CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Things were not going as planned. Not at all.
Cracker spun on his heels and walked out of Sweeties’ dressing room.
There were two girls in there, neither of which was Julia Terranova.
One of the girls got lippy when he’d asked her where Julia was, but she’d settled down after a smack in the mouth.
She talked and made a lot of sense after that.
If Julia wasn’t on the stage and she wasn’t in the dressing room, there was only one other place she could be.
Cracker stalked across the club toward the curtained-off lap dance area.
A crowd was gathered outside the area, and everyone was in a tizzy.
He bulled his way to the front and was met by a line of bouncers.
He walked up to a bouncer and said, “I got somebody I need to see in there.”
The bouncer crossed his arms. “Not tonight you don’t.”
Cracker sized up the bouncer. He looked around and counted four more.
Getting through all of them would be all kinds of trouble.
And even if he managed it, there was no way he’d be able to pull Julia out of there without bringing the whole club down on his head.
He waded back through the crowd, walked over to the bar, and took a seat.
He’d wait for Julia to come out. Patience had always been kind to him in the past, no matter what problem stood before him.
Maybe it would give him a helping hand tonight.
Thirty minutes later, the lap dance area opened for business.
Cracker paid close attention. Lots of strippers and country boys walked out, but no Julia.
The only point of interest was a wiry hillbilly holding a bloody rag against his mouth with one hand and a pair of bloody handcuffs in the other.
The hillbilly appeared to be none too pleased with the situation.
He threw the bloody handcuffs across the room, then stalked toward the bar, holding the rag against his mouth while he yelled, “Angela!” over and over.
It only took a minute of the hillbilly’s yelling for Cracker to see that Angela was not on the premises. And that got him thinking.
Angela was the girl that Julia listed as a reference.
She was the one who’d driven Julia here.
She was the girl who’d danced with Julia.
If Angela was gone, chances were Julia was with her. Cracker hissed. He’d been concentrating all his energy on Julia when he should’ve been watching both girls. He finished the soda water and lime he’d been nursing, put a dollar on the bar, and walked toward the exit.
The girls had slipped out, quiet as smoke, and their exit probably had something to do with the bloody-mouthed hillbilly flailing around. But hell, it didn’t matter. He knew where Angela lived.
He hopped in his truck.
He and Angela were gonna have themselves a chat.
* * *
Cracker cursed his luck as he closed Angela’s front door, cutting off the sounds of her sobbing.
He shook his head and walked to his truck.
The crying, for once, wasn’t due to him.
The moment he brought up the name ‘Julia,’ Angela had broken down.
She wasn’t able to help a lick with telling him where Julia was headed, but Lord that girl could cry.
He got in his truck and dug a protein bar out of a grocery bag. He chewed and swallowed, breathing through his nose, feeling angry for the first time in a long time. He started his truck, backed out of Angela’s parking lot, and drove away.
This current string of events was troubling. But Angela did give one useful piece of information. She’d said Julia had left with Conor Monroe. That meant Conor had been in the strip club. Conor had been in his reach, and he’d missed him. Cracker punched the dash.
“Probably when I was playing games with that boy in the bathroom,” he said.
He touched the cut in the top of his head. Tonight had been nothing but a big waste of time. He jammed half the protein bar in his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. Worst of all was how the situation had changed. If Conor Monroe had Julia, she couldn’t be used as leverage.
Cracker slowed as he saw a sign for the interstate.
So, what should he do? Drive away? Or continue the search for Conor?
He clucked his tongue and eased into the exit lane toward Brannigan.
There was a chance Conor was right now driving to some no-name town with Julia, but something told Cracker that wasn’t the deal.
He’d learned long ago to trust his intuition, and right now it told him that Conor was going home.
But there was no telling how long he’d stay there, knowing that Duck wanted him dead.
Chances were, if he was heading home, he wouldn’t be there long.
It was time to either catch him or forget about him.
Cracker turned on the radio. Once he got back to Brannigan, Conor’s world was going to bear the brunt of a search and destroy campaign. Every individual the man knew was going to enjoy the pleasure of Cracker’s company until he showed his face.
Cracker picked a piece of protein bar from between his teeth. He stomped on the gas.
And once Conor did show his face, it was getting smashed bloody.
* * *
“Shhhh.”
Conor waited for Julia to nod before lowering his finger from his lips. It was doubtful that one of Duck’s men was watching Angel’s garage past two in the morning, but now wasn’t the time to be lazy.
He held Julia’s hand, guided her around to the back of the garage, unlocked the door, and pulled her inside.
Julia looked around. Two small emergency exit lights cast a dim light through the two car bays. One of the bays had a car up on a lift. She turned to Conor. “Where are we?”
“Follow me,” he whispered. He led her into Angel’s office and turned on a desk lamp.
“We can sleep there,” he said, pointing at the couch.
“Where’s the bathroom?” she said.
“Through the door to the right.”
She slipped out the door. He could hear the muffled sound of her pissing. The toilet flushed. She walked through the office door. He took her by the hand, led her to the couch, and sat, pulling her into his lap. He kissed her neck. She slipped her hand under his shirt.
“My dad or boss could walk in any second,” he said.
“I don’t care,” she whispered.
He undressed her. He explored, touching every inch of her.
They made love slowly this time. Carefully.
It was just as passionate as the car, but there was no rush.
Just the feel of each other’s body. The taste of each other.
He had no idea what time it was when they were done, but he was spent.
He fell back on the couch, catching his breath.
Julia laid her head on his shoulder, her body slippery with sweat.
He rubbed her leg, listening to her breathe. He and Angel and his dad were stealing those paintings the day after tomorrow, which meant that he could relax and catch up on his sleep tomorrow. He wiped sweat off his face. Good thing—he needed the rest.
Julia sighed and pulled tight against him.
Conor smiled and closed his eyes.
* * *
Sunlight shone through the block glass windows set high in Angel’s cinderblock walls.
Conor looked at his jeans hanging over the back of the couch.
His shoes and underwear were on the floor.
Sliding his arm out from under Julia’s head, he picked up his clothes and got dressed. The door to the office opened.
Angel took a step into the room and froze.
Julia sat up, holding a blanket around her chest.
“You must be Angel,” she said. She dropped the blanket and grabbed Conor’s white T-shirt off the floor, pulling it over her head. Looking around the room, she walked over to her jeans lying in a crumpled ball on the floor by Angel’s desk. “I’m Julia,” she said, picking up her jeans.
Conor stepped in front of Julia while she pulled on her jeans. He raised an eyebrow at Angel. “You mind?”
Angel backed out of the room. “Nice meeting you, Julia,” he said, then wagged a finger at Conor, saying, “You’re a bad boy,” as he closed the door.
Conor turned to Julia. Angel’s voice boomed from the garage. “You’re paying to have that couch cleaned Conor.”
“He’s funny,” said Julia.
Conor put on his shoes. He walked over to Julia and hugged her from behind.
“There’s a shower downstairs,” he said. “Angel has donuts, coffee, and orange juice out in the garage.”
“Save me a donut,” she said. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
He enjoyed the view as she walked out.
* * *
Conor ate breakfast with Julia in the customer waiting area. A glass wall provided a view of the garage. Conor watched Angel walk around with a clipboard, taking inventory. Conor knew the drill.
After inventory, Angel would close the garage to pick up parts in his truck, which would probably take the whole morning.
Conor touched his pocket holding the keys to the Camaro.
That would give him time to drive Julia to the hospital.
Even though Sully was in a coma, he wanted her to meet him.
He looked her over. Jeans and a tight black muscle shirt looked good on her.
If anything would wake Sully up, it would be a hot girl like Julia.
A tap on the glass caught Conor’s attention.
“Going out for parts,” said Angel, waving the clipboard. “Keep everything locked up. I’ll be back around noon.”
“Bring back lunch,” said Conor.
“What do you want?” said Angel.
Julia banged on the glass. “I want barbecue ribs,” she said. “And coleslaw and potato salad. And beer—lots of beer.”
The look on Angel’s face was priceless. He stared at Julia, then shifted his gaze to Conor, who smiled. Angel lifted his pen, licked the end of it, and pointed it at Conor. “This is coming out of your end of the job,” he shouted, writing down Julia’s order.
Five minutes after Angel left, Conor was in the Camaro with Julia. He parked on the side of the hospital and walked in the emergency entrance, not wanting to take a chance of bumping into the wrong person.