So what kind of trouble was Marie-Terese in?

“Come on, Vin. Let’s go.”

Vin looked toward the locker room door. Probably the kindest thing he could do for the woman was leave quietly—all that explaining was only going to draw her in deeper and frighten her more. But that wasn’t what was going to help her avoid whatever trouble was coming her way.

“Vin…let me take you out of here.”

“She’s in danger.”

“Vin, look at me.” The guy pointed to both of his own eyes. “Look at me. You are going home now. You got your head knocked around in that hall, and apparently you just gave passing out some serious consideration. I get the no-doctor bit, fine. But you’re talking out your ass if you think I’m going to let this shit go on any longer. Come with me—now.”

Damn it, this fuzzy aftermath, with the disorientation and confusion, with his fear about what he’d said and his feeling out of control—shit, even the WTF expression on Jim’s face…he remembered all of this. So many times…Vin had been through this so many times, and he hated it.

“You’re right,” he said, trying to let it all go. “You’re absolutely right.”

He could always come back and talk to her later, when things weren’t so fresh. Like tomorrow. He’d come back tomorrow as soon as the club opened. It was the best he could do.

Getting off the stool carefully, he went over to where she’d left his business card on the makeup counter. Taking his pen out, he wrote two words on the back and then looked at all the bags. He knew exactly which duffel was hers. Out of the pink-and-purple Ed Hardys and the Gucci and the two identical Harajuku Lovers…there was a plain black one with not so much as a Nike logo on it.

After tucking the card inside that one, he strode for the door, his shoulders aching, his right hand starting to pound, his ribs sending him a sharp shooter every time he took a breath. The real shitkicker, though, was the headache between his temples that had nothing to do with the fight. He always had one after…whatever the hell that was.

Out in the hall, he looked both ways and saw no sign of Marie-Terese.

For a moment, the compulsion to find her struck strong and hot, but when Jim took his arm, he put his faith in the other man’s rationality and allowed himself to be led over to the rear exit of the club.

“Wait here.”

Jim knocked on the manager’s door, and when the guy came out, there was another round of thank-yous and then Vin found himself breathing cold, clear air.

Christ…what a night.

CHAPTER
15