by Sylvie Kaye
In a flash, he grabbed a handful of Google's grungy T-shirt. He wanted to wring his pudgy neck and rattle a few of his too-pearly white teeth but thought better of the idea before it was too late.
"Wha—what was that for?” the informant spat out once he'd let go of him. “Why so touchy?” The snitch smoothed his crumpled shirt. “I've heard other people call you Killer."
"Not to my face.” Spence scowled a warning at the man. He might be a sinner, but he wasn't a killer.
"Hey, I don't blame you.” Google sneaked a look around the deserted macadam lot. “I wouldn't want to be branded as the man who killed his best bud."
"Mark. My buddy had a name.” Spence shook the tension from his fingers. “That's why I'm paying you, to help clear up the misconception. Along with my name. So do you have anything?"
The heavyset guy shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized jeans. His striped underwear bulged up around his waist. “I need the cash up front."
"Yeah.” Spence reached into his shirt pocket for a handful of twenties and stuck them under Google's nose.
"I have high-tech expenses. Programs, mother boards.” Google filched the money into his deep pocket so fast Spence was left holding out his empty hand.
Pulling it away, he leaned his palm against the sturdy tree. The bark bit into his flesh, reminding him he could feel. Most days a numbness, which had come in handy during his jail time, still lingered over him.
Google moved closer, lowered his voice. His breath smelled of onions and mint and clung to the humid air. “If I'm acting spooked, it's because this guy, Jay, stiffed me earlier."
Jay? Spence cocked his head. “Is he the corporate boy-scout who hangs out at the Starry Night?"
"That's him. The prick.” Google removed his wire-rimmed glasses to rub at his eyes.
So Jay was dirty. And where in the hell had Cindy been during the transaction? Was she a party to Jay's corporate crime? Spence frowned—none of these things bothered him as much as Google's lack of caution. He had a loose mouth for a man who dealt in secrets.
"White-collared boys are all crybabies, but they do pay up eventually.” Google wiped the lenses of his glasses on the tattered hem of his T-shirt. “Those designer types are used to paying through the nose for everything."
"I'm not.” Crossing his arms, Spence rolled his back against the tree to scratch an itch. Google was talkative tonight. Maybe he'd have something worthwhile to say.
The snitch shifted topics quick. “Besides his studio apartment above the nightclub, Parker has a house somewhere in the city. I haven't located it yet, but it doesn't matter right now. He's out of the city. Out of the state,” he amended. “He's visiting a sick friend. Real sick. Like dying sick. Nobody knows when he'll be back.” He put his glasses back on and scratched his nose. “Probably when the guy dies would be my guess."
"Don't guess.” He pinned the man with a stern look. The eyes gawking back at him were red-rimmed, probably from long hours at a computer monitor. “I need facts. Does he know about me?"
"He knows you're out of...” He hesitated to say jail, as if Spence were too delicate to hear the word. “Out and about."
"Let me know the second Parker's back in San Antonio. Hell, make that back in Texas."
"Sure thing. While I'm working on finding Parker's house in the city, do you want me to work on the dying man's name and where he lives?"
"If you can."
"I can.” Google puffed out his chest, nearly bursting the safety pins holding the neck of his T-shirt together. “But it might take some time."
"One other thing.” Spence aimed his fingers at Google like a six-shooter. “Put a password on my file and a zip on your mouth."
"I'd never talk about you, Kil—I mean, Spence. I—I only mentioned Jay in passing. I know you can be trusted. You'd never repeat anything."
He nodded, leaving Google to handle his end of the snooping. Spence had one more source to check out. Afterward, he'd sell his horse for payoff cash, and then he had nothing but time to kill until Parker showed up. He hated killing time. He'd done enough of that in jail.
As difficult as it was to move ahead before avenging Mark, he could busy himself putting the ranch and fences to right. During the day.
He hopped into his dusty pickup and started the engine. But what about at night?
Mercy popped into his mind.
As he drove across the city in the opposite direction of the small spread he and Mark had owned together, he couldn't shake Mercy's image.
Naked, willing, soft, and silky. Her skin. Her hair.
Her heart.
His breath caught. She'd forgiven him for ditching her on the bench. She really was sweet—and tart.
Feeling he had no right to her sweetness, he chose to dwell on her saucier side. Her musky taste, her lush scent. Just the memory of caressing her fragrant, shivering flesh with his mouth and his hands was making him hard again.
He adjusted the front seat to give himself more legroom and ease the tight confinement of his jeans. The recollection of Mercy's raw gasps as she came and her contented sigh afterward made his efforts worthless. The naughty twinkle in her blue eyes whenever he suggested something, anything sexy, was branded in his mind.
He fumbled on the dash for a suitable CD, slapping it into the player. Fast, ruckus music shouted out at him, the lyrics having nothing to do with a sexy woman or a man's heart.
Mercy was a lost cause to him, and rightly so.
After what he'd said before walking away tonight, without so much as a good-night let alone a parting kiss, there was no chance she'd ever show him her mercy again.
* * * *
The next day, Mercy shopped the air-conditioned mall with Cindy, looking for a memento of her Texas trip for her mother. She pointed to a store called Sew Good.
"Mom's planning to turn my bedroom into a sewing room when I ship off for school. What do you think, Cin?"
"No sin,” she replied, dreamily, taking Mercy's comment out of context. “Just a chaste good-night kiss."
"I'd take that as a sign of progress for the slow-moving Jay.” Mercy grasped her friend by the shoulder and steered her into the fabric store.
"He barely kissed my cheek,” Cindy droned.
"His aim will get better with practice.” Mercy stopped to finger a bolt of polished cotton.
Cindy touched the fabric. “Jay seemed more interested in my skill with the computer catalog program from work than with any talent my lips might have had.” She shrugged her hands to her hips and pouted out her lips. “What's wrong with my mouth? Or my body, aside from my 34B's in a 38C world."
"Only Rita's world is 38C, and I have my doubts about her.” Mercy tugged a bolt of material free from the stack. “I wouldn't be surprised if she leaked saline."
"I suspected a boob job.” Cindy pulled at the hem of her yellow sleeveless sweater, which matched her yellow platform shoes. “Let's forget about her. What about me?” Sucking in her stomach, she pushed out her chest.
"You're perfectly proportioned for your size and you have adorable pouty ... lips.” With a chuckle, Mercy went back to fingering material.
"So why hasn't Jay noticed?"
"There's nothing wrong with a man admiring your brain. He was probably so caught up with cataloging his etchings that his attention was on perfecting the snapshots. I'm sure next time you get together, you'll really get together."
"I hope so. A girl could get a complex working with Jay. And Rita. She's always got her lips to his ear, whispering.” Cindy flipped through the material on the table begrudgingly.
"Well, he didn't ask Rita to his apartment to see his etchings, did he?"
"No.” Cindy sounded placated as she yanked out a few red-white-and-blue Lone Star patterns.
"Do you think I should get my mother something more personal than quilting material?” Mercy rummaged through a container of commemorative thimbles decorated with oil wells, longhorns, cowboy boots, or cowboy hats.
"A thi
mble's good. Once you move, you can send her one from every place you visit or live.” Cindy crossed one platform-sandaled foot over the other.
"I'll get this nifty pair of quilting shears, too.” She held up a pair of titanium scissors with pink finger linings. “Mom can quilt my uncle a thank you for her coveted sewing room.” Mercy shrugged, suddenly feeling hopeless and restless. “That's if Uncle Parker returns or calls and lends me the money to make my move."
Cindy patted Mercy's hand. “I know how stifling Lily Pond can be. It's like living in jail. But I have every confidence that you'll break out."
After Mercy made her purchases, they lunched in a western chain restaurant inside the mall. Cindy leaned her elbows onto the wooden table and heaved a loud sigh. “I'm so relieved you survived last night. I was worried about you taking Sinner back to the condo.” She sipped her margarita, eying Mercy over the rim of the salted glass. “Was he worth the risk?"
Mercy burst with pent-up rapture. “I didn't know sex could be so enthralling, so exciting. So...” She paused, searching for the right word.
"Orgasmic,” Cindy offered. “Well, I'm glad that's out of the way, and you won't be seeing the sinner anymore."
"But I want to see him again. Lots of him. I'm like an addict now that I know what ecstasy I've been missing all these years.” Mercy picked up her margarita glass to ease the memory of her frustrations.
Cindy reached across the table and stopped Mercy's hand mid-lip. “Mercy, hun, he's the type to hit-and-run. You won't see him again. He got what he was after. I warned you. Remember?"
"I know what you said, but—"
"Forget the but.” Cindy shook her short brown locks. “This isn't Lily Pond. In my travels, I've encountered a few like him. Oh, maybe not so dangerous looking, but I guarantee he won't show up at the bar again. If he does, he'll ignore you. Nothing personal, Mercy. That's just how those dark, elusive types operate. That's why I'm going after Jay with his boy-next-door persona. Wholesome, and right now, sexually frustrating.” She laughed.
"I intend to have another go at the elusive hunk.” Mercy loosened from Cindy's grip and sipped the salty, alcoholic drink.
"How do you propose to do that?"
"I'm not sure. But he must have a weakness. Something that's such a turn on, he can't resist. Something sexy, yet sensual."
"That sounds tricky. Now, me,” Cindy said, poking at her chest. “I'm going for cleavage. Something that lifts and separates."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twelve
By their fourth store, things began looking up for Cindy.
Beneath the pink clouds and silvery feathers floating in the Angelwear Lingerie Shoppe, Cindy scavenged the Cleavage Galore bin, while Mercy scrutinized her own bustline for flaws.
Her T-top seemed snug in all the right places, and Sinner certainly hadn't complained. She flushed at the sensual indulgences she'd experienced at his urgings. How she'd plucked and teased both their nipples.
With a slight sigh, she moved on to browse the undergarments tucked in neat piles. Besides breasts, a person could enhance their hips, butts, and thighs.
Mercy checked her torso and legs in a nearby full-length mirror. Sinner had licked every inch of her. Apparently, what she needed to lure him back into her bed wasn't bigger body parts.
"I don't know.” Cindy drew Mercy's attention back to bras. “There are just too many. Water filled, fiber filled, foam filled, gel filled, even saline filled."
"Try one of each.” All in favor of comparison shopping, Mercy sniffed a sample bottle of perfume from a low-floating cloud. Too heavenly. Mercy's intentions were bent on sin and Sinner, and all the cravings he was capable of satisfying.
Her shiver of anticipation was interrupted by Cindy. “I'm going with the saline.” She squooshed the bra cup. “This one feels almost like me. Only more."
After ducking into the fitting room, Cindy emerged a few moments later sporting her new bust.
"Are you sure you're not going to topple over?” Mercy wrinkled her nose, sure that her friend was.
"No. I can balance.” With a wobble, Cindy swiveled in front of a gilded mirror. “I've always wanted cleavage."
"You've got it now.” If only she could find what she was after as easily. The perfect turn on for Sinner.
After Cindy paid and they were on their way out of the mall, a flashing neon sign caught Mercy's eye. Fishnet Fetish. She stopped dead in her barefooted sandals.
"Forget it,” Cindy declared. “My legs don't need a thing. Besides those loud-colored designs will clash with most of my shoes."
"I was thinking about my legs. And Sinner.” Mercy cocked an eyebrow at her friend.
"Oh. In that case, it wouldn't hurt to look."
There were all kinds of fishnets. Wide blocks, tiny squares, squiggly patterns, diamond designs. And colors. Purple, red, green, white, to name a few.
"I'd better start small.” Mercy picked up a pair of stockings with small mesh holes in a basic black. “To go with my little black skirt."
"Oh, what the heck.” Cindy grabbed a pair of the widest holed fishnets in green. “To wear with my floral wedgies.” She shrugged. “As a backup, if the bra should spring a leak."
"Speaking of backups...” Mercy spotted something as colorful. “What do you think? Once I lure him to my bed, I'll need to keep him there.” She snatched up a container of edible body paint.
At the checkout counter, Cindy added a bottle of rainbow body glitter to her purchases. “For my cleavage. To point Jay in the right direction."
"Did you find everything you needed?” the sales clerk lisped. “New piercing,” she explained, sticking out her tongue to show off her barbell stud.
Cindy looked at Mercy questioningly. Mercy shook her head. No way.
On their way out of the store, Cindy argued, “Sister Doria said never to look a gift horse in the mouth."
Mercy rolled her eyes. “That one's a stretch, even for you, Cindy."
* * * *
They were dressed to kill. Mercy wore her fishnets while Cindy packed her 38's. They decided to try their new look out on strangers before venturing into the Starry Night.
"I heard about this lounge, Taboo. Some of the people drinking coffee around the Bunn at the office were ooh-ing and aah-ing about the place."
"Sounds like a start."
After a cab ride across town, they got out in a high-end shopping district a few blocks from the nightclub. “We'll browse the shops and get our land legs,” Mercy suggested. Climbing from the air-conditioned taxi into the late day heat, she was glad for the airy holes in her stockings.
"Your fish-netted legs are doing fine,” Cindy observed after a few steps, “but I'm still a little wobbly due to the weight distribution of my upper half.” With a jiggle, she realigned her modified bust. “Maybe I should've used a lighter hand with the glitter."
"I warned you about getting too top heavy, but I don't think the glitter's what put you over.” Mercy grabbed hold of Cindy's arm and helped her stroll down the street.
After a few stares and a wolf whistle, they entered Taboo, and crossed into another world. Mercy squinted into the drab lighting, clouded with smoky sandalwood incense.
"I guess the darkness is supposed to add an aura of the forbidden,” Cindy whispered.
"As in taboo,” Mercy choked. “I get it.” She held onto Cindy as they groped their way toward the loud, synthesized music.
"Let's sit here.” Cindy grabbed the first available seats they came across.
Following Cindy's lead, Mercy plunked down onto one of the short leather hassocks surrounding a small, circular glass table trimmed with chain mail. She maneuvered her legs at an angle to keep her fishnets from snagging on the metal.
"What will you have?” a monotone voice asked, emerging from the bleakness.
She peered up at a chalky-complexioned waitperson dressed in black, who looked like a cross between Vampire Lestat and a medieval damsel in distres
s.
Cindy pursed her lips. “What's the house specialty?"
"You mean the aphrodisiac of the evening.” The dark-draped person stared at them through yellow-and-black contacts that resembled the eyes of a wolf. “Tonight's aphrodisiac is a Screaming Orgasm."
"I'll try one of those.” Mercy's pulse picked up remembering Sinner's promise of a screaming orgasm and how satisfyingly he'd delivered.
"What's in the drink?” Cindy asked more cautiously.
"Three liquors.” Their server's black-cloaked shoulders shrugged. “The bartender can also make you a Screaming Multiple Orgasm.” Briefly, Mercy wondered what the bartender who made orgasms looked like, until she reminded herself they were only talking about drinks. “The multiple has cherries. For those who have lost theirs,” the dark one sneered.
"I'll have the single.” Cindy sneered back, tapping her fingers to the music before changing the subject. “What's this song called?"
"This gothic rock piece doesn't have a title. The house band, which comes on next, plays industrial rock with titles.” The server drifted off into the murky haze of strong incense, leaving Mercy to wonder if titles were an improvement.
"What kind of place is this?” She blinked, trying to peer into the eye-tearing smog.
Cindy blinked rapidly. “I'm not sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing."
Two men appeared in front of them from out of the cloying darkness. Mercy could tell they were male by their bare chests.
Cindy spoke up first. “Nice pants."
Black leather. Tight fitting. One guy was wearing chains at his waist instead of a belt while the other sported a belt buckle fashioned like a gigantic spider.
Mercy cleared her parched throat. “That leather must be hot."
Which might explain why they weren't wearing shirts.
The taller man raised his pierced eyebrow and looked her and Cindy up and down. “Baby bats,” he said.
The other man shook his head. “Corporate Goths."
"Neither,” Mercy said, although she didn't have the foggiest what they were talking about.
She eyed the metal studding the men. Along with his eyebrow, the taller one had pierced his lip, nipple, belly button, and goodness knows what else. The shorter guy wore pierced earrings, kohl-black on his eyes, and a midnight-blue gelled Mohawk.
