Shooting Dirty Read online

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, and sat down.

  Janelle caught sight of Tyler’s mom, Stephanie, standing about ten feet away. She made an okay sign indicating that she approved of Ace. Janelle felt a surge of female pride. She hooked her arm through Ace’s and turned her attention back to the game. It was over in three minutes. The Strikers didn’t even the score, but they ran hard, and none of the boys blamed Jamie for the loss. He was one of their best players.

  When Jamie joined them at the sidelines, he frowned at Ace. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Watching you play.”

  Jamie made a skeptical sound and gulped his sports drink. He knew that Ace was interested in her, not him. Ace said nothing to change that impression. He didn’t seem to care what Jamie thought of him.

  Janelle crossed her arms over her chest, unsure how to handle the situation. She’d never invited a boyfriend to one of her son’s soccer games before. The fact that Ace had killed Jamie’s father added another uncomfortable layer.

  A moment later, Stephanie approached with her son, Tyler. “We were hoping Jamie could join us for pizza.”

  Jamie’s face lit up with excitement. He obviously wanted to go, but he didn’t beg. He was on restriction, after all.

  “I can drop him off at home afterward,” Stephanie said. “It’s no problem.”

  Stephanie was one of the few soccer parents Janelle got along with. She was a pretty blonde, happily married to a firefighter. Janelle suspected that Stephanie was making the offer so Janelle could be alone with Ace.

  “Okay,” Janelle said. “That’s really nice of you.”

  Stephanie gave Ace a dazzling white smile.

  “Ace, this is Stephanie,” Janelle said.

  Ace shook her hand politely.

  They made the arrangements for Stephanie to take Jamie to his grandmother’s house later in the afternoon. Then Jamie and Tyler ran off, whooping, and Stephanie waved goodbye. She was a “fancy mom,” slim and well dressed. Ace checked out her backside as she walked away. Janelle wondered what it would be like to lead such a charmed life.

  Ace returned his attention to Janelle. “Now I’ve got you all to myself,” he said, putting his arm around her.

  “What should we do?”

  “I can think of a few things.”

  She wasn’t hungry for lunch yet, but he was, so they walked to the deli across the street. It was another warm January day, sunny and bright. The weather was always mild in the winter, brutal in the summer. He devoured a cold pastrami sandwich and pasta salad. She ordered peach frozen yogurt and only finished half the cup.

  “Are you one of those women who doesn’t eat?” he asked.

  “I had a big breakfast.”

  He perused her petite figure and made a skeptical sound.

  “Jamie cooked eggs and bacon.”

  “Eggs, huh? The boy likes eggs.”

  “What did you say to him last night?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged. “His attitude has been better today. He did the dishes and apologized for sneaking out.”

  Ace picked up her yogurt cup and polished it off. “I told him about my mother.”

  “What was she like?”

  He described a young woman who struggled to take care of him and disappeared. Although he was a man of few words, the ones he used painted a clear picture. He didn’t need embellishments.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone,” Janelle said.

  “So am I,” he said, but his eyes were cold and flat, reflecting nothing. Maybe he disconnected from his emotions the same way she disconnected from her body—as an act of self-preservation.

  “Tell me about your daughter.”

  His gaze changed then, like water rippling on the surface of a lake. “She’s almost four. She’s...happy. Affectionate. Not like me at all.”

  “You’re not happy?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lots of reasons I can’t talk about,” he said. “Are you happy?”

  She moistened her lips, considering. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I should tell you, when you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’d tell you if I could.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed him. “I want to get out of dancing.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I like being on stage, but it’s...well, it’s similar to drugs. The time goes by in a blur and you get older and at the end, you’re all used up.”

  “You’re not all used up,” he said.

  “I will be, if I stay much longer.”

  “Aren’t you in college?”

  She told him about her disastrous interview, and plans to save money for another physical therapy program.

  “You’ll get there,” he said, with complete faith. “You’re that kind of person.”

  “What kind?”

  “A cycle-breaker.”

  She’d never heard the term before. “What’s that?”

  “There are two main types of people, according to the rehab counselor I met in prison. Cycle-breakers change their lives for the better. The majority of addicts are cycle-followers. They don’t have the ability or the resources to overcome their mistakes, so they keep repeating the same ones. I think it’s about personal strength, too, but that’s just me.”

  “Are you a cycle-breaker?”

  “Yes and no. I got clean, but I’m still not on the right track.”

  They threw away their trash and left the deli, strolling back to the park. Janelle sat down with him on a bench in the shade. When she removed her cigarettes and lighter from her purse, Ace arched a brow. “Soft pack?”

  “You know it.”

  “How do you pack them?” he asked, making the slapping motion against his palm.

  “I don’t. They smoke better unpacked.”

  “Let’s see.”

  She shook out two cigarettes and passed him one. After lighting hers, she did the honors for him.

  “This is the worst cigarette I’ve ever smoked,” he said. “It’s like a limp dick.”

  She laughed at his description. “Smoking is supposed to be relaxing. I don’t need a stiff cigarette to suck hard on.”

  “Nothing wrong with sucking hard.”

  “You keep your hard pack, tough guy. I’ll do it my way.”

  He shut up and smoked, resting his arm on the back of the bench. Janelle thought about what he’d said about breaking the cycle. Her mother had gone from one abusive man to another. Janelle didn’t want to follow in those footsteps.

  “Why physical therapy?” he asked.

  “Why not?”

  “There must be some reason behind it.”

  “My mom was a nurse,” she said, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray by the bench. “She has rheumatoid arthritis, and PT helps her. It’s also very hands-on, which I like, and it pays well enough.” She went quiet for a moment, considering the similarities between physical therapy and dancing. Both professions were kinetic, relating to the body and movement. “Why are you in demolition?”

  “I like to destroy things.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled, tossing his cigarette butt next to hers. “Yeah, but the most satisfying part is clearing away the debris.”

  “How did you get into...your other job?”

  His mouth twisted at the question, but he didn’t pretend not to understand. “I learned to hunt as a kid. I was a good shot. I killed a shitload of rabbits on the gunnery range near Slab City. I also tracked some wild turkey and sage grouse.”

  “You hunted for fun?”

  “I hunted to eat.”

  Her throat tightened at the thought of
Ace as a teenaged boy, living off the desert, without any parents. She couldn’t imagine Jamie being able to take care of himself in the same situation. Who hunted for food in this day and age—and what kind of man transitioned into hunting people?

  Janelle knew he was dangerous. Although every instinct should be telling her to run, she didn’t think he’d hurt her. He was brusque and plainspoken and rough around the edges. She appreciated his raw honesty. In her experience, the smooth talkers were the ones you had to watch out for.

  “What did you go to prison for?” she asked.

  “Drug possession and grand theft.”

  “Why can’t you get on the right track now that you’re sober?”

  “I guess you could say I made a deal with the devil.”

  “There’s no way out?”

  “No easy way. But I’m trying.”

  She wondered if his daughter had something to do with it. He was a stealthy man, clearly capable of evading police and surviving in difficult situations. She searched his face for answers, but his eyes showed no hint of emotion. He was so close that she could see the coarse grains of stubble on his jaw and the weathered condition of his skin. He looked kind of like a cowboy in his snap-button shirt. Rode hard and put away wet.

  She’d always had a soft spot for cowboys.

  “When do you get off work tonight?” he asked.

  “Around two.”

  “Can you meet me after?”

  “For what?”

  He shrugged. “Anything.”

  Janelle understood what he wanted. He hadn’t exactly been coy about voicing his desires. But he also didn’t seem to care if he got lucky or not. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had been willing to wait for sex, and interested in getting to know her first. The customers at Vixen enjoyed being listened to. They liked being agreed with.

  Ace was different. He wasn’t a customer. He had a certain set of skills: observation, patience, self-control, marksmanship. She had a feeling he could put those strengths to good use in her bedroom. The thought of letting him made her flush with heat.

  He wasn’t a safe choice. He’d take her places she’d never been before. His intensity excited her, but she was afraid of the pleasure she might experience under his slow, rough hands. She was afraid of not being able to drift, afraid of breaking apart.

  She also might get attached to him. Addicted, even.

  He wasn’t a man she could manipulate or a one-night stand she could discard. This wasn’t a casual affair. Not by a long shot. He’d already met her mother and her son, and she’d revealed her darkest secrets to him. Whatever was happening between them, it was happening fast. She didn’t know where the boundaries were, or how to set new ones. She’d have to explore and experiment, and trust him not to go too far.

  Trust. That was uncharted territory.

  “Okay,” she said, cautious. “I’ll meet you. But don’t hang out in the parking lot. Either come in, or stay away until closing time.”

  “I won’t come in.”

  “Why not?”

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “Because I want to strip you myself,” he murmured in her ear. Then he rose from the bench and strode toward his truck, leaving her shivering with anticipation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ace met his daughter at the fountain, as usual.

  Skye greeted him with a warm hug, her slender arms slipping around his waist. Shawnee watched from her perch on the stone bench. Her lips curved into a reluctant smile. She loved Skye with a greedy, claw-like desperation. It was clear that she resented Ace’s visits and felt threatened by him.

  She should feel threatened. If he could take Skye away from her, he would.

  Ace usually let Skye decide where to go on their visits. He was content to be pulled in any direction. They never left the casino area, because that was one of Shawnee’s conditions. Although there was more space to roam at King’s Castle, Ace had preferred The Hidden Palms, their previous residence. The Palms had fewer amenities, just two swimming pools and a playground. There was a convenience store down the street where he’d bought Skye ice cream. It was quiet and simple.

  King’s Castle, on the other hand, was a sprawling tourist center. In addition to Vegas-style gaming, the complex boasted activities for the whole family, including an amusement center, shopping mall and a movie theater. Skye tended to choose the less-populated areas, like the duck pond and nature trail. Today she had a plastic bag filled with bread, indicating that she wanted to feed the ducks.

  Ace smiled at her excited face. Her hair was gathered by a dark ribbon at her nape, and she wore a pale blue dress. She looked perfect, as always. He felt a twinge of annoyance at Shawnee, who would complain if Skye got dirty. Sometimes he let her take off her shoes and run along the shore at the duck pond. He’d like to see that dress splattered with mud, stained by chocolate ice cream.

  “I thought we could play miniature golf today,” Ace said.

  Skye shoved the bread at Shawnee, nodding her agreement.

  The miniature golf course wasn’t far from the fountain, and it was in an enclosed space. Shawnee didn’t have to worry about him taking off with Skye. Even so, her brow furrowed in concern. The golf course was surrounded by a protective wall, making it impossible for her to keep an eye on them.

  That was why he’d suggested it. He just wanted to get away from her prying gaze. Shawnee didn’t approve of anything he did with Skye. She hated dirt, and sign language, and ducks, and miniature golf.

  She hated him—for his role in Courtney’s death.

  Her chilly attitude bothered him. If he was more in touch with his feelings, he might even say it hurt. Not because he gave a damn about Shawnee or yearned for her forgiveness. But he cared about Skye, and he knew she could sense the tension between them. She didn’t understand why the two people she loved most were at odds with each other.

  “Bill wants to see you again,” Shawnee said. She held the plastic bag of old bread with two fingers, as if it contained dog poop. “Don’t be long.”

  “He can fucking wait,” Ace said.

  Shawnee arched a brow at his harsh language. She seemed pleased by the slip, as if it proved his inferiority as a parent.

  “Come on,” he said, offering Skye his hand.

  She accepted it and they walked away together. Her grip was tighter than usual, and his heart felt heavier. He was tired of being under Shawnee’s thumb. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with Bill later. He also needed to deliver some information to Jester—or kill him—before he harassed Janelle again.

  Everything was so fucked up.

  The only bright spot in his life was Skye. And Janelle, who’d agreed to meet him tonight. She was going to let him do things to her.

  He couldn’t wait.

  He paid for two tickets to the miniature golf course and ushered Skye inside. She chose a red golf ball. He went with blue. The golf course was designed with a vaguely Egyptian theme, like the rest of the casino. There were a lot of pyramids and camels and glittery gold shit. Ace was no expert on ancient cultures, but even he could recognize bad taste.

  Skye loved it. She raced from one hole to the next, delighted by every challenge. When they were finished playing, he wasn’t ready to leave her. They lounged on a metal bench near the exit, watching the other golfers.

  He wished he could’ve brought Janelle.

  He’d almost asked her to come, but decided not to. Shawnee might have scared her off, and he couldn’t give Bill any more leverage against him. Although Dirty Eleven had a code about violence against women, not everyone followed the rules. Especially not the president. Wild Bill did exactly what he pleased.

  Buying King’s Castle had elevated Bill from underground outlaw and small business owner to desert mogul
. He thought he was the fucking king of Indio, ruling the sand with a golden fist. If Bill knew about Janelle, he might try to use her to hurt Ace. Bill was a ruthless, power-hungry bastard. Ace couldn’t be too careful.

  Skye made the sign that meant “okay.” Then she touched his face, tracing the worry brackets alongside his mouth.

  “I’m okay,” he said, disturbed by her ability to read him. Few people could.

  She shook her head. He wasn’t okay, and she knew it.

  Ace sighed, raking a hand through his hair. In some ways, her inability to communicate had been a boon. He didn’t have to talk much. Their time together was quiet, peaceful, uncomplicated. But she’d become more inquisitive lately, questioning the things she didn’t understand.

  “I want you to live with me,” he said. “But your grandmother wants to keep you.”

  She nodded. He’d explained this to her before. I love you, she signed.

  I love you, he signed back.

  I love Grandma.

  “I know.”

  Grandma...you...love?

  After a short pause, he signed no.

  Her little face screwed up with concern.

  He didn’t want to talk about Shawnee or the mess he was in, so he changed the subject. “I met a woman. Her name’s Janelle.”

  Love...woman?

  “I like her,” he said. Skye was the only person he’d ever loved, besides his own mother. “We just started seeing each other.”

  Skye didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of him getting involved with a woman. She might not be aware of the difference between dating and friendship. Her sign language vocabulary was limited, so she could only ask so much. He wondered if she’d become frustrated and try to talk again. She used to babble, before Courtney died.

  He told her about Jamie and the soccer game. She listened with interest, swinging her legs under the bench. Then they sat side by side, her hand in his. At the end of the visit, he took her back to Shawnee. Skye hugged him goodbye, lingering over the contact as if she thought he needed a little extra TLC.

  “Bill’s in Jokers Wild,” Shawnee said when they broke apart. She clasped Skye’s hand and walked toward the café at a brisk pace. Her zebra-print blouse glimmered in the late-afternoon sunlight and her strappy silver sandals clicked on the faux-rock pavement. Black shorts clung to her perfectly toned ass.