none of them had any complaints about fraudulent charges or Lovelines’ services. Also, none of them wore a new gold bracelet. He’d made such a point of checking out their wrists they probably thought he had some kind of weird arm fetish.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” Zane suggested when at last he managed to insert a word into the conversation. “I have to get an early start tomorrow.”
“All right. But don’t even think of asking me to sleep with you.” Karen wrinkled up her eyes at him. “I don’t do things like that. And even if I did, I’m sensing a negative aura from you. I can’t explain it, but it’s telling me to proceed with caution. I never question the truth of people’s auras.”
“Well, sorry about that. Maybe I should invest in a different cologne.”
Ignoring his feeble attempt at humor, she rushed on. “I suspect it has to do with the Navy. Just so you know, I don’t approve of industrial killing and the entire war machine our society is based on.”
“Well, I didn’t do much of that in the Merchant Marines. But I can certainly respect your opinion.”
Rising, he pulled out her chair so she could stand and followed her out of the vegetarian restaurant where he’d spent two of the most painful hours of his life. He hailed her a cab and then went to his car, parked at a discreet distance from the place in case Karen—or anyone else—wanted to note his license plate.
Next, noting that it was still a few minutes before five p.m., he drove to Lovelines. With any luck, Molly might still be there, or perhaps he could catch her as she was leaving and invite her back to The Grapevine for a chat. Halfway through the dreadful evening with Karen Tighe, he had finally decided that the only way to wrap up the mystery was to go through Molly. Sneaking around had accomplished nothing, and his guilt and longing for her had only intensified with every hour they spent apart.
Not only did he plan to resign as a client of Lovelines, thereby freeing him up to pursue a different kind of connection with Molly herself, but he also planned to confront her with what he’d discovered so far, which admittedly wasn’t much, and see what she had to say about the matter. No matter what Alaric said and thought, he couldn’t bring himself to believe for a moment that Molly had any part in credit card and identity theft. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced that Lovelines itself played any part in the scam. For all he knew, someone had fished Alaric’s credit card receipt out of a dumpster or hacked into his email account. Stranger things happened every day.
In search of a convenient parking spot, Zane drove up to the Lovelines office building just in time to see Molly getting into her own car. Though he cursed at having just missed her, he decided to follow her so they could talk when she reached her destination. What he had to say couldn’t be done over a cell phone.
Instinctively keeping his rather distinctive car at a safe distance, he trailed her down a few city blocks and through a few thankfully busy intersections that prevented her from noticing him. To his astonishment, she eventually pulled up at a colorfully restored Victorian house with a strikingly unusual sign hanging outside the door. A pair of three-dimensional stockinged legs jutted brazenly beside a logo reading “Antoinette’s.”
Zane could only gape as Molly exited her car and walked inside. Was the place some kind of sex shop…or worse? What was she doing there?
Intrigued, he jumped out of his car and boldly followed her up the steps. She turned her head and spotted him just as he stepped inside the house behind her.
* * * *
The minute she stepped into Antoinette’s, Molly realized she’d made a mistake of gargantuan proportions.
The day had started off with great promise. Two new clients had signed on at Lovelines—one middle-aged man, kindly and nondescript, and a woman in her late twenties who had recently
“Maybe we should call it a night,” Zane suggested when at last he managed to insert a word into the conversation. “I have to get an early start tomorrow.”
“All right. But don’t even think of asking me to sleep with you.” Karen wrinkled up her eyes at him. “I don’t do things like that. And even if I did, I’m sensing a negative aura from you. I can’t explain it, but it’s telling me to proceed with caution. I never question the truth of people’s auras.”
“Well, sorry about that. Maybe I should invest in a different cologne.”
Ignoring his feeble attempt at humor, she rushed on. “I suspect it has to do with the Navy. Just so you know, I don’t approve of industrial killing and the entire war machine our society is based on.”
“Well, I didn’t do much of that in the Merchant Marines. But I can certainly respect your opinion.”
Rising, he pulled out her chair so she could stand and followed her out of the vegetarian restaurant where he’d spent two of the most painful hours of his life. He hailed her a cab and then went to his car, parked at a discreet distance from the place in case Karen—or anyone else—wanted to note his license plate.
Next, noting that it was still a few minutes before five p.m., he drove to Lovelines. With any luck, Molly might still be there, or perhaps he could catch her as she was leaving and invite her back to The Grapevine for a chat. Halfway through the dreadful evening with Karen Tighe, he had finally decided that the only way to wrap up the mystery was to go through Molly. Sneaking around had accomplished nothing, and his guilt and longing for her had only intensified with every hour they spent apart.
Not only did he plan to resign as a client of Lovelines, thereby freeing him up to pursue a different kind of connection with Molly herself, but he also planned to confront her with what he’d discovered so far, which admittedly wasn’t much, and see what she had to say about the matter. No matter what Alaric said and thought, he couldn’t bring himself to believe for a moment that Molly had any part in credit card and identity theft. Hell, he wasn’t even convinced that Lovelines itself played any part in the scam. For all he knew, someone had fished Alaric’s credit card receipt out of a dumpster or hacked into his email account. Stranger things happened every day.
In search of a convenient parking spot, Zane drove up to the Lovelines office building just in time to see Molly getting into her own car. Though he cursed at having just missed her, he decided to follow her so they could talk when she reached her destination. What he had to say couldn’t be done over a cell phone.
Instinctively keeping his rather distinctive car at a safe distance, he trailed her down a few city blocks and through a few thankfully busy intersections that prevented her from noticing him. To his astonishment, she eventually pulled up at a colorfully restored Victorian house with a strikingly unusual sign hanging outside the door. A pair of three-dimensional stockinged legs jutted brazenly beside a logo reading “Antoinette’s.”
Zane could only gape as Molly exited her car and walked inside. Was the place some kind of sex shop…or worse? What was she doing there?
Intrigued, he jumped out of his car and boldly followed her up the steps. She turned her head and spotted him just as he stepped inside the house behind her.
* * * *
The minute she stepped into Antoinette’s, Molly realized she’d made a mistake of gargantuan proportions.
The day had started off with great promise. Two new clients had signed on at Lovelines—one middle-aged man, kindly and nondescript, and a woman in her late twenties who had recently
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