The Wrong Woman. Linda Warren
cut in. “I just get angry when I think about that man and what he did to my family.” Gran fingered the pearls around her neck with a nervous hand. “It’s so long ago now and I’m tired of talking about them.”
Gran was lying. Serena got to her feet, knowing it was useless to talk to her; Gran wasn’t going to let go of years of resentment and bitterness. Still, Serena wanted to find out why. As she went back to the study, she kept thinking that maybe her mother was alive. Oh, God, could her mother be alive? The ringing of the phone stopped her thoughts. She immediately yanked it up. It was Ethan, and she’d never been so glad to hear anyone’s voice in her life.
“Have you found her?” was all she could say.
“No,” Ethan said, and her spirits sank.
“She wasn’t at the strip club?”
“No, they said she was sick.” He sounded put out and she wondered why.
“Then she’ll be back, won’t she?”
“I’m not sure. Since it was Saturday I was almost positive she’d be there.” A long pause.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t say anything else. There was definitely a quality in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“I believe in honesty. If clients lie to me, there’s not much I can do to help them. You once asked me if I was lying. Now I’m asking you, Serena. Are you lying to me?”
Now she understood the problem—he thought that since the stripper hadn’t appeared they could be one and the same person. “No, I’m not,” she said earnestly. “I am not the stripper. Please believe me. But I have to know who she is.”
She could almost feel his relief. “Okay, I’ll go back tonight.”
“Thanks, Ethan. I’ll wait for your call.”
Serena hung up the phone and noticed the caller I.D. Ethan was staying at a motel in Dallas. As she stared at the name, an idea formed in her head.
AFTER HEARING her voice, Ethan felt better. She wasn’t lying. He believed her, and he never took a case unless he believed the client. On this one, he’d been waffling back and forth so much he was beginning to doubt his instincts. Her soft voice confused those instincts completely, something that had never happened to him before. He’d feel like a fool if he was wrong about her, but deep inside he knew he wasn’t.
He decided to stake out the club to see if the redhead went in or out. He spent the afternoon watching the back entrance, but mostly saw service and delivery people. As afternoon grew into evening, a few girls trailed in, but they were blondes and brunettes, no redheads. The building was a two-story, and he glanced at the top floor. He wondered if any of the girls lived on the premises. It was certainly possible.
Bored with the inactivity, he called it quits. He’d check the club later when things were livelier. In the meantime he drove to the police station. He had a friend who worked narcotics; as far as he knew, Daniel was still on the force. He wanted to ask him some questions about Rudy Boyd, but unfortunately Daniel was out on a case. Ethan felt as if his whole day was wasted. He returned to his room, showered and changed for the evening, then drove to the nightclub to talk to Travis. Molly was getting dressed, so they had a few minutes alone.
“What do you know about Rudy Boyd?” he asked.
Travis shrugged. “Not a lot. He hired me about a year ago, but I’ve seen very little of him. He has clubs all over Dallas—he’s a very busy man. I’ve seen more of him since Molly’s been here than I have the whole of last year.”
“What’s his interest in Molly?”
“Damn, Ethan, you’ve been on that ranch too long. What do you think his interest is?”
“Be realistic, Travis. Molly’s my sister and I love her, but she’s thirty-five and Rudy Boyd seems more the type to go for twenty-year-olds.”
Travis shifted in his seat. “Yeah, I thought that, too, but maybe he’s tired of empty-headed twenty-year-olds. Whatever, I figure Molly’s old enough to know what she’s doing.”
Ethan rose to his feet. “You just keep an eye on her, because I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Ethan, don’t go looking for trouble.”
“I’m not. I’m just being cautious.”
“Too cautious, if you ask me. There’s more to life than work.”
“I’ve got to go,” Ethan said.
“Aren’t you gonna watch the show?”
“No, I don’t want Molly to think I’m spying on her.”
“Really.” Travis raised an eyebrow. “Where would she get an idea like that?”
Ethan gave him a piercing look and left.
AT THE STRIP CLUB, Ethan’s night was a repeat of the night before. The redhead didn’t appear. Tonight, though, the place was packed and there wasn’t any room to sit. He stood for a long time, watching and waiting, then made his way to the bar, hoping to talk to the bartender.
“What’ll you have?” the man finally asked after serving several other men.
“A draft, light,” Ethan said.
When the beer was placed in front of him, Ethan said conversationally, “I was hoping the redhead would strip tonight.”
The bartender frowned. “You got a thing for her?”
“Yeah. I’d sure like to meet her.”
“In your dreams, buster,” the barman muttered.
“I’m good at dreaming,” Ethan replied casually, trying to sound like a normal customer. “Any idea when she’ll be here again?”
“You ask too many questions, mister.”
The man was nervous. Ethan could see it in his eyes and the way he kept looking over Ethan’s shoulder.
A big man pushed between Ethan and the man beside him. “What’s the problem?” He spoke to the bartender.
“This one—” he nodded to Ethan “—is asking a lot of questions.”
“About what?”
“The redhead.”
The man scowled. “The girls are off-limits. Now get your ass out of here.” As he said the last words, he grabbed Ethan by the collar. Ethan’s arm came up and knocked the man’s hand away.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ethan said in a steely voice.
They faced each other. The other man, evidently the bouncer, was big and muscled, but Ethan was the same height and he wasn’t backing down. The bouncer got the message.
“Just leave and I won’t,” the bouncer finally said.
Ethan stared at him for an extra second, then left the bar.
Sitting in his truck, he tried to figure out what had just happened. Questions about the redhead made everyone nervous. Why? The club’s goal was to draw customers and to keep them coming back, so it made no sense to discourage their interest in any of the strippers.
Something was going on with the redhead—and it wasn’t good.
THE BOUNCER stabbed out a number on a cell phone. “We got problems,” he said. “Someone’s asking about the redhead.”
“Who?” the voice on the other end asked.
“Don’t know. Looks like a cop—Texas Ranger type.”
“Goddammit, where is he now?”
“I threw him out.”
“Good,