Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(51)

I give a curt nod, wondering if I’ve misread Bob’s role here. I thought he was just the muscle. Right now, as his meaty paws begin their rough and invasive search of my body, he’s acting like he runs the whole show and me being fifteen minutes late is a personal attack upon him.

When his hands reach my inner thighs and I involuntarily stiffen, he stands to meet my eyes, a flicker of amusement touching his otherwise cheerless face. “Don’t think because you’re late that we’re going to skip a wire search.” He makes a point of holding my eyes as his hands reach around to prod my ass, as if silently telling me that he can get away with just about anything right now. I say nothing, keeping my face calm, unperturbed. I can’t keep the sweat from beginning to trickle, though. I’m not that controlled.

Grabbing my hips and spinning me around to face the wall, Bob doesn’t warn me before he yanks my shirt up, stretching the bottom over my shoulders. I feel his fingers curl around the back of my sports bra as he begins tugging at the clasps.

What the f*ck? This is new. This didn’t happen last time . . .

“It’s easy to hide wires in these things,” he explains, though I can’t help but hear the wicked smile in his voice. Bullshit. This is Bob trying to assert authority over me. I bite my tongue to keep the complaints at bay.

This will be over soon.

When Bob is still struggling with the clasps after ten seconds, a chuckle slips out of my lips, unbidden. “Not a lot of experience with those, Bob?”

Eddie’s bark of laughter sounds a second before my body jerks from a violent tug. I hear the tear of fabric as the feeling of support disappears and I know that Bob has ruined a very good sports bra. He begins stretching, pulling, and twisting the material as he mutters, “Keep it up, Jane. I’ve done strip searches before. Never can be too cautious of a rat.”

My stomach flips with his words and I grit my teeth before anything else rash and stupid slips out of my mouth. I know that I was lucky Sal never raped me. I know that I won’t be so lucky a second time. But I can’t let Bob see that I’m afraid, and I sure as hell can’t let him talk to me like this or I’ll never have a solid footing in these drops again. From somewhere deep inside, I manage to pull out an icy tone to retort, “Maybe I should give details about these romantic little sessions of ours when I speak to Big Sam on the phone.”

Eddie’s snort sounds in the background. “We’re going to be doing business together for a while. How about you two lovebirds start getting along.”

Bob’s invasive hands reach around to slide over my breasts. He says nothing, but I hear his sharp exhale as he cups each of them for a tad too long.

“All right . . .,” Eddie growls.

Bob’s hands finally fall away and he announces, “All clear.”

I yank my shirt down and turn around, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around my chest as we complete the rest of the transaction. It takes mere minutes and then I’m out.

Another successful drug drop to add to my résumé.

Another horrid memory to bury with my sordid past when I get away.

I have to focus on taking deliberate steps to keep myself from running down the hall, out of the elevator, and away from that hotel. And for some reason, I can’t shake the image of a beautiful dark-haired man from my mind, only it’s marred by a look of disgust. The same look Cain had on his face the day he moved me out of my apartment.

The look isn’t meant for my drug addict neighbors, though.

It’s meant for me.

Despite the oppressive late afternoon heat, I feel a chill course through my body.

■ ■ ■

Something has shifted in the air since our conversation two nights ago. I can’t quite peg it. It’s not the music, though the song I’ve chosen—“Sail,” by Awolnation—is decidedly slower. It’s not my routine, though I need to temper some of the moves to flow with the music. It’s certainly not Cain’s attention. He’s still standing in his customary location, still watching with that intense gaze as I peel articles of clothing off. It’s not the lighting or the location or the crowd—it’s as congested as always.

And yet there is suddenly more. Something much deeper and more substantial lingering in the air.

A magnetic pull.

An ache in my chest.

Is it what was said the other night? His confession, however brief?

I can’t place what has changed but I still feel it after I leave the stage, and it’s both enticing and troublesome.

I’m so distracted as I trot down the steps, on my way to the dressing room, that I don’t see the man until I run smack into him.

“Excuse me,” I begin to mutter until I look up and into cold blue eyes.

And gasp.

If there was any question in his mind, any doubt as to whether I was the same girl that delivered heroin to him yesterday, my reaction confirms it.

Bob’s mouth stretches into a wide, wicked grin. “Well, well. Came in for a show. Didn’t expect a shock.”

This is bad. So very bad. If only I weren’t so fixated on Cain, I would have seen Bob coming. I would have spotted him in the crowd and hidden my face from him. Fuck! Of all the clubs he could be in, he has to be in this one? Is this a fluke? Or did he tail me here?

Based on the look on his face, I don’t think so. I think he’s telling me the truth and he’s as surprised to find me here as I am to see him.