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  She grabbed her visitor by the arm and tugged him toward the couch. “Can you tell me about her?”

  He stood beside the couch, looking as if he had no intention of sitting or staying, but he didn’t move back toward the door either.

  Taking that as a hopeful sign, Lindsey smiled again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” In her own selfish need to hear about her cousin, she’d completely forgotten all sense of manners. She tried to make up for it now by offering him something to drink, although she had yet to enter the kitchen to know if there was anything more than tap water to offer.

  He blinked. “No, thank you.” He glanced around the apartment, looking as ill at ease as Lindsey had felt earlier. He glanced at the door.

  “Please stay.”

  At her words, his gaze lifted to hers. “Why?”

  “Because…” She didn’t know why she wanted him to stay. She just knew she didn’t want to be alone. She shook her head and motioned to the door. “Never mind. I’m being silly. You have work to do.”

  He took a step as if to leave and paused. “Brett. My name is Brett.” Then without another word, he stepped around her and walked out the door.

  Lindsey dropped onto the couch and stared at her luggage. Six bags and a rusted-out car constituted everything she owned. If Harry hadn’t offered her this apartment and this job, she would have had nothing and nowhere to go.

  A little over a week ago, she’d had a life, of sorts. She’d had a job, an apartment that allowed her to rent month to month, and one good friend. But three days after she had received Karin’s email, Lindsey’s boss had let her go, she’d received an eviction notice and her only real friend, Patty, had gotten a job offer in California.

  Everything good in Lindsey’s life had disappeared in a poof. She’d taken it the only way she could—as a sign that it was time to start new, here in St. Louis with her cousin.

  But that cousin was nowhere to be found.

  Now what did Lindsey do?

  o0o

  A half hour later, Lindsey had roused herself. Yes, she was alone in an unknown city, but she did have a place to stay and a job, and most importantly, Karin was somewhere. She’d contacted Lindsey once, surely she would again—or if not, now that Lindsey knew she existed, she would be able to track her cousin down.

  And the first step to accomplishing that was presenting herself at Bloody Harry’s.

  So, dressed in her best slacks and blouse, she made her way down the stairs to the main floor, past the strange mosaic and out onto the street.

  It was well past dusk now, and the street was busy. Cafés were still packed but with a new crowd—business apparel was out, and club wear was in.

  Once again feeling grossly underdressed, Lindsey took a quick right out of the building and scurried toward the stairs that led to the basement and Bloody Harry’s.

  Only she didn’t get far. A line snaked up the stairs and around the corner. She ground to a halt, confused and unsure how to proceed.

  A man dressed head to toe in white leered at her. “End of the line for you.” He grinned.

  Lindsey took a step backward.

  “Misha, don’t tease.” Emilie, the woman who had given Lindsey directions to Harry’s earlier, snapped the man on the wrist with an old-fashioned fan. “Can’t you see Lindsey is special?”

  The man, Misha, narrowed his eyes, then pulled back. “She—”

  “Yes, she does.” Emilie stepped out of line and linked her arm through Lindsey’s. “Don’t tell me Harry already let you get away? He is slipping, isn’t he?” Without waiting for a response, she led Lindsey down the stairs and, with a wave of her fan, past the oversize bouncer.

  “Harry! I brought you something.” A laugh bubbled out of Emilie’s throat.

  Every person in the bar turned to stare.

  Feeling awkward and exposed, Lindsey stood frozen. Across the room, from behind the bar, Brett met her gaze. His earlier good-old-boy outfit was gone. Now, dressed in a white cotton shirt and skinny black tie, he blended seamlessly with the bar’s sixties decor. So seamlessly, it took Lindsey a moment to assure herself it was the same man.

  Slowly, he filled a martini glass with pink liquid and set it down on the bar. Then he lifted his collar and muttered something into the white cloth.

  In seconds, a door behind the bar flew open, and Harry strode out. His brows lowered, he moved toward them.

  If Lindsey had felt exposed before, she felt positively naked now. The angry intensity in Harry’s gaze made her shrink backward, but there was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

  “Emilie. To my office.” Placing his body between Lindsey and the staring crowd, he pointed toward the door from which he had just come.

  With a smile, Emilie tapped her fan against her cheek. “A bit late now isn’t it, Harry? Besides, you didn’t really mean to hide your find from everyone, did you? I mean, seriously, what good would that have done?”

  Feeling as if she was missing a large part of this conversation and wishing more than ever she could disappear into the floor, Lindsey glanced toward the only familiar face in the room, Brett.

  He took a large sip of the pink concoction and then set the glass down on the bar. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t help her; then, with a sigh, he picked up a rag and a tray and shuffled toward them.

  “Emilie is a bitch,” he announced, his tone flat.

  Emilie acknowledged his comment with a smile. “And Brett is a bore, but Harry—”

  “Is out of patience.” Harry grabbed Emilie by the elbow and moved swiftly toward his office. “Take Lindsey to the cooler. Have her…do something until I get back.” The office door closed behind them, silent and final.

  Lindsey glanced over her shoulder, at the bar’s main entrance. The bouncer had moved inside, blocking anyone from entering or leaving.

  The hairs on Lindsey’s arms rose.

  “You heard him. The cooler.” Brett turned and strode off, leaving Lindsey with the unwelcome choice of following him or being left alone to be stared at once again.

  She followed.

  o0o

  The cooler turned out to be the beer-and-wine cooler, but it also contained a box with Lindsey’s uniform. When Brett had pulled out a white clingy shirt, a cigarette skirt and high-heeled pumps, she’d objected, knowing the items wouldn’t fit, but he had insisted that they would.

  “They were Karin’s,” he added.

  “Karin’s?” Lindsey pulled out a pump. The bottom was smooth and unscuffed. In fact, none of the items appeared to have been worn.

  “Bought for her, I mean.” Brett’s gaze was steady and bored. “You can change in there.” He pointed down the hall to what Lindsey guessed was a bathroom.

  Curiosity had won out over unease, and Lindsey had taken the box and pulled on the clothing. As Brett had assured her, everything fit. She’d found a small jewelry box inside too, but left it behind. Wearing a uniform was one thing, but jewelry was personal, especially the small cross that had been inside the box. It was engraved on the back in a language Lindsey thought was French, and obviously not part of the martini bar’s uniform.

  Now she was back in the cooler, wishing for a sweater. She rubbed her hands over her arms.

  “Stay here.” Brett moved to leave.

  “Wait. How long?” As the words left her mouth, Brett was gone, the door closing behind him.

  Lindsey rushed after him, but while the doorknob twisted, the door didn’t open. Panic threatened to surge. The room was cold and built like a safe—no windows and with a heavy metal-lined door. If the electricity went out… Lindsey’s throat seemed to close, and the room grew smaller.

  She hated small spaces. Small, cold spaces were even worse. But Harry knew she was here. He wouldn’t leave her here, and Brett knew too. She would be okay.

  She would be okay.

  Perched on a beer crate, she’d repeated the mantra ten times before the door crept open.

  Unaware she was eve
n moving, she flung herself toward the opening and into Harry’s arms.

  “What?” He took a step back.

  Clinging to him, she moved with him.

  Her heart and mind were racing. All she could think of was getting out of this room, but then Harry’s arms dropped around her, and everything slowed, the world slowed. She pressed her cheek against his shirt and inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne.

  “Brett shut the door,” she murmured.

  “You could have opened it.” Harry ran his fingers over her hair and down her back, stiffly at first, but after a few downward brushes, he seemed to relax more too.

  She shook her head. “It was locked.”

  “Stuck, maybe. Not locked. There is no lock. Bloody Harry’s has no need for locks.” His fingers brushed the bare skin on her arms. “You’re cold.” He pulled off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  She stared up at him, happy for the warmth of his jacket but missing the closeness of his body. It was the first time in a long time that she hadn’t felt alone.

  But as he stared at her, his expression changed, went from concerned to hard. He pulled the jacket’s lapels closer together over her chest and stepped back.

  “Brett shouldn’t have shut the door. I’ll speak to him.”

  “It’s okay.” Brett hadn’t known her fear, hadn’t known she would imagine a door locked when it wasn’t.

  “I was going to ask…” Harry glanced around the small space. “But I guess that is out of the question; besides, as Emilie so blithely told me, the cat is most certainly out of the bag.” With those vague words, he jerked open the cooler door and motioned for her to leave.

  Feeling almost as nervous about what awaited her in the bar as what she was leaving behind in the cooler, Lindsey stepped into the hall.

  Chapter Three

  The bar was full but not packed. There were even a few empty tables near the back.

  Lindsey glanced at the door, wondering why the bouncer didn’t let more people in.

  “Royalty arrived right before you did. Rodrigue likes a buffer between him and the masses.” Brett handed Lindsey a tray and immediately began loading it with martini glasses. “You work the front. That table there.” He pointed to a bar-height four-top where four men sat.

  “Just one table?” Lindsey had been waiting tables since she was fifteen. She could handle more than one table; she could handle the room.

  “Not one table. That table—until Harry tells you different.” Brett placed his hand between her shoulder blades and gave her a push.

  Unprepared for the sudden movement on the high-heeled shoes, she stumbled, and her tray tilted.

  Harry appeared from nowhere; his hand slipped under the tray to keep the drinks from falling. “Did Brett tell you your station?” he murmured.

  Lindsey could feel his presence as if his body was pressed tight against her side rather than inches away. She licked her lips and stared straight ahead. “He did.”

  “Good. Stick with the poseurs for now.”

  “But…” Every waitressing job she’d had was dependent on tips. Waiting on one table all night would not make for a big payday.

  Harry took the tray from her hands and set it on the bar. He stepped in front of her, filling her view…her world. All she could see, feel…sense…was Harry. “One table. That table. Are we clear?”

  Arguments rose up in her mind but quickly dissipated. She felt her head nod. “Clear.”

  “Good.” He moved as if to step out of her way, and his gaze dropped to her throat. “The necklace. Where is it?”

  Lindsey’s hand flew to her throat. “I didn’t think it was part of the uniform.” She glanced around. None of the other waitresses were wearing crosses.

  “It is. You are to wear it, always.” His hand found hers, and his fingers tightened so intensely, she flinched.

  Harry didn’t seem to notice. His fingers still holding her in place, he raised his other hand and signaled to Brett. Within seconds the bartender was back, the jewelry box in his hand and his face grim.

  “I assumed—” he muttered.

  Harry cut him off. “Don’t. Not now.” He flipped open the box and held it out to Lindsey.

  Feeling strangely nervous, she lifted one finger and lightly stroked the silver metal.

  “Put it on.”

  There was no missing the demand in Harry’s voice. Again, Lindsey stroked the cold metal.

  “It’s yours.”

  Harry’s statement startled her. “Karin’s, you mean.”

  Harry shook his head. “No. This was made for you.”

  “By Karin?” Lindsey plucked the cross from its velvet bed.

  “By me.” Harry took the ends of the chain and held the necklace across Lindsey’s throat so the cross touched the skin of her chest.

  Surprised by his seemingly impossible claim, she placed her palm flat over the charm.

  “Lift your hair.”

  Another demand, but still off balance from the knowledge that Harry was giving her this gift, she complied without objection.

  He quickly latched the chain and let the cross drop down against her skin. It fell just below the top of her shirt, nestled between her breasts, over her heart.

  She moved to pull it out. Harry’s fingers around her wrist stopped her. She noticed then that he wore a cross of his own on a thin chain around his wrist.

  “Leave it,” he murmured.

  “But no one can see it.” Her gaze darted from the cross around his wrist to his eyes. She waited, wondering if he would explain why he’d give her a piece of jewelry that so perfectly matched something of his own.

  But he didn’t seem to notice her questioning glance. “They don’t have to,” he replied. Then he turned on his heel and left.

  Even more unsure than she had been before, Lindsey pulled out the cross and studied its back. The inscription was faint and in small cursive letters, but she could make out the words. “Protegees et venger,” she murmured.

  “You speak French?” Brett stared at her, his expression cloaked.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was just reading the inscription.”

  “Hmm.” He raised one brow. “Well, your pronunciation was perfect.”

  “What does it mean?”

  He picked up a cloth and began wiping down the bar. “Did you ask Harry?”

  “No.” She should, she knew, but somehow she didn’t think Harry would tell her, or if he did, that his answer would open up more questions than it answered. The fact that he’d given her the cross and claimed it was made for her was odd enough. She didn’t need other questions crowding her brain.

  “You should.” Brett filled a glass with ice and dropped a cherry into its depths.

  When it didn’t appear he would offer any more response, she picked up her tray.

  “Lindsey?” Brett glanced from where the cross was now hidden under her shirt to her face. “It’s a promise.”

  “From Harry? To me?” What kind of promise could a man she’d just met owe her?

  “To you and others.” Then he walked away too, leaving her alone and all the more confused.

  o0o

  The table she had been assigned kept Lindsey busier than she had expected. The men slurped down drink after drink, making ribald comments that grew more coarse and odd with each round.

  When she returned with their fifth round of martinis, one smiled at her as if he had a secret that at any moment might spill out of him.

  She set their drinks down and waited for their payment.

  The secret keeper slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. “I saw you talking with Harry earlier. How well do you know him?”

  The man had developed a bit of a lisp since Lindsey had last heard him speak. Marking it, and his sudden freedom with his hands, up to the alcohol, she slid the martini she had just set down in front of him a few inches away.

  “That’s fine. That’s not what I’m in the mood
to drink anyway.” Jerking her closer, he pulled back his upper lip, revealing white, jagged fangs.

  Lindsey’s heart contracted, and a memory tickled at her brain. Suddenly desperate to get away, she moved backward, but the man moved with her. He was too close. She couldn’t breathe. Without thinking, she slammed the palm of her hand into his forehead, pushing his face backward, and ducked under his arm. Without her weight to hold him, he tumbled off of his stool and onto the floor.

  She stood panting, her chest heaving. The world whirled around her; she was in the bar, but she wasn’t. Snippets of some other scene floated around her. A woman and a man. The man was attacking the woman. She was fighting, and there was blood. Lots of blood.

  The man’s companions hooted, and with a shudder, Lindsey returned to the present. The man’s friends were laughing, but he wasn’t. With a growl, he leapt to his feet and lunged toward her.

  Still shaken by the images of the woman covered in blood, Lindsey couldn’t move.

  The man reached out, his fingers brushing the air in front of her, and suddenly was jerked back. Harry stood behind him, one hand in the man’s collar, shaking him like a mastiff might a Chihuahua—even though the two men were almost equal in size.

  Garbled sounds that might have been words gurgled from the drunk’s throat. His mouth open, the fangs were revealed again.

  Even as logic told her they were fake, her hand went to her cross.

  “You won’t need that for him.” Brett stood beside her. His lip lifted in a sneer. “Poseur.”

  Harry pulled the man close and whispered into his ear, then set him back on his feet. His face pale, the man pulled what appeared to be a retainer, altered to include fangs, from his mouth and held it out for her to see.

  Wanting nothing else to do with the man, she turned her head to the side.

  After a moment, Harry jerked his head toward the door. The man mumbled an apology, put the stool upright, and scurried out of the bar. After a dark look from Harry, his companions followed.

  With the group gone, Harry turned to Lindsey. His eyes glittered, and the muscles in his neck bulged. Lindsey took a step backward. He was, at that moment, twenty times more intimidating than the drunk had been, fangs or not.