Tall, Dark And Texan

Her eyes widened. “Is that a nickname?”

“Last name.”

“And your first name?”

“None of your business.”

She gave him a look of muted disgust, and he couldn’t have cared less. It had been a long time since he’d felt the need to be on a first-name basis with anyone, and this woman was no exception.

“Just as soon as your clothes are dry,” he told her, “I’ll take you to the police station.”

She let out a breath. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

She reached up and unwrapped the towel. Then she bent forward at the waist, wiggled her head and stood back up again, slinging her long, dark hair over her shoulders. She tilted her head and finger-combed it, letting it fall in damp, shiny threads down her back. The neck of his shirt had fallen aside, displaying her upper chest and left shoulder. Her skin was pale, more a product of genetics than the season. It was soft, smooth and unblemished—the kind of skin that looked as if it would bruise if he so much as whispered against it.

“Do you think the police will be able to recover my car?” she asked him.

“Nope.”

Her face fell. “You’re not much of an optimist.”

“I’m a realist. I’m betting your car has already been chopped, packed and shipped.”

She heaved a sigh. “To tell you the truth, that’s what I figured. Unfortunately, everything I own was in that car and trailer. Including my five thousand dollars.”

“Five thousand dollars?”

“Yes. In my glove compartment.”

“What in the hell were you doing keeping that kind of money in your glove compartment?”

“I stopped by the bank as I was leaving New York. I wanted to get traveler’s checks, but their computer was down, and I got tired of waiting. It was almost closing time, and I wanted to get on the road. So I told them to give me the money in cash.”

“Bad move.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I know. Don’t you just love hindsight?”

She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, one leg curled beneath her, then leaned forward and rubbed her fingers up and down her other leg from her thigh to her calf, drawing his attention toward yet another expanse of her bare skin. Her legs were long, lean and delicate, and he wondered how they were even strong enough to hold up the rest of her.

She looked up at him. “Got any lotion?”

He glanced away. “Fresh out.”

“Your razor was a little dull. Hard on the old legs.”

Actually her legs weren’t old at all, and they looked just fine to him. More than fine. And what in the hell was she doing using his razor?

“Bet you’re wondering why I was heading to L.A.,” she said.

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but before he could respond, she answered her own question.

“I’m going to be an actress.”

She said it with a bright little sparkle in her eyes, and he resisted the urge to roll his. A beautiful young woman heading to Hollywood to become an actress? There had to be a bigger cliché somewhere on the planet, but he couldn’t imagine what it was.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, holding up her palm. “But trust me. I’m not some dumb little ingenue who’s going to end up on a casting couch before she knows what hit her. I know what I’m doing.” She turned on the sofa until she faced him, resting her elbow along the back of it. “See, I spent a few years trying to break in on Broadway, but the trouble there is that they want you to be talented. I am, of course, but there’s a fine line, you know? Between pretty good and great? I don’t think I’ll ever cross that. I’m very self-aware. I know my limitations.”

“So you think you can make it in Hollywood instead.”

She made a scoffing noise. “Of course I can. Ever seen Baywatch?”

Good point.

“And I’m not going it alone. I’ve got an agent. He’s a friend of a friend who has my head shots and résumé and thinks he can do something for me. Open a few doors. That’s all I need, you know. A few doors opened so I can wedge my foot in.” She smiled. “And the rest, as they say, will be history.”

He knew she was impulsive, careless and argumentative. Now he could add delusional to the list.

“The trouble is,” she said with a dejected sigh, “I kind of lost everything I own last night. That leaves me in a pretty precarious position.”

She turned those big brown eyes up to stare at him plaintively, and Wolfe felt a twinge of sympathy. He had to admit that while he’d met lots of people down on their luck, she was a little further down than most.

No. She wasn’t his problem. Pure chance was all that had led him to pick her up in the first place. He’d already done his good deed by letting her sleep on his sofa last night, and that was as far as he intended to extend his charitable contribution to the Society of Struggling Actresses.

“Do you have a family?” he asked her.

“Of course. But they live in Iowa.”

“So call them.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have eight brothers and sisters. My parents work at the local factory and barely make ends meet. They’re lucky to put food on the table. The day I left town, I knew I’d be on my own. I promised myself I’d never ask my family for anything.”

“They wouldn’t help you?”

“Yes. They would. They’d give me everything I need and go without themselves, because that’s just what they do. So that’s not an option.”

“Friends?”

“No point in going to that well. It’s dry. I’m the rich one of the bunch.” She settled back on the sofa, a pensive expression on her face. “I can handle this situation. I just have to think, you know? Formulate a plan. I’ve been at rock bottom before and managed to climb out.” She pondered the situation for a few moments more. “The first thing I need is a little walking-around money. A couple hundred bucks, just so I won’t be destitute. Then I can start looking for a way to get to L.A.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Any idea where I could earn a little quick cash?”

Wolfe started to say no. Then a thought occurred to him.

He’d scoped out Mendoza at Sharky’s last night, hitting a dead end because he couldn’t get the guy alone long enough to grab him. If Wolfe walked into that bar, he was liable to be recognized, and Mendoza’s buddies just might cause more trouble than Wolfe wanted to deal with. But if he could get her to lure Mendoza outside by himself, he could have him in handcuffs and into his car before Mendoza knew what hit him. After she did the job for him, he could give her some cash for her trouble, drop her off at a women’s shelter, and his conscience would be clear.

“What are you willing to do for it?” he asked her.