Free Shooting Dirty by Jill Sorenson Page B

cowboy boots clicked across the asphalt. He watched her approach, seeming wary. His hands were locked around the steering wheel, his hair disheveled.
    He nodded hello.
    She stopped about two feet from his open window. Although the lights from the parking lot didn’t illuminate the interior, she could see a pack of cigarettes on the dash and what appeared to be a coffee mug. He didn’t smell like alcohol.
    “You know what men do in this parking lot?” she asked.
    “I can guess.”
    “There are two main types,” she said, counting on her fingers. “The jerkoffs, and the jerkoff watchers. The watchers think they’re doing a public service by pointing out the perverts. But they’re really just looking for a show.”
    Ace shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it up. “Don’t forget the jerkoff watcher-watchers. They watch the watchers watch.”
    She smiled at the joke, which sounded like a Dr. Seuss reference. Maybe he read picture books to his daughter.
    He blew smoke into the cab. “How’s your son?”
    “Fine,” she said. “Grounded for life.”
    “No other trouble?”
    She shook her head. “Is that why you’re here?”
    He shrugged, taking another drag.
    “Did you visit your friend?”
    “He’s not my friend. But yes, I met him.”
    “You think he’ll bother me again?”
    His mouth twisted. “If he does, he’ll be sorry.”
    She didn’t ask how he’d make Jester sorry. She didn’t want to know anything about his criminal activities. “I don’t need a watcher,” she said, gesturing toward the entrance. “There’s a bouncer inside.”
    He gave her a doubtful look. Two months ago, he’d replaced her side window in this very parking lot without anyone noticing. Needless to say, security at Vixen was pretty lax.
    “Tiffany walks me out every night,” she added.
    “I know.”
    Janelle glanced over her shoulder at Tiffany, who’d cranked up the radio in her Jeep. She was doing the robot to a techno beat. “You’ve been out here before?”
    “A few times.”
    “You never come inside.”
    “Should I?”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, unsure how to respond. Ace hadn’t been in the club since the night he paid her for a lap dance. He’d enjoyed her performance, judging by his massive erection. But he’d kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself. When it was over, he’d paid her a modest tip and left.
    She was glad he hadn’t returned. She’d never date a customer. The bachelor-party boys were tiresome and loud. The regulars were sex addicts or misguided saviors. She’d make more money if she broke the rules and accepted phone numbers, but she refused to participate in that particular hustle. It would feel like prostitution.
    More
like prostitution.
    Ace didn’t seem like the type of man who paid for sex. Maybe he preferred to tie women up and take what he wanted.
    “Before I forget,” he said, reaching into his glove compartment. He found a swath of black lace and passed it to her.
    She accepted the panties warily.
    “I washed them.”
    She flushed, imagining what else he might have done to them. She kind of liked the idea of him having her panties. Had he smelled them, touched them, pictured her in them? Now that he’d returned the keepsake, their fantasy affair was over.
    “I’m moving in with my mother,” she said, for no particular reason.
    His gaze sharpened. “Because of Jester?”
    “Not really. Other things.”
    “Like what?”
    “Finances.”
    “I told you I had money for you.”
    “I won’t take it. I wouldn’t have taken it from Shane, either.”
    “He wouldn’t have given it to you.”
    She resented this blunt truth about her son’s father, spoken so casually by his killer. Ace was a harsh person, cold-eyed and sharp-edged. During the time she’d spent as his captive, he’d told her that she’d picked the wrong brother to have a kid with. Owen would have been a far better choice.
    “It’s not your fault he was no good,” Ace