Chasing Midnight. Susan Krinard
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In a way, their failure had relieved Allie. She hadn’t solved the mystery of why those notes were so valuable, but at least she could honestly say she didn’t know where they were if someone questioned her again. And that might buy her time to keep looking into the circumstances of Cato’s death.
The watch on Allie’s wrist ticked out the minutes, and lover boy still hadn’t returned. She glanced toward the table where she’d left Kolya and Sibella. Kolya had fallen asleep over his vodka; Sibella was still sketching the various speakeasy patrons, her tongue between her teeth. Beyond them, at the entrance to the club, the doorman had just admitted a single girl in a cheap, overlarge yellow dress and a long string of very expensive-looking pearls.
Allie tapped her fingers on the tabletop. During her two years of hunting in Manhattan’s various clubs, speakeasies and dives, she had learned how to read people with almost perfect accuracy. For someone in her position, such a skill was essential. She’d used it to pick friends, like Bruce and Nathan and Pepper, who weren’t apt to question her peculiarities, and she relied on it to help her select her donors.
Now she looked at the girl in the yellow dress, all wide eyes and red lipstick, and knew exactly what was about to happen.
Get out, Allie thought. Get out while you still can.
The girl took a few steps farther into the room, staring about her with an expression that practically begged the worst of the roués and lady-killers to go for the throat. Fresh meat…that was all she would be to them. Easy to get drunk, since she’d probably never tasted anything stronger than near-beer, if that. Easy to win over with compliments and pretty words of admiration. All a man had to do was appeal to her desire to be daring and rebellious, and soon she would be eating out of his hand.
And then…
Hissing between her teeth, Allie folded her arms and turned away. It wasn’t any of her business if inexperienced girls who thought they wanted a fast life came slumming where they didn’t belong. The pearls suggested that this one had come from a privileged background. She’d probably never known a single day of suffering in her entire life.
Pampered and spoiled, Allie thought. She’s nothing like I was.
But Allie’s rationalizations didn’t improve her unexpectedly dark mood. She swiveled to watch as the girl walked up to the bar with an air of forced bravado and ordered a drink. The bartender asked her a question; she tossed her head and laughed. With a shrug, he moved to fill her order.
A moment later the first of the tomcats arrived…a handsomeValentino with slicked-back hair and a smile too full of teeth. He sidled up to the girl and engaged her in conversation, not quite touching her, playing the good old pal for all hewasworth. The girl picked up her glass, gingerly sipped and nearly choked on the liquor, her fair skin turning scarlet with chagrin. Valentino laughed companionably and gave her a brotherly hug. She gazed at him with gratitude and the beginnings of real interest.
Lousy taste, Allie thought. At least find someone closer to your age. Like that boy in the Oxford bags…
But the girl wouldn’t be interested in some collegiate type. She wanted the bad men, the dangerous ones her parents wouldn’t approve…just like the ones who were beginning to circle the bar like sharks smelling blood.
Maybe she’ll get out of it all right. Maybe she’s smarter than she looks…
“Miss me, baby?”
Allie’s own chivalrous suitor set a fresh pair of drinks on the table and settled into his seat beside her. “Where were we?” he drawled. “Oh, yeah…you were saying that you don’t like to waste time.”
“That’s right. I’m a regular bearcat when my interest is aroused.”
“No kidding.” He licked his lips, as his hand snaked under the table and came to rest on her knee. “I admire a doll who gets right to the point.”
Suddenly Allie was sick of his clumsy lovemaking. She stopped his hand in its progress and pulled him out of his seat. “Let’s go.”
He gaped at her. “Now?”
She smiled mockingly. “Having second thoughts?”
“Don’t you even want to know my name?”
“Why? You don’t know mine.”
“Sure I do. You’re Allie Chase. Everyone knows you.”
“Isn’t that nice.” She ran her fingernails up the length of his sleeve. “Are you coming or not?”
He surrendered to her tug and followed her to the back door. “Where are we—”
“The alley.”
“You want to do it there?”
“Why not?”
He grinned, excitement replacing surprise. “All right, baby. Fast and hard it is.”
Allie had barely stepped out into the alley when he lunged at her and pushed her against the brick wall, one eager hand pushing the skirt of her dress up to her hips, while the other fumbled with his trousers. She felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against her belly. With a little sigh she pressed her face against his neck and kissed him, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his collar. By the time he had worked her step-ins down around her thighs, she had pulled his coat and shirt away from his shoulders.
The hunger swept over her, demanding immediate relief. She kissed him at the juncture of his throat and shoulder, finding the veins closest to the skin. He forced her thighs apart. She bit him—gently, so gently that he would feel no more than the slightest pinch. She licked the small wound in his neck, tasting blood and releasing the chemicals her own body produced, waiting while they went to work…drew back and watched in astonishment as the slack face before her began to change, taking on strikingly different lines, brown eyes changing to gold, alight with fierce desire.
Allie swayed, startled by the sheer power of her own imagination. Her body grew hot and wet; she could almost feel Griffin Durant’s hands on her flesh, stroking, exploring, touching her breasts and her thighs. His mouth was on hers, savage and possessive; he pressed against her, demanding entrance, and she could think of nothing but taking him inside, making him a part of her for all time…
Her nameless prey gave a soft groan and let go of her shoulders. Griffin Durant vanished. Seized by desire that had become a raging thirst, Allie shook off her confusion and focused on the reality of the man in her grip. While he stood smiling in an erotic stupor, she took what she needed. The blood was both tart and sweet on her tongue. She felt new strength seep into her bones and muscles and organs, the first rush of euphoria that always came with a good feeding but was all too often so quick to evaporate.
When she was finished, she steered him to the wall and let him slump there while his wound began to heal. “That’s all, friend,” she said, patting his stubbled cheek. “You just sleep it off right here.”
His knees buckled, and he slid to the dirty pavement. Allie stepped over his sprawled legs and tapped on Lulu’s back door. A waiter opened it, glanced past her at the body and hastily stepped aside.
Everything was much as Allie had left it. Pepper was up on the table again; the jazz band was playing “Sugar Foot Stomp.” Allie found herself searching the crowd for a yellow dress with a string of pearls. She didn’t have far to look.
It was a lot worse than she’d thought. Valentino had been ousted from his favored position by a notorious womanizer who was known to prefer rape to any sort of consensual sex. Jake Greco was one of Carmine De Luca’s hatchet men, a bully of the worst kind—immensely handsome, ruthless and consummately capable of deceiving any woman naive enough not to know his reputation.
Miss Yellow-Dress had been completely taken in. Several empty glasses stood before her on the table she shared with Greco, and she had another in her hand. She giggled as she drank, nearly dropping the glass when she