Dangerous Master by Tawny Taylor Page A

try.”
    “I know.” Mandy smacked the turn signal and maneuvered into a dumpy parking lot next to one of the town’s seediest no-tell hotels. “Thanks, hon. I’ll see you later.”
    “Bye.” Sarah sounded disappointed as she signed off.
    Mandy instantly felt like crap.
    She swung her car into a parking spot, threw the shifter into park, and cut the engine. She dug a picture of Clark out of her purse as she hurried up to the front desk.
    Inside the depressing cinder-block structure, the lobby was dim and dank. The dingy front desk was empty. A thick wall of Plexiglas reached from the counter up to the ceiling, a small indentation in the counter allowing the exchange of cash between the hotel customer and the clerk.
    Mandy hit the little bell sitting on the edge of the counter. A moment later, a tired-looking man with deep purple circles under his eyes and no more than a wisp of white hair covering his gleaming scalp tottered out of a door, taking his place behind the counter.
    “Yeah?” he said, looking over her shoulder.
    She glanced behind herself, then at him. “Hi, I’m looking for someone.” She slid the picture down the trench in the counter, the back of her hand scraping against the bottom of the thick Plexiglas.
    He didn’t pick up the photo. “Yeah? So?”
    “Did this man check into this hotel?”
    “Are you a cop?”
    “No.”
    “Then I don’t hafta tell you nothin’.”
    Cursing under her breath, Mandy dug into her wallet, extracted a five, and shoved that into the trench, too.
    The guy gave her a what-the-hell-is-that look.
    She added another five.
    He raked the cash into his fist, picked up the picture, took a quick look. “Nope.” He shoved it back under the safety glass. “Good luck.” The money disappeared into his pocket.
    “Thanks.” Knowing she’d need more than luck, Mandy headed back out to her car. If she had to give every hotel clerk on this street ten dollars to answer one question, she’d burn through at least a hundred dollars.
    Deciding she’d try a few more, she started her car. Maybe for once, Lady Luck would be smiling down at her.
     
    So much for Lady Luck. The bitch.
    Figuring all hope was lost, Mandy headed home to get dressed. As she wiggled her ass into yet another tight skirt, she wondered whether it was even worth going to Twilight tonight. If Clark had enjoyed his romp with the stripper this afternoon, would he be in the mood for another sexual escapade tonight? He might be worn out.
    Then again, he might be a sex addict, looking for his next score.
    She supposed anything was possible.
    Yanking down the creeping skirt so her ass cheeks didn’t hang out, she scampered to her closet for a pair of hooker heels. Then she tottered to the door, grabbed her purse and car keys, and headed out into the warm evening.
    She was überconscious of the way she looked as she clacked down the walk to her car. If only her complex had attached garages! She spied Mrs. Wentworth in 2D staring out her front window. She figured she’d be reported as a hooker before her car had left the lot.
    Sure enough, as she cranked the key, she caught sight of three other ladies from the Social Security set peering out their windows, too. It was official; her squeaky-clean reputation was in the toilet.
    She turned on the stereo as she maneuvered the car out of the lot.
    Screw them all. She was who and what she was, and what she did was none of their damn business.
    She sang at the top of her lungs with the radio as she drove the short distance to Twilight. At traffic lights, she did some car seat dancing, too, to Lady Gaga. Upon arriving at the club, she parked the car and took a deep breath.
    God, she was nervous. And she knew it wasn’t because of Clark.
    Zane knew she’d be here.
    Zane probably expected her to have a camera hidden on her.
    But that wasn’t what was making her jittery. It was the thought of seeing him again. He wasn’t expecting an answer to his proposal yet. But she had