River’s End

hundred and thirty-three blondes in short skirts in here. They all have eyes.”
    “The one two tables over to the left. Don’t look.”
    Though he hadn’t intended to, Noah shrugged. “Okay. I’m going up to San Francisco again in a couple of days.”
    “Why?”
    “Work. The book. Remember?”
    “Oh yeah. yeah. I’m telling you, she’s definitely eyeing me. She just did the hair flip. Hair flipping’s the second stage.”
    “Go make a move, then.”
    “I'm biding my time, scoping it out. What’s it like inside San Quentin. anyway?”
    Mike tried a little eyebrow wiggle on the blonde to get her reaction.
    “Depressing. You walk through a door, it locks behind you. Your hair stands on end when you hear that click.”
    “So does he still look like a movie star? You never said.”
    “No, he looks like a man who’s spent twenty years in prison. Are you going to eat any of these?”
    “After I talk to the blonde. I don’t want nacho breath. Okay, that was five full seconds of eye contact. I’m going in.”
    “My money’s on you, pal.” Then Noah muttered as Mike swaggered away, “She’ll eat him alive.”
    He amused himself watching the action. The dance floor was packed, bodies crammed against bodies in a shower of flashing colored lights and all bumping and twisting to the music.
    It made him think of the night he’d taken Olivia dancing. And how he”d stopped hearing the music or anything but the beat of his own blood once his mouth tasted hers.
    “Put it away, pal,” he muttered, and, scowling, picked up his beer. “You blew that one.”
    He sipped his beer and watched the show. He’d always enjoyed an occasional night in a club, getting blasted with music and voices, being pressed in with people and movement. Now he was sitting alone, while his oldest friend worked the blonde, and wishing he’d stayed home.
    He pushed aside the nachos without interest, lifted his beer again and spotted Caryn crossing the floor toward his table.
    “Of all the gin joints in all the towns,” he mumbled and took a longer, deeper drink.
    “I thought you were playing hermit.” She’d decked herself out in a leather dress of electric blue that coated her like a tattoo and screamed to an abrupt halt just past her crotch. Her hair was in a thousand wild fuck-me curls, and her mouth was painted a hot, wet red.
    It occurred to him that it was just that look that had made him think with his glands when he’d first seen her. He said nothing, lifted his glass again and did his best to stare through her.
    “You set the cops on me.” She leaned down, planting her palms on the table and her impressive breasts directly at eye level. “You got some nerve, Noah, getting your father to call out his gestapo friends to give me grief.”
    He flicked his gaze up to hers, then over her shoulder where one of her friends was pulling desperately at her arm and muttering her name.
    His lips curved in a viciously cold smile, and he pitched his voice just over the roar of music. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and get her out of here?”
    “I’m talking to you.” Caryn jabbed a nail, painted the same wild blue as her dress, into his chest. “You pay attention to me when I’m talking to you, you bastard.”
    The control snapped in, even as he imagined squeezing his hands around her neck until her eyes popped. “Back off.”
    She jabbed him again, hard enough this time to break skin. Then let out a squeal of shock when he grabbed her wrist.
    “Keep out of my way. You think you can trash my house, destroy my things and I’ll do nothing? You keep the hell out of my way.”
    “Or what?” She tossed her hair back, and to his disgust he saw it wasn’t fear in her eyes, but excitement, edged with a glint of lust. “Going to call Daddy again?” She raised her voice now.
    to just under a scream. Even in the din, it cut and had heads turning. “I never touched your precious things. I wouldn’t lower myself to go back in that house after the way you treated me, and you can’t prove any different. If I’d been there I’d have burned it down—and I’d have made sure you were inside when I did.”
    “You’re sick.” He shoved her hand aside. “And you’re pitiful.” He was pushing his chair back when she slapped him. The ring on her finger nicked the corner of his mouth, and he tasted blood. His eyes went dark and flat as he got to his feet. “You keep crossing that line, Caryn, and you’re going to get