Red-Hot & Reckless

She walked down the hall toward the back fire escape, not about to take the chance that by the time she climbed the four flights of stairs the police would be waiting for her outside. She thought about where she should go from there.

Baltimore. Definitely Baltimore.

Cat meowed and she looked down at him. “Looks like it’s another visit with Auntie Danika for you, buddy,” she said and picked up the pace.

1

SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING HER.

Three days after the Sebastian episode, Nicole Bennett sat in a Baltimore, Maryland, bar called Flanagan’s Pub. Not her original destination, but a spontaneous detour designed to flush out her tail.

She was pretty sure someone was watching her. Maybe had been since she’d arrived in the city the same day she’d left New York. And she was convinced that the sensation was more than residual uneasiness left over from what had happened three days ago. Still, it wasn’t that she had actually spotted the person tailing her. Rather, it was more of a hunch that someone, somewhere was shadowing her moves. She could tell by the way her skin itched. How the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. How the beer- and smoke-soaked air of the bar seemed to hum with a strange expectancy.

Her tail wasn’t in the establishment. She was sure of that. It had taken her all of two seconds to catalog everything and everyone in the place. Two businessmen occupied a corner booth. When they weren’t hitting on the ballsy barmaid well equipped to handle anything that came her way, they were deep in conversation, too doughy and pale to be members of any branch of law enforcement she had to be afraid of. Well, the IRS aside. But she had nothing to fear from the IRS. They wouldn’t collect a percentage of what they couldn’t prove she had. An elderly woman and her two middle-aged daughters bearing shopping bags occupied another booth—again, no threat, as they laughed over pints of dark Irish beer, then pulled comical faces when they tasted the bitter concoction.

Nicole looked back at the barmaid. Of course, she had initially presented a bit of concern. Her take-charge efficiency and razor-sharp wit made her the perfect candidate for either side of the legal fence. But the bar had been an unplanned stop and in Nicole’s experience no branch of law enforcement was that organized.

She looked at the woman in question. She seemed distracted. More than likely a man, Nicole thought. Only a man could put a grimace like that on a woman’s face. Just seeing it made her want to join in the grimacing.

“Probably moved on to the next willing female before my plane left the ground,” the barmaid muttered as she wiped down the sticky surface of the bar.

Bingo.

But Nicole found very little comfort in the confirmation. Truth was, it stank to look at someone who felt pretty much the way you did.

The door opened and a well-turned-out redhead came in, her clothes and jewelry the real thing. No threat, even if Nicole suspected the woman hadn’t been born to her current wealthy position. She’d been around both old money and the nouveau riche enough to tell. She automatically priced the pieces the woman wore, then dismissed them. Not because of their worth, but rather because the only jewelry Nicole targeted was Tiffany, and the only jewels she lifted were unset and most of the time uncut, easily fenced.

“Cool shirt.”

Nicole glanced to see that the newcomer was talking to the barmaid, not her. Her own slick black leather pants and low-cut leather vest were world’s apart from the playful T-shirt sporting a cartoon of Jessica Rabbit the barmaid had on.

“You don’t look like the T-shirt type,” the bartender told the newcomer.

The woman’s warm laugh drew the attention of the two businessmen, as she’d almost certainly intended, probably more due to nature than design.

“Believe me, sister, I don’t dress this way every day. And I certainly don’t do it for myself.”

The woman continued speaking, still talking about the barmaid’s shirt and Jessica Rabbit. “I’d like to think I have a lot in common with her. Not bad, just drawn that way.”

The barmaid nodded. “My motto.” She poured a shot of the good stuff and slid it over to the latest arrival. “My name’s Venus. Venus Messina.”

The woman extended her hand. “Sydney. Sydney Colburn.”

Nicole’s attention turned from the door to the two women.

The barmaid named Venus was staring curiously at the other woman. “Sydney Colburn…no kidding? The writer?”

After Sydney tasted the whiskey, she nodded. “One and the same.”

Only then did the name ring a bell with Nicole. Oh, yeah, she was familiar with the author. She’d picked up a few of Colburn’s novels at airport kiosks while en route. Initially she’d done so to discourage conversation during flights. But from the first sizzling word she’d read she’d become hooked.

Venus was telling Sydney how much she liked the heroes in Sydney’s novels, saying it was too bad more men couldn’t live up to that standard, then added, “And my favorite part. No wimpy heroines!”

“Men who meet my standard do exist,” the author said softly. “The trouble is finding them.”

Nicole made a face. She was so right there.

“Finding men has never been a problem for me,” Venus offered up. “Keeping them? That’s another story.”

“The good ones or the so-so ones?”

Venus sighed. “Good or even so-so wouldn’t be bad. Unfortunately, the only ones I seem to manage to hang onto are the creeps who cost you jobs or empty your bank accounts. Not the green-eyed dreamboats with chestnut hair and the kind of wicked, sexy grin that oughta be illegal.”

Nicole got the definite impression that the “dream-boat” the barmaid referred to wasn’t a work of fiction, but rather a reality. And she also guessed that he wasn’t a part of the picture anymore.

Sydney made a knowing sound.

“What?”

“You got it bad, sister.”

Nicole smiled. You can say that again.

Venus scowled. “Speak for yourself.”

After Sydney admitted she was speaking for herself, Venus poured her another drink.

“We bad girls have it tough, you know?” Venus said. “Those Goody Two-shoes have saying ‘no’ down to an art form, blaming morals or past hurts. We say yes, because of those same morals or past hurts! We just can’t give up on the idea that the next handsome stud who comes along might erase what the last one did.”

“Handsome studs are a dime a dozen.”

Nicole sat up slightly as the barmaid named Venus approached. “Hey, girl, I almost forgot you were here. Come join us. Bad girls need to stick together.”

Nicole squinted at both women, then pursed her lips. It wasn’t so much Venus’s straightforwardness that surprised her, but that she’d so correctly nailed her. Was it an innate gift, the ability to pick out those similar to you? Of course, in her case it wasn’t all that difficult to tell which side of the good girl/bad girl equation she stood on, what with her tendency toward all black clothing—especially leather, all black clothing. Straight down to her thong.

But clothing or no, Nicole felt sure that despite their physical differences, she shared much in common with the other two women when it came to men and life in general. As for careers…well, no one said she had to tell them she was a professional thief and that she knew the worth of Sydney’s gems right down to the carat weight.

She smiled wryly. “Bad girls. Are we forming a club here?”

Venus snorted. “Last club I belonged to was the Girl Scouts. I got kicked out when I was eleven.” As Sydney raised a questioning brow, Venus explained. “Summer camp. I got caught sneaking into the boys’ cabin to play Seven Minutes in Heaven. The troop leader came in just as I was heading into the closet with Tommy Callahan.” She shook her head and sighed. “He had the cutest dimples. And cool braces.”

Sydney nodded, wearing a similar look of reminiscence.

Nicole’s amused smile widened into a grin. “I never made it past Brownies. I kept altering the uniform in a way that, well, didn’t exactly meet with the troop leader’s approval. But the boys liked it.” She winked. “Besides, brown isn’t my color.” Of course, they didn’t need to know that she’d also made off with the troop’s petty cash box on the first day.

“Hell,” Sydney proclaimed, “my mother never let me forget I got tossed outta preschool for showing the boys my underwear.”

Venus snickered. “Hey, why was she complaining?”