Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Consuelo clutched the thumb drive in her damp hand and checked for the tenth time the address she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper and the address on the big brass plaque next to the ornate doorway of the elegant building in downtown San Diego.
She’d never ventured to this part of town. She had no reason to. It was mostly made up of office buildings. The people streaming in and out of the huge glass doors were as remote to her as Martians.
None of them, she was sure, sold their bodies for a living.
She lifted her head, suddenly very determined. That part of her life was over. The people in the office she’d called helped women disappear. They’d helped two women in the shelter disappear, that’s how she got the visiting card.
Consuelo would either be able to convince them to help a whore or she would disappear herself, though she had no tools for that. The only thing she had was the twenty thousand dollars she’d taken from her hiding hole and the thumb drive. She had no documents, none.
She was in the United States illegally, always had been. Even if she could get back across the border, which she couldn’t, she had no documentation in Mexico, either. And no place to go. She was allowed no documents, no passports, no driver’s license, no home to go back to, nothing.
They’d be crazy to help her. She was going to be more trouble than she was worth.
On the other hand, maybe what she held in her fist might be worth something to them. Something she could barter with for her life.
Sweat trickled down her back, as it often did when she was scared.
When she was smilingly escorting a trick back to the room he’d paid for together with the rent of her body, and he looked like he might be violent.
Might enjoy hurting. There always was one and the house rule was if no blood was spilled, no harm was done.
That client would simply be charged more the next time.
So Consuelo did now what she did whenever she was scared—pasted a smooth smile on her face and walked through the door, not knowing what was on the other side.
Mike had been a soldier for much of his adult life. Soldiers do not open their eyes slowly, confident that the world is a wonderful place. They snap awake, instantly alert, ready for action, knowing the world is full of murderous motherfuckers who can’t wait to smoke them.
Soldiering is a Darwinian occupation. Those who can’t shoot from deep sleep to alertness in a second are winnowed out pretty fast. Usually from the end of a barrel.
Old habits die hard, particularly when they are the kind to foster survival. He wasn’t a soldier any more, but Mike still woke up in a flash, usually trying to figure out how to get out of having to spend time with the woman he’d fucked the night before.
He usually woke up to a flat, exhausted, melancholy feeling, itchy to jump out of whatever bed he was in and get home. Where he’d feel flat, exhausted and melancholy.
Oh man. Not now. No, sirree. He felt great, though he definitely did not want to jump out of bed and get going. Nope. He had no strength in his muscles at all. Man, he didn’t want to go anywhere, not with Chloe’s sleek, soft little body half-on, half-off his.
Sometimes he had to remember who the babe in the bed was, but not now. Because it wasn’t a babe, it was Chloe.
It was a sunny day. He could tell because the inside of his lids were painted golden. And there was a warm breeze coming in off the ocean, fluttering the curtains.
He felt…clean. Purified. Purged of some ancient black bile that had been poisoning his system since forever.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…
hopeful. The sex last night had almost burned him alive.
It had reduced the old Mike to cinders and here was the new version, ready to face a new day with a cheerful smile.
Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought to face a new day with a cheerful smile. Maybe never.
He felt…he felt like a virgin must feel after sex for the very first time.
He didn’t actually remember much about his very first time, except that it had been standing up in a doorway, because he’d been drunk at the time.
But if he’d had a different life, if he hadn’t been so fucking angry all the time, he could imagine his first time feeling like this.
Like he’d personally discovered an entire new realm of pleasure.
Except instead of discovering sex with some nice bland high schooler at 17, he was discovering it with Chloe, who was anything but bland.
She was so wise and so loving.
And so fucking hot.
Man, he was a lucky guy.
“Mike?” Chloe pushed at his shoulder.
“Hmm?”
She wriggled out from under his arm while he groaned at the loss of her slight weight and warmth.
He could stop her, any time. No question.
Except, whoa, he didn’t seem to have any control over his body.
His muscles had been replaced by cotton.
He tried to hold on to her but his hand flopped right back down to the mattress.
“Mike Keillor,” she chided. “You promised twice to feed me last night and yet here I am, still hungry. You should be ashamed of yourself. A girl could starve to death here.”
The words were a light, gentle buzzing sound somewhere off on the horizon. He didn’t pay them much attention. He just liked the sound of Chloe’s voice.
A rustle of sheets, the bed dipped lightly and he could hear her padding about in bare feet.
Chloe had such pretty feet. His mind went off on a little meditative trance on Chloe’s feet while the pleasant sounds of a shower filled the room with white noise.
“Okay,” she said, back in the bedroom. “I guess I’m going to have to cook something myself. We’ll see what you have. I hope there’s something to work with.”
He could hear her padding off.
A frown formed on his forehead. Chloe. Kitchen.
The buzzing grew louder, darker.
This does not compute.
His eyes snapped open. Chloe in the kitchen. No, no, no!
Galvanized, he rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe.
Chloe and kitchens were not a good combo.
Chloe in the kitchen was a disaster in the making.
The woman had no feel for cooking at all, but was interested in learning.
After one bite of her experiments, no matter how much everyone loved her, they couldn’t choke down the rest. Not even Merry, who adored her, could eat more than a bite or two.
Chloe in the kitchen was not a good thing.
He ran to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway, watching her moving around in the warm morning sunshine. True, she couldn’t cook. But then again…she was just so fucking pretty.
She had on one of his tees which hung to her knees, billowing around her arms. She was barefoot, one pretty foot over the other as she concentrated on burning the toast. She’d turned the radio on the counter to a classic rock station and swayed that pretty behind to Hotel California.
She was like a little fairy princess come down from heaven to burn his coffee and make scrambled eggs with shell bits.
He hadn’t said a thing but she suddenly put down the wooden spoon she was using to push a stringy mass of eggs around his pan and turned.
The counter was a mess and the food smelled awful. But she smiled at him and his heart simply turned over in his chest.
Chloe.
Fuck it. He’d hire a cook.
“Here.” Her smile was blinding. How the hell was a man supposed to resist? She held out a mug. “I made us breakfast.”
“That’s nice, honey.” He took the mug, trying not to gag at the smell of burned rubber and took a sip. It wasn’t so bad, if you didn’t mind the taste. At least it was hot.
“Sit,” she ordered and placed a smoking pan on his kitchen table.
Burnt toast followed on a dish. But she’d done the table up nicely, scavaging in his cupboards for presentable plates, coming up with tea towels to use as place mats.
It looked nice. Mike was glad he’d finally broken down and gone to Ikea to buy every kind of glass there was after Ellen laughed at the jelly jars he used as glasses.
The table looked really pretty. It looked even better when Chloe sat down. Mike gamely scraped some black off his toast and buttered it, slathering it with jam to cover the charcoal taste.
Chloe was cheating. She was sipping a cup of tea—no way to burn tea—and delicately chopping the head off a soft boiled egg. Mike helped himself to the scrambled eggs, ignoring the shells. When he bit into one, he just swallowed. Hell, it was protein.
It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was rising behind the building but a warm gentle glow off the ocean shimmered from the open French door that gave out onto a little balcony.
The sky was that glorious blue only southern California seemed able to produce and the sea was calm, with only a few wavelets looking like lacy ruffles.
Mike felt an enormous sense of peace settle over him.
He smiled at Chloe and she smiled back. Then schooled her face to a disapproving frown.
“You didn’t give me much to work with,” she said and shot him a reproving look.
“I think I used up everything in your fridge. We need to go on a food run, don’t you think? ”
Mike froze, the happiness he’d been feeling just a second ago fizzing out of him like air out of a leaky balloon. The world and all its problems, the events of the day before, rushed back into his head on a black tide.
He took her hand and chose his words carefully.
“Honey—” He breathed in deeply, bracing himself.
Might as well get it over with. “Honey, I don’t like the thought of you out and about right now.
” That was putting it mildly. The thought of Chloe out, a target for these unknown scumbags, drove him a little insane.
“We don’t have a handle yet on who attacked you yesterday.
Until then, I’d be happier if you just…stayed here. ”
A little line appeared between her eyebrows. “Stay here? In the house? Until when?”
Mike clenched his jaws. “Until we know more about who attacked you.”