Over the Threshold (5 page)

“Fine. I finished cleaning in the
theater.”

“Great. The other gals took care of the dance
floor area and the bar. I’m just about to finish a few things. You
mind checking the bathrooms for me one last time? Make sure there
aren’t any drunks curled up in the corner and the lights are
off.”

She grinned. “I don’t mind. I’ll do it before
I head out.” The back door to the club led to a parking lot. Shea
recalled seeing an all-night diner across the street from the lot.
Maybe she could have a cup of coffee there, caffeine up and try to
figure out her next move. If she could remain awake until daybreak,
she could hit the subway with the commuters and head back to the
cheap motel to catch a few hours of sleep on the lumpy
mattress.

“Oh hey. Here’s your bag.”

She’d asked Bill to stow her duffel behind
the bar. She was ashamed to say everything she owned in the world
was in that bag. He’d remarked on the size of it when she’d come to
work, but mercifully hadn’t questioned her. “See you tomorrow,
Shea.”

She took the bag and hitched it onto her arm.
“Good night, Bill.”

Walking down the hallway, she heard Bill
humming as he worked. She opened the door to the men’s room,
peering inside. The place was empty. Switching the lights off, she
crossed the hall to the women’s bathroom. It was also deserted.

She recalled the bed on stage…the clean
sheets, the soft mattress.

An idea formed. A terribly stupid idea.

Glancing back toward the bar, she noticed
Bill had gone to the kitchen. She took a deep breath for
courage—then walked into the bathroom and turned off the
lights.

The room was plunged into darkness and her
heart began to race. Her earlier exhaustion gave way to nervousness
and fear. What the hell was she doing?

Feeling her way across the room, she let
herself into the stall farthest from the door. Sitting down on the
toilet, she waited in silence. Too many minutes later, she heard
the sound she’d been dreading and anticipating. She lifted her feet
and sat frozen. The back door opened then closed. She heard a lock
being thrown into place.

Shea remained where she was for fifteen
minutes longer then lowered her feet and stood.

She’d done it. She was locked in the club.
Christ, she was insane. She’d just gotten the job and with one
foolish, rash act, she’d probably jeopardized it.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her
mini-flashlight. Switching it on, she pulled off the white blouse
and black mini Emma had supplied her with earlier. She didn’t want
to wrinkle the material since she’d have to wear it again tomorrow
and she certainly didn’t have an iron.

She pulled on a t-shirt and loose sleep
shorts, brushed her teeth then left the bathroom, walking toward
the stage, grabbing a blanket from the hutch along the way. If she
was going to lose her job, she’d at least make it worth her while.
When she reached the bed, she slipped off her shoes and lay down.
She covered herself with the simple blanket but didn’t dare crawl
between the sheets, already feeling guilty for taking advantage of
Emma’s kindness. She took out her small travel alarm clock and set
it for eleven. She prayed no one found her. Maybe after a good
night’s sleep, she’d be smarter, be able to figure out what the
hell she should do next. For tonight, she was too tired and the bed
was too soft.

Travis watched his new waitress curl up on
the bed and fall asleep. He had watched her all night as she’d
worked. Emma had stopped by after the show to tell him how
impressed she was with the new girl’s waitressing abilities.

He didn’t give a damn about her
drink-slinging talents. Travis had been fascinated by her face. She
was pretty, but it was the look of determination and—for lack of a
better word—hunger that caught his eye. He recognized the
exhaustion, the desperation and fear written there. He’d come to
know those emotions well. He also felt a definite attraction. That
would come as a surprise to Emma, who often accused him of taking
the California-girls dream too far. He typically surrounded himself
with tall, slim, suntanned blondes. Shea, with her dark hair, pale
complexion and curvaceous body, didn’t fit that bill.

He’d watched her walk into the women’s room
on one of the security monitors and been surprised when she didn’t
come back out. After Bill locked up, he’d waited patiently. She
didn’t disappoint him. Travis watched her sneak out with flashlight
in hand. He picked up his phone, ready to call the police. However,
her attire confused him and he paused. She appeared to be dressed
in pajamas.

When she walked to the stage and lay down on
the bed, he rose, watching her through the two-way glass. That was
when he realized her goal wasn’t robbery, it was rest.

He stood watching her for nearly half an
hour. Once he decided the exhausted girl was deeply asleep, he
quietly crept down the stairs at the back of the stage. Shedding
his shoes at the foot of the staircase, he padded across the stage
until he stood next to her. Dim lighting from his open office door
illuminated her face.

Shea Landon. Emma had told Travis her name.
While he was typically absent from the main parts of the club,
there was very little that happened in the place he didn’t know
about.

He was curious about the petite woman.
Reaching down, he picked up her duffel bag, retrieving the
mini-flashlight she’d used earlier. He didn’t feel guilty about
searching her stuff. After all, the woman was squatting in his
club. Best to make sure she didn’t have a weapon.

Her bag didn’t answer his questions. If
anything, it added more. There were several changes of clothing,
some toiletries, a wallet and four books—all of them reminding him
of the romance novels he’d been reading lately. Who the hell was
this woman?

He replaced her things and put the duffel
back on the floor. Shea rolled over and curled into a ball, nearly
losing her blanket in the process. Travis slowly and carefully
pulled the blanket up until it once more covered his sleeping
waitress.

He was losing his mind. If he had half a
brain, he’d wake her and fire her ass. Shea mumbled something
incoherent and he grinned.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he
whispered.

She sighed, but didn’t stir.

Fuck it. He wasn’t going to fire her. Where
was the fun in that?

He climbed the stairs to his office, shutting
the door. Usually he headed to his apartment but he didn’t want to
leave Shea alone. Grabbing a blanket from the chair, he lay down on
the couch. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt
sleepy, his usual insomnia remaining at bay. His last thought
before he drifted to sleep was of Shea. He didn’t know who she was,
but she’d done something no one had done in a very long time.

Surprised him.