"I would," I admitted, because I could hardly deny it. But that didn't mean I was going to chase him.
I leaned toward her, sliding into gossip mode, both to distract her and because I wanted her reaction. "Kevin says the FBI is watching Evan. Tyler and Cole, too."
Kat shifted in her seat, obviously intrigued. "Really? Do you think it's true? I bet it is. They all have that bad boy look about them." The corner of her mouth curved up. "Especially Cole."
"You are so not subtle, you know."
"What? He's hot."
"Can't argue with that. Hell, they all are."
"But are they criminal masterminds?" Her voice was laced with intrigue.
"Maybe. I don't know." I shrugged. "Probably not."
"Oh, I bet they are," she said. "Most of the time, the cops get it right. They just don't always get the bad guys. Of course, that depends on how you define 'bad guy.'" She leaned back in her seat, looking almost smug.
I frowned, the idea that Evan might end up behind bars was undeniably disturbing. But at the same time, the idea that he was cool enough and smart enough to avoid that net ... well, I couldn't deny that just thinking about it got my blood pumping. Like playing chicken on the train tracks or surfing on the roof of a car. Or even like snagging a pair of crappy earrings from Neiman Marcus.
She laughed. "Oh, man, the look on your face. You are so busted."
I grimaced, but I didn't deny.
"At any rate," Kat continued, "all of this is beside the point."
"I've completely forgotten what the point is."
"The point is that you have to go for it. If you're really moving to Washington--and I know the way you are with your dad, so I'm not even going to try to talk you out of it--then you need to go for it."
"Go for it, as in what?" I asked, even though I knew damn well what she meant--and was only a hairsbreadth away from agreeing.
"Take a chance, Angie. You don't have to be in Washington for a few more weeks, right? So work your magic and get Evan in your bed. If you don't do it once, you're going to regret it forever."
She was right. Not only would I regret it, but I wasn't sure that I could get through the next few weeks. That I could keep myself pulled together as I moved through the condo that had once been so full of Jahn's laughter and conversation. As I packed to move to a city I didn't want to live in for a job I wasn't sure I'd even like, but that I knew Gracie would have loved.
The nightmares would return in full force. Hell, I could already feel them poking at me, like jabs from behind a dark curtain.
Could I take three weeks of this without needing to break free?
I could if I was in Evan's arms--I was certain of it.
Without him, though ...
Without him, I was terrified of simply crashing.
But that wasn't the only reason that Kat's proposal enticed me. The truth was, I simply wanted the man. Wanted him, and was certain that he wanted me, too.
I remembered the way I'd felt when he'd stood close to me in the elevator, the way the air had vibrated between us. The scent of him. The presence of him.
And then I remembered the way he'd shut me down. The way he'd shut us both down.
I shook my head. "I don't know ..."
"What's not to know? It's not like you're going to get arrested--though you may end up on a surveillance tape."
"Oh, like that's an enticement?"
She ignored my half-assed protest. "And since he's already said no once, if he says it again, you're in the exact same place. And if he says yes, you're golden, right? I mean, honestly, Angie, what have you got to lose?"
I remembered the feel of his hands upon me in the alley, the way my body had fired and opened to him.
I remembered the smell of cocoa when he handed me the mug, and how the soft glow in his eyes had warmed me even more than the liquid. I remembered the way I'd come awake the next morning, clear and crisp and nightmare free.
What did I have to lose?
That was easy--nothing.
Nothing, that is, except my heart.
It turns out that the whole "go after Evan Black" plan was a little more complicated than I'd anticipated, primarily because I had no idea how to get in touch with him other than through his office. I'd done that, leaving a message with his assistant through the automated voicemail system. Since I didn't immediately get a call back--and I fully expected him to ignore the message--I decided to scour the entire condo in the hopes of finding his personal cell number. Then I'd cross my fingers and hope he'd answer.
Too bad for me, I found diddly-squat. Not one single number for Evan, Cole, or Tyler. I did find the mother lode of family photo albums in the bottom drawer of Jahn's bedside table, and I spent two solid hours sitting on his bed and thumbing through them, soaking up the memories and feeling melancholy.
Most of the pictures were of people I vaguely recognized but didn't know by name. Grandparents who'd passed away before I was born and third cousins I'd met only at various graduations, weddings, and funerals. But two of the albums focused on my little corner of the family. There were pictures of me and Gracie at the Kenilworth house. Me and Gracie on a sailboat in the middle of the lake. Me and Gracie at Disneyland.
My mom and dad were in all of the pictures that featured me and Gracie, but there were earlier pictures, too. Pictures without either of us that looked old enough to be from before even Gracie was born. My mom was in all of those photos, my dad in very few. In some, Jahn stood beside my mother, his arm around her as she leaned against him, smiling and radiant.
I wondered if my father was the one behind the camera, but I had a strange feeling that he wasn't. Instead, I had the feeling that I was a voyeur. That I'd stumbled on something I wasn't supposed to know about.
Feeling melancholy, I closed the albums, put them back in the drawer, and made a mental note to mail them to my mom.
I poked around a bit more in Jahn's bedroom and found a battered address book that included Evan's name, but when I dialed, I heard only the message that the number had been disconnected. I would have called the office and talked to Jahn's secretary, but it was Saturday, and this hardly seemed like the kind of thing I should bother her at home for.
I was about to ditch the whole thing and give Flynn or Kat a call, when I realized there was one more place I could check. I reached for my phone, searched the Internet for Destiny, and dialed.
"Destiny," a woman's voice crooned. "Where your fantasy is our pleasure."
"Um, yeah. Hi."
"How can I help you?" She sounded perfectly polished while I sounded like an idiot.
"I'm looking for Evan Black. Could you tell me if he's there right now?"
"I'm sorry, we don't expect Mr. Black for another hour. Can I have him return the call?"
"Oh. Um, no. Thanks, but I'll just call back."
I stabbed my thumb on the button to end the call feeling a bit like I'd just done espionage. I did, however, now have a plan.
I glanced down at myself, and realized I was still wearing yoga pants and the Northwestern T-shirt I'd bought my freshman year. Not exactly appropriate attire for a strip club. Then again, I had no idea what one wore to a so-called gentleman's club, and though I'd had the chance to find out in college, I'd manage to completely blow that opportunity.
My roommate sophomore year had thought it would be a hoot for a group of us to check out a strip club, and she'd set her sights on Destiny, which she'd heard was the biggest, nicest, least sleazy strip club in the area.
I'd been desperately curious, not only because I knew the knights owned the place, but also because I was dying to know what went on inside a club like that. Were the women completely nude? How exactly did a lap dance work? And were there really private rooms where guys went for a three-martini lunch and a blow job?
And, though I hadn't shared this little tidbit with my friends, I also wanted the kindling to fuel my imagination. Because even though I didn't really know what went on inside a ge
ntleman's club, I'd read enough and seen enough movies and TV to know that at the very least there would be girls doing sexy dances and getting guys hot. Teasing and titillating and being rewarded with bills in their G-strings and the high of adrenaline.
I told myself I only wanted to go and watch and stoke my own fantasies. But it's not easy to lie to yourself, and the truth was I didn't want the fantasy, I wanted the rush, and I was afraid that with enough coaxing and enough liquor, I might give in if my friends pushed me up on that stage, expecting me to squeal and blush and rush away. I might surprise them with how much I enjoyed gyrating to the music. With how much it turned me on to know that all those men's eyes were on me, but they weren't allowed to touch.