Tonight was her last night in New York. She’d managed to visit a couple of museums and Central Park. She’d caught a matinee of an off-Broadway play and window-shopped along Fifth Avenue. But she hadn’t been out for a drink and listened to music with someone who was obviously at home in the city. “I think I’d like that.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
She slid off the stool and smoothed her skirt. He began to guide her toward the exit with a hand on the small of her back. “Oh, wait. I should probably let Trey know I’m leaving.”
“Oh, I think he knows,” Collin assured her. He came to a halt and Trey seemed to materialize in front of her.
“Excuse me, Baylee. A word?” He shot Collin an unfriendly look and, without giving her a choice, clasped his fingers around her elbow and maneuvered her to a deserted corner. “You’re not leaving here with him.”
Trey’s tone fell somewhere between a statement and a question, and Baylee found she didn’t particularly care which it was.
“He asked me out for a drink.”
“And you accepted?” Now his tone bordered on incredulous.
“Yes.” She pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything else. Her chin came up.
Over Trey’s shoulder she could see Collin slouched against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He winked when she caught his eye.
“Baylee, I don’t think you should go out with him.”
She brought her attention back to Trey. “Why?”
“Sheesh, Baylee. Because he’s a player. He’s got a lousy reputation with women. From what I’ve heard he uses them and dumps them so fast they don’t know what hit them.”
“I appreciate your concern, Trey, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Now if you don’t mind.” She pointedly loosened his fingers still encircling her elbow.
Collin straightened as she strode toward him. He looked pleased. “See you around, Trey,” he called. Baylee looked back to see Trey’s silent glower.
“Let me guess. He told you not to go out with me,” he said once they were seated in the cab.
“Yes. He said you were a player.”
He barked a laugh at that. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Baylee, come on. Trey Christopher? Do you have any idea how many women he went through while he was a star quarterback?”
“No. Do you?”
Collin snorted and glanced out the window. “I didn’t keep count personally, no. But from what I heard, it was no small number.”
“Wasn’t he still married while he was playing?”
Collin swung his gaze back to her. “Surely you’re aware that marriage does little to keep a man faithful. Especially a guy like him.”
“What kind of guy is that?” Baylee folded her arms. Collin’s accusations against Trey annoyed her. She had no knowledge of Trey’s past history with women. Only that he’d passed out on top of her in high school and that he’d been married and divorced. So why did she have this urge to leap to his defense?
“Can we talk about something else?” she asked, taking a moment to glance out the window herself. She’d been flattered to be asked out, but now she wished she hadn’t been so quick to take Collin up on his offer. She almost wished she’d gone back to the hotel with Trey. Even if it meant another uncomfortable night, watching television from their separate beds.
“Gladly. We’re here, anyway.”
The cab pulled to a stop on a narrow street. Baylee could hear bluesy instrumental music drifting from a narrow door nearby. Several patrons were gathered in small conversational groups outside, most of them smoking cigarettes.
Collin opened the door for her and ushered her inside. It wasn’t a large place. A bar took up the entire length of one wall. A slightly elevated stage held a group of musicians in the far corner. There were small tables and chairs, most of them occupied, scattered throughout the open floor.
A saxophone wailed and a drummer kept up a steady beat, along with a piano and a bass.
Collin nodded to a couple of people as he took her hand and led the way to an empty table. Baylee wanted to stop and stare and look around. This is what she’d come to New York for. She was in a genuine jazz club, surrounded by what she assumed were native New Yorkers. Fighting her instinctive desire to gawk like a tourist, she took the seat Collin held for her and turned her attention to the musicians.
A petite waitress wove her way among the nest of tables with a tray held overhead, pausing to take orders, clear empty glasses and collect money. She arrived at their table, and Collin asked Baylee what she’d like.
When Baylee hesitated, Collin suggested something called a Fuzzy Peach. “Being a Georgia girl, you’re probably partial to peaches, right?”
“I’m from North Carolina,” Baylee reminded him.
“Oh, right. Maybe you’d prefer an appletini instead? They grow apples in North Carolina, right?”
It was all Baylee could do to keep from rolling her eyes. The waitress was getting antsy. “I’ll try the Fuzzy Peach.”
Although she and Jenny occasionally shared a bottle of wine and a pizza, she rarely drank, something she attributed to Trey’s influence on her at that high school party. If he hadn’t passed out when he did, and sometimes she still thought that was surely God’s way of protecting them both, she might have actually had sex with him. She’d been stupidly flattered by Trey’s attention, too young and dumb to know it wouldn’t have mattered to him who she was.
Jenny had been livid with her that night. “My God, Baylee, do you know what could have happened? You could have got pregnant. Or worse.”
Jenny’s displeasure with her did not help Baylee’s roiling stomach or pounding head. They were in Jenny’s bedroom, squished together in her twin bed.
“What could be worse?” Baylee asked before she thought better of it. Surely an unplanned pregnancy at age fifteen fell into the “worst” category.
“STDs,” Jenny hissed. “Herpes. HIV. Did you learn anything in health class last year?”
“Trey doesn’t have herpes,” she argued.
“How do you know? He’s slept with at least four girls this year. And I don’t know how many before them. He could have herpes and not even know it. He could have given it to you.”
Baylee couldn’t think of anything to say. Probably because Jenny was right. “So lucky for me nothing happened.”
“You’re damn right,” Jenny growled as she turned on her side, presenting Baylee with her back. “You better wise up before something bad does.”
In minutes Jenny fell asleep, but Baylee stayed awake much longer, playing the entire evening over in her head before concluding she was sorry Trey had passed out. Sorry she was still a virgin in spite of the risks. Dumb or not, she wanted to know what it was like, what the big secret was. The truth she only admitted to herself, never to Jenny, was how much she’d wanted to be the girl Trey didn’t dump. The one he fell head over heels in love with for good.
Their drinks arrived and Baylee took a small sip of hers. It wasn’t bad, actually.
Collin had ordered Captain and Coke for himself. Intently, he watched her take a sip of her drink and lick her lips afterward. “Do you like it?” he whispered close to her ear.
She smiled at him and nodded. “It’s pretty sweet.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed. “Like you.”
Baylee sipped her drink and listened to the music while taking in her surroundings. She wasn’t sure she’d ever learn to appreciate jazz, but most of the other patrons appeared rapt with attention to the skill displayed on the small stage.
When the musicians took a break, she excused herself for the restroom. Not because she had to go, but because she wanted to see if it resembled the one she’d seen on Sex and the City last night. Maybe she’d overhear some interesting tidbits of conversation like Carrie and her friends sometimes did.
Sadly, such w
as not the case. The tiny, dingy ladies’ room had only two stalls and one sink. A woman finished drying her hands and left as soon as Baylee entered. She stared at herself in the faded mirror over the sink. What am I doing here? she silently asked her reflection. She didn’t want to be here. She wasn’t interested in Collin and she was pretty sure he wasn’t all that interested in her. Except maybe he thought she was dumb enough to fall for his fake flattery and his practiced seduction techniques.
In the middle of the set, he’d trailed his finger from her shoulder to her wrist. She’d had to repress a shudder of annoyance. He’d slid his fingers beneath hers and rubbed his thumb in a circle on the top of her hand. Maybe she didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but she knew enough to know this one wasn’t turning her on at all. As soon as she could, she withdrew her hand from his on the pretext of picking up her drink to drain the last of it. She gave him a smile as fake as he was. He signaled to the waitress for another round.
She should have listened to Trey. She shouldn’t have come out when he’d warned her not to, but his objection had only reinforced her resolve to do it. It wasn’t like he owned her. She didn’t belong to him.
A wave of loneliness and longing swept through her. She wished she did belong to Trey. She wished she had a man who wanted her, who had a right to warn other men away from her.
But she didn’t belong to anyone and she didn’t fit in anywhere. Soon she’d be a thirty-year-old single woman, divorced and childless and still a virgin. If she’d tried to imagine a fate for herself on that long-ago night when Trey had disappointed her with his lack of performance, she doubted she could have imagined a scenario like this.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself as she applied some lip gloss. Two women came in together, barely acknowledging her presence as they practically climbed over her to get to the stalls.
She’d go back to the table, drink her Fuzzy Peach and inform Collin she’d like to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
Trey drummed his fingertips on the taxi door, his gaze fixed on the entrance to All That Jazz.
“How much longer you gonna wait?” The cabbie caught his eye in the rearview mirror.
“As long as it takes.” They’d already been sitting for thirty minutes. The meter clicked over again, adding to the fare. Trey ignored it. He and Hiram were on a first-name basis now, and he’d assured the cabbie there’d be another generous tip on top of the one he’d already given him.
Hiram slouched down behind the wheel and closed his eyes. “You wake me up when you ready to go.”
“Will do.”
If what Trey had heard about Collin Cassidy’s MO was true, he wouldn’t have to wait long. He hated the feeling in his gut right now. He’d had this sick, churning sense of loss ever since Baylee had left the restaurant, and it had worsened after he told the cabbie to stop outside the club and wait.
He couldn’t stand the thought of Cassidy’s slimy hands on her. The guy was a sleaze. How could Baylee not see it? He was smooth, for sure. Trey supposed women would find him good looking with his tall build, dark hair and white smile.
If she’d been more sophisticated, she’d have seen that behind the smooth exterior lurked a womanizing asshole. She’d have blown him off in two seconds, disgusted by his false charm.
He could tell she hadn’t liked his warning to stay away from the guy one bit. The truth was he had no right to tell her what to do. He had only to pay her the agreed-upon amount for the time she spent working for him each week. His obligation to her ended there. She was, as she’d told him, a big girl. She probably even believed she was capable of looking out for herself. Maybe that was true when she was in Hendersonville, North Carolina. New York City was an entirely different ballgame. The Big Apple ate naïve women like her for lunch and spit them out by dinner time.
Trey hoped he was wrong about Cassidy. He sincerely hoped everything he’d heard about the guy was a lie. But the world of professional sports was relatively small. There was a surprising amount of truth behind even the smallest rumor.
The door to the club opened and several people spilled out. Trey concentrated on the group, not wanting to miss Baylee if she was a part of it. But she wasn’t. He sat back against the cracked leather seat and drummed his fingers some more. The cab’s On Duty light was on, but the engine was off. He’d rolled the window down to let in the warm night air. A hint of moisture tinged the fading heat of the day.
The club door opened again, and this time he sat up and watched as Cassidy exited first and Baylee followed. She almost fell against Cassidy, and he put an arm around her when she wobbled. They began walking, although even from this distance, Trey could see Baylee was none-too-steady on her feet. He couldn’t have gotten her drunk already, surely. They hadn’t been inside for even an hour.
Trey had no idea how Baylee reacted to alcohol. Maybe she was a lightweight, the type who got tipsy after one glass of wine.
Would Cassidy hail a cab and take Baylee back to the hotel? If so, Baylee would never know Trey had followed her. He planned to simply arrive back at the room shortly after she did with no explanation.
If Cassidy had other ideas, however, Trey’s plan would have to change. The fact that Baylee appeared not to be in charge of all of her faculties only reinforced his resolve to step in if necessary.
When they reached the cross street, Cassidy hailed a cab. Trey nudged his driver. “Hey, Hiram. Let’s go.” Hiram came to attention, started the engine and put the car in gear. “See the couple up there getting into the taxi?” Hiram nodded. “As they say in the movies, follow that cab.”
Hiram did as instructed. Trey wasn’t terribly surprised when it pulled to a stop several blocks later. Hiram got stopped at a red light a half block behind. When he thought he saw Cassidy half drag, half carry Baylee toward an apartment entrance, he panicked. “Pull up outside that building.” He opened his door. “And wait for me.”
Trey sprinted to the corner, anxiously waiting for the traffic to clear so he could cross against the light. He strained to see what had happened to Cassidy and Baylee. If they’d already disappeared inside the building, Trey might have a helluva time gaining access and tracking them down.
As soon as he could, he dodged across the street and ran to the building entrance. The double glass doors were locked, of course. They rattled when Trey tried yanking on them. Giving up, he rapped hard on the glass, peering inside to see if there was a doorman.
There was. An older man, dressed in a uniform, ambled toward the doors, his expression hovering between annoyance and curiosity. He hit an intercom button nearby. “Can I help you?”
“A guy named Collin Cassidy just came in. With a woman.”
The doorman was no dummy. He neither acknowledged nor denied Trey’s statement. Trey thought of everything he knew about doormen in buildings like this. They were paid to assist and protect the tenants by limiting access to the building.
How could he convince the man to give him access? The guy was older. Probably had a family. Children. Grandchildren, maybe. “That woman? That’s my—” what? Trey thought wildly. Little sister? Cousin? Girlfriend? “—sister. Did you see her?”
This was taking too long, but Trey had to be patient. He had to say the right thing or the doorman might walk away and leave him standing there.
“I saw a woman come in with one of the tenants.”
“Tall, slender, dark hair? Kind of pretty?”
The guy nodded.
“Look, I’m afraid—” What? What would work here? The truth? A lie? He decided to go with a lie. “Okay, the truth is she’s my sister and I love her, but she’s a bit of a psychopath. She pretends to get drunk. As soon as she’s alone with the guy she usually ties him up and takes some compromising pictures she can use for blackmail. If the guy won’t pay, she posts the pictures on the Internet. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. I turn my back for one second and she’s gone. She headed straight to the bar to find her next mark. My
mother’s going to kill me if I let her pull this stunt again—”
The door buzzed briefly and the doorman pushed it open. Trey could hardly believe his luck. “Look, buddy, you better be telling the truth. My ass is on the line here—”
Trey pressed several bills into the breast pocket of the man’s jacket. “Trust me, that guy is going to get down on his knees and thank you for letting me in in time to stop her. What apartment?”
“Twelve B.”
Trey started past him, but the guy blocked him. “You get your sister and you get out. That’s it. You get into an altercation with the tenant or anything like that, you and me got a problem. Capisce?”
Trey nodded. The doorman stepped aside.
The elevator bumped to a stop on the twelfth floor and in seconds Trey pounded on 12B’s door. “Cassidy? Goddammit, if you’ve touched one hair on her head, I swear to God, I’ll—”
The door burst open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Collin glared at him and then switched his attention over Trey’s shoulder when a door across the hall opened.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Barry. My friend had too much to drink. Sorry to have disturbed you.”
Trey heard the door behind him click. He was barely aware of his fists flexing in anticipation of beating the hell out of Collin Cassidy. But he quelled that desire.
He took in Cassidy’s appearance. His shoes were off, his shirt untucked. Trey clenched his fists again. “Where’s Baylee?”
Cassidy stepped back and with a sweeping gesture, motioned Trey to enter.
The apartment wasn’t large from what Trey could see, but it was dimly lit. Baylee was slumped in the corner of a black leather sectional sofa in the living room. Most of the row of tiny buttons down the front of her dress were undone. He saw flashes of flesh, the black lace of her bra. The hem of the dress rode above her knees.
The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3 Page 12
