Dancing in a Hurricane (49 page)

"No, thanks. I think it's just a virus. There's been something going around at work."

He started the truck. "Uh huh. Told you not to work." His smile was teasing.

He'd told her that. Told her a lot of other things. Missing pieces of the puzzle that together would tell her why he looked guilty whenever she spoke of honesty. Or when she asked questions about the management company. Or about the warehouses. She drew in a breath. Was that where all the money came from? A sex club?

She felt his eyes on her and closed hers, not capable of keeping up a casual conversation. What an odd feeling, to love and trust someone completely, then in less than sixty seconds, to question that love and look at him as if he were a stranger.

They pulled into the garage and he came around to open her door. She touched his hand as he helped her out and looked into his eyes. What was he hiding?

He smiled crookedly. "That's a strange face."

She averted her gaze and walked into the house. "I'm going to lie down."

He followed her in. "Do you want anything?"

"No," she said without looking at him. "Good night."

"Night,
cariña
. Feel better."

Slipping into her room, she quietly closed the door, something she hadn't done since they became lovers and silently locked it. A light splatter of panic hit her, but she willed it away before it overcame her. Somehow, she'd think her way through this and figure out how to find the evidence she needed to convict or acquit Sixto.

There was only one person she trusted to help her.

***

"Have you ever been to a swingers' club?" Bree asked him.

"Miss Prentis, I didn't think you were a
bad girl
," Greg answered.

She sat on her bed talking to him on her cell phone. All those months ago, she gave him the business card out of Cloe's purse. "Remember Club Quay?"

He was silent for a moment. "Yes."

"Do you still have the card?"

More silence. "Yes."

"I need a favor."

He cleared his throat.

Was he nervous? She rolled her eyes. He probably thought she wanted him to swing with her. "Let me rephrase that. It's nothing…personal. I think Club Quay is Cloe's secret. I think she owned it and ran the money through her management company."

"Honestly? What makes you think that?"

She didn't want to involve Greg with her suspicions about Sixto. "I keep finding these cards all over the place." Partially true. "Will you help me?"

"I'd be happy to. What do you want me to do?"

"When you log into the website, it asks you to complete an application. Once that's approved, you can join and it's a pretty good chunk of money." Now the difficult part. "Would you be willing to apply for membership?"

"Mm." He breathed heavily. "I'm rather embarrassed to tell you this, but I already did."

"You did?" She sat up straighter.

"I was curious and well…" He cleared his throat again. "You have a year after the application is approved to join and I thought maybe I might meet someone who'd be…"

Feeling herself blush, she laughed. "Okay, you don't have to explain. How guys' minds work is completely foreign to me. So, are you approved?"

"I am." His voice was quiet.

"Sorry if I offended you." She couldn't stop smiling at both their embarrassment.

"No, not at all. How can I help you?"

"Do you know the address of the club?"

"Not until I pay."

"If I reimburse you, would you join?"

"Sure. Then what?"

"When you get the address, I want to go with you and see the place."

"Now, this is getting interesting."

"And maybe we should drive separately."

His laughter rumbled through the phone. "Very interesting."

The next evening, Bree put on her little black dress and gray pumps and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. This whole situation was a nightmare: distrusting Sixto, sneaking around. Going to a swingers' club, for heaven's sake.

She was meeting Greg at his office. Club Quay would e-mail him the address of the building 24 hours after receiving payment. She checked her watch. One hour until Greg got the e-mail.

She yawned. Tossing and turning half the night, she'd finally snuck out to her car and brought the box of paperwork from Cloe's office into the bedroom. Painstakingly going through it, she still found nothing about Club Quay.

She opened her room door, heard music, and stiffened her spine. "Time to face Sixto." She walked out to the common area.

He sat on the couch, reading. He stood and looked her up and down. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am, thanks." She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed toward the garage.

"Are you going out?" He walked toward her.

"I'm meeting a friend for supper."

"Dressed like that?"

She could see doubt in his eyes. Could he see the same in hers? "Sixto, you know I'd never lie to you. Just as I know you'd never lie to me. Right?"

His brow furrowed. "Right."

"And just like you'd never intentionally mislead me, I'd never mislead you either. Or lie by omission, by keeping anything from you."

"All right." His voice sounded resigned. "What did I do?"

She pasted on her most innocent smile. "Nothing, dear. I'm just saying you can trust me as much as I…" With one finger, she touched her cleavage. "Can trust you." She pointed the same finger at his chest. At his devious soul.

He shook his head. "I think we need to talk." He walked toward her.

"Not right this second, we don't. I'll be back in a couple hours. We'll talk then, okay?"

He stood completely still.

She turned and stepped out the door, slid into her Miata, and drove away. She overreacted. Again. If she was wrong, and the swingers' club was not in the east warehouse, she'd have to do some fast talking to get him to believe she wasn't acting insane just now. She'd use the old PMS excuse.

Fifteen minutes later, Bree and Greg sat in his office staring at his laptop. He huffed. "This is like watching asparagus grow."

"I've never heard that one before."

"Yep. I was raised up on a farm in Iowa."

"What brought you down to Florida?"

He sat back in his chair. "I visited Miami, took the drive down the keys, and never left. It's a photographer's playground."

She stood and walked around his office, stopping at each of the pictures on the wall. "You do beautiful work."

"Cloe did too, but with a darker edge." His voice held sadness.

She mumbled, "I'm sure." She glanced at him and made a snap decision. "Greg, I read those letters Cloe wrote."

"Oh, yeah?"

"She…" Bree sighed. "In her last letter, she mentioned you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"She said she was getting serious about you." Lord, had she done the right thing?

His eyes filled with sorrow. "You know, Bree, I've come to believe that's true and your confirming it is what I needed to hear. I've been searching for closure."

A tug at her heart made her eyes water and she looked down at her shoes. This guy might have been her brother-in-law. Family. What she'd been looking for all these years.

Hearing the bling of an incoming e-mail, she looked his way and their gazes met over his monitor.

He glanced down and pressed a button. "Here it is. 'Greetings, You are now an active member of Club Quay. Please print this e-mail. The bar code will be scanned at the Club's door along with your driver's license. It will allow entry for you and one guest. The club is located…" He met her eye. "Ready?"

From her purse, she pulled out a piece of paper bearing the address of the east warehouse. She handed it to him. "Is this it?"

He compared it to his screen. "Ms. Prentis, you are the proud owner of a swingers' club."

Her breath left her in a rush and she plopped into the chair before she lost consciousness.

Standing, he reached into his mini fridge and handed her a bottle of water. "It's not that bad."

Not that bad for him, but for her—another dead-end, heart-crushing failure at the relationship game.

His printer whirred and he held the paper aloft. "Our ticket to an adventure."

She nodded. He was having far too much fun with this.

In her car, following behind Greg's BMW, she kept a choke-grip on the wheel, holding her emotions in check as well. No tears. She wasted too much time feeling sorry for herself.

But the truth shook her. "Sixto lied to me. He said he loved me, but all the while he lied about the club."

She shook it off. One step at a time. First, check out the place, see if it's as bad as she pictured it.

They pulled into a huge parking lot, parked, and Greg opened her door for her.

"Thanks, Greg."

"Snap out of it, girl." He led her to the front door of the warehouse. Only a floodlight illuminated the address painted on the transom. "You look like you're going to your own funeral. This…" He gestured to the building. "Is yours to do with as you please."

She shrugged. "What do I do with a huge money-maker that slaps the face of every moral code I lived by?"

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Really? It's that repugnant to you?"

"The idea of it, yes." Oops, that's right, he put in an application to join. "I'm not being judgmental."

He arched an eyebrow. "Then why am I feeling judged?"

She touched her hand on his arm. "Sorry. I truly appreciate your help."

He patted his jacket pocket. "Your check covers any guilt I may have had regarding my membership." He gestured to the building. "Come on, let's take a look at your money maker. See if there are any redeeming qualities."

As promised, the bar code and his I.D. allowed them in the door, where a hostess walked them through the club. A dark bar with jazz playing softly and tables of four or six, but not two. A room with a D.J. and flashing lights playing everything from techno to Salsa to slow dance music by Michael Buble.

They followed the hostess to the back of the building, into an area that looked like a hotel. A marble foyer complete with a front desk and four uniformed clerks, hallways leading off in each direction with doors and room numbers, and elevators that surely led to more rooms above them.

She saw enough. As the hostess explained—in detail—how the rooms worked, Bree tried to capture Greg's attention, but he was listening closely. Very closely.

"Sweetie," Bree said to him. "I'm going to the ladies' room."

"Yes, fine," he said, still facing the hostess. After a moment, he looked at Bree as if he'd just remembered her code for "I'm getting the hell out of here."

He took her arm. "I'll go with you."

The hostess giggled.

He blushed. "Uh, not to the ladies' room, of course." He led Bree back to the bar. "The pictures on the walls?" He gestured around the room at the semi-focused, semi-nude prints. "Cloe's."

"Are they?" She walked closer to one and looked for a name or identifying mark. Nothing. Turning, she spotted the hostess at Greg's side. "Are these photos one of the owners?"

The hostess tipped her head. "I don't know. Who do you think the photographer was?"

"Cloe Prentis."

She thought a moment. "No, I don't know that name."

"Maybe…" She steeled herself. "Sixto Doria?"

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Greg gave Bree a strange look and the hostess smiled effusively. "Oh, no. Sixto's not a photographer. He's our maintenance person. Well…" She gestured her hand in a circle. "Not exactly maintenance."

Bree gritted her teeth at the star-struck look on the woman's face.

"He's more like, in charge of the maintenance, you know? He walks through with the inspectors and shows the contractors what to fix. That kind of thing."

Bree nodded. She wanted to ask if Sixto used the club's features himself, but she couldn't bear the thought of hearing about how many… "Okay," she nearly shouted. "I've got to go now."

Greg excused them to the hostess and walked with her to the door. "With Cloe's art on the wall and Sixto's involvement, we're pretty sure this is where Cloe's money is coming from."

"Yes. I'm not at all surprised about her choice of business." Sixto, however, disappointed her to the point of nausea.

"Is it more than you expected?"

"The hotel in the back. God." She shivered. "I'm a little freaked out right now."

"I'll walk you to your car." They left the building.

She smiled at him. "Then you're going back in, right?"

"If you don't mind."