the money?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But if I had any money, I’d put it on her.”
After Janelle pulled into her driveway, I climbed out of the passenger seat and waved goodbye, before hopping into Ax’s car. While I waited for the heater to kick in, I pulled the pictures of Sullivan and the detailed notes out of my purse. I had a really bad feeling about this. Missing money. Surveillance info. I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.
According to the notes, Sullivan spent the last two Tuesday nights from nine p.m. to two a.m. at Penn’s Cigar Bar. He was going to be pissed I didn’t tell him about this right away. Especially after he ponied up for Janelle’s bail. But the longer I put it off, the harder it’d be.
I called and told him to expect me in fifteen minutes, then I drove to the one story brick building. With its arched, leaded windows it looked more like a church than a bar. A blazing fire burned in a brick fireplace along one wall and a long bar took up another. Thick, rich cigar smoke hung in the air. Roxy would be in heaven.
It was busy for a Tuesday night. Mostly couples occupied the wooden tables, and a piano player tinkled the ivories in one corner.
Henry, Sullivan’s henchman, met me at the door. Henry scared the ever loving crap out of me. He was a giant, close to seven feet. His crooked nose never quite recovered from getting punched a few too many times and a scar stood in relief next to his left eye.
“Follow me,” he said.
“I guess we’re going to skip the chitchat, huh?” I followed his broad back past the bar, down a hall to the last room on the left. Henry opened the door to an office. A nicely appointed one with no windows and heavy, masculine furniture.
Sullivan sat behind a massive desk. Hotter than a bonfire on the fourth of July. Runner of an illegal gambling operation. Object of more than one erotic dream. He glanced up when the door opened and studied me with his gold eyes.
He was gorgeous. Warm, honeyed skin and strong cheekbones. Black hair brushed away from his flawless face. Yeah, gorgeous almost covered it.
“Hello, Rose.”
I barely heard the door close behind me. “Hey.”
He stood and walked toward me. He circled me, sliding his hands beneath the back collar of my coat. His long fingers brushed my nape, sending shivers over every part of my body. When he leaned forward, his chest touched my back. “Whatever got you here, it must be important,” he said in my ear.
“Kind of, yeah.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.” He slowly pulled the coat from my shoulders and down my arms. I spun to watch him casually toss it over his brown leather desk chair. “Want a drink?” He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a nearly empty squat bottle. It carried a fancy foreign label. Snagging two glasses off a shelf, he walked past me to a round table at the other end of the room. He was all lithe grace and smooth moves. “Please, sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
I walked to the table, slid into a chair. He did the same.
He poured a small amount of liquor into both glasses. Handed me one.
“Is this whiskey?” I sniffed.
“No, I remember you don’t like it.” His eyes met mine as he leaned back.
I took an experimental sip. It was fiery and burned its way down my throat, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “What is it?”
“Brandy.”
I took another sip. “Now that’s a good stripper name.”
He raised a dark brow. “Do you need a stripper name?”
“You don’t happen to own The Bottom Dollar, do you?” Sullivan owned a lot of businesses around town, many of them bars like this one.
“Not yet, why?”
“Arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” He smirked. Arrogantly.
I nibbled my lip. “I’ve got a story to tell you. No interruptions until I’m through.”
He narrowed his eyes a bit and nodded. “All right. It’s your show.”
“As you know, my friend, Janelle, was accused of putting her
“Hell, I don’t know. But if I had any money, I’d put it on her.”
After Janelle pulled into her driveway, I climbed out of the passenger seat and waved goodbye, before hopping into Ax’s car. While I waited for the heater to kick in, I pulled the pictures of Sullivan and the detailed notes out of my purse. I had a really bad feeling about this. Missing money. Surveillance info. I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.
According to the notes, Sullivan spent the last two Tuesday nights from nine p.m. to two a.m. at Penn’s Cigar Bar. He was going to be pissed I didn’t tell him about this right away. Especially after he ponied up for Janelle’s bail. But the longer I put it off, the harder it’d be.
I called and told him to expect me in fifteen minutes, then I drove to the one story brick building. With its arched, leaded windows it looked more like a church than a bar. A blazing fire burned in a brick fireplace along one wall and a long bar took up another. Thick, rich cigar smoke hung in the air. Roxy would be in heaven.
It was busy for a Tuesday night. Mostly couples occupied the wooden tables, and a piano player tinkled the ivories in one corner.
Henry, Sullivan’s henchman, met me at the door. Henry scared the ever loving crap out of me. He was a giant, close to seven feet. His crooked nose never quite recovered from getting punched a few too many times and a scar stood in relief next to his left eye.
“Follow me,” he said.
“I guess we’re going to skip the chitchat, huh?” I followed his broad back past the bar, down a hall to the last room on the left. Henry opened the door to an office. A nicely appointed one with no windows and heavy, masculine furniture.
Sullivan sat behind a massive desk. Hotter than a bonfire on the fourth of July. Runner of an illegal gambling operation. Object of more than one erotic dream. He glanced up when the door opened and studied me with his gold eyes.
He was gorgeous. Warm, honeyed skin and strong cheekbones. Black hair brushed away from his flawless face. Yeah, gorgeous almost covered it.
“Hello, Rose.”
I barely heard the door close behind me. “Hey.”
He stood and walked toward me. He circled me, sliding his hands beneath the back collar of my coat. His long fingers brushed my nape, sending shivers over every part of my body. When he leaned forward, his chest touched my back. “Whatever got you here, it must be important,” he said in my ear.
“Kind of, yeah.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.” He slowly pulled the coat from my shoulders and down my arms. I spun to watch him casually toss it over his brown leather desk chair. “Want a drink?” He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a nearly empty squat bottle. It carried a fancy foreign label. Snagging two glasses off a shelf, he walked past me to a round table at the other end of the room. He was all lithe grace and smooth moves. “Please, sit.”
It wasn’t a request.
I walked to the table, slid into a chair. He did the same.
He poured a small amount of liquor into both glasses. Handed me one.
“Is this whiskey?” I sniffed.
“No, I remember you don’t like it.” His eyes met mine as he leaned back.
I took an experimental sip. It was fiery and burned its way down my throat, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “What is it?”
“Brandy.”
I took another sip. “Now that’s a good stripper name.”
He raised a dark brow. “Do you need a stripper name?”
“You don’t happen to own The Bottom Dollar, do you?” Sullivan owned a lot of businesses around town, many of them bars like this one.
“Not yet, why?”
“Arrogant.”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” He smirked. Arrogantly.
I nibbled my lip. “I’ve got a story to tell you. No interruptions until I’m through.”
He narrowed his eyes a bit and nodded. “All right. It’s your show.”
“As you know, my friend, Janelle, was accused of putting her
Similar Books
