A Kept Woman. Sheri WhiteFeather
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a business to consider, Natalie. You’ve got to get your priorities straight.”
She didn’t respond. She just gazed at him with disappointment in her eyes. And suddenly she reminded him of a wounded child. A street-smart little girl who wasn’t so smart.
He moved closer, close enough that no one could overhear. “How old were you when you met him?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Him. Lover-boy.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears, fussing with the Goldilocks strands. “What does that have to do with a couch?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’m not discussing this here.”
“Then I want the whole story when we get back to your place.” The truth, he decided. Not the rumors. Or the pieced-together profile he’d read in her file. “I can’t help you if I don’t know who you are.”
“They already made me talk to a psychologist.”
“Where you probably lied through your teeth.”
She turned away, and when she marched back over to the leather sofa, he almost gave in and let her buy the damn thing. Almost, he thought. But not quite.
Once she realized she’d lost the battle, she refused to shop for the rest of day. Zack ignored her temperamental attitude and took her straight home, intent on having the truth-versus-rumor conversation.
The moment, the very second he pulled into her driveway and parked the car, she leaped out, determined to ditch him. He had to give her credit for trying, even if she didn’t have a chance in hell at out-maneuvering him.
He caught up with her and took the keys out of her hand, unlocking the front door and gesturing for her to go inside. She made a beeline for the kitchen and started making the noisiest pot of coffee he’d ever heard, slamming cabinets in her wake.
“I take mine black,” he said.
“Well, bully for you.”
He leaned against counter. “I’m just trying to help.” Trying to understand her, he thought.
“I don’t want to talk about David.”
Zack moved to stand beside her, to take the glass carafe out of her quaking hands. “He hurt you.”
She turned to face him. “He made promises he didn’t keep. So what? Your wife did that to you, too.”
He ignored the emotional dig, the familiar jolt of pain it caused. “Just tell me how old you were when you met him.”
“Seventeen.”
“Son of a bitch.” Zack searched her gaze, probing deeper. “Did he touch you? Did that bastard—”
“No.” Uncomfortable, Natalie stepped back. Did he have to look at her like that? Did he have to make her feel like a victim? “David and I didn’t start dating until I was eighteen.”
“But you met him when you were underage?”
“Yes.” She took the carafe back, determined to keep busy, to make the coffee her system needed. How many postnightmare days could she survive without turning into a zombie?
“Was it at one of his strip clubs?”
She nearly spilled the water. “Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
She nodded, ashamed of the girl she’d been, of the woman she’d become. “I auditioned to be a dancer.”
“How? With a fake ID?”
The coffee started to drip and a fresh-perked aroma filled the kitchen. “I had a girlfriend who worked there, and she helped me get an ID and set up the audition. I was only trying to pass myself off as eighteen. Fully nude clubs in California don’t serve alcohol, so they hire younger girls.”
“I’m aware of the strip-club ordinances in your state. I know the difference between topless and nude.”
Natalie shifted her stance. She was practically pinned against the counter, with Zack watching every move she made.
“What happened?” he asked.
“My ID passed, at first anyway.” Images of the past clouded her mind. Images of being alone on a stage, of her heart pounding its way out of her chest. “The club was closed, so all I had to do was audition for the manager. He seemed rushed, like he had a lot going on that day. He’d barely glanced at my phony license.” She paused to take a breath. “In the middle of my act, another man came in. It was David, but I didn’t know he was the owner. He was standing in a dark corner. The only thing I could see was the tip of his cigarette.”
“Did you finish taking off your clothes?”
“Yes.” The coffee was almost ready, but she didn’t reach for a cup. Her hands were clammy, her pulse erratic. “My girlfriend had been coaching me, teaching me what to do. I thought I was prepared.” But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. “I danced to the music and strutted along the tip rail. I even straddled the pole. I was naked, wearing a pair of four-inch heels and praying for it to end.”
He remained where he was, studying her with an intense expression. “Why’d you do it?”
“For the money, for a means to be self-sufficient. My mom was always kicking me out of the house. Half the time I had a place to live and half the time I didn’t. She used to bring home these really trashy guys, street-hustler types, and if they started checking me out, talking about how pretty I was, she’d blame me.”
“So you went to the nearest strip club and applied for a job?”
“What else was I going to do? Turn my mother in to social services? This was Hollywood, Zack. I grew up on the boulevard.”
“Tell me about the rest of the audition. What happened after you put your clothes back on?”
“The manager said I wasn’t ready, but that I could come back and try again. He told me to work on my moves, to loosen up. Then David came out of the shadows.” She could still recall the way he’d carried himself. His strength. His power. “He asked to see my ID, and suddenly I got scared. I wouldn’t show it to him. I grabbed my purse and split.”
Zack turned to pour the coffee. He handed her a cup and took a sip of his. Grateful for the interruption, Natalie doctored hers with milk and sugar.
“When did you see Halloway again?”
“A few days later. I was hanging out in front of a sandwich shop near the Wax Museum, panhandling with some other kids, and this Jaguar pulled up. No one paid much attention. We were used to seeing expensive cars.”
“How convenient for Halloway. Just running into you like that.” Zack’s tone indicated his disgust. “You know damn well he tracked you down. He went looking for you.”
Natalie tasted her coffee. What Zack said was true, but at the time, she hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d chalked up the panhandling encounter to chance. “David gave my friends some money and offered to take me to lunch.”
“Did you know he was a mobster then? Or did you find out later?”
“I knew. My girlfriend already told me that Denny Halloway’s son owned the club. David wasn’t as well-known as his father, but he was earning a reputation.”
“As what? A pervert? You were seventeen, and lover-boy was what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
“You’re eleven years older than me,” she pointed out.
He gave her a tight look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, she gulped the hot drink and felt it burn the back of her throat.