She drew her gaze to the windshield, the pavement stretching out like a road to nowhere. “I already told you. He kissed me, I pushed him off, then I went into the locker room.”
“You’d never met him before?”
“No, he was just some creep. There are lots of them at the club.”
“Shots fired,” he said.
Her chest tightened, but the upturned corner of his lip told her that he wasn’t offended. Maybe he should be, even if she didn’t lump him in with the other creeps. Still, there were moments when she thought she saw a flicker of arousal in his gaze—or the faint stretch of fabric over his groin.
Her lower belly tightened, and she pushed the thought aside. It’s just a dumb bad-boy crush. And now that she knew he was a cop, it was in her best interests to forget about him entirely.
How had she let herself get talked into this car?
When the detective had asked if she needed a ride home, she could have said no. Even his partner had frowned, like he was suspicious about Detective Duffy’s intentions. But turning down a ride home in the middle of the night might seem suspicious, and a ride to her motel felt less threatening than a ride to the precinct.
Plus, he’d already shown some hints that he wanted to help her. He hadn’t said a word about her washing the blood from her hands—he should have. He hadn’t refuted her story about him walking past in the alley either, though it was clear his partner didn’t believe it. Could she convince him—subtly—that they could help one another?
That’s why she was really here. She needed to assess the situation, buy herself enough time to vanish. And she couldn’t do it walking home alone, guessing at his motivations. If she was right about who had murdered Jason, she didn’t have much time to?—
“Maybe you’d seen him around the club?” he asked, and she paused, dragging her focus back to the conversation.
“Not that I remember. But you can ask the other girls. I just work behind the bar, so I don’t interact much with the… patrons.”
“You interact with me.”
Interact? Is that what he called watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking, turning away when she looked back?
“I pour your drinks,” she said. “But I didn’t know your name until today.”
“I knew yours.”
She frowned. Did he? And why did that make her feel warm and fuzzy inside? Just because a man wanted to know a half-naked woman’s name didn’t mean he was on the up-and-up, and it certainly didn’t mean he respected her.
Be logical, Juliette—you can’t afford to be an idiot.
She tugged her sparkly silver skirt down, glad she’d been able to get most of the blood off the sequins, and said, “I don’t remember telling you my name.”
“I heard one of your coworkers address you.”
“One of the strippers, you mean.”
He cocked an eyebrow, but she went on, “Exotic performers, dancers, they don’t take offense when referred to by those terms. It’s the moralists and puritanical jackoffs who feel compelled to use euphemisms. It’s a legitimate and respectable job. Fuck the negative connotations.”
This time, the pause was longer. “Well, I’m very sorry for being such a judgmental prick, Ms. Crandall. I’ll remember that for the future.”
She swallowed hard. Oops. That’s what she called lying low? “Sorry, Detective. It’s been a long night. I’m sure you understand that.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. And call me Ronan.”
She nodded mutely, dragging a shaky breath into her lungs. She’d never been good at demure, but she wasn’t usually so dumb.
Just keep your mouth shut, Juliette. The club would be closed while the police investigated, but then Waylon would be back, and she could pop in and get the money he owed her. As it was, she didn’t even have enough for a bus ticket. There were few places that let you work for cash without a social security number, and all she had was a shitty fake ID: Jennifer Crandall. Who would cease to exist within the week.
But she could only run if she got the police to cross her off their suspect list.
If she was a suspect and she ran, they’d come after her—they’d send her photo out to other precincts, put out APBs. Jennifer Crandall wasn’t in danger. But Juliette Graves definitely was if anyone found out she was still alive. And if they caught her, locked her away so Daniel couldn’t play his game… her mother was as good as dead.
And they’d definitely lock her up. If not for this murder, for another one.
