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He shot her a darkly threatening glance. “Don’t push me, Catherine. It won’t be worth it.”
“You think I don’t know we’re both damaged goods? I’m more than willing to be careful of your feelings, but you’ll also have to take better care of mine. Now if you can’t agree to that, you don’t have to wait for an excuse to walk out on me for good. Get the hell out now.”
“After I’ve gone to all this trouble to cook such a nice dinner? No way.”
“You may be stubborn, Luke Starns, but I’ll warn you now that after being married to an attorney for ten years, I know how to argue for days without repeating myself once.”
Luke spooned the bubbling tuna mixture onto their plates and carried them over to the table. “I’m actually looking forward to it,” he replied.
His rakish smile added to the challenge, but Catherine still sent him home with nothing more than strawberries for dessert.
Chapter Ten
With pitifully few prospects in Tennessee, Bobby Clyde Flowers had hitched a ride to California with the Tuttle twins, Nadine and Wayleen. While neither was a beauty, each possessed a remarkable talent for attracting men and a limitless appetite for sex.
Whenever their travel funds had run low, Bobby Clyde had arranged a party in a roadside motel and made certain the twins were well paid for their favors. It was the easiest money any of them had ever made. While they often had to crawl out a bathroom window before dawn when word of their exotic brand of entertainment reached the ears of the local sheriff, it had made for an exciting trip.
Upon their arrival in Hollywood, the twins had swiftly scored a contract in the burgeoning porn video industry. With their flaws masked by expertly applied makeup and curly wigs, they were free to indulge themselves with whomever a director invited onto the garish set. The proud owners of a brand new Chevy convertible, they had hired Bobby Clyde as their driver.
An ambitious young man, he’d soon discovered he could boost all their incomes by hosting private parties to showcase the twins’ unique brand of charm. In less than a year, the ungrateful pair had run off with an oilman from Texas, but Bobby Clyde had had no trouble procuring fresh talent.
Tonight he was hosting a party where the highest bidder would claim an eager young virgin for the night. At the first such event, the bidders had been skeptical that Bobby Clyde could even find a virgin in Hollywood, but the winner had provided such convincing testimony that Bobby Clyde had had to turn away men at his next such party.
Bobby Clyde handed out bite-size candy bars and made friends easily with the starry-eyed teenagers pouring into Los Angeles. The girls were often quite pretty, and fortunately for him, pathetically easy to seduce with a tempting taste of chocolate and a whispered promise of fame.
He munched a tiny Snickers bar as he closed the front door behind him and glanced up and down the street. He never gave a party in the same house twice. His clients frequently complained he was too damn hard to find, but he intended to keep right on moving to elude the vice cops and their tedious concept of what constituted legal entertainment.
As he saw it, he was merely supplying what every man wanted: an opportunity to enjoy pretty young girls, while the teens were equally grateful to have the money. In his opinion, it was a satisfactory exchange, and the one time he’d been arrested for pandering, he’d hired an attorney from among his regular clientele and beaten the rap.
With an adorably innocent virgin tucked away inside, he was just waiting for the last of his guests to arrive when a blonde in a tight red dress rounded the corner. She was wearing platform heels and walked with an appealing sway, but Bobby Clyde’s guest list was entirely male. When she started up the walkway, he moved to block the door.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he offered in the thick Southern drawl he strove to maintain, “this here’s a private party, but you’ll sure be welcome tomorrow night.”
The blonde didn’t slow her pace, and arriving at the steps, she reached around Bobby Clyde to ring the doorbell.
“Hey, baby, don’t force me to play rough.”
The blonde shrugged, and turned as though she were giving up, but then with a quick flip of a switchblade, she leaned in and gutted Bobby Clyde with a single savage jab.
He grabbed for his torn intestines as he fell down the steps and died with his own frantic scream still echoing in his ears.
After a sleepless night, Catherine had avoided any further confrontations with Luke by remaining in the hall to dispense art supplies and offer advice on the mural designs. He never left her thoughts, however, and at noon, she spotted him the instant he came through the door. He was walking with Nick, who was holding his skateboard in his right hand and gesturing wildly with his left.
To avoid being seated together, she’d planned to allow them to join the lunch line ahead of her, but Nick curved away from Luke and came straight toward her. When, after a brief hesitation, Luke followed Nick to her side, her smile wavered.
“Did you hear there’s been another murder?” Nick asked breathlessly. “That blonde chick in the red dress has struck again.”
Catherine glanced past him to Luke who shook his head in warning, but she already knew better than to encourage the teenager’s interest in such a distressing subject. “Why no, I hadn’t heard.”
“Yeah, some pimp called the Candyman got his guts ripped out last night. How many do you think the blonde can off without getting caught?”
“I’ve really no idea. Why don’t you try today’s lunch? Mabel’s made tuna melts.”
“Great.” Nick strolled away and cruised the tables checking out the mural designs on his way.
“Let’s go to my office,” Luke suggested softly.
“With tuna melts?” she countered. “I thought you’d want to be at the head of the line.”
