Take this, the man seated before her murmured. He passed her a business card.
Disappointment coursed through her. Really? He was giving her his phone number to get a date? One word was written on the back. Asher. And a phone number.
Is that your first name or last? she asked.
First. And my mother called me Ashe.
She couldnt picture this hard-edged man ever having had a mother. Glancing back down at the card, she frowned. What was that area code? It wasnt local. She turned the card over. It was for some sort of sporting goods and ammunition warehouse in Baton Rouge. You sell tents and guns, Asher? she asked drily.
His voice was low, sexy as he murmured, You can call me Ashe, too.
Cripes. Her toes curled in her high-heeled platform shoes as the masculine confidence in that low rumble vibrated through her belly.
He was speaking again. ...only thing I had to write on. Thats my cell phone number on the back. You ever get into any trouble you cant handle, call me. Okay?
She looked up from the scrawled number quickly. Youre some kind of hired muscle?
The corner of his mouth curled up again. Something like that. Keep it, eh? No strings attached if you call the number. Just a helping hand. Youre a good kid, and youre clearly in over your head.
Oh, God. That was so nice of him. Something hot and sharp caught in her throat, choking her a little. Shed nearly forgotten what it was like to have a decent human being give a damn about her. An urge to take him up on his offer and confide everything to someoneanyonenearly overcame her. Heck, the temptation just to have a simple, honest conversation was almost more than she could resist.
But then her spine stiffened. Her work here was not done. She had to maintain her cover. Her life, and possibly her brothers, depended on it. She was in too deep to back out now. A list of names, deals, dates and crimes shed already procured was etched in her mind. There would be no leaving this quest until she succeeded...or died.
Belatedly, she smiled cynically at AsherAsheand spoke with utter sincerity. Believe me. Im not a kid. Not anymore.
Take care of yourself, Evgeniya Hankova. He pronounced her name exactly right, palatalized vowels and all, as if he was a native speaker of Russian.
Her gaze snapped to his. Surely he wasnt one of them! Had this been a test? Ohmigod. Had she said something to give away her real motives for being here? Frantically she reviewed their brief conversation while her face froze into a mask of a smile. She backed away from his table quickly, turned, and fled to the storeroom behind the bar to catch her breath.
Vitaly, the owner and manager of the whole establishment, poked his head into the filthy little room far too soon. I need you out front. Candys done with her set, and everyone wants drinks.
Great. Candy was one of the sexiest pole dancers in the entire club. She was also all of fifteen years old. The patrons would be horny and grabby after her performance. Steeling herself to ignore the lewd comments and inappropriately groping hands, she nodded at her boss and stepped back out into the bar.
He was gone.
She knew it without even having to glance over at the table in the corner. Ashes absence was a cold chill against her skin where there should have been warmth. She smiled down blankly at the mobster whod just proposed vulgar sex with her in Russian she wasnt supposed to understand. Take the drink order. Move on to the next table. Keep moving. Just keep moving...
God. For a minute there, she remembered what life had been like before everything went to hell. A nice, normal guy treating her with a modicum of respect and concern. Was it possible to be homesick for America while standing on American soil? Apparently, yes, because she felt tears welling up in the backs of her eyes.
Stop it. No feelings. No fear. She was a stone. She would have her answers, and then nothing else mattered.
* * *
The bar closed at 2:00 a.m., but Hank and the other waitresses were expected to stick around to clean up after that. The Voodoo was particularly trashed tonight because of the fight. The one Ashe had broken up with such ease. She yanked her thoughts away from the enigmatic American who had wandered so far from where he should have been and ended up in this little corner of hell. He was not for her. That whole normalcy thing was not for her, not anymore. She bent down to pick up the remains of a broken chair.
The good news was she was not one of the trafficked, drug-addicted girls upstairs. She was still free to walk out of here and never come back if she chose to. At least for now.
She could turn the crew in charge of this place in to the police. But a) she wasnt entirely certain the police werent being paid to ignore the goings-on at the Who Do Voodoo, and b) then she would never find Max. Besides, she was convinced this place was a small fish in the overall crime ring running it.
Her goal was to work her way up to the big sharks before she called the authorities. She had names and pictures of a few of the girls that shed snuck on her cell phone over the past few months. Those would go to the police as soon as she concluded her own investigation.
She even had pictures of a few men who came into the bar and disappeared quickly into the back any time they showed up. Vitaly was always surly when they left, and his complaints about how much money his bosses took out of the till always happened right after those silent strangers paid a visit.
The bar was finally restored to a semblance of its usual squalor, and Vitaly growled at the waitresses to go on home. She took off her apron, hung it in the storeroom and slung her purse over her shoulder. Wearily she headed outside with the other girls. They traded good-nights and went their various ways. As for her, she trudged deeper into the bowels of the Warehouse Districts worst section.
The darkness at this time of night was thick and impenetrable, shrouding her in heavy menace. Ever since the car accident, shed been terrified of being alone in the dark. She walked fast and tried to project a badassery she was far from feeling as she hurried home. If she could call it a home. Her apartment was, at best, a dive. But it had a bed, a sofa, a tiny kitchen and a tinier bathroom. And she could afford it on her meager pay.
Shed graduated from college the previous June with a degree in art history and restoration, just before Max went AWOL. She could probably land a decent job given her family connections in the art business, and there was the cash shed inherited when her father had died. It had covered the cost of her college with enough left over to start her own art restoration business if she wanted. Instead, she was living in a slum as part of her cover and waiting tables in a cesspool while she searched for her brother.
Her humble abode was on the second floor of a hundred-year-old building situated over an Oriental rug showroom. The rug merchant downstairs had stashed a girlfriend in the apartment until his wife caught him and forced him to ditch the mistress and rent the place out. Hank suspected the only reason she was allowed to be here was because the wife didnt realize that Hank the Renter was a girl. A young, single, reasonably good-looking one at that. The rug merchant had made a few overtures to her to take up with him where the former tenant had left off, but shed turned him down firmly and nailed the door shut that led from her living room downstairs to the old lechers office.
She turned into a puddle-strewn alley running alongside the rug store and started up the rickety wood stairs that led to her place. A sound behind her made her whip around, hand plunging into her purse to grip her can of pepper spray.
A man-sized shadow rushed toward her from the alley entrance, and she froze. What to do? How to react? Hanks heart lurched in her throat. She had to do something, but what? The back of the alley was a dead end. Nobody would hear her scream, and even if someone did hear her, no one in this neighborhood would call the police. Oh, God. She was in huge trouble.
But as quickly as that thought rushed through her brain and panic crashed through her body, a second, taller shadow raced out of the darkness from behind the first one. The fightif she could call it thatwas quick and brutal. Shadow Number Two chopped her would-be assailant in the back of the head with a vicious backhand blow that dropped Shadow Number One like a brick.
The violent second shadow took off running straight at her. Crap. The set of the big mans shoulders was grim. Determined. She didnt need to see his face to know she was his next target.
She turned and raced up the stairs, half-sobbing in terror. She stumbled, grabbed the rail and hauled herself upright. Splinters from the aged and cracked wood railing stabbed her palm, but she ignored them. She was going to die if she didnt get inside and behind a locked door now.
Footsteps closed in too damned fast from behind. Oh, God. A half dozen steps to go. The stairs shook as the shadows weight crashed onto them. She fled across the tiny landing. Keys. Dammit. Where were her keys?
She fumbled desperately in her purse as her attacker took the steps behind her in great leaps that devoured the long staircase all too fast.
There. Her fingers found the jumble of keys. She snatched them out of her purse and found the familiar shape of her door key. Oh, God. He was almost on her. She whirled, threw her purse at him with all her strength and turned to unlock the door.
Not fast enough.
Big, strong hands grabbed her upper arms. Yanked her around.
Pepper spray. She still had the pepper spray in her left hand. She lifted the small canister and mashed down the button.
Oww. Bloody hell! her attacker grunted.
He ducked away from the worst of the spray, barreled into her, and propelled both her and himself against her door. His weight knocked the breath out of her for a moment, during which he released her with one hand, just long enough to turn the doorknob. Which, of course, shed managed to unlock right before he jumped her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but her attacker shoved her inside and slammed the door shut behind them before she could let it rip.
Jeez, Hank. Its me. Ashe.
Her scream cut off just as it got started. Ashe? What the heck? She flipped on the light switch and stared at him in disbelief.
Christ. Wheres a sink? I gotta rinse that pepper spray out of my eyes. His eyes were, indeed, watering copiously, and he took a half-blind step toward her kitchenette.
Are you going to attack me? she asked suspiciously, backing away from him.
Hell, no. I just took out the bastard who was about to jump you.
Her jaw dropped. Who was he?
No idea. Sink?
Oh. Over here. Taking him by the arm, she guided him to her kitchen sink and turned on the spigot. It coughed then began to emit a sluggish stream of smelly New Orleans tap water.
He splashed great handfuls of it over his face again and again, rinsing away the pepper spray from around his eyes. His back muscles flexed under his taut T-shirt as he bent over the sink. Yowza. The guy was ripped. She hovered nearby, feeling helpless and guilty that she was the cause of his hissing breaths of pain and watering eyes. Eventually he stood upright. He was easily six foot two. And freaking built like an Olympic athlete.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to forestall her. Stay here. She watched as he cautiously opened her front door. Stepped out onto the landing. Looked around. Came back inside and announced, Hes gone. She sagged in relief and realized abruptly that her knees felt weak.
Meanwhile, Ashe pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
She eavesdropped shamelessly as he asked, Is Bastien LeBlanc by any chance on duty tonight...? Perfect. Could you ask him to cruise by Maloufs Oriental Rug Shop in the Warehouse District when he gets a chance? There was a minor scuffle in the alley beside the store, and a black-and-white drive-by would help ensure that no more trouble flares up. Tell him Asher Konig will owe him one...thanks.
What was that all about? she demanded. Whos Bastien LeBlanc?
NOPD patrol officer. And an old friend. Hell cruise by and make sure your would-be assailant doesnt stick around for seconds.
Wow. It must be nice to have ones very own cop on call to do favors. If only she had the same. Maybe then she would know where her brother was by now. You should have told me who you were instead of chasing me up the stairs, she said accusingly.
I didnt know if I had knocked the bastard out fully or not, he retorted. Unlike on television, people can pop up pretty fast after getting walloped in the head. I needed to get you behind cover and in a defensible position before I bothered with niceties.
Oh. A pause. Sorry I nailed you with my pepper spray.
Dont apologize to me. You didnt realize who I was.
Did he have to be so nice about it? Now she felt even guiltier than before. Let me get you a towel. Youre soaked.
She retreated to her bathroom, grabbed the cleaner of her two towels off the rack and hurried back to the main room. Sheesh. What was wrong with her? Was she afraid he was going to bolt from her place before she got a chance to flirt with him or something?
Oh, my. As she stepped into the living room, she was just in time to see him grab the back of his T-shirt and haul the wet garment over his head.
Oh, my. Acres of bulging pecs and rippling abs came into sight as he straightened. Top-tier male models had nothing on this guys physique.
Wow, she breathed. Youre pretty without a shirt.
He glanced up and smiled wryly. Thanks. And thanks for the towel. He lifted it gently out of her nerveless fingers and began toweling off his muscular acreage...while she stood there and basically drooled at him.
You okay...?
Wait. What? Hed asked her something. She replayed the garbled syllables and blurted belatedly, Yeah, sure. Im fine.
Let me see your hand.
Huh?
Before she could figure out what he was talking about, hed moved swiftly to her side and lifted her hand in his, palm up. Oh, hey. Look. There were three angry red scratches running the length of her hand and culminating in big gouges.
Tweezers, he bit out.
Medicine cabinet.
He turned and strode swiftly into the bathroom. Oh, God. A half dozen skimpy thongs and lacy bras were draped over the shower rod, drying. Too late to stop him.
Sure enough, he was smirking a little as he emerged from her postage-stamp-sized bathroom. But then he picked up her hand and started digging around.