sluggish.
"You wouldn't understand love, would you, Jack?" Her voice was quiet, without its usual edge, and her gaze passed over his face in a slow search. "The kind that doesn't ask questions, doesn't require favors or have limits."
"No." Inside the emptiness her words brought him curled an edgy fist of envy.
"I'd say if you don't ask questions or have limits, you're a fool."
"And you're no fool."
"Under the circumstances, you should be grateful I'm not. I'll get you out of this, M.J. Then you'll owe me fifty thousand."
"You know your priorities," she said with a sneer.
"Yeah, money smooths out a lot of bumps on the road. And I say before you pay me off we end up in bed again. Only this time it won't be to take a nap."
She turned toward him fully, and ignored the quick pulse of excitement in her gut. "Dakota, the only way I'll end up in the sack with you is if you handcuff me again."
There was that smile, slow, insolent, damnably attractive. "Well, that would be interesting, wouldn't it?"
Wanting to make time, he swung onto the interstate, headed north. And he promised himself that not only would he get her into bed, but she wouldn't think of another man when he did.
"You're heading back to D.C."
"That's right. We've got some business there." In the glare of oncoming headlights, his face was grim.
He took a roundabout route, circling, cruising past his objective, winding his way back, until he was satisfied none of the cars parked on the block were occupied.
There was pedestrian traffic, as well. He'd sized it up by his second pass.
Deals were being made, he mused. And that kind of business kept people moving.
"Nice neighborhood," she commented, watching a drunk stumble out of a liquor store with a brown paper sack. "Just charming. Yours?"
"Ralph's. We're only a couple blocks from the courthouse." He cruised past a prostitute who was well off the usual stroll and pulled around the corner. "He likes the location."
It was an area, she knew, that even the most fearless cabbies preferred to avoid. An area where life was often worth less than the spit on the sidewalk, and those who valued theirs locked their doors tight before sundown and waited for morning.
Here, the graffiti smeared on the crumbling buildings wasn't an art form. It was a threat.
She heard someone swearing viciously, then the sound of breaking glass. "A man of taste and refinement, your friend Ralph."
"Former friend." He took her hand, obliging her to slide across the seat when he climbed out.
"That you, Dakota? That you?" A man slipped out of the shadows of a doorway. His eyes were fire red and skittish as a whipped dog's. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth as he shambled forward in battered high-tops and an overcoat that had to be stifling in the midsummer heat.
"Yeah, Freddie. How's it going?"
"Been better. Been better, Jack, you know?" His eyes passed over M.J., then moved on. "Been better," he said again.
"Yeah, I know." Jack reached in his front pocket for the bills he'd already placed there. "You could use a hot meal."
"A hot meal." Freddie stared at the bills, moistened his lips. "Sure could do with a hot meal, all right."
"You seen Ralph?"
"Ain't." Freddie's shaky fingers reached for the money, clamped on. He blinked up when Jack continued to hold the bills. "Ain't," he repeated. "Musta closed up early. It's a holiday, the Fourth of Ju-ly. Damn kids been setting off firecrackers already. Can't tell them from gunshots. Damn kids."
"When's the last time you saw Ralph?"
"I dunno. Yesterday?" He looked at Jack for approval. "Yesterday, probably. I've been here awhile, but I ain't seen him. And his place is locked up."
"Have you seen anybody else who doesn't belong here?"
"Her." Freddie pointed at M.J. and smiled. "She don't."
"Besides her."
"Nope. Nobody." The voice went whiny. "I sure been better, Jack, you know."
"Yeah." Without bothering to sigh, Jack turned the money loose. "Get lost, Freddie."
"Yeah, okay."
"You wouldn't understand love, would you, Jack?" Her voice was quiet, without its usual edge, and her gaze passed over his face in a slow search. "The kind that doesn't ask questions, doesn't require favors or have limits."
"No." Inside the emptiness her words brought him curled an edgy fist of envy.
"I'd say if you don't ask questions or have limits, you're a fool."
"And you're no fool."
"Under the circumstances, you should be grateful I'm not. I'll get you out of this, M.J. Then you'll owe me fifty thousand."
"You know your priorities," she said with a sneer.
"Yeah, money smooths out a lot of bumps on the road. And I say before you pay me off we end up in bed again. Only this time it won't be to take a nap."
She turned toward him fully, and ignored the quick pulse of excitement in her gut. "Dakota, the only way I'll end up in the sack with you is if you handcuff me again."
There was that smile, slow, insolent, damnably attractive. "Well, that would be interesting, wouldn't it?"
Wanting to make time, he swung onto the interstate, headed north. And he promised himself that not only would he get her into bed, but she wouldn't think of another man when he did.
"You're heading back to D.C."
"That's right. We've got some business there." In the glare of oncoming headlights, his face was grim.
He took a roundabout route, circling, cruising past his objective, winding his way back, until he was satisfied none of the cars parked on the block were occupied.
There was pedestrian traffic, as well. He'd sized it up by his second pass.
Deals were being made, he mused. And that kind of business kept people moving.
"Nice neighborhood," she commented, watching a drunk stumble out of a liquor store with a brown paper sack. "Just charming. Yours?"
"Ralph's. We're only a couple blocks from the courthouse." He cruised past a prostitute who was well off the usual stroll and pulled around the corner. "He likes the location."
It was an area, she knew, that even the most fearless cabbies preferred to avoid. An area where life was often worth less than the spit on the sidewalk, and those who valued theirs locked their doors tight before sundown and waited for morning.
Here, the graffiti smeared on the crumbling buildings wasn't an art form. It was a threat.
She heard someone swearing viciously, then the sound of breaking glass. "A man of taste and refinement, your friend Ralph."
"Former friend." He took her hand, obliging her to slide across the seat when he climbed out.
"That you, Dakota? That you?" A man slipped out of the shadows of a doorway. His eyes were fire red and skittish as a whipped dog's. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth as he shambled forward in battered high-tops and an overcoat that had to be stifling in the midsummer heat.
"Yeah, Freddie. How's it going?"
"Been better. Been better, Jack, you know?" His eyes passed over M.J., then moved on. "Been better," he said again.
"Yeah, I know." Jack reached in his front pocket for the bills he'd already placed there. "You could use a hot meal."
"A hot meal." Freddie stared at the bills, moistened his lips. "Sure could do with a hot meal, all right."
"You seen Ralph?"
"Ain't." Freddie's shaky fingers reached for the money, clamped on. He blinked up when Jack continued to hold the bills. "Ain't," he repeated. "Musta closed up early. It's a holiday, the Fourth of Ju-ly. Damn kids been setting off firecrackers already. Can't tell them from gunshots. Damn kids."
"When's the last time you saw Ralph?"
"I dunno. Yesterday?" He looked at Jack for approval. "Yesterday, probably. I've been here awhile, but I ain't seen him. And his place is locked up."
"Have you seen anybody else who doesn't belong here?"
"Her." Freddie pointed at M.J. and smiled. "She don't."
"Besides her."
"Nope. Nobody." The voice went whiny. "I sure been better, Jack, you know."
"Yeah." Without bothering to sigh, Jack turned the money loose. "Get lost, Freddie."
"Yeah, okay."
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