If I wanted him to know, I’d damn well tell him myself.
Then, as I tapped my pen on the bar, Marc began questioning Corinne. I knew when that moment came, even without listening for it, because her hand fell from his arm and her eyes dropped to the bright red drink on the table. As she spoke, presumably answering his questions, Corinne picked at the fingernails of one hand, her forearms resting on the table. Her expression had gone from cheerful and flirtatious to sad and worried. Which meant Marc was doing his job.
Inspired by his success, I glanced at the clipboard in front of me, considering my next move. How was it that Marc had gotten information out of his source, while I’d only gotten paperwork?
Fortunately, it wasn’t too late to play the boob card against Jeff. Surely that would be easier than testing a patch of my skin for an allergy to double-sided tape.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t flash my flesh in exchange for information. For my life, yes. I’d been down that road three months earlier, and vowed never to travel it again. And I wasn’t willing to break my vow for mere information. I didn’t fault Marc for flirting in the name of duty, but neither could I follow his example. That would be demeaning myself, and using Jeff, and I just couldn’t do either.
I’d have to find another approach. An approach that left me with my clothes—and my self-respect—intact.
Slowly, an idea began to form. I’d already made up a name, so why not make up a story to go with my new character? What if Julie hadn’t really come to Forbidden Fruit looking for a job? What if she’d come for something else?
When the rush was over and Jeff came back, I was ready.
“You forget how to spell your name?” he asked, nodding at the blank application as he set a bottle of spring water on the bar in front of me.
“Thanks.” I stared at the bottle as I opened it and took a long drink, intentionally—and hopefully obviously—avoiding his eyes as I recapped the bottle and set it back on the bar.
“Something wrong?” he asked, ducking his head into my line of sight to catch my eyes.
I gave him a hesitant, self-conscious smile. “I, um, I’m not really here for a job.”
Jeff arched one eyebrow and grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar. Leaning into the corner formed where the bar turned at a ninety-degree angle, he popped one of the nuts into his mouth, chewing while he watched me. “Okay, I’m intrigued. What do you want?”
Smiling, I let genuine relief show on my face. I’d been counting on his curiosity, which wasn’t really such a risk. Most guys will take any chance to prolong a conversation with a pretty girl. Jeff wore no wedding ring, and I’d already gathered that he liked women, so the odds of him showing interest were in my favor.
Score one for my approach.
“Information,” I said as I let my smile fade into a serious expression, with just enough anger to lend authenticity.
“Information? That’s a new one.” He paused to chew on a few more nuts, and I kept my eye contact bold to show determination. “What kind of information?” he asked, his mouth still half-full.
“I want to know who my husband is fucking.”
Jeff choked on his mouthful, coughing to clear his throat. When he could breathe again, he laughed out loud, admiration showing in his eyes, hopefully for me, and not for my “husband.” He dropped the remaining peanuts back into the bowl and brushed salt from his palms, glancing pointedly at my left hand. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
“Would you, if your wife were screwing someone else?” I spat, maintaining eye contact to reinforce my sincerity.
“Besides, I seriously doubt Robby wore his when he was here. Turnabout’s fair play, right?” I shrugged, and tilted my water bottle back for another drink.
“So, who’s your husband, and why do you think he’s cheating on you?” he asked, leaning back to work on another handful of peanuts.
“My husband.” I sighed, as if settling in for a long story.
“Robby Harper, computer programmer and wannabe stud. We’ve been married less than a year, and he’s already looking for a little something extra on the side.” I paused and gave a bitter laugh. “Well, as of last night, I guess he’s not just looking anymore.”“And you know this because…?”
I glanced up sharply, letting a little bite seep into my tone.
“Because he didn’t even bother to shower before he came home. I could smell the bitch on him.” Oops. “Her perfume,” I added quickly, as it occurred to me that humans probably couldn’t smell one another’s personal scents the way cats could. “I think he met her here, and I want to know who she is.” I made a show of glancing around the room, eyeing the dancer strutting around onstage in a Princess Leia bikini before turning back to Jeff.
He nodded in understanding. “I don’t know many of the regulars by name, so you’ll have to tell me what he looks like. But I can tell you right now that he probably wasn’t with one of our girls. My brother runs this place by the book, and girls who break the rules don’t last long.”
I dismissed his opinion with a careless wave of my hand. I already knew I wasn’t looking for a stripper. But Julie Harper didn’t. “He’s about five ten, with short brown hair and dark eyes. They’re nearly black, actually.”
Jeff frowned and shook his head. “I don’t usually get close enough to the customers to notice their eye color, and other than that, you’ve just described a good third of our regulars. Anything else about him I might remember?”
I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought. “Yeah.” I shifted on the bar stool, where my bare thighs were stuck to the vinyl again, and turned to face the booth where Marc and Kevin still sat with Corinne. “See those guys sitting with Little Red Riding Hood?” I turned around to see Jeff squinting into the dimly lit main room.
“Yeah.”
“The one on the left is a friend of Robby’s. They usually come in here together. Until last night, I thought they were going to the gun range.”
Jeff nodded and popped another peanut into his mouth. He chewed, then swallowed while I waited, growing more nervous with each passing second. Then he nodded again. “Yeah, I remember your husband. He comes in a couple of times a month. Usually gets a lap dance from Ginger, the redhead in the coconut bra and grass miniskirt.” I glanced around the room, trying to locate “Ginger,” as Jeff continued. “But Ginger doesn’t work the day shift, and yesterday your hubby was here for lunch. First one through the door. I remember because he left with the only female customer we’ve had all week. We get a few who come in on Friday and Saturday nights with their husbands and boyfriends, but we hardly ever get women in for lunch. And they almost never come alone.”
My heart pounded. He’d seen the tabby. And he remembered her. “Robby left with this woman?”
“Yeah. Maybe…an hour after we opened? Something like that.”
I leaned over the bar, fighting not to appear too eager. “Do you know her name?”
“Nah. I’d never seen her before yesterday. She drank a club soda, though. Ordered it with this really thick, sexy accent. Spanish, maybe.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?”
Jeff frowned, as if I’d just asked him if sugar was sweet.
“I’ll never forget what she looked like. She was hot.”
I rolled my eyes, prepared for a bit of exaggeration in his response. After all, he’d offered me a job as a stripper. How high could his standards be? “Got anything more specific than ‘hot’?”
“Yeah, sorry.” And he actually looked sorry. Or at least sheepish. “She was about your height, maybe a little shorter. Dark, exotic skin. Long, curly hair, not quite as black as yours, but still pretty dark. Pale gray eyes. Weird-pale, but beautiful. Her eyes I noticed. I remember when she left because I’d been about to offer her a drink on the house, then I looked up to see her heading out the door with…well, with your husband.” Jeff shrugged apologetically. “Did that help?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I stood, already turning to go.
“Hey, what are you gonna do when you find her?”
I answered him beneath my breath. “I’m gonna use up a few of her nine lives.”
Chapter Fourteen
I thanked Jeff for his help and caught Marc’s eye from across the room. He raised one brow at me in question, and I tossed my head toward the entrance to tell him I was ready to go. He gave me a single, brief nod and tapped Kevin on the shoulder. Together, they stood, and Corinne slid out of the booth behind Marc. He offered her his hand, but she hugged him instead, standing on her toes to whisper something in his ear. Her lips actually moved that time, but I didn’t want to know what she was saying, so I turned and wound my way through a jumble of tables, heading toward the door.
We had lunch at the Cajun Bar and Grill, where Marc and I exchanged information over spicy jambalaya, doing our best to ignore Kevin’s interruptions. He was working overtime to get on our collective good side, but he might as well have saved his breath. We’d be reporting him to my father even if he’d been able to hand over the murdering tabby bound and gagged.