Chapter 7

Saturday, July 15, 2006
Flagstone, Nevada

Colt shifted in his seat, his face awash in the spectrum of neon glow. Overhead, a glitter ball rotated, sending shards of light skittering across Pamela’s bedroom, dancing on the floor, up the walls, and on the ceiling. The air was thick with the sweet, smoky fragrance of sandalwood incense, punctuated by the faint, rhythmic pulse of music from the parlor. “Okay, pop quiz time.” Colt’s fingers drummed his thigh as he cast a curious gaze. “If we’re alone and I ever call you Dakota again, will I be in trouble?”

“You most certainly will.” Pamela’s attention remained transfixed on her Telstra Hiptop 2, the trendy new phone that seemed permanently attached to her right hand these days. “Hmm, might even be forced to spank you.” Typing away, her lips twitched, and she fought the urge to flat-out laugh. “I’ve got a mean backhand.”

“Duly noted. I’ll remember that.” Colt smiled, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Actually, there’s another name I’ve been meaning to ask you about for the past several days.” He paused, pushing any thoughts of playful flirting to the side. “What can you tell me about Lexus?”

Pamela’s thumbs froze mid-text, hovering over the tiny keyboard. “Lexus?” Brown eyes doubling in size, she trapped her lower lip between her teeth. “I ... what?” The phone slipped from her grasp, bouncing on the mattress with a soft thud. “Lexus? That’s ... how did you...?” She jolted upright, her spine a ramrod.

“Lexus,” Colt repeated, rolling the name around as if tasting it. “Star performer at Bare Essentials, according to their website. Quite the range of services, too – way beyond just club work. Private parties, home and hotel visits, the whole nine yards.” He focused on Pamela, curious but not accusing. “Quite the résumé for someone who claimed to be just a stripper during our interview last week.”

Pamela’s fingers twisted in her hair, tugging at the roots. “Oh, God ... I should have mentioned that, shouldn’t I? Those private parties were ... look, I was desperate, okay? You don’t get it.” She avoided eye contact, afraid of being judged. “I needed the money. You try saving up for a cross-country move on a high schooler’s budget. It’s impossible.” The world around her blurred into a dizzying mess as she struggled to compose herself. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? I mean, for my job here? I really like this house and want to continue working at it.”

“Hey, easy now. It’s okay. You’re not in any trouble.”

Pamela emitted a huge breath, her eyes rising heavenward for a split-second. “So, we’re cool?” The words came out in a whisper, fragile as spun glass. “My job here is safe? You’re not going to –”

“Not at all. Your past is your past, but dammit, Pamela. Fuck.” The tendons in his forearms flexed and strained. “Bachelor parties like that, they’re a whole different ball game. No security, no legal protection. Just you, alone, walking into God knows what. Do you have any idea of the danger you were putting yourself in?”

Pamela’s chin lifted. “I wasn’t alone. I always had two bodyguards with me.”

“Bodyguards can be overpowered, paid off, or simply choose to look the other way. Or, in some cases, join in.” His voice trembled as he spoke, betraying his inner turmoil. “Listen to me. What we do here, it’s safe, it’s legal. No one will ever hurt you. I won’t allow it.