Selling Out (19 page)

I huffed. “You ruin my surprises.”

“You’re reckless and intermittently suicidal, but you’ve got
a practical streak that really works for me.”

A laugh escaped me. He saw me clearly enough. It made me
wonder what else he saw in me. “If you wanted me to work for you, all you had
to do was ask.”

I pulled out the fakes Marguerite had made me and went over
our stories. He was a small-time street dealer who liked to pimp out his
girlfriend when money was tight. I would be too coked out to care. He would be
slimy, I would be skanky, and with any luck, one of us would get the scoop on
what had happened the night Ella was here. Ever the Boy Scout, Luke wanted to
talk exit plans.

“I’m serious,” he said. “If things start to go south, you
get out. We can meet up later.”

And leave him to the wolves? Not likely. He was strong and
capable, but this was my turf. “Are you going to split if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course not. That’s different.”

I rolled my eyes in the dark. “How chivalrous.”

“If you ask me, you could do with a little more chivalry
from the men in your life. A lot more.”

“And you are volunteering.”

“Actually, I insist. Now come into the light. I need to
rough you up a little.”

“What a gentleman,” I said, following him onto the street.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Like you stepped off the
pages of a magazine. That’s not going to work for us.”

Under the flickering streetlamp, I finally got a good look
at him. Gone were the rumpled suits and casually messy hair. In their place was
a stereotype of a different sort. He wore a loose blue shirt hanging open to
reveal a dirty undershirt and cargo pants, with a mottled gray wool cap
covering his hair. The biggest change to his appearance was his face, where a
two-day scruff complemented darkly oiled skin.

I wanted him because he was good and I was bad. Because he
was worthy and I was not. And yet seeing him like this, like the lowest of men,
made me hotter for him. Every excuse I made for wanting him fell away. I wanted
him in every incarnation, in any form I could get him.

He pulled out a small round tin. “Your turn.”

I didn’t ask what the black substance was. He smeared it
across my cheeks and along my arms. At least it didn’t smell bad.

When he started to work it into the ends of my hair, I
protested. “Is this really necessary? I already changed the color.”

His eyebrow rose. “Did I recognize you immediately?”

“Fair point.”

He circled behind me, gently combing the grease through my
hair. His hands settled on my shoulders. The heat of his body seared into me
from behind, more acute now that I couldn’t see him. My hair swept away from my
neck, replaced by the kiss of his breath.

“It wasn’t really fair,” he murmured. “I would recognize you
no matter how you looked. I would find you anywhere. I haven’t learned every
secret of your body, but I know what’s inside. I know you.”

My eyes fell shut, releasing a tear on both cheeks. They
would make tracks in the dirt, I thought inanely. And then realized that would
be more authentic. He removed his hands, a loss that felt like a blow.

“When you believe that, then you’ll be ready.”

I couldn’t put voice to the question. Ready for what? For I
already knew the answer. I had been waiting for it, carefully cultivating the
seed. Telling myself a thousand times it wouldn’t grow, until, like magic, a
tendril of green peeked through the cold, packed earth. Us, he meant. When I
believed he knew me and not the persona, not the prostitute, then I would be
ready for us.

* * * *

A thick line of eager partygoers blocked the entrance. In
front of us, a pair of girls shivered in their halter tops and short skirts.
Those thigh-high striped stockings were to show how hip they were, not for
warmth. They clung to each other like vines; even from the back they were
clearly too nervous for the giggling and flirting that marked the other women
in line. One of the girls whispered to the other, briefly pulling out an ID and
then slipping it back into her shiny black purse. There was no way for me to
see if it was fake—but it was. That much was loud and clear from their body
language. This must be how Ella had looked, all vibrating anticipation. I
wanted them gone, out of this line, off the street, far away from the life Ella
would be leading right now if I hadn’t found her. But anything we did would
draw attention to us.

I sneaked a look at Luke. He wore his gangbanger appearance
well, so I almost didn’t know him. Underneath the soot and ratty white-gray
fabric, it was still Luke. Wasn’t it? Like studying an optical illusion, I
could look at him once and see Luke. I blinked, and the noble cop receded,
replaced by the sooty criminal. The same image, different perspective, and my
mind didn’t know what to make of it. His blank expression gave no clue as to
whether he had noticed the girls in front of us, but I knew he had.

“Don’t,” I said.

His green eyes flicked to me. “Don’t what?”

I raised my eyebrow. He already knew.
Don’t pull your cop routine to get these girls out of line. Don’t mess
up our plan to assuage your goddamned integrity.

“They won’t let them in,” he said quietly. “Then they’ll
look at ours more closely.”

“You don’t know that. Ella got in.”

A line appeared between his eyes, the only sign he was
disturbed. “Look what happened to her. We can’t let them go in.”

“We’ll be inside too,” I pointed out. “We can help if
there’s any trouble.”

“Us being there increases the odds for trouble,” he said
drily. “Besides, it would blow our cover to help.”

“It would blow our cover to stop them from going in.”

We shuffled forward with the line, quiet for a moment as
people resettled.

The girl with the striped stockings checked her phone. “My
dad’s calling.”

“Don’t answer it,” the other whispered. “Text him. Tell him
you’re at my house.”

I approved of Striped Stockings. The anxiety in her voice
made it clear she didn’t want to be here. Her friend Blondie was the
troublemaker.

“What if he calls there?” she persisted.

I mentally cheered.
That’s
right. Think of the consequences.

“Say you’re going to sleep now.”

From the side, I saw her bite her lip.

“It is pretty late. I’m usually asleep by now.”

It was barely ten o’clock. Luke didn’t have to look at me to
make his point.
See?

Okay, I did see. He couldn’t stand by and let them inside,
knowing they might be targeted. And maybe that was beyond my capability
too—damn Ella for messing with my sangfroid—but hell, I didn’t know how to make
them leave. I sure as hell couldn’t make Ella do anything. We were nearing the
entrance. The bouncers stood impassive, disinterested in the crowd, but any
attempts to dissuade the girls would surely attract attention.

The group at the front slipped inside, and we all inched
forward, a giant lumbering caterpillar with a multitude of feet.

I held my breath, hoping he would stay silent. Hoping he
wouldn’t.

Luke cleared his throat.

A nervous sound of objection or surprise escaped me— Oh!

The bouncer in front looked over at me, bored at first, but
his expression rapidly turning to one of interest. Sexual interest, hopefully,
because if I had been identified before I even made it through the doors, I
really had lost my touch. Like some sort of cartoon sketch, the bouncer pointed
at me—directly at me, and I half expected a trapdoor to open in the concrete,
sending me to a pit of crocodiles.

Instead the bouncer said, “Go ahead.”

“Me?” I managed to say.

“You in or out?”

“In.” I gestured to Luke. “He’s with me.”

The bouncer gave him a thorough once-over, which Luke
returned coolly. The bouncer nodded a grudging approval. We started to slip
past the girls, but the blonde one blocked our way.

“Hey, why do they get to go? We’re next in line.”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Naive much, Blondie?

The bouncer’s face was like granite. “Wait here for your
turn.”

“This is our turn,” she complained. “No fair.”

No fair? Oh Lord. Then I realized this would be an
opportunity to get them booted from the club—maybe my only opportunity.

I drew myself up to full haughtiness. “Let me give you a
little life advice. When someone insults you, it’s best not to draw attention
to that.”

Two lipsticked mouths fell open, but the blonde recovered
first. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Are you confused, sweetheart? I’m the girl getting bumped
to the front of the line. You are the loser standing outside.”

Her face turned mottled red. She looked ready to blow.

“Is there a problem?” the bouncer asked.

She stammered. “I… She… Did you hear what she said?”

“Maybe we should just go,” Striped Stockings pleaded.

Blondie’s face twisted into a cross between a sneer and a
pout. She was pretty and slender and probably used to getting her way—I should
know.

Luke had viewed the whole exchange with the mild amusement
typical of a lowlife watching a girl fight, though I didn’t know if that was
genuine or part of his act. He stepped forward. “There’s no need to get upset,”
he said in an oily voice I hadn’t even known he was capable of. “Nice-looking
girls like you two deserve to party. I’ll bring you guys in, get us a table.”
He leered rather convincingly. “I’m sure you can think of some way to repay
me.”

With a flurry of rushed excuses, Striped Stockings dragged
her friend away, out of the line and out of sight.

Turning back to the bouncer, Luke shrugged. “Their loss.”

Inside the door, we handed over the IDs to another bouncer who
examined them under a bright light. A cold line of sweat ran down my back as I
waited. There was no way they would catch them as fakes, and really, they would
have known within two seconds. It was almost as if the extended wait, with the
guy glancing from me to the card, was designed to elicit a reaction, the
telltale heart of underage clubbing.

Finally, he handed back the cards and stamped our hands with
Xs. I plunged into the sweaty mass, eager to blend in. Luke was right behind
me, his slick fingers entwined with mine. Everywhere I looked, people laughed
and frowned, flirted and fucked with their eyes, their words, their hips
against hips. Too many people, too little space. We reached an empty back wall,
and I melted against it, sucking in the air at the edges of the room.

Luke’s body closed in on me from behind, and we could have
been fucking like this, except for the kindness in his touch.

He murmured into my ear. “What’s wrong? If you’re pretending
some sort of overdose, it’s very convincing.”

I shook my head. Even the wall shook with the effort of
holding this many bodies, but then I realized it was me moaning. Underwater,
unable to hear the sound of my own voice except for its vibrations in my
throat. Unable to hear anything at all except the rush in my ears. I let the
currents pull me, the too-tight grip on my arm like a hook yanking me out of
the water. We stumbled together into a bathroom. I staggered back, supporting
myself on the ceramic sink. Luke grabbed a dirty mop and slung it through the metal
handle, keeping everyone out.

He turned on me. “What the hell happened out there?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Freaked out a little.”

“Yeah, I got that. Want to tell me why?”

“I don’t know. So many people.”

“There were plenty of people at headquarters, and you didn’t
lose your shit. So tell me why.”

“I don’t know. Those girls, the way you looked at them.”

He seemed genuinely puzzled. “How did I look at them?”

“You know,” I choked out.

“Like I wanted to smack them for being little idiots. Is
that what you mean?”

“No, no. Like you wanted them.”

Understanding dawned in his green eyes, and with it, bright
shame within me.

“I didn’t want them,” he said gently.

The kind of soothing tone you use with a child. It’s only
lightning. It can’t hurt you. But I had seen the lightning and the lustful
light in his eyes. I had felt its burn and knew well how it hurt.

“I know you didn’t.” Did I? Oh shit, I was losing it.

“Breathe.”

The low command penetrated my haze, drew me back to the
surface. I breathed. When his face came into focus, it was concerned. That part
would have been fine. The part that really sickened me was the kindness.
Poor Shelly. She can’t help what she does.
This was all predetermined years ago
. No way to change my course.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Got a little derailed, but I’m fine.”

He looked doubtful. Extremely doubtful, and I worried if I
didn’t convince him soon, he would abandon our entire mission.

“Look, I’m okay. See? I’m standing all by myself, breathing
without you having to tell me. Very mature-like.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And I realize I’m jumpy, so as a gesture of good faith,
I’ll let you hold on to my gun for me,” I said magnanimously.

“I’ve already got it,” he said, reaching back to where he’d
stashed it in his belt. He swore as he came up empty.

I handed it to him. “Sorry. But not really, because you had
no right to take it from me in the first place.”

“I had every right. Do I even want to check the registration
on this?”

“Only if you want your worst suspicions confirmed.”

“No, thanks.”

“This way is better. I’m giving you permission to hang on to
it. Because I trust you.” My emphasis on the last few words could not go
unnoticed.

A slow smile spread across his face. “I see.”

The door rattled, then shook violently as someone banged on
it. Shouting came from the other side, too muffled to understand through the
steel door and the roar of the club.