Heat (The Stark Affair Book 1) (6 page)

I
see the dead girl’s face again, lifeless eyes lit by the flashing lights. She’s
looking right at me. Her handsome boyfriend smiles at me as Mike drags him out
in cuffs. Ten minutes earlier, the fucker had convinced me that he wouldn’t
hurt her. Charmed me with his swagger. Then he killed her the moment I left.

A
little dam bursts in my head.

“What’s
that supposed to mean?” I say.

“Oh,
nothing,” says my dad. “Just a tough job, that’s all. Tough jobs need to be
done by tough men. Who don’t fantasize about tattooed scumbags in their beds.
”

I
stand up. My fists are clenched.

“Uh-oh,”
he says. “Looks like I said the wrong thing again. That never happens.”

“I’m
tough, Dad. What happened two years ago could have happened to
anybody.
It wasn’t
cuz
I’m a girl.”

“Uh-huh,”
he says in that damned condescending tone as he takes a sip of his beer. “But
you had to spend a lot of time with that shrink afterward.”

Here
it comes. I can’t help myself. It just bubbles up and over.

“Why
do you always do this, Dad? For once, why can’t we just have a nice quiet
friendly meal together? I am what I am. That’s not going to change. And I’m
damned good at it too! I’m not some emotional girly girl who’s going to cry
every time she...”

I’m
about to say
misses the chance to save a
girl’s life
but I check myself.

My
dad’s eyes meet mine with the same coldness from that day on the front stoop
ten years ago.

Five
million rants are swimming around in my head. But I know from experience that
all of them are a waste of breath.

I
need to hit something!

I
finish my beer, grab my purse, and head to the front door.

“Bye,”
he says. “Thanks for the pizza.”

I
have my hand on the knob, but I turn and walk back into the kitchen.

Another
speech hits me, and again I stop myself. There’s no point. I’ve said it all too
many times.

“Come
back soon, now,” he says.

I
put my head down and turn back to the door.

Then
I walk out without saying goodbye and head to the gym.

Chapter
7

Sofia

Maybe parking four blocks
away from Heat was a mistake. My feet just do not work in these goddamned heels.

Whatever.
I’ll deal. I do whatever it takes. I’m on assignment. Well, sort of.

Halle Berry walking out of the ocean, Sofia.
Swing and sway, swing and sway.

Worst
part of this whole thing is that I had to leave my gun at home. I feel truly
naked without it.

Had
no choice. Won’t fit in my purse... and certainly not anywhere else on me.

Fine.
Shouldn’t need it anyway. This isn’t a bust.

I’ve
already gotten ten whistles and one deadbeat hitting on me as I walk along
Ocean Drive toward the club in this... I don’t know what to call it...
thing
I’m wearing. Not enough material
for a dress really.

Do
hot girls really want this much attention? They must if they walk around naked
like this. I’m the opposite. I want everyone to leave me the fuck alone.

Whatever.
This is the job. I am a predator, and if it means wearing heels to get to my
prey, I’ll fucking wear heels.
 

I
hear the thumping music from inside as I stand on the same corner Jorge and I
walked past yesterday. I notice a side door with a little ramp leading out onto
the cross street.

My
heart is beating a little fast. So fucking ridiculous. I wasn’t this nervous
the night a thug locked me in a storage container behind a mall and I had to
wait for Mike to get me out.

Relax, Sofia. Chill.

I
clutch my ridiculous little purse, take a deep breath, and head to the door.

There
is a line stretching around the corner. Three large bouncers are stationed at
three strategic spots while the doorman, who is the biggest, plays the silly
please-oh-please-let-me-in
game.

Three
guys in a tricked-out red 1984 Olds Cutlass shout various phrases
simultaneously as they pass me heading north. I can make out “ass to take home,”
“beautiful,” and “lick it sideways.”

I
give them the finger. They’re lucky. I’m really in the mood to slam my fist
into somebody’s face tonight, but I’m focused on my job.

“
Oooh
, tough
mamí
,” says the driver, as their ridiculous car bounces
along to their next target.

Have
I mentioned I hate South Beach?

Now,
the line... I’ve never understood the fucking line. I don’t wait to get into
any place where I need to be on a guest list or pre-approved in any way.
Fucking club bullshit never made any sense to me.

I
have a plan all worked up for the door. I’m going to walk to the head of the
line, tell the doorman that I was here earlier and went in with my friends but
somehow got out the side door.

He’ll
buy that, right? Probably not, but it’s worth a try.

I
picture Halle Berry walking out of the ocean again and head toward him, ready
to start my line of bullshit. Swing and sway. Swing and sway.

I’ll
never know if it would have worked or not because he just smiles at me, opens
the door, and motions me in.

No shit, really?

“Thank
you,” I say, clipping my words as I walk inside.

Well, that was just way too fucking easy now,
wasn’t it?

As
soon as I get inside, I understand why.

The
line outdoors was mostly guys and blondes. In here the girls are 95% Latina.
Orders from Colton Stark, no doubt. The ratio is more even for the smattering
of guys inside, about 50-50.

Guess
all you really need to get into Heat is to look like... well, me, I guess.

Never
thought I’d say that. A tiny part of me smiles, but I squash it.

I
move through the thick crowd. Place is packed. Music is way too loud.
Multi-colored laser lights bounce around the ceiling. Models in fetish-wear
pose as Eastern European police while...
frozen
?
...
in blocks of
ice . They can’t be really frozen. They’d die. Must be a visual illusion. How
do they do that?

Off
to the sides are small lounge areas with long low couches. All around the top,
accessible by a glass staircase, are the VIP rooms.

Ridiculous.
Can’t imagine living my life going to places like this.

There
are drugs in here too. My cop nose smells them. I notice one girl swaying in
the lounge area, rolling her eyes into her head as a guy chats her up. He’s
tall and skinny with an expensive haircut, wearing a leather blazer and
designer jeans. His hands travel all over the girl. She seems to be trying to
push him away.
Dickwad
. My fist clenches.

To
my right are the rest rooms and a ramp that leads around the corner to the side
door I noticed from the outside. I’d be willing to bet there’s another door on
the other side of the club in almost the same spot that opens into the hotel
next door.

I
start scanning the far wall for it. As I do...

I
see him.

I
gasp.

Our
eyes meet.

Damn!
Colton Stark is looking right at me.

And
I’m looking right at him.

Fuck.

Wait,
that’s good. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m doing here, right?

Just
didn’t think it would happen so fast.

I
can’t help but look at him for longer than I should. He’s wearing a dark shirt
and pants with a navy blazer. His clothes seem to glisten, or maybe it’s the
lights.

The
stubble is in place. His hair is messed up without being messed up, if that
makes any sense.

His
eyes are deep. His posture is commanding.
Much taller than
the pictures suggest.
6’3” I’d guess.
Maybe 6’4”.

Zing!

No,
Sofia, not here! No zings!

He
says something to one of the girls he’s with. They’re all Latina party girls.
Naturally, right? The one to whom he whispered shoots me an evil look.

Now
I’m sweating. I feel it in the small of my back.

I
avert my gaze and head over to the bar. A chubby blond guy in a shiny purple
shirt falls into step with me.

“Excuse
me,” he says. “Can I get a female opinion?”

Not that old chestnut, please.

“Guys,”
I say.

“Huh?”

“The
answer to your question.”

His
eyes go big and wide. “Wait, how did you know what I was going to ask?”

We
reach the bar. There is a throng ahead of us, several people holding up large bills
trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“You
were going to ask me ‘Who lies more, guys or girls?’” I say. “It’s called an
opinion opener. From there, you would have gotten me talking about social
dynamics between guys and girls, which is a universal topic hot girls supposedly
enjoy. Then you’d move into the attraction phase, ‘
negging
’
me and teasing me. This would establish that you’re a fun and challenging guy.
Next, you’d isolate me to one of the couches over there and move into the ‘Comfort
Stage’ where we’d share our favorite flavors of ice cream, a ‘Future Projection
Scenario’ where we’re on a vacation together, and some childhood stories. Then
you’d ‘Up the Kino’, as they say, kiss me, then lead me out to your place. I’ll
give you some ASD ‘Anti-Slut Defense’ and a little LMR ‘Last-Minute Resistance’
but you’ll run ‘Two Steps Forward, One Step Back’ until we’re having sex. That
was your plan, wasn’t it?”

The
last time I saw such a shocked expression was the high school math teacher Mike
and I interrupted while he had a student’s dick in his mouth.

“How
do you know all that?” he says, visibly knocked off his game.

“I
knew a so-called ‘pickup artist’ who overcharges forty-year old virgins at
seminars promising they can get any woman into bed by learning a few tricks.”

I
leave out the fact that I was on a stakeout at the time.

“Wow...
um... um... you’re cool.” I try not to laugh as he attempts to regroup. “I
just... want to forget about all that and start again. Can I buy you a drink?
My name is David.”

He
puts out his hand as the crowd opens up in front of us and we touch the bar. I
look behind him.

Shit,
Colton Stark is coming over here.

No, don’t say shit! This is good! This is what
you’re here for, Sofia!

“Hi
David, I’m Michelle.” I decided to use a bar name like Jorge advised. “And
David, if you had just started with that I would have liked you more. You
wouldn’t have had a shot, but I would have liked you more. Right now, though, I
think you’d better go.”

“Why
is that?”

I
make a small pointy gesture behind David. He turns around to see Stark.

“Oh,”
he says as he turns bright red then purple. “I... uh... right... didn’t mean...
to... I’m just off, then. See you later.”

And
he’s gone. Leaving me alone with Colton Stark. Up close. Face-to-face.

The
room seems to freeze-frame as we look into each other’s eyes. A strange
calmness washes over me. The music stops.
My breathing stops.

I
get a flash of climbing up his massive chest and shoulders to kiss that sharp
mouth, feeling the stubble brushing past my cheeks.
Past my
ear.
Hot breath down my neck.

Oh
God, I’ve got a full-on flow down south. The last time somebody did this to me
with nothing but a look was Zack Braden back in high school.

Stop it, Sofia! He’s a thief slash trafficker. You’re
not attracted to criminals! Ever!

“
Hola
.
” His one word lifts me up off the
floor a little.

“Hi,”
I say but it comes out as a croak. I clear my throat. “I mean... hi.”

He
just looks at me. Yep, that’s Colton Stark.
Undoubtedly
Colton Stark.

Big
and tall.
Eyes definitely blue.
Skin
like rock. Carved. Chiseled. Deep cheeks. Gutsy chin.
And
that goddamned stubble.

Something
else too.
A presence. Like he’s in command. Of fucking
everything.

I
stare too long,
then
catch myself.

Head
tilt, giggle
, and
twirl hair! Go, Sofia!

I do
it. He just looks at me strangely and
..
.
was
that a snort?

“Are
you okay?” he says.

“Yeah,
why do you ask?”

“Oh,
nothing. Let me buy you a drink. What do you like?”

“
Mojito
,” I say in my best Halle Berry voice.

He
motions to the bartender.

“Enrique, dos
mojitos
,
por
favor.”

He
continues to stare at me. He’d better stop soon or someone is going to have to
mop me off the floor.

“I’m
Colton Stark,” he says. “What’s your name?”

Who the fuck
am
I?

“Sofia...”
Fuck no!
“Um... I mean Michelle.”

Shit.
I was supposed to use my bar name. I notice my foot is tapping wildly on the
floor. I feel a pool of sweat forming against the weird tight fabric at my
lower back.

“Well,
which is it?” He smiles.

God, what do I do now?

“Sofia.
Michelle is my bar name, you know. But I think I can trust you, so I just told
you my real one... not my bar name... the one that girls make up to use at
bars.”

“Got
it. I know what a bar name is, thanks. Did you pick it because you look like
Michelle Rodriguez?”

Fucker.

“Who?”
I say.

“Movie
actress?
The Fast and the Furious?
Avatar?
TV
show
Lost?”

“
Hm
, no. Doesn’t ring a bell.” I reach into my purse for my
wallet. As I do so, I catch a glimpse of the drugged-up girl swaying even more.
Dickwad
is kissing her neck. I can’t see his hands.

Two
tall sparkling glasses with mint leaves appear on the bar. I take out my
wallet.

“Put
that away,” Stark says. “It’s my club. Drinks are on the house.”

“Your
club, huh?” I say as I take my drink. “Impressive. What are you, a billionaire
or something?”

I
try sipping my drink all sexy while not breaking eye contact with him. I miss
my straw.

He
snorts again.

What the fuck?