Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series) (19 page)

Chance snorted and took another drag at his cigarette, blowing it out before answering me. “I know of him. What I want to know, is how the fuck do you know him?”

“I… met him a few months ago,” I stammered, taken aback that Chance knew who Kade was.

“And it was just a happy coincidence he was here tonight?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. He must have followed me.”

Chance froze, the cigarette halfway to his mouth. “Next you’re going to tell me he’s your boyfriend.”

My face heated. “Of course not,” I denied. “We’re just… friends… sort of. And he’s my boss.” I frowned.

Minor technicality, that. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I chewed my lip in consternation.

“Your boss?” Chance’s eyebrows rose. “At the law firm?”

“He… knows the owner,” I said evasively, not wanting to divulge the relationship between Blane and Kade. “Blane Kirk.”

Chance let out a huff of laughter that was devoid of humor. “That’s fucking fantastic.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under the toe of his boot. “You’re friends with an assassin and you work for the most powerful, twisted lawyer in town. That’s just un-fucking-believable.”

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” I said stiffly, “but Blane Kirk is a good man and an amazing
attorney. He fought for this country, and I don’t appreciate you bad-mouthing him.”

“I know more about Blane Kirk than you do, Strawbs,” he said coldly. “Stuff that would make you think twice about spouting off how wonderful he is.”

Voices from the lot jerked our attention away, and before I could react, Chance pulled me behind him, farther into the shadows.

Two men had driven up in an unmarked white van. They were talking to each other as they got out, but in Spanish, so I couldn’t understand them. Another man, who must have been waiting, joined them. Walking around to the back of the van, the two men opened it, standing aside so the third man could see. From where we were, I couldn’t tell what was inside, but the third man nodded, firing off rapid Spanish as they closed the van doors again. In a few moments, the van had driven away and the third man had disappeared back inside the club.

“Go home,” Chance ordered before turning away from me.

“Where are you going?” I asked as he jumped on his motorcycle.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Now do as I say, go home, and don’t come back.”

I didn’t get a chance to say anything more as he started the bike with a roar and shot off down the street in the same direction the van had gone.

I stood uncertainly in the lot, not knowing what to do. I didn’t know why Chance was working there and yet warning me off so starkly, nor did I know where he’d gone so suddenly or why.

The decision was made for me when Mike stuck his head out the door, scanning the lot. Spying me, he barked, “Smoke break’s over. Get back to work.”

I scurried inside, glad for the warmth of the club. Back behind the bar, I grabbed a ticket and started mixing the drinks listed.

“Cold outside?” Jack asked, leering at my chest as he filled a frosted beer mug from the tap.

I smiled tightly, wishing I’d kept my bra and turtleneck on. “A bit,” I answered curtly.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and though I watched the door assiduously, I didn’t see Chance return. Though I hated the skimpy shirt I wore, it did help with tips and I went home with a heavy pocket—a not unwelcome occurrence as I wondered if I’d be keeping my job at the law firm much longer after what I’d said to Kade.

Kade was no longer in my apartment. I told myself I was glad he was gone. Kade was dangerous, impulsive, impossible to predict. He was cold, calculating, more deadly and remorseless than anyone I had ever known.

The image of him smelling my hair, the look in his eyes as he’d said I made him want “impossible things” flashed through my mind. I shook my head to dislodge the memory.

I pulled out the bottle of vodka I kept in my freezer. I paused when I saw a pint of Häagen-Dazs rocky road in the back, remembering that Blane had bought it. He’d teased me, saying he didn’t want to see me without my rocky-road fix. I’d retaliated by licking several ice-cold spoonfuls off his bare chest.

My stomach twisted and I hurriedly shut the freezer door. Grabbing a glass, I downed a shot of vodka. I wanted
to sleep, needed to sleep, I just didn’t know if I could. Now that I was alone, with nothing to distract me, my thoughts turned to the mess that was my life at the moment.

Everywhere I looked in my apartment, I saw them. Blane in my bed, his body spooned around mine. Kade in my bed, hurt and bleeding. Blane making love to me on the couch. Kade standing in my kitchen, his eyes burning as he drank in my naked body.

I tossed back another shot and grabbed my keys and purse, shrugging my black jacket on over the halter I hadn’t bothered discarding.

It was late, but I knew a few bars that stayed open until three. I parked near one downtown. From the outside it looked like a hole-in-the-wall, so there were probably few tourists and mainly locals frequenting the place.

Long and narrow, the bar had a row of backless stools while two-seater tables lined the wall. I only saw a couple of other women, the rest were all men. I ignored any looks I got as I made my way to the end of the bar, where a few empty stools stood.

“Vodka, neat,” I ordered as I sat.

Mindful of the top I wore, I kept my jacket on. I really didn’t want anyone hitting on me tonight. I downed the shot as soon as the bartender placed it in front of me, tapping it for a refill. With a shrug, he complied.

“A beer, too,” I said. I hated beer, but I didn’t want to end up puking, either. I’d drink beer more slowly than I would vodka.

I tossed back the vodka as he slid a frosty beer bottle in front of me.

“Want a mug for that?” he asked. I shook my head.

I sipped at the beer, staring at nothing, and replaying last night with Blane. Even now, I couldn’t believe he’d suggested getting married. Like the ruthless attorney I knew he was, he’d used my own weakness against me, tried to manipulate me to get what he wanted. Unfortunately, we’d wanted the same thing for very different reasons.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit, what he’d done. Naively, I still held the girlish fantasy of the man I loved getting down on one knee, ring box in hand, and declaring his love before popping The Question.

The thought of Blane doing that had me snorting in derision. How foolish I was. Why had I thought that when we said “I love you” it was a new beginning for us? The idea of Blane making a lifelong commitment to me was the stuff fantasies were made of, not reality. Holding a man like him would be like trying to hold smoke.

The words Kade had said to me in Denver came back to haunt me:
Neither Blane nor I are your happily-ever-after, princess. Blane will break your heart, and I’m the guy your mom warned you about. Don’t kid yourself about that.

I hadn’t wanted to admit at the time how afraid I’d been that he was right, but I couldn’t hide from the truth of his words any longer.

I didn’t realize I was crying until a man sat down on the empty stool next to me and handed me a napkin.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.

He appeared to be in his mid- to late fifties, with brown hair, thinning on top. At first I thought he might have ulterior motives, but his blue eyes were kind and the small smile he gave me was friendly in a nonpervert kind of way.

I used the napkin to wipe my face, still sniffling even though the tears had stopped. “Thanks,” I muttered. The booze had really taken hold now, but instead of helping me to not care, it had only increased the width and depth of my depression and loneliness.

“Boyfriend trouble?” the man asked.

I nodded, heaving a tremulous sigh. “Ex-boyfriend now, I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m Rick, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Kathleen.” I gave his hand a squeeze.

“So what kind of moronic idiot would let a girl like you get away?” he asked so bluntly that I gave a huff of laughter in spite of myself.

“Yeah, I gotta know the answer to that one, too.” Turning, I saw that a second man had sat down on my other side. He held a bottle of beer, taking a swig as he waited for my answer. About the same age as Rick, he wore a sweatshirt and a Colts ball cap.

“Kathleen, this is Jay.” Jay gave a nod to me. “And this is Hal.” He jerked his thumb to the man who’d slid onto the stool next to him. “We’re buddies, so no worries.”

“That’s right, little lady,” Hal confirmed. “Just having a friendly drink and wondering why a pretty little thing like you is all alone in a bar this time of night.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s not anyplace I’d want my daughter to be, that’s for sure.”

“Damn straight,” Rick said, a southern accent coloring his words.

“So tell us your problems, Kathleen,” Jay said. “Maybe we can help.”

I sincerely doubted that, but the vodka had loosened my tongue, and it would feel so good to lay it out there, so I did. I told them about how Blane and I had been dating, how he’d told me he loved me. How happy I’d been after seeing him go through woman after woman, that he had picked me to love. Then I told them how overprotective he was, how he wouldn’t open up to me. And lastly, I told him about Blane’s latest solution—a quickie ceremony in front of a judge that would guarantee I’d be kept safe… and a prisoner in his house.

They made sympathetic noises all through my story, even when I was talking about feelings, and they listened, encouraging me to continue. When I had finished, they were all riled up.

“What a fuckin’ asshole!” Jay exclaimed, taking a swig of the fresh beer the bartender had sat in front of him.

“He obviously has no idea what the hell he’s doing,” Rick chimed in with a disgusted shake of his head.

“If a man can’t propose the right way, then he definitely can’t fuck the right way,” Hal added sagely.

“For God’s sake, Hal!” Rick shot him a glare. “Kathleen’s a lady. Will you watch your fuckin’ mouth?”

I stifled a snort of laughter, and refrained from letting them know that Blane had no problems in the “fucking” department.

“Yeah, Hal,” Jay joined in, his words slurring slightly. “Watch yer mouth.”

“So you dumped his ass,” Rick said, and I nodded. “Probably a good decision,” he added.

My eyes filled with tears again and I couldn’t speak, so I just gave a ragged nod.

“It still pisses me off, though,” Rick said to Hal. “Lettin’ a woman come to a bar in the middle of the night to cry her eyes out. He’s the one should be beggin’ her forgiveness, right?”

Hal nodded in agreement, his face comically serious.

The bartender set another shot of vodka in front of me. I’d lost count now of how many I’d had, and I drank it down. When I was done, I saw that Rick had gotten my phone out of my purse.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my brain sluggish.

He didn’t answer, holding the phone to his ear. I was suddenly tired. And hot. It was hot in here.

I shrugged off my jacket, letting it fall behind me, and breathed a sigh at the cool air on my overheated skin. All three men fell silent, staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

Hal jumped off his stool, retrieving the jacket and placing it back over my shoulders.

“You keep that jacket on, missy,” Jay said. “I wouldn’t let my daughter out of the house in a getup like that.”

Their protectiveness was sweet, reminding me of my father and what he’d say if he saw me wearing a shirt like this out in public.

“Hello, is this Blane?” Rick said into my phone.

My head jerked around and I groaned, instantly regretting the action as the room tilted and spun.

“Blane, you’re an asshole,” Rick blustered into the phone. “If you want to stop being an asshole, you can come get your girl here. Poor thing’s all upset and you just let her go cry her eyes out in some bar with a bunch of strangers. Shame on you.”

I listened in horror as Rick chewed Blane’s ass. The ludicrousness of Blane getting a lecture from a five-foot-six Texan nearly twice his age struck my inebriated funny bone until I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stifle my giggles.

I didn’t hear much of the rest of the conversation. Jay had put money into the jukebox and the strains of Bryan Adams filled the bar.

I loudly sang along with Jay, who was dancing the two-step with me in the small space by the bar. My jacket had slipped off again, but by that point we were all too drunk to care. Hal and Rick watched us, grinning as they drank their beers.

I was belting out the lyrics to the latest in the string of ’80s hits when Jay suddenly froze, his eyes glued on something over my shoulder. Blane had entered the bar and now stood mere feet away. He was clad in a black shirt and jeans, and the look in his eyes and the stiffness in his body all screamed danger. My breath caught at the sight of him.

“Holy shit,” Jay breathed, his face paling.

“Is that him?” Rick asked incredulously.

Hal choked on his beer.

“Yeah, that’s him,” I confirmed as Blane stalked toward us.

Jay hurriedly dropped my hand and took a step back. I held my ground. Blane stopped right in front of me and I had to tip my head back to look at him. Vaguely, I could hear Jay and Rick talking, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to make out their words. Blane’s eyes burned with an unholy fire as his gaze traveled down and back up my body. I couldn’t tell if I saw fury or lust in his eyes, maybe both. My breath came more quickly, my breasts heavy and aroused just from Blane’s mere proximity.

Blane’s gaze lowered and my nipples tightened, pushing brazenly against the scraps of cloth covering them. His face darkened, his jaw locking as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and swung it over my shoulders. It swallowed me up and I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of Blane.

Blane’s gaze suddenly narrowed, swinging around to pin Jay, Hal, and Rick.

“Did you just call me a dick?” he asked, his voice like steel.

“I called you a dick three times,” Jay shot back with drunken glee. “Ya just didn’t hear me the first two, motherfucker.”