Key of Solomon: Relic Defender, Book 1 (6 page)

Slender, rather than tall, he radiated confidence and charm. She suspected his classically handsome features helped build his arrogance. Hard to say no to someone who could have been the model for Michelangelo’s statue of David.

She saw his fingers clench, digging into Howard’s shoulder. If anything, her boss stiffened more. A few seconds later he nodded. Wow. Despite under weighing her boss by at least fifty pounds, he’d gotten Howard to back down.

Brown-hair released Howard’s shoulder and turned to Lexi. He met her gaze, his own light and open. Her glance wandered over the silver ash double pocket shirt hanging out over dark, marbled utility pants. Only her imagination knew what the expensively casual fabric covered, and it wasn’t sharing.

Damn it.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said. The recognizable Texas accent thrummed through her body. “In my enthusiasm to speak with you, it seems I conveyed a stronger summons than I intended. I’m Jackson McKay.”

He offered his hand. She hesitated for a moment then took it but didn’t offer her name. After the bare brush of skin to skin, she tried to pull back her arm. Her fingers jerked reflexively when he locked his around her hand. Calluses scraped against her skin.

Terrific. That’s what she got for taking his hand. Instead of stomping on his toes as the urge demanded, she lifted her chin and met his smoky look dead on. She hated the Neanderthal crap some men inflicted on women. Big tough guy squeezes little woman’s hand as if that’s supposed to impress her with his prowess. In and out of bed.

Puh-lease.

Fine. He wanted to play hardball. No problem, she could play caveman too. A slight twist of her wrist and instead of her fingers lying like a wet dishrag in his grasp, her nails dug into his palm. Not that her short nails would do a lot of damage. Just exert enough pressure so he’d realize she was not about to let the tough cowboy beat down the little woman.

First, nail gouging. Next step, a punch to the solar plexus.

McKay released her hand. An expression of respect mixed with something she couldn’t identify flashed into his eyes. Without looking away, he jerked his head. “Git. No one comes in.”

Howard, who had by this time stepped back and to the side, bent his own head and scuttled to the door. She could almost feel her mouth drop open. Good grief. Her boss, a big mouth, abusive bully kow-towing to someone else? Could the night get any freaking stranger?

Upon her boss’s departure, McKay gestured to one of the dancers’ chairs. She shook her head. She leaned her backside against the vanity, her palm a mere finger’s length from her
kubotan
. The marker-size defensive weapon she’d discovered during one of her martial arts sessions with her sensei, offered a small measure of self-defense. If he posed a threat. With his clean, urban cowboy-scruffy style, he didn’t give off the hair-lifting, crawling vibes of danger. At least, not physical danger.

But, as she well knew, appearances, good or bad, were apt to be deceiving. Put a killer in Armani; he’d still rip out your throat. He’d just look good doing it.

Stop mimicking a shrub, Lexi
. “Excuse me.”

McKay quirked his eyebrow questioningly, and his grin stretched wider.

“Just because my boss kisses your ass,” she continued, and since she was going to lose her job she might as well go all the way, “and your introduction was charming, doesn’t mean I’m going to give you a private show.”

The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I’m not looking for a private, er…show. Although, I wouldn’t say no to one.” A pause. “I just want to talk.”

Uh, huh. Lexi shrugged. “So talk.”

“I’ll get to the point. You own an object my employer is all worked up about, and he’ll pay whatever sum you desire for the transfer of ownership.”

The words sounded okay. But something didn’t feel right. Was it the smooth, whiskey tone or the overly innocent expression? Or the way he’d made Howard dance at the end of a string like a studly version of Geppetto to Howard’s Pinocchio? Either way, her instincts, honed sharp through years of living on the dark side of Chicago, told her his offer was a Trojan horse. Great on the outside; inside, filled with danger waiting to burst free.

“What does your employer think I have?”

“He didn’t specify.”

“Hmm. And what makes him think I have it?”

A twist of his lips. “Well now, my employer believes you do and he is never wrong, so you must have it. I’m sure if you think hard enough, you’ll remember. Said it was something your parents passed to you.”

She let out a sharp bark of laughter. “He’s wrong now.” Her fingers drummed against the table’s ledge. “My parents didn’t leave me anything.”

“Now, darlin’,” he said his voice pitched soft and languid. His hazel gaze slipped over her face, traveled down the length of her body and came back up again. “I wouldn’t say they left you nothing. A fine young filly like you. I suspect you got all their best qualities.”

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Great. Another man who thought kiss-assery made the difference. Got him what he wanted. Maybe it did for others. Most of the time, charming men just pissed her off.

Adopting an air of nonchalance, while her stomach clenched with annoyance, she said, “I thought you were going to get to the point.”

His lips tightened, and his brows lowered. Probably disconcerted that his good looks and Texan allure didn’t have her falling over herself to please him.

“Fine.” The Texas drawl no longer beguiled. Now it held a sharp, cutting edge. “My employer is certain you have the object and will pay handsomely for it. He has enough money to burn a wet dog. More than you can dream.”

“I don’t know, I can dream pretty big.”

His gaze bored into hers. Finally, McKay nodded then reached into his jacket pocket. Lexi tensed, mentally judging the distance between where she stood and whether she’d be able to strike a pressure point with her
kubotan
before he pulled out a gun. The odds weren’t good.

Instead of a weapon, he removed a tan rectangle. “Here’s my card. That’s my private number. It will ring me wherever I am. Think about what you’re doing. What you’re giving up.”

With the card, Lexi mockingly saluted him. “Don’t hold your breath, cowboy.”

“Think about it,” he repeated and with a final crooked half-grin, opened the door and sauntered through. She felt her lips quirk into a smile before she could stop the unorthodox reaction. Cheeky bastard.

A few seconds later, she heard raised voices outside the door. The strident near bellow sounded like Howard and the steel-laced soft drawl belonged to McKay. When the door didn’t reopen to announce her boss had returned to finish firing her, she quickly removed the rest of her war paint, snatched up her backpack and headed out the door.

Only as she left, did it occur to her that she had received something recently. Not from her parents, but something valuable. She reached up and, through her T-shirt, touched the necklace hanging like a stone around her neck. Was this what he was looking for? But that didn’t make sense. Her professor wouldn’t have given her something that belonged to someone else. She shrugged. She’d find out tomorrow.

Instead of the raucous clash of noise she expected when she reached the main room, Lexi heard murmuring and the occasional half-hearted cry of protest. The bulk of Blush’s lingering crowd consisted of a few patrons who required physical strength to toss them out on their asses. Hence the protests. Since it was nearing three o’clock, the ass-tossing ritual would start soon. Despite the high entertainment value, she didn’t plan to stay and watch.

Once outside, the late night, early morning air enveloped her in a moist, comforting blanket. A musty, smoke-filled scent teased her nose. Under the moonless sky, streetlights sporadically glowed and sputtered up and down the avenue. Some places lighter, some considerably murky.

Coming out when the stars came to play didn’t bother her. The night was her home. A place where she felt a sense of belonging. Not so much comfortable, never that, but as if the night sheltered her. She pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Wait!”

Jolted by the unexpected noise, Lexi jumped. She hadn’t heard the front door open or close, and the screech of rubbing metal was hard to miss. Howard had never managed to find the time to oil the hinges, hence the chalkboard-like annoying squeal.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The melodic tenor washed over her. Well, this was just dandy. The sweet, soft-even-when-shouting voice belonged to Devyn Williams, a just out of high school dancer-in-training. And Lexi’s number one fan. How weird was that? Her number one fan was an eighteen-year-old sylph-like girl with aspirations to become the next Lexi.

Devyn had even taken to adopting Lexi’s usual off-work outfit of dark jeans and T-shirts. At least the girl hadn’t morphed her honey-colored, curly hair into straight black strands. Most of the time she managed to avoid the girl. Not because she didn’t like Devyn. If only it was that simple. No, she ran from Devyn because the young girl with the dewy face and crooked, genuine smile reminded her of someone she tried hard to forget.

Herself.

What was it? The misty hint of secrets in Devyn’s shiny blue eyes? Maybe. If Lexi stared in a mirror long enough, she figured she’d see her own deeper, darker secrets staring back. Like Sam, Devyn possessed an innocence Lexi’s heart yearned for. Something lost to her forever. What a total sap she was. Still, her efforts, at times rude, to stay away from Devyn hadn’t affected the girl. If anything, she seemed to double her efforts to pin Lexi down.

“I almost missed you.” Excitement flushed Devyn’s cheeks, the rose blush unmistakable even under the flickering streetlights. “Gary told me you just left.”

Lexi groaned under her breath.
Thanks, Gary
. She might have to revise her opinion of the big lug. After heaving a huge inward sigh, she commented, “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Devyn tilted her head. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

Same brash attitude too. “Go back indoors. I’ll watch until you’re safe inside.”

Devyn’s lips thinned into a stubborn line. Great. The girl even managed to make a mutinous expression adorable. “You said you’d help me with the backbend.”

I did?
When Lexi repeated the question aloud, Devyn nodded. “Yes, last week. At Holly’s birthday party.”

Oh. Right. After a particularly grueling week at school, Lexi had done something she’d never done before. Attended a party with the people she worked with. Maybe it was because she’d been so tired, by the end of the week, her mind had stopped working. So, she’d accepted an invitation to Heavenly Holly’s birthday celebration. If that hadn’t been bad enough, Lexi had stayed too long. Meaning she hadn’t a chance to slip away prior to everyone getting shit-faced drunk. Not a pretty sight. Even gentle Devyn had too much. But much like a terrier, she stayed close. So close, Lexi couldn’t shake her, no matter where she went.

Finally, in desperation, she promised to show the inexperienced dancer how to do the Turkish fold, or backbend. The maneuver worked. Devyn backed down. Breathing a sigh of relief at being able to make her escape, Lexi booked and promptly forgot about the promise, counting on Devyn being too drunk to remember.

Obviously, not happening.

Lexi puffed out an exasperated breath. Not only did she not want to spend extra time with the young girl and the memories her presence encouraged, she refused to contribute to the loss of Devyn’s innocence. Her foot on the path to becoming a dancer in a strip club only hastened the inevitable loss. It would come; however, Lexi wanted no part of the natural course of life.

The natural course of life.

Shit, she hated that comment. The shrinks she’d been forced to visit after the loss of her parents and then each time she’d been shuffled back and forth between foster home to foster home all spoke the same refrain. As if the loss of innocence in the ways she had experienced were natural in any way.

“Listen, Devyn, I’m pretty busy this week. Let me get…” Lexi’s weak excuse died mid-sentence.

The distinctive tinkle of a tin can dancing across the street echoed in the quiet dawn. With the noise behind her, the only clue that the sound meant something bad was the widening of Devyn’s eyes. Wide enough to fill the upper part of her face. The girl lifted her hand to her parted lips.

An oh-shit reaction slammed into Lexi’s stomach. Definitely not good. She whirled. Her breath left her lungs in a quiet hiss. Six men slithered along the street toward them. The way they moved, and the intent expressions on their faces, caused all of her street instincts to scream a warning. She stepped in front of the younger girl.

“Oh, man,” Lexi muttered. They were too damn far away from the club to hide beneath its dubious shelter. Her gaze tracked up and down the quiet streets. And other than the six men sidling toward them, no one stirred within the shadows. The streets were still. Deserted. Not all that unusual for three o’clock in the morning, but tonight, the city felt too deserted.

“Lexi, what’s going on? Do you know those men?”

“Quiet,” she snapped, ignoring the niceties of explanation in favor of expedience. She gestured for Devyn to stay behind her. Maybe the men hadn’t noticed the girl.

With her hands in front of her, palms outward, Lexi stood relaxed. She focused on the lead man sensing he was the star in this little play. His body language should telegraph what he planned to do. And, depending on just how determined, and drunk, he and his cronies were, she might be able to talk them into backing off. Otherwise, someone was going to get hurt. She was skilled but had no mistaken illusions about how skilled she was. With six adrenaline-hopped men, the odds were she was going to be the one hurt. And Devyn. Especially Devyn with her innocence and lack of street skills.

Those odds sucked.

“Gentlemen,” Lexi began in the most conciliatory tone she could manage while her insides twisted and tangled. “Blush is closed for the evening. If you’re still looking for fun, the Kitty Kat is open twenty-four hours. It’s just two blocks over.”