The girl glanced at the dancer. “It might be five minutes.”
Annette nodded. “I can wait that long.”
The smoke, the music, the catcalls, all reminded Annette far too much of the past. Her past. The feel of disgusting hands molesting her body ... rutting cocks stabbing at her.
The memories sickened her.
The waitress returned with her drink, and Annette drank long and deep. To forget. To fortify herself. Something she hadn’t needed to do in a long time.
Further proof that this whole mess was getting to her. She needed to reclaim the initiative. To do what she always did. Survive. Dominate. To not feel dirty.
Tanner was her only hope of surviving without a total loss. Hell, at this point she was reasonably certain she would be lucky to wake upeach morning. The instant Wainwright got wind of what she’d done, she would be dead.
Tanner would go see Stokes. His own curiosity and that larger-than-life sense of justice would compel him to look into her accusations. She just hoped he would do it without informing his boss.
By the time she had finished her drink, Annette had relaxed a fraction.
A sweat-slickened Candi swayed provocatively over to Annette’s table. “You have something for me?” the seventeen-year-old who passed herself off as twenty-one asked. The high of her drug of choice glimmered in her eyes.
“Yes.” Annette pulled an envelope from her bag. Inside was twenty thousand dollars. “This is from your friend State Representative McGrath.”
Surprise sobered Candi. She stared at the envelope a moment before picking it up. Her lips parted in another show of surprise as she felt its weight. “What’s this for?” She carefully placed the envelope back on the table.
Annette leaned across the table. “Silence.”
The girl’s expression sharpened, turned cunning. “And if I don’t want to be silent?”
Annette propped her elbows on the table and relaxed. “Then the authorities back home will learn what you do for a living when you visit your ailing aunt here in Huntsville every weekend.”
Fear rounded the girl’s eyes.
“The club owner won’t be happy about being closed down for hiring a minor.” Annette sighed. “The other dancers won’t be happy about losing their jobs.” She leaned closer still. “And your mother won’t be too thrilled when child services comes to take away your three-year-old daughter. They frown on mothers who employ themselves by breaking the law.”
Those big eyes blinked. “What I do when I’m away from home won’t matter,” she insisted in a show of courage.
“Maybe.” Annette shrugged. “Maybe not. But I wonder if your mother will be able to retain custody with that drunken father of yoursloitering around the house. Men like that pose a risk to small children, especially little girls. But then, you know that, don’t you?”
Candi’s mouth worked as if she might say something, but no words came out.
“I would suggest”—Annette straightened away from her—“that you forget all about the honorable Mr. McGrath.” She tapped the envelope. “Take the money and start a real life for you and your daughter. Get a decent job.”
Annette waited for her words to sink past any lingering drug haze, then asked, “Do we have an understanding?”
Candi nodded.
“Good.” Annette reached for her bag. Placed a fifty on the table to cover her drink and a generous tip. “One last warning.” She met the girl’s stunned gaze. “Don’t mess this up.” She leaned across the table once more and whispered. “We know where you live.”
Outside the club, Annette drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Some people would consider what she had just done unconscionable—blackmailing a seventeen-year-old girl. But Candi Tate was no typical teenager. Annette had seen the look in her eyes when the subject of money came up. She was no innocent. Not by a long shot.
There were times when diplomacy just didn’t work.
“Whatever it takes,” Annette mumbled. Live dirty, die dirty.
Those were the rules. Miss Tate might as well learn that lesson now. She had scored a fairly large payoff this time; next time she might not be so lucky.
Annette stalled as she approached her Lexus.
The air evacuated her lungs.
