here to celebrate.”

  “When do you start?”

  He takes a long sip of his drink. “Next week.”

  “New job, wedding, baby on the way . . . You’re going to be busy.”

  “Yeah.” Dan’s head bobs up and down as he scratches the back of his neck, adding absently, “And it’s about to get a lot busier from the shit we’re hearing on the streets.”

  Another one of Dan’s officer friends lifts his shot glass in the air, saluting, “To Special Agent Dan Ryder, newest member of the DEA!” A loud cheer explodes from around us.

  Seconds later, I hear a squeal of panic. My attention flies to the bar to find Ginger hovering over where Charlie was just standing. Looking down.

  chapter twenty-two

  ■ ■ ■

  CHARLIE

  “Charlie?”

  I open my eyes to see a masculine furrowed brow and rows of shelves and boxes. I’m lying on the couch in Cain’s office.

  “Are you okay?” Cain is seated on the couch, his body hovering over me protectively. I feel the warmth of his hand as it cradles my neck, and the intimacy of his thumb as it gently rubs back and forth, catching the corner of my mouth—and my breath—with each pass.

  What happened? Oh, right.

  Cain is friends with a DEA agent.

  Cain is a law-abiding citizen who hates anything to do with drugs and he’s friends with a DEA agent.

  And I am trafficking heroin.

  “Charlie?”

  “I’m fine,” I croak out.

  Ginger runs in with a glass of water and I immediately move to sit up. With a hand sliding beneath me to my shoulder blades, Cain helps me, his other hand smoothing the skirt of my short dress down to a respectable level. I shudder in response.

  “You dropped like a bag of bricks. What happened?” Ginger frowns.

  I shrug, trying to play it off. “Not sure. Just got dizzy for a minute. I’m fine now.” I’m so not fine. My heart is racing.

  I’m supposed to be gone. I should be on a bus, close to Louisiana or Alabama—wherever my coin toss lands me. I would have been, if the bank had released my money. They told me it would take twenty-four hours to withdraw such a large sum from my accounts. When I protested that it wasn’t that large a sum, I learned that Sam had deposited 25,000 dollars instead of the ten he mentioned. I’m wondering if that’s his way of apologizing. That’s typically how Sam operates, after all.

  It’s funny . . . the second the teller informed me that I couldn’t pull all that money out—that I couldn’t leave today after all—a sudden lightness washed over me.

  Relief.

  Relief that I had a valid excuse to stay for one more night.

  It was like fate intervening, pointing me once again toward Penny’s.

  I can have tonight with Cain. I’ll take one night with him, with whatever he’s willing to give me, to earn myself memories that I can hold on to.

  Cain’s concern hasn’t disappeared. “Was it too hot? Too loud? What did you eat today?” There’s a frantic tone to his voice that tells me the I-don’t-know-what-happened brush-off isn’t going to work and he’s truly worried about me.

  “Oh, crap.” I roll my eyes rather dramatically so he doesn’t miss it. “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I completely forgot.” That’s partly true. I didn’t eat, but I was well aware of it. I just didn’t feel like it, my stomach twisting and churning into anxious knots.

  Cain heaves a sigh. “Can you walk?” He stands and holds a hand out. I take it, and an electric current instantly dances along my limbs and through my core.

  “Good.” His eyes drift to my mouth. “I can’t have you passing out behind my bar. You need to eat.”

  ■ ■ ■

  “This place is nice,” I admit, peering out over the white railing to Biscayne Bay just below. We’re seated at a small corner table on a patio with palm trees hovering behind and a band playing soft alt-country music in the opposite corner.

  I was careful to watch for tails on my way to work, and again, when I climbed into Cain’s Nav. But now, we’re far away from the noise of the club, the hustle of Miami’s streets, and for the first time all day, I feel safe. Sheltered.

  A rare, broad smile on Cain’s face tells me that he’s pleased. “It’s one of my favorite
restaurants. I live just over there.” His index finger points out one of the tall luxury condominium buildings on the water. It doesn’t surprise me. Cain has “downtown bachelor” written all over him. He adds as an afterthought, “I haven’t been here in a while.”

  “What does that tell you?” I mutter dryly.

  His head dips once in assent. “Yes, I know. I need a life. Storm and Nate keep reminding me.” A light chuckle escapes his lips.

  It acts as a sedative for me, warmth and relaxation creeping into my limbs. The waitress arrives with a bottle of wine and we say nothing, silently stealing glances at each other as she fills our glasses with cabernet, the soft buzz of conversation and music floating around us.

  When the waitress leaves with our order, Cain finally speaks up, his voice calm. “You scared me tonight.”

  I feel my cheeks burning. Now that the shock has worn off, I’m more embarrassed than anything. “I don’t do that often.” I’ve actually never passed out before but I don’t want Cain to know that, so I make sure my hand is steady as I take a sip of my wine. He watches me do so quietly, leaning back in his chair in a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top and looking casual yet tailored. His dark hair, normally styled tidily, is slightly unkempt now, and there’s the slightest five o’clock shadow across his jaw.

  He’s a kind of handsome I’ve never seen in real life. I can’t believe I’ve been stripping for him nightly on a stage. And he’s been watching me. And he kissed me last night with a kind of reckless abandon I didn’t know possible. And now I’m sitting across from him at a table. And I’m desperate to go home with him tonight.

  The Cain I’ve been using as a prop onstage all these weeks is an emotionless man who wants nothing more than sex. He’s aggressive and demanding and walks away when he’s gotten his fill. Aside from a lustful crush, it’s difficult to picture myself forming an attachment to a man like that.

  But the Cain I experienced last night is nothing like that prop. That Cain is passionate and gentle and, I’m afraid, has the ability to consume me.

  That’s a treacherous position to be in, for a girl who is running.

  Tomorrow.

  “Charlie?” He leans forward to plead softly, “Am I forgiven?”

  I don’t blame him for investigating his employees. But still, not many people go to that level of trouble. “Why not just a simple background check?”

  A hand slides up to his neck, to that tattoo, rubbing it slowly as his eyes drift over the crowd. “I know the kind of world I live in, in this industry. I do a lot of things to protect myself.”

  I hesitate. And then I remind myself that tonight is my only night with Cain. “Why do you do what you do? I mean the club . . . the apartment building . . .”

  His face crinkles into a quick smile and then relaxes into a look of contemplation. As he takes a sip of his wine, I suspect he’s collecting his thoughts. Deciding what he wants to admit to. “Over the years, I’ve had to arrange for a lot of apartments for the dancers. Abusive boyfriends . . . infested complexes . . . ,” he gestures at me, “dangerous neighbors. It made sense to buy a building so I had a safe place to send them.” His teeth visibly clench. “I didn’t want anyone knowing that I owned it. But Tanner accidently let it get out . . .”

  “Why does it matter?”

  He sighs. “I don’t want the dancers feeling overwhelmed by me.” There’s a pause. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just . . . I’m afraid they’ll think I’m trying to own them. I want to help these women get away from this lifestyle. The last thing I’m trying to do is exploit them.”

  “But, you’re . . .” I let my voice drift off as I see him frown.

  “Yes, I’m exploiting them because I own and operate the strip club where they work.” I hear the tightness in his voice and I’m sure I’ve offended him. “I know exactly what it looks like. I feel conflicted about it every day.” His finger drags up the outside of his wineglass to catch a drop of wine. “I made most of my money before I ever opened a club. Penny’s earns a lot, but I don’t take the cuts other owners would. The dancers tip out the bartenders and bouncers, but I don’t take anything. They keep everything else that they earn. I also spend a lot of time and money trying to help where I can. Counseling, tutoring, whatever they need.” A dark, serious gaze settles on me. “If they’re going to choose this life, I can’t stop them. But I can give them a safe place while they’re in it, until they can decide to get out of it.”

  “That’s very . . .” my voice drifts as I search for the right word, “. . . noble.”

  “It’s more like compensating,” he says quietly, taking another small sip as he holds my gaze carefully, as if he can see me processing his vague words.

  Compensating for things he has done in his past? So Cain isn’t perfect. I wonder what he’s done that’s so bad. I wonder if it’s as bad as what I’ve done. What if it’s worse? Would I forgive him if I found out he was a rapist or a murderer? Is that worse than trafficking deadly drugs, ruining lives?

  Is it the same?

  Who decides?

  Resting his elbows on the table and leaning in closer to me, he asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about what happened between us and what it means?”

  I hadn’t expected him to bring it up so abruptly and boldly. Stalling with a long, slow sip of my wine, I finally manage to get out, “Are you always so direct?”

  That earns a sheepish smile. “I don’t do small talk well.” His finger trails around the rim of his glass. “It seems like a waste of time.”

  “It can be,” I agree. In the case of Cain and me, this couldn’t be more true. There is a clock ticking for us and it is going to stop.

  Tomorrow.

  Will it bother Cain when I leave? Will he be upset with me if I don’t say goodbye? Should I tell him? Maybe I should let him know that I won’t be around much longer, so he knows this can’t turn into anything—

  “Cain! What a pleasant surprise.” The female voice next to our table catches me completely off guard and I let out an exhale, not realizing I had been holding my breath. I turn to find a tall redheaded woman with shiny pink lips and creamy skin standing next to us, her eyes locked on Cain.

  His expression doesn’t give anything away, but the four-second pause sure does. He’s shocked to see this woman and, though I can’t be sure, he may not be happy. “Larissa.” Pulling his chair out, he stands to place a kiss on each cheek. “What are you doing in Miami?” He’s completely polite, but I catch the slightest strain in his tone.

  If I had to guess, I’d say the woman is in her early thirties. By her Manolos and her designer suit, she’s got money. By the way she’s smiling at Cain right now, she has good taste in men.

  By the hardening in my stomach, I think she’s had a taste of Cain.

  She certainly doesn’t look like a woman who has ever graced the stage of Penny’s before.

  Her manicured finger points toward a building across the water, on the other side of the bay. “My firm did the interior design for the new luxury hotel that opened this weekend. I needed to show my face. It was a big thing in the media.”

  Her firm. Yeah, she’s got money, all right.

  “I left you a voice message yesterday to let you know I’d be in town. Didn’t you get it?” The way her head cocks to the side and her hand reaches out to graze his forearm, I no longer question whether she and Cain have had some sort of relationship. I know it.

  And now I see the kind of woman that normally attracts Cain. Neither the real me nor the Charlie Rourke version of me plays in her league. It makes me wonder why I’ve gotten his attention at all. Is this still because I remind him of Penny?

  Clearing his throat, Cain takes a step back from her and gestures to me. “Larissa, this is Charlie.”

  I have to consciously unclench my jaw as green eyes turn to dissect me, flittering over my h
air, lingering on my dress and my shoes for too long. I, too, am wearing a pair of Manolos, along with a simple and sexy black strapless dress from a high-end New York designer—both gifts from Sam. There’s nothing cheap about what I’m wearing.

  And yet she sneers anyway.

  “Charlie . . . cute.” By the haughty look on her face, I know that “cute” means something entirely different and not at all pleasant. And by Cain’s clenched jaw and the apology in his eyes, I can tell he sees it as well. “Is it short for anything?”

  I wonder when he was with her last. I wonder when he’ll be with her next. That thought fills my stomach with dread. But I won’t show those thoughts.

  “Nope. Just Charlie,” I say, leaning back in my chair as if completely at ease, offering a smile of my own. A smug smile that says, “I’m having dinner with the man you want to be with and as far as you know, we’re doing it like rabbits when we get home.” And, if that’s not clear enough, I turn to Cain and say sweetly, “I’m sorry, babe. I turned your phone off before bed last night. I didn’t want us to be disturbed.”

  I’m not sure how he’s going to take that, but the devil inside me doesn’t care.

  Cain clears his throat for a second time and sits down. He winks at me before taking a sip of his wine, that smile hiding behind it again.

  But this woman either hasn’t taken the hint or is too full of herself to accept it. “So how do you know each other?”

  Cain’s tongue darts over his top lip—a sign that he’s annoyed. He’s annoyed by her questioning. Or her, in general. Or both. “Charlie works for me.”

  Awesome. Now “Design Firm” Larissa can properly gaze down her nose at me.

  “Really? You don’t seem like the type to be in investment banking.”

  Her eyes are on Cain, so she can’t see that my mouth drops open momentarily. Investment banking? Is that what she thinks he does? Apparently, I’m not the only one who leads an alternate life.

  Cain is watching me like a hawk now. He must be wondering if I’ll play along. “I guess looks can be deceiving. And I assist Cain with the office work.”