Page 65 of Striker
She leaned close and dragged a red-tipped finger over the collar of his shirt. Her lips slid into a sultry smirk, but her eyes told a different story—one of fear.
“Rex has spies all around. Asking for me by name wasn’t smart. We either need to talk quickly or go in a private room.”
He fisted his hand on the table. “Room.”
“Good.” She flounced out of her seat, caught his fingers, and drew him from the table.
He kept a stupid grin on his face hoping whoever was watching would simply assume he was a customer.
She led him down the hall, sliding past the bouncers. At the end was a staircase. Apprehension puckered his flesh. He could be walking right into a damn trap. Dipping his head, he spoke low in his mic. “Heading upstairs.”
Red lights lit the upper hallway, and each door had a whiteboard sign on it that read Vacant or Occupied.
“Right here,” she said, pushing open one of the doors with a Vacant sign. In the center of the room was a stripper pole, and in front of it was a leather love seat.
She closed the door and locked it behind her. With her back pressed against the wood, she glared at him. “Now who the hell are you and what do you want with Rex?”
He moved around the room, checking the ceilings and walls for cameras or recording devices.
“For your safety, I can’t tell you anything. However, just know your compliance—or noncompliance—will be noted.”
Her eyes rounded. “Ohmigod. You’re a fed. Are you nuts? They’re going to know you spoke to me. They’re going to?—”
He held up a hand, his patience thinning more than her extensions. Satisfied they weren’t being watched, he went to the sofa and sat on the arm. “I’m assuming no one can hear us, correct?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded.
“How many guys do you see in one of these”— he glanced around and took in the chipped paint, the smudged mirror, the tear in the leather—“rooms a night?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Five or ten.”
“Then there’s no reason for them to assume you’re speaking to someone you shouldn’t. When we go downstairs, tell ’em I tipped big and you knew me from . . . wherever. Make something up.”
She kneaded her hands together. “All right. What do you want to know?”
“When did you see him last?”
She paced away from the door and puffed out her cheeks. “Last night.”
“Here?”
“No.” She met his gaze. “Well, he came inside for a few minutes, and then we went to my place.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“I need to sit down.” She dragged her fingers through her strands then walked to the couch and sank into the leather.
He stood to give her more breathing room. “Cinnamon,” he urged.
She swallowed. “He said there was a lot of heat on him and he’d have to leave town for a while. Gave me some cash and told me he’d keep men here.” She looked up at him. “He told me to alert them if anyone asked for him.”
He gave her a flat smile. “Where do you think he went?”
“I don’t know.” She threw her hands in the air. “Hell, for all I care.”
He tightened his arms around his chest. Interesting. Rex paid her well, yet she didn’t seem to care about him. “Why do you say that?”
She squinted at him as if he were stupid. “He’s an evil man. We’d all be better off without him here.”
