Selling Out (27 page)

“And this is why I didn’t ask.”

“Pass me a note in homeroom, and we’ll see.”

He snorted, but I detected humor dancing in his eyes.

We rode the rest of the way in silence. The elevator doors
opened to a narrow hallway with light-beige vinyl walls. An older couple left
their room and began walking toward us. The woman stared at my boobs, her face
puckered in disgust.

I rolled my eyes. Typical closet lesbian.

“Behave,” Luke murmured.

I scooted over to make room for them to pass, but the
woman’s hips bumped into me. I stumbled and would have fallen straight on her
cleavage if Luke hadn’t caught me. He firmly pulled me forward, his hand on my
elbow.

Rather than resist him, I draped myself over him in dramatic
relief. “I can’t wait to get to our room.”

He shot me a quelling look.

I lowered my voice. “I’ve been thinking about this the whole
drive.” Glancing back, I saw the woman shoot me one last murderous glare before
rounding the corner. I shrugged at Luke’s raised brow. “What? She practically
felt me up.”

He just shook his head.

We reached the room, and I was disappointed that there
seemed to be no special knock or secret code for entry. He just knocked and
said, “It’s me,” and we were let inside. A flutter of nerves upset my stomach,
which surprised me. Since when did I get nervous about meeting new people? Most
guys were nervous to meet me, not the other way around. But these were Luke’s
friends.

And wow. I had expected other cops, ones who cared more
about doing what was right than following the rules, like Luke. But these guys
were faux military and street thugs.

Luke introduced me to Jeff, who sported green-brown
fatigues, a buzz cut, and a gold hoop through his ear. He smiled shyly.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I like your earring.”

Jeff blushed a deep rose. “Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“Oh, and a southern accent. I bet the ladies line up to hear
you speak.”

“Naw.” He practically scuffed his thick black boots on the
glass-tile floor.

Luke drew me over to meet the next man, muttering under his
breath, “No flirting.”

The next guy was a local gang member, judging by both the
tats down his neck and the red bandanna hanging from his pocket.

“You can call me Rico,” he said. “Because that’s my name.”

I met his fist bump with a smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

“And that’s Major.” Luke nodded toward a guy in the corner.

Major was dressed all in black, his square-set face
impassive. He gave a brief wave, more like a salute.

I wondered if Luke had given them some kind of warning about
me. None of them let their gazes linger below my neck. At least Rico would know
who I was—what I was. Probably all of them did, considering they were helping
Luke with the situation, but there was no judgment in their gazes. Judgment
usually came from the ladies, but there was none of the speculation, none of
the wink-wink-nudge-nudge guys tended to do when they knew, as if they turned
into adolescent virgins at the thought of paying for it. There were exceptions
to this rule, but rarely zero out of three like this.

The four men gathered around the glass coffee table. Even
Major gave up his post in the corner, although he still drew a chair from the
kitchenette, turning it backward and straddling it, distancing himself.

They had confirmed the location and were discussing the best
way to get there while avoiding detection. I stood aside, not pointedly
excluded but clearly unhelpful to any tactical discussions. The unique cultural
norms of Henri and the prostitution community at large—color me an
anthropological expert. Breaking through a state-of-the-art security system,
not so much.

From my perch against the window, I considered the assembly.
Were they from Luke’s past as a homeless kid? Or his present as a cop, maybe
other informants? The two sides of Luke had seemed disparate when he first told
me the story, as if he had been reborn as a different person. Slowly I had come
to merge them in my mind, to see glimmers of his boyhood in the man. He was
fiercely determined, unafraid—like a gutter dog. He was unflinchingly loyal, in
a way inherent to street life. On the streets, you either ran pack or died.
Luke was a survivor all the way.

I only hoped that carried through to the mission, as the
boys were fond of calling it.

There was a basket of snacks and candy on top of the counter,
a sort of high-trust minibar. Luke hadn’t eaten since we were at the cottage.
He needed to keep up his strength if we were going over tonight. I prepared a
tray of sodas and arranged snacks and carried it to the coffee table, as if
this were fucking game night and I was the little lady.

Luke and Major had their heads bent together over a laptop,
murmuring quietly, but Jeff immediately reached for a cola with a quiet thanks.

“Is there anything noncaffeinated?” Rico asked.

Jeff flipped the top of his can. “Seriously?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t need artificial additives to
stay awake. Not when that adrenaline rush hits.”

“I think there’s grapefruit juice,” I offered.

Rico made a face.

“I’ll look for something else.” I returned to the
minifridge. “Sorry, but if it doesn’t have caffeine, it’s got alcohol. I’m
guessing that counts as an artificial additive.”

Rico trailed me to the counter, poking at the remaining
items in the basket. “Ooh, think these are any good? Gourmet Dipping Pretzels.”

Straightening, I shook my head. “They go stale fast, but
hotels only replace them if someone eats them. Here, stick with a classic.” I
handed him a Snickers bar. “High turnover rates and low cost-to-fullness
ratio.”

“Will do.”

He reached for a glass on the counter and turned on the
faucet. He must have caught something in my expression, because he paused.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He looked from his half-full cup of tap water to me. “Now
you have to tell me.”

I scrunched my nose. “Don’t cheap out with the water. You
don’t want to know about those cups.”

He immediately set it on the counter but peered into it. “It
looks clean.”

“I have it on good authority that the rinse-and-wipe is
often employed. And you do not want to know what liquids end up in there
sometimes.”

“What are you, some sort of hotel connoisseur?” he joked.
His face fell as he realized what he’d just said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” I said with a small smile. “That’s a new
euphemism. I like it.”

He seemed relieved. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m in a position
to judge.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” I handed him a bottle of water
from the fridge. “Paying a hooker doesn’t have quite the same stigma as being
one.”

“What did Luke tell you about me exactly?”

I laughed, popping the top of my cola. “Not much. Just that
you were helping him out with this. He didn’t tell me about your hooker-buying
habits, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m just stereotyping.” The gang symbols,
the old track marks on his arms, not that I had to spell it out. “Why, you
telling me you’ve never been with one?”

He was thoughtful for a minute. “No. I’m afraid I fit the
profile in that particular regard.” Then, “You aren’t afraid to speak your
mind.”

My lips curved. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“I prefer honesty to lies. Though I may not always like what
you say.” Glancing back toward the men, his expression turned speculative. “So
how long have you and Luke been…you know.”

I blinked. “Working together?”

“Doing the nasty.”

“Oh. Umm…”

It was his turn to laugh. “All right, straight talker. I
guess that answers my question.”

When he smiled, I realized how handsome he was. More than
that, almost pretty. He had thick black lashes and a sensual mouth most girls
would kill for. It was all covered up in the gang wear and a layer of grunge,
making his skin oily and darkened. I frowned. Or was it just that black gunk
Luke had used as a disguise? And if so, why would Rico dress up as a gang
member? Maybe it was some sort of undercover operation, although I couldn’t
imagine how it would work. Surely the gang members themselves wouldn’t be
fooled by a disguise—they would know who was in and who was out. Still, he
suddenly seemed too proper underneath all that mess, his teeth too white and
his speech too cultured.

“Are you a cop?” I asked.

He stared at me for a second before laughing so loud the
other guys looked over. He whooped for a minute before catching his breath.
“She thinks I’m a cop.”

Jeff turned to me, gesturing at Rico. “This clown?”

I shrugged sheepishly. “It was just a thought.”

“Come on, guys,” Luke said. “Back to work.”

As the men settled in again, Luke sent me a half smile over
the tops of their heads. Heat warmed my cheeks, though I couldn’t have said
whether it was embarrassment over guessing wrong about Rico—we hookers had a
certain professional detection, usually—or simply being a part of a group after
so long. The only place I’d ever belonged was with Henri’s other girls, but I’d
never felt comfortable with them. I did here, and that had everything to do
with Luke.

I listened on the sidelines as they discussed what would go
down tonight. It was a simple plan, though it did involve a fair amount of
walking. Or running, more likely. My high heels would be impossible. I checked
my pocket. Yup, still had the few hundred in cash I’d slipped there last night
before leaving for the club. We had passed a boutique in the lobby. They had
mostly artsy clothes, but almost anything would be better than these heels.

Luke caught me with my hand on the knob. “Where are you
going?”

I pointed to my shoes. “These aren’t exactly activewear.” I
reconsidered. “Well, I suppose that depends on the activity. But it sounds like
there’s going to be some full-fledged jogging, and these heels aren’t going to
cut it. I’m going to check the gift shop to see if they have something better.”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Rico asked, incredulous.

I felt myself pout. I thought I’d made friends with that
one.

“No way,” Jeff said.

Jerk. The gold earring should have been my first clue.

Major frowned at Luke, waiting for his response. The room
grew quiet, the men watchful. I waited along with them, unsure of my place.
Luke had told me I could go, but his reluctant promise given when we were alone
faded in front of the complicated planning and camaraderie of these men.

“She’s coming,” Luke said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Despite their earlier
objections, both Rico and Jeff shrugged and turned back to their planning. Only
Major’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if he might veto the decision. I wondered if he
had that power. I tried to look innocuous. Shit, I had no idea how to seem
innocuous.

Luke slanted me a look. “Are you scared of him?”

“Who?” I asked innocently.

“Major.”

“No, why, are you looking to do a three-way? Because I’m
game for it, but you have to be in the middle. I’m allergic to all that
brooding.”

He shook his head, muttering to himself, “Why do I even
ask?” Then to Major, “Take her downstairs.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why is he taking me?”

“Because you’re being hunted in this city, and he will make
sure you don’t get shot in the head.”

“Okay, fair point. But why can’t you take me?”

“Because it would be distracting, and I’d probably end up
having sex with you in a changing room.”

I bit my lip. “I’m still waiting for the downside.”

“Go.”

Major brushed past us, muttering, “Come on. Let’s get this
over with.”

“Oh, this’ll be fun,” I said. But I followed Major out
anyway, down the purple hallway and into the mirrored elevator. We quickly determined
that unless I wanted an I Heart Chicago T-shirt or strappy sandals with bulbous
gems pasted on them, the hotel boutique wasn’t going to cut it.

I tried on a purple cowboy hat and posed. “How do I look?”

His expression was flat. “Like a gay stripper.”

“So…not that far off.”

A woman brushed up against me as she left the store, and I
recognized her from the hallway with Luke. She sent me a scathing look before
leaving the store in a huff.

“What’s her problem?” Major muttered.

“She saw me with Luke earlier. She probably thinks I’m a
hooker or something.” I snickered. She’d lose her shit if I told her it was
true.

“Well, she was totally checking you out.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling vindicated.

We walked out onto the sidewalk—or rather, he strode while I
hobbled on my heels, feet aching, struggling to keep up in the crowd. As
bodyguards went, he left something to be desired.

A block later found us in a runner’s shop. From the window
we could see tennis shoes and workout clothes—perfect. We started to go inside
but were blocked by runners exiting en masse. They took off like a swarm down
the sidewalk in some sort of group-run activity.

“Wow,” I said, watching them go.

Major snorted. “Someone will probably twist their ankles on
the sidewalk.”

“You remind me of someone. Eeyore, that’s who.”

He held the door open for me. “He speaks the truth.”

“He’s a downer,” I said, brushing past.

He joined me by the shoe wall. “If we were doing character
profiles, you’d be Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“You say that like it’s an insult. You do realize he’s the
star of the show?”

The shoe salesman waved to us. “Be just a minute.”

“We’ll be waiting,” I said.

The salesman blushed because, yeah, my voice had been low
and suggestive. Professional hazard.

Major spoke out the side of his mouth. “Winnie-the-Pooh is
annoying. The other animals just let him get away with stuff because he’s cute.
And kinda dumb.”