"Assistant? Hah. Like a valet? A limo driver? A butler? You want me to join my brothers in servitude?"
"I don't understand. Your siblings are servants?"
Tuesday leaned forward, an incredulous expression on his handsome face. "Do you know I'm black?"
"What does skin color have to do with anything?"
"Black isn't just a skin color. It's a lifestyle. An attitude."
"Really?" Marissa was instantly fascinated. "I've studied sociology—it's one of my favorite subjects, but I'm afraid I've never had any experience with America's sub-cultures. You could teach me. Take me places, explain things."
"What?"
Dane's bark of laughter drew their attention. "She wants a field trip into the black community."
Tuesday crossed his arms. "You crazy."
"Maybe I am." She sighed. She'd botched this whole situation. Wanting to help and actually helping were not the same things at all. Tuesday was a nice boy who deserved a chance, but only he could decide to take it. She reached inside her purse and pulled out the thousand dollars she'd paper-clipped together. "Here. Take this as payment for your time."
"Put that away!" said Tuesday and Dane at the same time. They looked at each other, then at Marissa.
She shoved it back into her purse. "Honestly. What's wrong with you two?"
"You can't show off that kind of cash," said Tuesday in a low voice. "Don't you believe in banks?"
"I can't afford paper trails."
"Paper trails? What are you—on the run?"
Marissa glanced at Dane. Yep. There was the insidious frown. She zipped up her purse and put it on her lap. "Sorta."
"Sorta how?" asked Dane.
"It's a long story and I don't feel like telling it right now. Be assured I didn't break out of jail or a psychiatric ward."
Tuesday's grin was conspiratorial. "Say, Miss M, I'll need a couple of legal pads—and one of those fancy pens, you know the kind that never run out of ink?"
Excitement rushed through her. "Oh, Tuesday! Does that mean you'll be my assistant?"
"It means I'll take a few notes. But I'm not driving cars or bringing out drinks to guests or caddying at the golf course."
"I wouldn't dream of asking you to do such things."
"Then you got a note-taker." Tuesday grasped her hand as she reached for the purse. "I don't get paid until the job is done."
"Fair enough." She turned her hand so her palm met his, then shook his hand.
Five
"IT'S LILLIAN," SHE said into the pay phone. "I'm okay." The voice on the other end was gruff—and pissed off. She knew he'd be furious, but she'd risk the wrath of God to finish what she'd started almost a decade ago.
The convenience store was located across the street from the hotel. She'd managed to follow Marissa and her pick-up from the bar; she'd indulged in a mondo cup of coffee and, thank the bakery gods, a Krispy Kreme chocolate-iced donut.
Unfortunately, she'd exited the store in time to see her quarry leave in a new Ford 150 blue truck. So new, it didn't have tags yet. She still hadn't gotten a good look at Marissa's new friend. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and had a nice ass. Unfortunately, the backsides of half the men in the world matched that description.
"Lillian, did you hear me? Return immediately," he said. "I can't protect you anymore."
"I never asked for your protection."
"You did once."
Lillian closed her eyes. Her life had come full circle. The man she had once chased now chased her. And the one who'd protected her secrets now threatened to expose them.
"You know I can't come in. As soon as I take care of Marissa, I'm going to disappear."
"No!" Did she detect an edge of desperation to his voice? She smiled grimly. Yeah, right. He cared less about the world than she did. Just a few weeks ago, she'd told him he was the loneliest asshole on the earth; he hadn't changed.
But she had.
"I'll find you, Lillie. Or he will."
He knew she was after Michael. Great. "You know better. You taught me."
"Not everything."
"Enough."
"Damn it, Lillian! It's too late for you. For Marissa. Just let it go."
"Is the trace almost finished?" She laughed. "I'll save you the trouble. I'm on the corner of Fifth and Main, enjoying the best damned donut in the world. Coffee sucks, though." She hung up on him, mid-curse.
Lillian disposed of the Styrofoam cup and sticky napkin, then licked chocolate icing off her fingertips. With a casual stride that belied her urgency, she walked across the parking lot and headed toward the hotel. Once she got her car, she'd find a place to hole up so she could consider what to do next.
* * *
TUESDAY WAS LAUGHING so hard he almost fell out of Dane's car when he opened the door to get out. Wiping tears from his face, he handed the crumpled pink paper to Marissa.
"I can't wait to get my legal pad." He looked at Dane. "You gonna let her do all that shit?"
"First, don't cuss. It's against the Center's rules. Second, it's her list. I'm an employee, just like you."
"Third, it's impolite to speak about me like I'm not standing here. And fourth, Dane isn't going to let me do anything. He's just supposed to protect me from..." Marissa waved her hand. "Stuff."
Dane crossed his arms. For the thousandth time, the thought entered his mind that he should ditch this crazy job. Never again would he worry about being in a rut. A normal, stable, boring bachelorhood sounded like heaven compared to life with Marissa. But he couldn't leave her. God knew what she'd think up next.
Besides, he didn't have Marissa's faith in Tuesday. Dane worked with boys like him almost every day. Time, effort, and constant supervision were all necessary components of getting street kids to reform their ways. They all arrived at the Center in survival mode—and the need to survive blurred the lines of ethics. It was hard to have principles when a kid didn't know where he was going to crash or when he was getting his next meal.
"Hey, buddy!"
Dane turned and saw Brent walking toward them. Terrific. The sex-god had arrived.
"Hello, Marissa."
Dane resisted the urge to scoop out his friend's eyeballs with a dull spoon. That dickhead was taking too long and too close a look at his princess.
"Hi, Brent. How are you today?"
"Much better. The view's improved in the last couple of seconds."
Marissa blushed; the rose tinted her pale cheeks so prettily Dane felt like punching Brent. He added "cutting out tongue" to his list of Violent Things That Would Happen To Brent if his supposed best friend didn't stop flirting.
"So you hangin' around to see Dane in action?"
"I'm very interested in seeing what the TeenCenter is like." Marissa grasped Tuesday's arm and pulled him forward. "This is my friend, Tuesday Jones."
Brent extended his hand and shook Tuesday's. "You here to enroll in the sports program?"
"No way, man."
Dane looked at Marissa. "Let's go inside. We'll get one of the volunteers to give you and Tuesday a tour while Brent and I talk about some business."
"If you get a moment, would you mind asking Brent about—"
"Yes, damn it. I'll ask."
She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thanks."
An enthusiastic Marissa and a reluctant Tuesday followed one of the volunteer clerks through the TeenCenter's main doors. Dane and Brent entered the office they shared. The room was fairly spacious—Dane's desk, shelves, and files occupied the left end, Brent's, the right. In the middle was a living room-type area Brent used to counsel the teens and, occasionally, parents. Two couches faced each other and two wingback leather chairs faced each other, making a furniture square. Against the wall was a table with a coffeemaker, coffee-making supplies, and a stack of Styrofoam cups. Dane closed the door, then walked to one of the couches and collapsed on it. "What the hell am I doing?"
"Excellent question. Who's the girl?"
; "A rich runaway who thinks having sex is like getting on a really cool roller coaster ride."
"Uh...what?"
Dane sat up. "She's got this list. She thinks the best way to experience life is to buy stuff, and have sex, and go to the zoo."
"Go to the zoo?"
"Yeah. I agreed to be her bodyguard for this whole week. I'm in hell, Brent."
"Bodyguard?"
"Would you stop repeating my sentences in question form?" He sat up and looked at his friend sitting on the opposite couch. "She's paying me ten grand to help her out with the list and guard her body."
"What a body."
"Yeah."
A moment of silence passed as both men contemplated Marissa's curves, then Dane remembered about the one-night stand. "I'm supposed to ask you if you'd consider having sex with her."
Brent's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, then he shook his head and grinned. "Can't we date first?"
"By the way," said Dane conversationally, "if you even think about going to bed with her, I'll have to kill you."
"Why would you...you like her, don't you? Why don't you have sex with her?"
"I said no. Just like you're going to."
"You want me to turn down no-strings-sex with that gorgeous woman because..."
"I said so."
"You like her."
"I don't like her. She's paying me to protect her so I'm protecting her."
"You don't like her?"
Dane stood up and went to the coffee machine. Knowing Brent, the coffee in the pot had been made earlier in the morning and was now burnt swill. He poured some into a cup and dosed it with liberal amounts of sugar and powdered creamer.
"She's young. Naïve. Running away from something...or someone. I've been trying to convince her that her first sexual experience should be special—worth something."
"Holy shit. She's a virgin?"
"Yes."
"Where did you meet her?"
"Paradise Club. She was trying to get drunk." Dane told his friend the rest of the story, including how they ended up outside a convenience store waiting for him. Brent didn't bother trying to hold back his laughter. Tears streamed down his face and he held onto his sides.
"Some friend." Dane sipped the coffee then grimaced at the sweet-burned taste. "This is disgusting." He threw away the cup and returned to the couch.
Brent managed to downgrade his guffaws to chuckles. He wiped his eyes. "Maybe I can get through to her. I'll take her out for some dinner, get her side of the story, and talk some sense into her."
Dane didn't want Brent anywhere near Marissa. Knowing her, she'd have Brent promising all sorts of sexual favors. The idea of her sharing herself with anyone but him, no, with anyone, period, made his gut clench. On the other hand, Brent was a counselor, and a damned good one. He could influence Marissa to tear up the list—or at least he might be able to get some information about who she had escaped and why.
"All right. But if you get horizontal with her, I'll rip off your arms."
"Don't worry, Dane. I won't touch her."
"Yeah, but what are you going to do if she touches you?"
* * *
TUESDAY JONES HADN'T seen a butt that fine since—since never. Her name was Rozzinda Lewis and he hadn't heard a single thing she'd said about the TeenCenter since they'd started the tour. Her skin was like creamy chocolate and her eyes...he'd never seen eyes like hers. So dark they were like black pearls. They were looking at him with a quizzical expression. Rozzinda's thin brows raised. "You like what you see?" she asked.
"Yeah, baby. You the finest woman I've seen in a long time."
Marissa touched his shoulder. "She was talking about the equipment."
"I like her equipment, too."
Rozzinda laughed. "Boy, you a player. I'm finished with players." She walked around him and he followed her movements. "Get your eyeballs back in your head, player."
Embarrassment burned up his neck and his cheeks heated. He wasn't no goddamned schoolboy; he resented that he felt like one right now. He'd just turned eighteen last week and he knew more about life than most people did if they lived to be a hundred. He pried his gaze off the woman and managed to look around the room. Bats, basketballs, tennis rackets...they had stuff for any sport ever played. So what?
"Sports is a big part of the center?" asked Marissa.
"Sports is an integral part of our program, but our focus remains on education. We help drop-outs get their GEDs and, depending on what the client wants, we get them enrolled at the community college or get them a job."
"It sounds wonderful. Doesn't it, Tuesday?"
"Yeah. It's great." He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he didn't care. He was here because he needed the money and he wanted to earn it. Stealing Marissa's purse had been a last-minute decision born of desperation. He needed to pay off that asshole, Jeremy.
The thought of the drug dealer sent chills up Tuesday's spine. If his youngest sister, Slane, hadn't gotten hooked on the crack pipe... She was only fourteen. Just a baby. She'd given up her virginity and her dignity to Jeremy so she could have access to free drugs.
Ain't nothing free, he'd told her. She'd come to his crib with a black eye and a cut lip and begged him to help her.
"Tuesday?"
Marissa's soft voice broke through his thoughts and he looked down at her. "Yeah?"
"Is everything okay?"
"It's cool. Are we done here?"
Was it his imagination or had Rozzinda's cynical gaze softened? He wondered if his despair was evident. Lately, it felt like a palpable thing...crawling over him and threatening to choke him.
"I'll take you back to the counselor's offices. That's where you'll find Dane and Brent."
"Thanks, Rozzinda," said Marissa.
"Call me Z. Everyone else does."
"Z." Marissa grinned. "I wonder if I can get away with being called M. What do you think, Tuesday?"
"Right on, Miss M." He couldn't help but match her grin. The woman's naiveté and enthusiasm shone like the sun breaking through the clouds. He liked being part of her adventure. He liked her. Surprise filtered through him. What was up with him? Chasing a white woman and taking notes on her craziness—and he liked it.
"Tell you what. You and Z go back to Dane. I want to look around some more. I'll meet up with you in about ten minutes," said Marissa.
"Okay. See you in a few."
* * *
SHE'D ESCAPED THE hotel fire. He knew she would. If she died, his soul would shrivel and die, too. He felt so restless. So helpless. Why didn't she just come back to him? Didn't he love her? Didn't they have a good life together? Anger cut through him so sharp and so swift, he looked down to see if he was bleeding.
He leaned against the brick building and smoked another cigarette. Across the street was the ugly pink building that housed the Paradise Club. He was hoping she would return. It had been one of their favorite places. Hadn't she run here first? It proved that she still loved him.
Lillie! Anguish crashed through him, mixing with the anger that stabbed at him. He felt like a black flame, dark and hot and needy. The doors to the club opened; a blonde woman stepped out. Long legs, high breasts, tiny waist, and black vinyl skirt hugging a perfect rear end. His vision blurred, refocused. Lillie? Yes. She'd come back. She wanted him. He flicked away the cigarette and straightened. The woman glanced at her watch then tapped her stiletto-heeled foot in impatience.
She's waiting for me.
He crossed the street, a smile on his face. She watched his approach with anticipation. Of course, she did. She loved him. She looked surprised when he touched her arm. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her around the shoulders and covered her mouth.
"Ssshhh, Lillie," he crooned. Why did she struggle? He dragged her around the corner and into one of the abandoned buildings. The need for her grew warm and heavy in his groin; he pressed his bulging hard-on against her buttocks.
He removed his gloved hand from her mou
th and turned her around. "Lillie."
"Look, mister, I'm not Lillie."
"Don't lie to me." He lifted her skirt and felt the smooth silk of her panties. She wasn't wearing hose. She never did. "I know you."
"Please. Don't."
A game. She wanted to play a game. He ripped off the panties. She screamed and tried to claw her way out of his embrace. Her heels caught on debris and she fell backwards. Her beautiful blonde head smacked against the bare concrete floor.
"Sweet Lillie." He leaned over, kissed her smooth cheek, and felt the pulse at her neck. It beat strong against his fingertips. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a long red silk scarf. Gently, he wrapped the material around her slender neck and pulled it tighter and tighter. "Good night, sweetheart.
Six
MARISSA STOOD IN Dane's bathroom, looking into the mirror, applying the finishing touch to her make-up: coloring her lips with Kiss-Me red. Marissa smoothed the red dress, though the "slinky little number" as described by the sales clerk, didn't have any wrinkles. She pressed a hand against her stomach to still the nervous fluttering.
Tonight she would have sex.
When Dane had told her Brent would like to take her out, she knew his friend had agreed to accommodate her wishes. She had to admit that arranging a liaison this way felt cold-blooded. If she were to evaluate her feelings honestly, she feared she wouldn't enjoy her first sexual experience with Brent as much as she would have with Dane.
"Tuesday, where do you think you're going?"
Marissa smiled at the ferocious sound of Dane's voice. He'd been in a bad mood since they'd left the TeenCenter. Shopping for make-up and clothes didn't improve his disposition, either. At least this time his ire was directed at her handsome note-taker. She leaned against the closed door to listen.
"I'm going with Miss M."
"Don't you think it would be awkward for Brent and Marissa to have you there scribbling down their every move?"
She imagined Tuesday's grin was unrepentant. "This is the best job I've ever had."
Love Gone Wild: A Contemporary Romantic Comedy Page 6
