Part 16 (2/2)
Her gaze instinctively wandered over his chest, the pale expanse of flesh over gym-honed planes. She beat back the attraction: a cadence of warning that drummed beneath her skin.
As she listened to the pulsing in her temples, she identified what the sound was.
Anger, not l.u.s.t. Anger at Eva, at Frank. At herself.
G.o.dd.a.m.nit, get it together, she thought. Be strong, be tough.Concentrate.
With difficulty, she backed off, started circling the bartender. ”I'm looking for someone.”
”No s.h.i.+t.” He laughed again, obviously growing wary as she crossed to the opposite side of the room.
Ignoring his double entendre, she kept moving, stalking, gauging him, growing stronger with his increasing anxiety and her increasing distance.
As she came around the table, he slanted his body toward her again, but it wasn't exactly in l.u.s.t this time. Now it was more like a man who didn't want to keep his back to an open door without his guns drawn.
He sniffed. ”Jesus, do you work in a pizza factory?”
The garlic. Interesting that he wasn't strongly repelled.
More composed now, she showed him two pictures of Robby that Breisi had given her-one of the clean-cut superstar, one of a pierced and s.h.a.ggy boy.
”Has this kid been around?”
The bartender reared back. ”That's Robby Pennybaker.”
”'No s.h.i.+t.' I hope you don't mind me quoting you. Your words were so profound.”
He started at her change of tone, no doubt wondering where the aggressive flirt had gone. ”Hey, what's your issue?”
The anger inside her went up a notch.
Issue.She could probably redefine the word for him.
”My issue is...” She shoved the pictures at him again. ”...this kid might be in trouble. If you could find it within your heart to help, you'd earn a Brownie point or two.” He stared at the photo for a second longer, and it was enough time to allow Dawn to see a hint of helplessness. When his gaze met hers, she held her breath, knowing he was about to say something....
But then he abruptly turned back to the table and reached for the bottles, a long flow of black hair conveniently hiding his face.
”I've gotta go.”
In an implosion of undiluted frustration, Dawn forgot about all her sore muscles, cuts, and sc.r.a.pes and grabbed his arm, whipping him around to face her.
”What aren't you telling me?”
He bolted back, holding up his hands. Peace, man, peace. ”You need to get out of here.”
She smiled-a razor-thin line singing with impatience. This guy might lead to Robby. Robby might lead to Frank. Frank might lead to...She didn't know, but she had to find out.
”You just became much more intriguing.” She tucked Robby's pictures away and took out Frank's. ”How about this man? Ever seen him? It might be more recently.”
The bartender's Adam's apple worked in his throat as he tried to swallow. He'd seen Frank. His eyes told her so.
Relieved, happiness lit through her at the possibility of getting a lead. Then a memory intruded.
Her smiling father, pus.h.i.+ng her on a playground merry-go-round when she was a little girl. Faster, faster. He grinned down at her as she squealed in delight, laughed with her as her hands grew sweaty against the bars.
”Hold on, Dawn.”
Her hands were slipping, but she was laughing so hard she couldn't tell him.
Faster, faster.
”Isn't this fun? Look how fast you're going! My little girl can take anything!”
Slipping...
Her fingers loosened around the paint-chipped bars; the rust smelled like blood.
”Daddy's so proud of his rough-and-ready girl! Kids twice your age can't take this kind of speed!”
Her mouth formed around a cry of ”Daddy!” but the word wouldn't come out.
The bars slithered out of her grip, colors melding, flying in front of her face...an expanse of green...gra.s.s...zooming up to meet her- Everything stopped, her face an inch from the green.
The next thing she knew she was in her father's arms, trembling, nausea rising up in her throat. He smelled like gin and he felt like home.
”Baby...oh, little baby...I'd never let my little girl get hurt.” He was close to sobs. ”Daddy will always be here for you. He'll protect you from falling again, he'll make sure of that. He won't let anything...not the playground, not the awful people that got your mommy...anything hurt you, Dawnie...”
In his embrace, she had tried so hard not to cry, because her daddy wouldn't want that. He was proud that she wasn't a wimp, and Dawn lived for his pride.
As his tears dampened her cheek, little Dawn looked at him, wiped the moisture away.
”I'll protect you from all the bad things, too, Daddy....”
She glanced down at the actual photo. His dark hair was windblown as he posed, jaunty and carefree, on a dock at Marina del Rey. In the background, fishermen waited for their latest catch. The colors dredged up a shadow below the surface of so many things she didn't like to think about....
Throat tight, she pushed it at the bartender. ”This is Frank Madison. He's...a PI. He went missing about five days ago.”
”I haven't seen him. Now get out before I call the cops.”
His resistance was a needle-sharp poke to her swollen grief. Patience exploding, Dawn flew at him, caught him in a headlock, and slammed his body face-first against the table. Bottles went flying, shattering to the tile. She levered her weight onto him, forgetting her usual practice of holding back. In her biz, she'd been taught to pull punches, to ”sell” a fight and make it all look real without injuring anyone.
But she didn't have to do that right now. Not with this callous motherf.u.c.ker.
Nope. Instead she jammed the side of her forearm against the back of his neck, making him cry out like a prissy little girl who'd torn her pinafore.
”If you know something about Frank, you'd better tell me before I get angry.”
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