Black Jack

by Mari Carr

  “I don’t agree.” There was a new radiance about her he’d never seen before. Surely other gentlemen of the ton must see it.

  She gave him an appreciative smile that said she didn’t believe him. “It’s neither here nor there. I have no desire to enter the parson’s mousetrap with any of those fops. Unfortunately, there are rules in society associated with unwed women. I’m feeling constrained by them.”

  “Constrained by what rules?” He was a fool for asking the question. Shea was the only person in the world who could surprise him and she did it on a regular basis. Her mind worked in ways he couldn’t begin to fathom or understand. All he knew was she had a plan and he was in trouble.

  “I want to learn about pleasures of the flesh. Sex. And I want you to teach me.”

  Travis sighed. Trouble indeed.

  Chapter 2

  Shea stepped carefully onto the toilet seat and lifted the ceiling tile above the stall in the club’s bathroom. She’d begun hiding her duffel bag there when she took up temporary residence at the club.

  After spending her first night in the bar, she’d continued to sleep there every night for the past eight evenings. Shea had never slept on such a soft bed. She’d been reluctant to return to the motel in East Hollywood. Hiding out in all-night diners or Laundromats after work until she dared to return to the dangerous area wasn’t something she could keep up without dropping into exhaustion.

  Actually, the club made an ideal impromptu home. There was a small shower stall in a bathroom backstage for the performers, so bathing was easy. She simply rose each morning, took a quick shower, ate a granola bar for breakfast then read her book until it was time for Emma to arrive. Due to the club’s security system, she had to do some clever maneuvering, hiding in the storeroom until Emma arrived at work and disengaged the alarm. Once Emma was ensconced in her office, Shea snuck out the back door, roaming around the neighborhood, eating a quick lunch or doing laundry until it was time to return for work.

  Pulling out her wallet, she placed the evening’s tips in the pouch, relishing the growing thickness of the wad of money. Hopefully in a couple more weeks, she’d have enough tips saved for a deposit on an apartment. Scoundrels was positioned in the center of high-priced downtown L.A. She’d use up every bit of her money if she stayed in one of the ritzy hotels in this area. She simply had to avoid being caught for a little while longer. Guilt tweaked her conscience for abusing Emma’s kindness, but she couldn’t come up with a better way of saving money and achieving her goals.

  She’d written a list of plans for the future while on the bus from Vegas. She’d accomplished the first—get a job. Now she was working toward the second—get an apartment. By saving her money, rather than blowing it on hotel rooms, she was that much closer to her third and main goal. Once she was established in L.A., she intended to save enough to go to college to study business. Someday, she’d find a way to pay Emma back for the few weeks of safe lodging in the nightclub.

  Shea returned the bag to its hiding spot and stepped down carefully. She wiped her nose before washing her hands, silently attempting to will away a coming head cold. Gazing at the mirror, she realized she looked like shit. Her eyes were watering and puffy, her nose red.

  I can’t get sick. I can’t get sick.

  Unlocking the bathroom door, she stepped out into the hallway, checking her watch. It was midnight. If she could make it two more hours, she could crawl into her comfy bed onstage and sleep. Surely all she needed was rest to get rid of the woozy feeling in her head.

  She sneezed.

  “Uh oh.” Emma appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “You feel all right, Shea?”

  “I’m fine. Um, allergies,” she lied.

  “It’s not allergy season. You sure you’re okay?”

  Emma’s concern for her well-being helped ease some of Shea’s loneliness. “Really. I’m fine,” she repeated, her hoarse voice betraying her.

  Emma studied her face. “No. I don’t think you are. Tell you what. Finish up those last two tables in the theater and I’ll have Jenny cover your area in the dance club section. I think you should head home early.”

  Shea panicked. “Oh no, I’m fine, Emma. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Shea. I can’t have you waiting tables, sniffling and sneezing all over the patrons. Trust me, this is better for both of us. You need to go home and rest.”

  Shea tried to think of another argument but her head felt full and fuzzy. She was definitely getting sick. Shit. “Okay.”

  She slowly finished serving the final tables in the theater. Usually after a fetish show performance, the crowd split into two groups—those who remained to drink and chat at the comfortable tables and those who headed to the dance floor on the other side of the bar. Tonight, the theater crowd had cleared out earlier than usual. She had to give props to Emma and Mr. Knight for their creativity in the designing and management of Scoundrels. It offered something for everyone.

  Pocketing the last two tips, she wiped the tables and glanced at the mirror above the stage. Shea still hadn’t seen the mysterious Mr. Knight and she’d become increasingly curious about him. Emma confided that they’d gone to school together, so she knew he was in his mid-thirties. Other than that, and the fact he never came out of his office, she knew little else.

  Emma walked toward her. “There you are. Good lord, Shea. I told you to go home.”

  She’d hoped she could stall. “I was just about to head out.”

  Emma began to walk with her and Shea groggily panicked. Much as it hurt her to do it, she was going to have to dip into her savings and get a hotel room for the night.

  “Here.” Emma handed her a bag of cough drops. “Zinc. It’s supposed to help ward off colds. Lucky for you, it’s Saturday. You’ll have two days to rest and relax before having to worry about work again.”

  Shit! It was the weekend. Shea’s pile of money shrunk even more as now she’d be forced to get a room for three nights.

  “I need to pop into the bathroom and then I’ll be on my way.” Hopefully Emma would be gone by the time she came out and wouldn’t spot her carrying a duffel bag she hadn’t walked in with.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait on the bathroom until you get home. Damn toilet is clogged. I’ve got Raoul in there working on it.”

  Shea stumbled slightly.

  “Wow, you really aren’t feeling well, are you? Didn’t you wear a coat?”

  Shea shook her head. She didn’t own one.

  “Well, if you hurry, you may make it home before that rain starts.”

  Emma opened the back door to the club and Shea stepped out into the damp, chilly night. She had twenty bucks in her pocket, none of her stuff and three long nights ahead of her. What was she supposed to do now?

  * * * *

  Travis checked the security monitors again but still couldn’t find Shea. He’d been keeping an eye on her as he worked on the club receipts. Watching her had become his latest pastime. Every night for eight nights, he’d observed her routine, entertained by her ingenuity in hiding her belongings and eking out an existence in his club without disturbing anything that wasn’t hers.

  She’d stealthily slip into the bathroom after saying goodbye to Bill, hiding until the coast was clear. The first few nights she’d remained in hiding for nearly thirty minutes, but with each progressive evening she was becoming braver, emerging earlier, always dressed in her pajamas. Using her flashlight, she’d read her romance novels until she fell asleep.

  Since her arrival, Travis hadn’t spent a single night in his apartment, instead opting to watch Shea.

  Shortly after one, he realized she wasn’t working her usual tables. Now it was closing time and she still wasn’t here. Travis picked up his cell phone and called Emma.

  “Yes,” she said, using her standard Travis tone. They’d been friends for far too many years and their relationship had somewhere evolved into something more closely resembling siblings. They didn�
�t mince words.

  “Where’s the new waitress?”

  “She was sick. I sent her home early.”

  “Home?” Travis immediately felt a shard of panic.

  “Yes. I know it’s not a familiar concept for you, but typically it has four walls, a roof, pictures of smiling people and food in the refrigerator.”

  “Jack’s a lucky man,” he deadpanned.

  “I know. I have work to do. Nighty-night.”

  He hung up. Where the hell could Shea have gone? She clearly didn’t have a home to go to. He watched the monitors carefully, ticking off the twenty minutes after Bill’s departure, hoping she would emerge from the bathroom, that she’d found a way to hide herself.

  When she didn’t appear, his anxiety took over. Glancing toward the window, he saw a flash of lightning pierce the sky followed by a loud boom of thunder. The rain had started as a drizzle but now a full-fledged storm was in effect.

  Shea was out in that. And she was sick.

  Grabbing his raincoat and an umbrella, he cursed himself for a fool, wondering where in the hell he’d begin his search. All he knew was he needed to find her. Needed to know she was safe.

  Stepping out into the driving rain, he crossed the parking lot to the street. He looked both ways, studying the signs, hoping for a clue. Glancing directly across from him, he spotted the diner. And Shea sitting in a booth by the window.

  He sighed in relief. That didn’t take long.

  As he walked into the diner, he immediately noticed her damp clothing clinging to her shivering body. He suspected she’d been waiting in the rain, hoping for a chance to get back into the club before it closed. Her trembling hands were wrapped tightly around a coffee cup. She coughed and Travis frowned at the deep, congested sound.

  He took a seat at the table next to her booth. “Lousy night.”

  She looked up at his voice. Besides the waitress, they were the only two people in the place. Once she determined he was talking to her, she smiled slightly and nodded.

  He gestured to her wet clothing. “Looks like you got caught in the storm.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Forgot my umbrella.”

  The waitress interrupted. He ordered coffee. While the woman went to get his drink, he looked at Shea. “You had dinner yet?”

  She shook her head, though he spotted the suspicion in her gaze. He suppressed a grimace. He must look like king of the losers, trying to pick her up in a diner. Screw it. By the end of this night, she was going to know exactly who he was. “I was about to order a sandwich. You want to join me? My treat.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. We don’t even know each other.”

  He could tell she was hungry. From what he’d observed, she lived on cereal bars and peanut butter sandwiches. She was painfully thin and he ached to change that.

  “I’m Travis, the only other person in L.A. crazy enough to be out on a night like this.”

  “I’m Shea.”

  He picked up his menu and slid into the seat across from her. “Nice to meet you.” He handed her the menu. “And despite the fact I did just say I was crazy, I can assure you I’m harmless. Mostly.”

  She took the menu from him but didn’t look at it. “I’m not really hungry, but thanks for the offer.”

  Now that he was closer, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, made more prominent by her pale skin. She was definitely sick.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t look like you feel well. Shouldn’t you be home rather than out on a rainy night?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed sadly. “I’m, um, staying with a friend. I accidentally got locked out and I don’t have a key.”

  Her comment wasn’t too far from the truth. “Staying with a friend? So you’re here on vacation?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just moved here. I haven’t had a chance to find my own place yet.”

  The waitress delivered his coffee and topped up Shea’s. “You two want anything to eat?”

  Travis shook his head, revising his previous plan. She wasn’t well enough to eat. He intended to get her back to the club as soon as possible. First he needed to gain her trust. If he told her who he was too soon, she was likely to run off.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Vegas.”

  He lifted his coffee cup and Shea raised her hand in warning.

  “That coffee’s terrible,” she confided quietly.

  He took a cautious sip. It was strong as shit and thick as paste. Just the way he liked it. Putting the cup back down, he grinned. “It’s okay. At least it’s hot.”

  She crinkled her nose. Clearly she didn’t think that fact redeemed it.

  “What brings you from Vegas to L.A.?”

  “I needed a fresh start.”

  It was an innocuous answer and fired a whole list of new questions in his mind. “Sounds dire. What happened in Vegas?”

  She laughed softly. “Given the city’s motto, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Has to stay there, right?” he joked.

  She stifled a yawn. She was worn out. He watched her rub her eyes, battling to remain awake. He was overcome by the urge to bundle her up and drag her back to the club.

  “Were you born in Vegas?”

  She nodded. “Yep. I’m the embodiment of a bad Vegas cliché. Daughter of a stripper.”

  “And your father?”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Really? I need to answer that? I have no idea who my father is. Not sure my mother knows either.”

  There was no anger in her response. In fact, he thought he saw a glimmer of humor there. “Wow, cliché in every sense of the word.”

  “In so many ways, it’s not even funny.”

  “I take it you didn’t follow in Mom’s footsteps?”

  She grimaced. “Hell no. I’m never taking my clothes off for money.”

  Travis cleared his throat uncomfortably, considering all the times he’d offered women cash to masturbate in front of him for his pleasure. Hell, he made his living from a club that enticed the audience with bare skin and fake sex.

  “I waited tables in Vegas for a few years after high school. Started living with this guy I was dating. Life was okay for a while, I guess. One night I came home from work. My boyfriend had lost yet another job and was drunk off his ass. I lost my temper. He lost his and he hit me. After he passed out, I realized I was about a million miles from where I wanted to be.”

  Travis clenched his fists, wishing her asshole boyfriend was around right now. “What did you do?”

  “I cleaned out my bank account, threw a few things in a bag and bought the cheapest bus ticket out of town.”

  “Los Angeles?”

  She nodded. “There are worse places to end up.”

  “When you say fresh start, you mean fresh start.”

  She smiled, wincing slightly, but the effort seemed to cause her pain. She rubbed her temples wearily and he assumed she was suffering from a headache. “Yeah. It was probably impulsive and dumb, but I don’t regret it.”

  “Even now? When you’re sitting in wet clothes in a diner in the middle of the night because you’re locked out of the club?”

  She looked at him, her gaze suddenly suspicious. “What?”

  He stood slowly. “Come on, Shea. I’m taking you home.”

  Her face completed the transformation from shock to sheer panic in less than a second. “I told you. I’m locked out.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. “And I have the key that will get you back into Scoundrels. Let’s go before you shake yourself out of that booth. Your chills are getting worse.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Travis Knight.”

  He didn’t think it possible, but Shea managed to go three shades paler. “You are?”

  He pulled out his wallet and showed her his driver’s license. “Yep.”

  “You know,” she whispered.

  He reached down and helped
her rise. Taking off his raincoat, he placed it around her shoulders. “I know.”

  He threw a few dollars on the table then took her hand and walked to the club. The rain had abated but left bitterly cold air in its wake. Travis led her through the back door. Turning on the lights, he stopped at the door to the women’s bathroom.

  Shea had been absolutely silent throughout their walk. He suspected if she’d felt better, she would have run away, given him a chase.

  “Is your stuff in here?”

  She nodded, taking the lead as they entered the restroom. He watched her retrieve her bag. Walking to the sink, she placed the duffel down, rummaging around. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for but was surprised when she pulled out her wallet, drawing out a thick stack of bills.

  She tried to hand him the money. “Here. This is all the money I earned in tips. I’m very sorry for abusing your trust. Staying here was wrong. I knew that, but I still did it. I swear I won’t bother you again. I hope you’ll tell Emma how sorry I am.”

  He scowled. “Put that damn money away. It’s yours. You earned it.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “Goddamn it, Shea.” He took the money she continued to thrust at him and shoved it in her wallet. Picking up the bag, he grasped her hand once more. “Come on.”

  She started toward the back door when they exited the restroom, but he shook his head and dragged her to the stage. Her hand began to shake and he felt her resisting him.

  “Oh God. Please don’t call the police. I didn’t steal anything. Honest. I—”

  He stopped and looked at her. “I’m not calling the cops.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pushed her toward the bed. “You’re sick, Shea, so I’ll say what you don’t seem to be figuring out. I’m not firing you and I’m not calling the cops.”

  He tossed her duffel on the floor by the bed and pulled the raincoat off her shoulders. He turned his back to her, staring at the back wall of the stage.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I thought you might want to take off those wet clothes and put on your pajamas. I’m being a gentleman and not watching.”