TALL, DARK AND TEXAN

by Jane Sullivan

  Her eyebrows shot up with surprise. "A hundred bucks? Is that all I'm worth?"

  Wolfe couldn't resist. "I don't know. Is it?"

  She leaned closer to him, her face easing into a smoldering expression, her voice becoming a deep, throaty purr. "No way, baby. I'm priceless."

  She continued to stare at him, her dark brown eyes so hot and provocative that he felt a shot of pure lust. In the span of a few seconds, he saw himself ripping that tiny little skirt right off her, then digging through that hideous pile of toilet tissue to get to the really nice stuff underneath. And then—

  Then he heard a horn honk.

  He looked over his shoulder to find the driver behind him pointing. He spun back around to see that the light had turned green.

  Wendy settled back in her seat with a satisfied smile. "Ha! Gotcha, didn't I?"

  Wolfe blinked with surprise, then finally woke up. He hit the gas a little too hard, and the Chevy lurched forward. "What are you talking about?"

  "Can I play the part, or what?"

  What was he supposed to say to that? The truth? Which was Hell, yes?

  "Don't get cocky. This guy isn't completely stupid. He'll smell a setup a mile away."

  "Don't worry," Wendy said, dropping the sun visor to check out her lipstick in the mirror. "He'll never know I'm not one-hundred-percent lady of the evening."

  Wolfe pulled into the parking lot of the liquor store next to Sharky's. He reached into the back seat again and grabbed some communication equipment from a box resting on the floorboard.

  "What's that?" Wendy asked.

  "A wireless receiver. Put it in your ear. No one will be able to see it. That way I can talk to you the whole time."

  Wendy took it and stuck it in her ear, fiddling with it until she was satisfied. "Okay. It's in."

  Wolfe pulled out a transmitter about half the size of a fountain pen and handed it to her. "This will allow you to talk to me, and for me to listen to what's happening. Stick it into your bra and leave it there."

  For the first time, Wendy's brows drew together with concern. "Exactly how dangerous is this situation, anyway?"

  "As long as you're wired and I'm listening, there's nothing to worry about. I can be in there in a matter of seconds if something goes wrong."

  Wendy nodded.

  "But there's no reason for anything to go wrong. Just get him out the door, and I can have him in cuffs and into the back of the car before he knows what hit him."

  "Oh, I'll get him out the door. Believe me."

  "Now, listen to me," Wolfe warned. "I'm running this show. Even if everything looks okay to you, if I tell you to get out of there, you get out of there. Immediately. No questions."

  Wendy nodded. "But if that happens, do I still get paid?"

  "As long as you do exactly what I tell you to do, you'll get the hundred bucks. Got that?"

  "Roger."

  "Okay. Get out of the car and make your way over there. Once you're inside, I'll pull up as close to the door as I can and wait for you to come out."

  "I can do this," she told him, a note of excitement in her voice. "I really can. I'm a good actress. Just watch me." She patted him on the arm. "One bail jumper coming up."

  She got out of the car and headed for the bar, walking like the self-confident streetwalker she was supposed to be, and Wolfe's gaze was glued to every move she made. But as hot as she looked with that dark hair cascading over her shoulders and that little rear end shifting back and forth inside that microscopic skirt, it wasn't the glitz that got his attention. It was knowing what was under the glitz. In his mind's eye, he saw her standing in his living room this morning wearing nothing but his shirt, her dark hair wet and glossy and her face shiny clean without a speck of makeup in sight. Man, oh man, what a pretty picture that had been.

  A guy like Mendoza, though, would be zeroing in on the flashy surface stuff, and Wolfe wondered if maybe he'd gone too short with the skirt and too tight with the shirt. Every man in that place was going to be lusting after her, and for some reason that thought sent the strangest feeling of protectiveness sweeping through him.

  He brushed the sensation aside, only to have it come back even stronger when she strode past the alley that ran between the liquor store and the bar. Two men hovered in its shadows, eyeing her as she walked by. Wolfe sat up straight, prepared to jump out of his car and right into their faces if they so much as leaned in her direction.

  "Wendy," he said into the microphone, "don't slow down. Just keep on walking past those guys."

  "They're looking at me," she whispered back. "They think I'm a hooker. I can tell. That's good, right?"

  "Hell, no! Don't start advertising until you get inside!"

  He heard her sigh. "Yes, boss."

  She toned it down a little, glancing away as she passed the men. Fortunately, they contented themselves with looking but not touching, so Wolfe's plan wasn't over before it even got started. He waited until Wendy slipped inside the door, then started the Chevy and crept it into the parking lot of the bar, hoping to hell he wasn't going to regret this.

  * * *

  Sharky's turned out to be just as grubby on the inside as it was on the outside—a dark, loud, ugly little bar filled with pool tables and questionable-looking patrons, all of them looking like criminals, and enough smoke in the air to knock another hole in the ozone layer.

  She spotted Mendoza right off the bat. He was playing pool at a table in the corner beneath a glowing neon beer sign. Short and squat, he practically needed a stepladder to take a shot.

  Wolfe's voice crackled in her ear. "Wendy? What's up?"

  "Mendoza's here," she said. "Playing pool. I think he just finished a game."

  She watched as he appeared to collect some money from the man he'd been playing with. As he pocketed the bills, a big-haired blonde sidled up next to him. She wore a fuzzy red sweater with a neckline that fell halfway to China and shiny leather pants so tight they had to be cutting off the blood supply to her legs. She leaned in and said something to him. He nodded, then turned and headed toward the bar.

  Wendy felt a surge of excitement. The curtain was going up.

  As Mendoza slid onto a bar stool, she made her way around the bar to the empty seat beside him and sat down, crossing her legs and turning toward him invitingly.

  "Well," she said. "Looks like this is your lucky day."

  He eyed her up and down at the same time he grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Oh, yeah? And why is that?"

  She smiled invitingly. "You won your pool game."

  He lit the cigarette and dragged deeply. "Luck had nothing to do with it."

  "Well, then maybe you're feeling generous, huh? Buy a girl a drink?"

  She let her coat fall open a little and thrust out her phony breasts. Mendoza's eyes fell right onto them, which was no problem at all. His eyes could fall from outer space and there would still be plenty of toilet paper in her bra to cushion their landing.

  "Sure, baby." He pried his eyes away and nodded to the bartender. Wendy asked for a gin and tonic.

  "You must be a really good pool player," she told Mendoza. "That's impressive."

  He shrugged nonchalantly. A moment later, the bartender brought Wendy's drink. She sipped it, feeling the heat of the gin slither all the way down her throat.

  "How long have you been playing pool?" Wendy asked.

  "Since I was a kid."

  "Ah. So that's why you're so good."

  Wolfe's voice snapped in Wendy's ear. "Cut the small talk and get to the point. You're not trying to get him to take you to the prom."

  Wendy ran her fingertip down Mendoza's arm. "So what do you say we finish these drinks, then take the party somewhere else?"

  Mendoza's brows cocked up with interest. "That's a possibility. Depending on how much the party is going to cost me."

  But before Wendy could respond, the woman who'd been talking to Mendoza earlier slid onto the bar stool on the other side of him.
She flicked an angry look toward Wendy, then touched Mendoza's shoulder.

  "Now, I thought you were going to get us drinks," she said. "Did you get lost on the way back?"

  Mendoza gave the woman a big smile. "Course not, baby. Just taking a rest for a minute." He nodded to the bartender and told him to bring the woman a drink, and it suddenly dawned on Wendy that, judging from the woman's mode of dress and manner of speaking, they'd just put Mendoza in the middle of a hooker sandwich.

  "Wendy?" Wolfe said. "What's going on?"

  "I think I've got competition," she whispered back. She turned her head and played with her hair so Mendoza wouldn't hear her. "And damn it, she's blond."

  "So get his attention again."

  Wendy leaned in and traced her fingernail down Mendoza's arm. "Hey, baby. I was just about to tell you what I've got on the menu for today. Surely you want to hear about that, don't you?"

  Before Mendoza could open his mouth, the other woman glared at Wendy. "Beat it, twinkie. I was here first."

  Wendy drew back indignantly. "Excuse me?"

  The woman got up, stalked over to Wendy, grabbed her off her bar stool and pulled her aside, whispering hotly, "I've been playing that guy for the past half hour, waiting for him to win that pool game and pocket that wad of cash! He's mine!"

  Wendy folded her arms. "Well. I'd say that's up to him to decide."

  "He's already made his decision!"

  "Oh, yeah? If that were true, you'd be out the door by now, wouldn't you?"

  "Wendy!" Wolfe whispered. "Don't get in a fight with that woman! Back off! You do not want to mix it up with her!"

  Oh, she didn't? Why didn't she? Wendy didn't remember a time in her life when she'd backed down from a challenge, and she'd be damned if this two-bit hooker was going to break her record.

  "Is it my fault you can't hang on to your customers?" Wendy said.

  "Ever hear of professional courtesy?"

  "Ever hear that all's fair in love and war?"

  "Oh, yeah?" the woman said. "So it's war you want? I'll give you war!"

  Mendoza stabbed out his cigarette and slid off his seat, looking back and forth between them with the dumb but delighted expression of a man who was rarely the subject of one woman's interest, let alone two. "Now, ladies, there's really nothing to fight about here. What say we make it a threesome? That way, everybody's happy."

  "Oh, good God!" Wolfe muttered in Wendy's ear. "That's it, Wendy. Get out of there!"

  No. She wasn't going anywhere. She had a job to do. She was a good actress, and she could out-hook this hooker any day of the week.

  She eased toward Mendoza. "We don't really need her, do we? Believe me—with what I've got in store for you, another body would only get in the way."

  "Forget her," the other woman told Mendoza. "With me, you'll think you've got three women in the room. And you'll only be paying for one."

  Mendoza's eyes widened appreciatively. Then he glanced at Wendy. She hadn't counted on a sexual tennis match, but the ball was in her court, and she had every intention of whacking it right back over the net. Thinking fast, she described a sexual interlude she'd heard about once involving a shower, a bar of soap and a position only a contortionist could hope to maintain. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Wolfe's voice exploded in her ear.

  "Wendy! Will you shut up? I told you to get out of there!"

  But Wolfe couldn't see Mendoza's eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas. As long as she had the upper hand, what was the point of throwing in the towel?

  Unfortunately, the other woman dismissed Wendy with a wave of her hand, then described a sex act that didn't even sound anatomically possible. But by the expression of interest on Mendoza's face, he seemed quite willing to find out if it was.

  "Sure," Wendy said, bringing her fists up to rest on her hips. "That sounds really great. But will she do it for sixty bucks?"

  The other woman's eyebrows shot up. "Sixty bucks? Are you kidding? I've got bills to pay!"

  "Wendy!" Wolfe said. "She's liable to start swinging. Get out of there!"

  The woman's lips tightened with anger. She turned to Mendoza. "How about fifty?"

  "Forty," Wendy said.

  "Thirty," the woman countered.

  Mendoza grinned, then turned to Wendy. "Your turn, baby. Do I hear twenty?"

  She raised her chin defiantly, deciding it was time to sink her competition once and for all. "I'll do it for nothing."

  Wolfe groaned in her ear. "Wendy! Don't tell him that! He's going to suspect—"

  "That's right," Wendy went on. "Today is free sample day. No charge. What do you say to that?"

  "No!" Wolfe said. "You can't give it away! He's going to know something's up! Get out of there right now!"

  But Wolfe clearly didn't recognize the power of the word free, especially when related to sex. A big grin spread over Mendoza's face.

  "Free sample? Well, I can't hardly turn that down, can I?" He turned to the other woman. "Sorry, baby. If you can't beat free, we've got nothing else to talk about."

  "You're damned right we don't." She turned to Wendy with a scoffing noise. "Sister, you are nuts."

  As she flounced away from the bar, Wendy felt a rush of elation. Why hadn't she thought of this in the first place? Didn't everyone on the planet want something for nothing? Ha! That cheap little hussy wasn't quite cheap enough, was she?

  "Hey, guys!" Mendoza called out to a couple of his buddies. "This one's giving it away for free!"

  "Free?" one of the men said. "Is she crazy?"

  "Probably," Mendoza said. "But why do we care?"

  We? Wendy froze. Uh-oh.

  It didn't take long for the situation to catch the attention of two other men who likewise appeared to be attracted to the word free.

  Big uh-oh. What was she supposed to say now? Would they believe her if she told them they had to have a coupon?

  "Wendy!" Wolfe shouted in her ear. "Get out here now!"

  "Can't," she whispered furtively. "They're all around me."

  "Hey, Mendoza," one of the men said, "there's no need to go out in the cold. Benny's got that room upstairs."

  What?

  Mendoza tossed down the last of his drink and smacked the glass down on the bar. "Sounds good to me."

  "Wolfe!" Wendy whispered. "They want me to go upstairs. What do I do?"

  "Hang on, sweetheart," he said. "I'm on my way."

  Mendoza took Wendy by the arm and led her across the bar toward the stairs near the front door, her heart pounding in her chest the whole way. Just as she was about to tell him she had a disgusting social disease or she was a transsexual or something, the door flew open and Wolfe strode into the bar, all six-foot-five glorious, threatening, menacing inches of him. He charged toward them like a bull going for a red cape, and the men surrounding Wendy wisely backed away.

  Then one of them shouted at Mendoza. "Hey! I know that guy! This is a setup!"

  Wolfe was still two strides from Mendoza when the man reached beneath his coat and hauled out a gun. Wolfe never slowed down. As Mendoza swung the weapon into position, Wolfe closed the distance between them, grabbed the man's wrist and shoved it into the air. A shot exploded.

  The bullet smacked into the ceiling, sending plaster crumbling to the floor. A woman screamed. People shouted. Wolfe spun Mendoza around and shoved him against the wall. Reaching beneath his coat to the small of his back, Wolfe yanked out a gun and pressed it to the side of Mendoza's neck.

  "Drop the weapon!"

  The instant Mendoza's gun hit the floor, Wolfe pushed him facedown on the filthy concrete floor, letting out a string of curse words directed at everything from the man's parentage to his intellect to his religious affiliation. Wolfe cuffed his hands behind his back, then hauled him to his feet again. Wendy just stood there, staring in awe. In the span of fifteen seconds, Wolfe had saved her and captured Mendoza, and he hadn't even broken a sweat.

  "Wendy!" Wolfe shouted. "Let's move!" />
  Wolfe hustled both her and Mendoza out the door. He ordered Wendy into the front seat of the Chevy, shoved Mendoza into the back seat, slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him. He started the engine and hit the gas, the Chevy's tires squealing wildly as he peeled out of the parking lot.

  Wendy peered at him out of the corner of her eye. "Wolfe?"

  "Don't talk."

  "I was just going to say—"

  "Not one word."

  "But if you'll just let me—"

  "I said shut up."

  Wendy glanced at the ferocious expression on his face, distressed to see that the charging bull wasn't finished charging yet.

  Oh, boy. She was in trouble now.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Wolfe sped along Industrial Boulevard

  , gripping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers turned white. It was too damned bad he had only one set of handcuffs, because he would have taken great joy in snapping a pair on Wendy, too. And maybe leg shackles for good measure. Or just a good old-fashioned straitjacket.

  No. Forget that stuff. Tape. That was what he needed. A nice big piece of duct tape to slap over that mouth of hers, which hadn't been able to stop moving.

  A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of the heater and the hiss of the steam blowing out of Wolfe's ears.

  Wendy tapped her fingertips on her knee. "So. I guess you're a little pissed off at me, huh?"

  "Pissed off?" Wolfe said. "You think I'm pissed off? You haven't even begun to see me pissed off!"

  "Now, Wolfe—"

  "I told you to get out of that bar. You didn't do it. We both nearly ended up getting our heads blown off!"

  "But it's the outcome that's important, isn't it?" She nodded over her shoulder to Mendoza in the back seat. "One more bail jumper bites the dust."

  Wolfe smacked his foot down on the brake, wheeled the Chevy into a convenience-store parking lot and slammed it into Park. He turned to Wendy, his voice tight with anger.

  "I hate gunfire. Did I tell you how much I hate gunfire?"

  "But you carry a gun!"

  "That doesn't mean I like it when somebody pulls a trigger!"