Crushed Ice by Eric Pete Page A

Chris.”
    â€œWhere’s Collette?” I asked, partially regretting this call.
    â€œShe’s in the next room. Want to talk to her?”
    â€œNo. I’ll talk to her later.”
    Her voice lowered. “Want her to know I’m talking to you on the phone?”
    â€œI’d prefer that she not. Does she know about our run-in at Café Express?”
    â€œNo,” she replied. “And I’d prefer that she not.”
    â€œStill looking for work?”
    â€œOf course. Why? You got something for me?” she asked, perking up.
    â€œResearch. I need help with my research.”
    â€œMe? I get to help you with your book? Okay. Need me to come over . . . wherever it is that you live? Or do you want to meet somewhere?”
    â€œI’m not in Dallas. I’m in Vegas.”
    â€œYou know the music awards are out there, right?”
    â€œI hadn’t noticed.”
    â€œWish I was there.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m calling.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Wearing a sport coat and jeans, I waited for her to emerge down in baggage pickup. The same batch of limo drivers held their signs aloft. This close to the awards show, the names were more familiar—Lenny Kravitz, Kelly Rowland, Maxwell, Tim McGraw, Young Jeezy. One of them I’d done a job for in the past, although they’d never be able to identify me.
    The particular lady I was looking for had that same strut as when she emerged from the magazines that day at Borders. She dressed as if she were one of the musical demi-gods descending upon Sin City. Hair pulled back into a single ponytail, brown leather jacket, designer couture T-shirt, and a pair of fitted jeans. For someone in need of ends, she certainly didn’t look desperate. It was that whole “model thing” that I preferred in my pawns.
    But unlike my other pawns, I was actually here waiting on her, instead of simply dispatching a cab with instructions. Wheeling her carry-on bag behind her, she came directly to me. I stuck out my hand, prepared to thank her for dropping everything, whatever that was, and hopping on a plane at the drop of a dime.
    From behind her designer sunglasses, Sophia grin-ned. Instead of taking my hand, she kissed me again. This time I relished partaking of her lips and lustful tongue, savoring the flavorful lip gloss she wore. No point in work without some enjoyment. As our intensity subsided, I backed off slightly.
    â€œWhat was that for this time?”
    â€œThanking you again. For getting me out of there,” she said, wiping our excess from the corner of my mouth. “I love Collette to death, but she can be a little boring.”
    â€œI don’t equate being cerebral and intelligent with being boring.”
    â€œThat’s because you got the hots for her.”
    I frowned at her brashness and presumptuousness. She hadn’t known me long enough.
    â€œHey, I’m just joking. Don’t get all bent over it.” Eyes of almond flashed at me, followed closely by that deadly smile.
    I gave in, my smile returning in exchange as I took her bag. “Let’s get you out of here,” I said.
    We hailed a cab, Sophia working better than an expensive watch ever could. The two of us piled in for the brief drive back to the hotel.
    â€œWhat did you tell Collette?” I asked, uncomfortable with so many unwritten rules of mine being broken by my actions.
    â€œThat I had to run back to Cali to take care of something. . . check on a job,” Sophia recited rather nonchalantly. She was more focused on the world outside the cab as we drove up Koval Lane, avoiding the congestion and confusion of The Strip. Made me wonder if I’d regret this sooner rather than later.
    â€œThat didn’t sound convincing.”
    As suddenly as her focus had drifted, it was right back in the cab with us and on point. “I’m always convincing,” she purred seductively as she squeezed my knee.
    At the