“I’m a big girl. I’ll stay awhile longer, catch a cab when it’s time to go home.”
Chase set his scotch down on one of the linen-draped tables. “Thanks, Marla. I appreciate this.”
“Call me tomorrow. Let me know what happens.”
“If I’m right, you’ll see it on the news.” Chase left Marla chatting with a friend and headed for the door. As he made his way through the throng of elegantly dressed men and women, an attractive blonde caught his eye. Slender figure, porcelain skin, big blue eyes. She looked familiar.
As the puzzle pieces slid together, he recognized her, Harper Winston, the younger sister of his best friend in college. As a teenager, Harper had been pretty. Looking at her tonight, seeing her for the first time in years, he realized she had grown into a beautiful woman.
Unfortunately, she was a Winston. Her father, Knox Winston, was one of his least favorite people. Ruthless in business, his crooked dealings had made him a very wealthy man. But worse than his shady business enterprises was the mental abuse he’d heaped on his son, that had put Michael on a downward spiral into drugs. And effectively destroyed his friendship with Chase.
Chase had steered clear of the Winstons ever since. He remembered hearing Harper had moved to Houston some years back. After that, he’d lost track of her and Michael, and he intended to keep it that way.
Though he had to admit as he took in Harper’s sleek curves and shiny silver-blond hair, he wouldn’t mind taking her to bed.
Even if the lady was of a similar mind, renewing his connection with the Winstons was the last thing he wanted. Besides, as he thought back on it, Harper had a reputation for being as cool and remote as she looked.
On his way out the door, he passed her. For an instant, her gorgeous blue eyes slid over him, and Chase felt a jolt of heat he hadn’t expected. He wouldn’t pursue it. Sleeping with Harper Winston, no matter how good it might be, just wasn’t worth it.
His thoughts returned to the task ahead, and Chase headed for the valet stand, a harsh October wind whipping against him on the way. He needed to get home and change. He couldn’t go to the Double Eagle dressed in a tuxedo—the bar was in Old East Dallas, one of the meanest sections of the city.
Earlier that day as a favor to Jason Maddox, a PI in his office who was looking for a bail skip, he had contacted one of his sources. During the conversation, his informant had mentioned the missing girl. Bennie had figured the tip was worth money, and if it turned into anything, Chase would gladly pay him.
It didn’t take long to reach the high-rise building on Pearl Street where he lived. He parked his silver Mercedes in the garage next to the brown Dodge Ram pickup he used for work.
Taking the elevator up to the seventeenth floor, he stepped into the entry and crossed the high-ceiling living room. An oversize sofa in a nubby cream fabric, dark brown throw pillows and lots of dark wood gave the condo a masculine tone that suited him. Stylized contemporary Western art hung on the walls.
With thirty-five hundred square feet of space, a spectacular view of the city, and a big terrace that opened off the living room and master bedroom, the condo was expensive and worth every dime.
Changing out of the tux, he pulled on a pair of worn jeans, a frayed blue denim shirt and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He retrieved the little .380 he carried when he wanted a weapon he could easily conceal, clipped the holster onto his belt behind his back and pulled his shirttail down over it.
It didn’t take long to reach the bar. The Dodge was ten years old, a few dents here and there, the paint a little faded, which helped it blend in. But the tires were new, and under the hood, the rebuilt engine ran like a scalded dog. He parked it on the street half a block from the bar and hoped the truck wouldn’t get jacked.
Looking at the trash on the sidewalk, broken beer bottles, used hypodermic needles and drunks asleep in the gutter, part of him hoped his information was wrong and the girl wasn’t there.
The other half hoped like hell she was.
If he got lucky, maybe he could get her out of there.
Chapter Two
The Double Eagle smelled like sour whiskey and stale beer, the inside as run-down as the outside, with sagging wood floors, holes in the plaster walls, battered wooden tables and rickety chairs filled with loudmouth drunks.
The neon beer sign behind the long bar didn’t work quite right, reading Shiner Cock instead of Shiner Bock, which seemed to entertain the patrons no end.
There were women in the bar, some with men; a chunky older gal with a tattoo of a heart on her arm sat at the bar by herself. Looking for a customer, he suspected, without much luck.
Chase spotted the teenage girl right away from the photos he’d seen on TV, Tammy Bennett, a petite blonde in a short, tight skirt sitting on a barstool next to a thick-necked dude with greasy shoulder-length black hair. The fear in her eyes was almost tangible, her body folded in on itself as if she were trying to disappear.
Occasionally her glance darted toward the door, then shifted back to the big dark man beside her. She’d stumbled into some bad company with that one. The girl was clearly his latest money earner. No way was she going anywhere unless he said so.
Chase walked up to the bar and ordered a Lone Star, took the bottle and sat down at an empty table. It was time to call the police, but the minute the guy pimping Tammy out heard the sirens, he would grab the girl and disappear.
A chair scraped against the floor, and a fat man with sweaty armpits walked up to the man and the girl.
“I got an itch, Martinez. How much for twenty minutes?”
A guy down the bar said something about it being a quickie and disparaging the fat guy’s manhood. The fat guy grunted and Martinez laughed.
