Take a Risk

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

When they got out of the taxi on the blackened street, Lyssa looped her arm through Suzette’s. “Oh yeah, this was a great idea,” she whispered.

A group of men stood on the corner wearing baggy pants and bandanas or baseball caps. Some barely dressed women hung around on another. Either those girls worked in Risqué, or they worked the club’s customers. Observing them for a few seconds, she deduced the women weren’t on their way anywhere. The street corner was their workplace. She’d worked with hookers during her years of training. They taught her a lot.

“Come on, this is fun!” Suzette exclaimed. “Your sense of adventure has always been bigger than mine, you’re fearless… Is this what your undercover assignments were like? I’m so excited.”

An adrenaline high in such shady situations could be risky. Projecting confidence didn’t mean being fearless. Still, in the name of science, pushing boundaries was exactly the point. While ensconced behind the façade of professional interest, misgivings were cast aside.

Suzette dragged her across the rain-soaked street. A flashing neon girl next to the illuminated red Risqué sign was the beacon calling to them.

Two bulky security guards, dressed in black, flanked the door.

“Hello, boys!” Suzette shrieked. “How does this work? Do we pay to get in? We’re strip joint virgins.”

She nudged her friend, rebuking the display of naivety, but the guards grinned. “No kidding,” one of them said. The two giants separated to grant entry. “Women get in free.”

Suzette squealed and rushed in, hurrying them toward the thumping music and flashing lights at the end of a dark corridor. Teeming with life, two clear types filled the massive space: leering men and near-n***d women.

Most of the circular tables were occupied by those focused on the lit stage at the head of the room. Booths around the perimeter contained their own private podiums where topless women danced for the patrons’ pleasure.

Fascinating.

Her intrigue could’ve kept her there all day. Thank God Suzette took charge and dragged her to the bar. Male bartenders handed trays of drinks to women in skin-tight, low-cut tops, and micro-mini skirts. This place kept Lycra in business for sure. Half a dozen men perched at the bar but features of faces and expressions were difficult to decipher in the low light.

A bartender came over. “Don’t get many like you in here,” the bartender called over the music coming from the stage. “Looking for a job?”

Squeezing her arm, Suzette urged her on. “We’re looking for Trapper,” Lyssa said.

Curiosity struck the bartender, shifting his expression from smiling to serious. “Wait here,” he said and walked away.

No description or information, just a single instruction.

Suzette shoved Lyssa onto a stool. “Don’t you feel better?” she asked. “This isn’t so bad.”

Someone else spoke before she could reply.

“What are you ladies drinking?” asked a grumbling voice from further along the bar.

“Oh!” Suzette said, beaming. “Are we being hit on?”

With a glare, Lyssa silenced her friend. Adrenaline was keeping Suzette on high. Lyssa tried to be more discerning. Her scientific curiosity was piqued by the mysterious male doused in shadow.

“You’re surrounded by a host of semi-nude women,” she said to him. “Why would you make a play for the only women not on offer here?”

“Those women are working and they’re not hookers.”

“Implying that we are?” Lyssa asked.

The broad man slid off his stool, three places away, and came to sit on the stool next to hers. Dark honey brown hair, rough stubble on his jaw… he was attractive. Very attractive. Would hookers be a hobby for this kind of guy?

He stretched his long legs toward her, his scrutiny sizing her up. “Can’t figure why a woman would come into a place like this,” he drawled. “Unless you two are together… and I wouldn’t mind being the meat in that sandwich.”

Suzette laughed. Lyssa wasn’t so easily swayed and maintained eye contact with him. Flesh was on show, hot, sexy women were scattered around the room. Some were dancing, arousing their spectators. This guy didn’t show a lick of interest. What a puzzle.

“Why would you come to a place like this and not watch the show?”

“I’ve seen their show,” he said, his attention drifting down her body. “Yours is still a mystery.”

“Which is the way it will stay,” Lyssa said. “I’m here to talk to a friend.”

“About what?”

“None of your business.”

Suzette leaned past her. “She’s being stalked,” she hissed in a giggle.

Turned out wine and adrenaline were not a good combination for the beautiful blonde.

“Stalked, huh?” the man said, raising his brows. “Then you’re looking for Trapper.”

What? Hmm. How did he know that? Trapper must have a reputation. With every word, the stranger’s allure grew. Good thing she wasn’t the type to be tempted by a handsome face… at least not until motives were clear.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said and shrugged. “Maybe if you’d been nicer and accepted that drink…”

“You’ll give us information if we let you buy us drinks?” Suzette asked, then snorted. “That’s a pretty good deal.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Lyssa said, less impressed. “He obviously heard me say Trapper’s name to the bartender. He’s trying to manipulate us into drinking with him. He’ll probably spike the drinks.”

The guy snickered. “Smart. You’re smart… But Trapper doesn’t let drugs in here.”

“This is his club?” Lyssa asked.

“If you were his friends, you’d know his connection to Risqué… You’re so full of shit.”

He reached over to retrieve the drink he’d left at his previous seat, proving he wasn’t worried about drugs or unattended drinks.

“We’re not full of s**t,” Lyssa said.

“You’re not friends of Trapper.”

“We are!” Suzette asserted. “We are too his friends.”

“Trapper doesn’t have friends like either of you,” he said after gulping from his glass.

Suspicion high, Lyssa peered closer. “How would you know that we’re not his friends?”

“Because I’ve never had a conversation with you in my life, Doctor Cutler,” he said, shoving his glass away, looking her in the eye. “I’d sure remember having a friend like you.”

Suzette gasped. “You’re Trapper?”

“Chavez gave me the story,” he said. “I’m not interested.”

Of that, Lyssa wasn’t so sure. “Why go through the theatrics just to let me down?”

The bartender came over to pour wine for both women then left them alone with the bottle. It was the same wine they’d been drinking all night. Was that supposed to be impressive or creepy? Because it was leaning into the latter.

“You’re not discreet,” he said as though that explained the creepiness. “My methods are unusual, and I only take one case at a time. My time is valuable.”

“You’re worried that something better might come along?”

“She’s a doctor,” Suzette announced.

Even when her friend was intrusive, Lyssa and the guy remained fixated on each other.

“Yeah, a shrink,” Trapper said. “Not exactly a lifesaver in your field, are you?”

“She could save dozens from the brink of suicide,” Suzette said. “You don’t know.”

“You’re a s*x therapist,” he said, ignoring her friend. “You contribute to dozens of chickens getting choked.”

She was familiar with the snickers that accompanied opinions of her occupation. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You know nothing about what I do.”

“Ditto,” he said. “I can help you. I could get rid of this guy for you and the mystery is maybe enough to keep me interested.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I can’t work with you. I don’t like difficult clients. I do like clients who follow the rules.”

“What are the rules?”

Looking past her to Suzette, Trapper put a palm on the bar, summoning the bartender over. “This is Suzette Blossom,” he said, introducing the bartender to her friend. “Call her a cab, she needs to go home.”

Affronted, the insult was made worse by concern. “You’re not taking my friend anywhere,” Lyssa said.

“Difficult,” Trapper said to the bartender. “See, I knew it. Didn’t I say it before she came in?”

“You have a way of reading people,” the bartender said.

“I’ll go,” Suzette interjected, pouncing off her stool. “You need him. I’ll call you when I get home.”

“This is a power play,” Lyssa said, turning to her friend. “He’s trying to assert dominance.”

“And you’re fighting him for it,” Suzette murmured, coming closer to stroke her hair and rest a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. A cop knows you’re here for goodness sake. You’re safe.”

The women embraced and said goodnight.

Anxiety stayed even after her friend was gone. They were relying on the word of a cop, one low on the hierarchy. Worrying was natural. Still, Suzette would be fine; she did self-defense and was going home to her fiancé.

Pete would be home in less than an hour and would expect the woman he loved to be there when he arrived. He was totally risk averse. Hence why they hadn’t confessed the intended destination of the evening. He would never have let Suzette get involved. Maybe she should’ve followed that track too.