“What do you want me to do? Roll around in some alley?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hmm.”
“I’ll pass on that one.”
“It’s just that you look…too perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“Here, maybe I can fix that.” Nick reached over and swiped his hand along the soot-covered metal of the transit structure. Then after rubbing both hands together, he put one on the shoulder of her T-shirt. Her warmth bit him but he didn’t flinch.
“Hey!” She immediately tried brushing the blotch away, but merely managed to smudge it.
“Even better,” Nick told her. He tried to ignore the heat that had instantly flowed through his veins at their contact and centered itself in his groin. “More natural. Now you don’t look quite so perfect.”
“One daub of dirt is going to make all the difference in the world, right?”
“Not exactly. It takes work to stay clean when you’re on the streets.”
Ever so lightly, he brushed her cheek with his thumb and was jolted by the sensation that whipped through him. It took all his willpower not to go further, not to trail his fingers down her neck and to her breasts. They strained against the T-shirt, and he couldn’t miss the way her nipples hardened at his touch.
Wiping her hand across her cheek only managed to lighten, not erase the swipe of grime he’d left there. Even though it was nearly dark, he could see her glare as she asked, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“This?” he echoed. No, enjoy was the wrong word, because he was becoming more and more conflicted about what he was doing. Though he might want her—against his will!—he didn’t want to force her into anything. “You mean trying to find a kid in trouble?”
“I mean torturing me while you’re at it.”
“I wouldn’t call that torture,” he said, now amused. “So, if you want—”
“No. Thanks. I’ll pass.” She walked with him along the tracks silently for a moment, then said, “That kid, Kyle. What’s his story?”
“Bad home life.” Kyle had only asked him not to contact his parents or the authorities in return for his cooperation, which was a typical concern of a kid on the street, as Nick knew so well. “His mother is into recreational drugs. She was high and driving with his little brother in the car when she had an accident. The kid’s dead, the mother wasn’t even hurt. No one figured out she was on drugs and the father isn’t doing anything to get her into rehab.”
“How tragic for them all!” Isabel said, sounding appalled. “But no one can force a person to get help. Well, maybe a court order.”
“The father could try talking her into going there,” Nick said grimly. “Kyle says he won’t go back unless things change at home.”
“And now Kyle is on the street and does drugs himself.”
“Though I don’t think as often as he used to,” Nick said, hoping he was right. “He admitted he learned to do them with his mom when he walked in on her and she shared her stash to keep him quiet.”
“Jesus!”
“Shocked?” Considering the intensity of her response, Isabel really must be more sheltered than he’d realized. “Why do you think kids run? Because they have great home lives?”
“I guess I never actually thought that closely about it before.”
“Well, start thinking,” he muttered, then added, “since you’re one person who might actually be able to do something to turn things around for these kids.”
“Through my father, you mean.”
“What about through you?”
“I have no power. And my father does some good, you know,” Isabel said, sounding defensive. “You may have reason for disliking him, but he’s done a lot for this city and state. And this country, too. He’s worked for school reform and day care and legal representation for the elderly.”
“Good. Then he should certainly be interested in the growing runaway issue.”
Isabel didn’t say anything. Helping homeless teens was obviously something that didn’t interest her father or her, Nick decided. These kids had no voting power, especially not the young ones. He didn’t push. He’d just wait and let her see how desperate a person could get on the street. And then maybe she would see her way to taking action.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“I know a couple of places on Milwaukee Avenue where teens hang out.”
“You mean runaways.”
“Some. They don’t have official gathering spots or wear signs identifying themselves. They try to fit in as long as they can.”
“And then what happens? What changes?”
“They do,” Nick said, as dark memories rushed over him.
4
A FRISSON OF FEAR SLID DOWN Isabel’s spine at Nick’s dire tone. She wasn’t afraid for herself, but for Louise, and all those kids trying to take care of themselves and being forced to the dark side to do so.
Somehow, Nick thought she could help, and something in her responded to that belief. Her father rarely gave her credit, and only as it applied to working for him.
But what could she do to make a difference?
Isabel thought about it as she followed Nick onto Milwaukee Avenue, but drew a blank.
They headed for the bright lights of the six corners where Nick did business and lived. Now the area was crowded with people coming in and out of restaurants or shops. Tourists mingled with the unwashed—and the highly made-up, she thought, amused as a mime tried to get a handout from a designer-dressed middle-aged woman who looked aghast.
They continued on southeast. A little more than a block down they came to a business called Eye-Candy, a combination tattoo-and-piercing parlor and eyeglasses and jewelry boutique. The place also boasted a juice bar.
Nick placed an arm around her back and turned her into the doorway. Isabel felt her knees weaken as she took the lead into the busy shop with him right behind her, so close that she could feel his body heat along the length of her back and his breath ruffling her hair. Gasping, she took a fast step forward that loosened his hold on her. He let go, but still she felt the lingering impact of his fingers on her flesh.
“Juice bar,” he said, moving toward the back corner where a blender whirred noisily.
Following at her own pace as he sidled up to the bar, Isabel took a quick look around her and noted how young the customers seemed to be. And the employees. She and Nick were the oldest people there.
She kept looking, wondering if these were regular kids with homes—like the girl getting the butterfly tattooed on her shoulder or the guy having his tongue pierced. Grimacing at the last, she glanced away to the knot of girls giggling together as they tried on funky eyewear.
They were so damn young! she thought, backing up toward the juice bar. Younger than Louise even. Surely they weren’t on their own? Suddenly she slammed into another body and when she turned to apologize, Nick handed her a shot glass.
“To good health,” he toasted.
“What is it?”
“Just drink up. It’s good for you. You’ll need the energy.”
Isabel eyed the murky liquid of indeterminate color suspiciously. “Do I have to?”
Nick gave her a look and downed his own concoction. Making a face but determined that he wouldn’t outdo her, Isabel followed suit.
“Yuk. This stuff is safe, right?”
Nick arched his brows. “You’ll have to let me know if you feel any side effects.” Then he added, “It’s wheat grass. I promise it’ll only do you good.”
Isabel had never been into health-food products and was somewhat surprised that Nick was. Then, why should she be? From the looks of his torso and arms—not to mention the well-developed six-pack—he obviously believed his body was his temple. She couldn’t help but wonder what the lower regions looked like, now that Nick was a fully mature man.
That thought placed Isabel smack in a discomfort zone she couldn’t seem to climb out of for more than a few minutes at a ti
me. When Nick took her glass and his hand brushed hers, she blamed the wheat grass for setting her insides on fire. He put her glass down on the counter next to his and she waited for her insides to steady.
“What now?” she asked breathlessly.
“We shop and chat.” He pulled her closer to the girl whose tattoo was almost finished.
The butterfly was beautiful and lifelike, Isabel thought.
“A tattoo would look good on you,” Nick murmured in her hair. “How about a little heart on your…well, in a place where not everyone could see it?”
It had to be the wheat grass making her pulse kick up at his suggestion, Isabel thought, because, for a moment, she considered it. “What would be the point of that?”
“It would be a little secret just for you…and someone close to you….”
She glanced back at him so close she could feel his body heat, and raised her eyebrows. “And who might that be?”
When he blanched, she grinned.
Suddenly Isabel realized the significance of their presence at this place, and her rising tension shifted in a new direction. “You think Louise got herself tattooed and pierced here?”
“Would the senator disown her if she did something to herself that didn’t meet with his approval?”
Even though her father could be blunt about his dislikes and didn’t hesitate to use any leverage at his disposal to get what he wanted, that applied to big issues, not small ones like tattoos.
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
“Why is definitely the question. As in…why did Louise run?”
Uh-oh, she’d known this was coming. “I told you—”
“Nothing of substance.”
Nor would she, at least not yet.
How would Nick react if she told him everything about Louise’s running away? And how could she when she didn’t trust him?
Besides, she truly hadn’t decided what to do with the information that could jeopardize her father’s stellar political career, could end the good things he did for people. The trade-off was unthinkable, the position he’d placed her in, untenable.
And Nick would have to be her solution…he and his bargain.
Though part of her dreaded going through with the agreement, Isabel acknowledged the underlying excitement she felt at being with him again. At the idea of their sating themselves with each other night after night. No sex had ever come close to what she’d had with him.
Maybe it was because they’d been so damn young and careful with each other. Maybe because they’d learned to explore each other’s bodies, to satisfy each other in numerous ways before they’d actually slept together. Maybe because they’d been in love.
Whatever the reason, something akin to the sense of adventure and danger she’d felt as a teenager when she’d defied her father to see the oh-so-inappropriate Nick Novak had taken hold of her once more.
Therein lay her problem with him: she couldn’t forget how bitterly their short-lived Romeo-and-Juliet romance had ended.
And, she was certain, even more important, he wouldn’t have, either, because it had been her fault.
“So are you going to spill or what?”
Nick’s breath spilled over the shell of her ear as he made the demand, his shoulder pressing into the back of hers. Her backpack prevented full body contact. Thankfully. Shivering, Isabel turned her head to meet his gaze. They were so close she should have been able to see inside him, but he wouldn’t let her in, wouldn’t let her see the real man.
What had Nick grown into? Isabel wondered, hoping he was a man who put honor before vengeance, but fearing he wasn’t.
“Later,” she said, turning her attention to the tattoo artist, who was putting the finishing touches on the butterfly. The woman was as interesting to look at as her work. Her short hair was spiked and the same glossy red and black as her midriff-length blouse. Isabel noted her navel ring with what looked like a black diamond.
“That’s it, sweetheart, enjoy.” The tattoo artist sent the client on her way and turned to them. “Nick!” Her dark eyes widened behind tiny horn-rimmed glasses. “You’ve finally succumbed to my talent.”
“No, Roberta, we’re looking for someone who might have come by for some work in the last week,” Nick said smoothly. “A seventeen-year-old girl.”
Roberta rolled her eyes. “Never seen one of those in he-e-ere.”
“Her name is Louise and she’s a pretty blonde like her sister here. Take a look at the picture,” Nick said, indicating Isabel should whip it out of her backpack.
A moment later, the tattooist studied the photo, then shook her head. “Nope. Never seen her, Nick, darling. Someone as delicious as this one I would remember.”
But Roberta was looking straight at Isabel, who shifted uncomfortably.
Nick said, “You keep an eye out for Louise and you’ll have my undying gratitude.”
Roberta pouted. “Is that all I get?” She looked from one to the other, her expression sly. “And what do I get if I find her for you?”
“I’d say name it, but you might take advantage.”
Nick said it with such good humor that Roberta smacked him lightly in the chest, then let her inch-long nails trail over the musculature.
“You know I’m your adoring slave.”
A new customer cut off any further banter.
As they moved on to the ear-piercing area, Isabel whispered, “She swings both ways, huh?”
“No,” Nick murmured into her ear. “He does. Roberta used to be Robert.”
Isabel laughed. “TMI—too much information.”
A little too unusual for her. She had to admit she was something of a conservative in a democratic world. Even her father chastised her at times for not being more open.
Once she had been open and trusting, Isabel remembered. And then she had met Nick Novak. And the way that relationship had ended had affected her so deeply that she herself had changed forever.
THEY LEFT EYE-CANDY AFTER getting a lead from a girl Nick had interviewed weeks ago. She’d suggested he check out Wicker Park. There was a whole neighborhood in the city that went by that name, but she meant the actual park. She’d heard about a new girl who’d been hanging out there for the past couple of nights. And if he didn’t have any luck at that park, she’d mentioned another nearby.
As they walked down a side street, Nick thought about how he would give his eyeteeth to know what Isabel was hiding from him. He could insist on the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He could tell her that he wouldn’t go another step unless she revealed everything that had happened to make Louise flee. No doubt Isabel was protecting her father from some form of political suicide…but what was it, exactly? Louise hadn’t run merely because she was out of line and her father had put some restrictions on her. Of that he was certain.
He feared that if he gave Isabel an ultimatum, though, she would walk away from him forever. Nick started when he realized how much that thought bothered him.
But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d even tried to enlist Helen’s and Annie’s help to get rid of her. So why did he hesitate now? He could push Isabel until she couldn’t be pushed any more, and then she would make the decision to walk away and he would be free of her forever.
Or would he ever be free?
It had taken him a hell of a long time—years, in fact—but he’d finally thought he was free. Clearly he wasn’t finished with her, though, or he wouldn’t be walking around with a hard-on like some green kid waiting to dip his wick for the first time.
His first time had been with Isabel. He’d been eighteen and maybe the last guy in school to get it on with a chick. They’d spent weeks working up to it. Furtive meetings in hidden corners during which she would let him touch her and she would touch him in return. They’d burned for each other and had taken every opportunity to explore each other.
Isabel had been the first girl to go down on him.
The first girl he�
�d tasted.
The first and only girl to ever give him her virginity.
Maybe that was his problem, first times having some special hold on a person. Maybe once he had Isabel again, he would get it through his head that she was nothing special.
And that she was nothing to him, nor he to her, exactly as she’d told him that last time he’d seen her, Nick remembered. Exactly as she’d told him in front of her real friends when he’d gone to find her because he’d been in a serious crisis and had needed someone who cared about him to listen.
“These streets are kind of spooky,” Isabel said, moving a little closer to him.
Nick caught his breath. He wasn’t done with her, no matter how much he wanted to be. But he would be, he promised himself. He would get her out of his system.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” At least in the literal sense.
The neighborhood was neat, nearly litter-free, mostly old houses built before the streets had been raised at the turn of the century. What had once been high first floors were now at sidewalk level, and some of the gardens were still “sunken.” Landfill had brought others to sidewalk level. Old the homes might be, but they were well taken care of or rehabbed, and there were a few new buildings in between. But this block wasn’t particularly well lit—lots of big old trees hid the streetlights. Ahead, a couple of guys, maybe in their early twenties, leaned against an iron fence and smoked and argued in low, intense tones.
Just guys, Nick decided, though they probably seemed more threatening to a woman used to a better neighborhood. If she was nervous here, just wait, did she have another think coming or what! Glancing at her, he realized she was more uptight than normal.
“Here,” he said.
Some rusty sense of chivalry make him slip an arm around her waist and draw her closer to make her feel more secure.
Torture. He must be into torture. His sudden arousal throbbed with every step they took and urged him to abandon the search and find a place to take her and get it over with. He imagined entering her, making her moan with pleasure….
Hanging on to the control that supposedly meant he still held on to a thread of decency, he told her, “These streets are as safe as any in the city.”
Improper Conduct Page 5
