I knew from my Mom talking to his Mom (they were still friends even though Luke’s Mom had moved into a condo in Governor’s Park and my Mom had moved to Phoenix), not to mention from Ally and Indy, my Rock Chick friends, that Luke was some kind of kickass mercenary, bounty hunter, private investigator-type guy who worked for Ally’s brother and Indy’s fiancé, Lee Nightingale.
Luke had always been a badass. Two days after he moved in across the street I caught him in the alley smoking cigarettes. He was twelve and smoking in the alley and at eight I thought that was way cool. When he grew up, he drove muscle cars (loud and fast) and motorcycles (again, loud and fast) and sat in his Dad’s garage with the door rolled up, lifting weights. I watched this out of my bedroom window and it was better than anything on television, believe you me. He always had a different girlfriend and you could tell they were all easy but a nun would turn easy at one look at Luke. And he was also always getting into trouble. I heard his Mom telling my Mom about it a lot. He’d been picked up by the cops more than once while out carousing. He was a tough guy in high school and he roared off the day of his graduation after one of his many rip-roarin’ fights with his Dad and became a tougher guy (I heard his Mom… well, you get the drift).
And right now I needed a tough guy.
“Shit,” I said out loud.
You go get him, girl, Bad Ava said.
Be nice, Good Ava said.
Before I could chicken out, I got out of the Range Rover and went into the building.
*
I had serious second thoughts about my choice of clothing the minute I opened the door to the offices of Nightingale Investigations. I thought tough guy, mercenary, bounty hunting private eyes would have shithole offices. Couches with the stuffing sticking out; filing cabinets with wire baskets on top overflowing with papers; dirty coffee cups; debris floating around – stuff like that.
Nightingale Investigations’ reception area was all smooth, gleaming wood paneled walls, expensive leather couches (with no stuffing coming out at all), a huge cowboy print in a heavy, carved-wood frame, a bronze statue of a bucking bronco in the corner and a mammoth reception desk with a state-of-the-art computer on it.
The desk was the only thing in the room not neat and tidy. It was a mess and there was a pretty, older, black woman sitting behind it. She had the biggest Afro I had ever seen in my life and she appeared to be both eating a calzone and painting her fingernails a frosty, raspberry sherbet-type color.
I was wearing seriously faded Levi’s I’d found in a vintage clothing store (and they were the best), my black Green Day t-shirt over a white thermal, black flip-flops and my silver. I was a silver freak and that day (as with every day) I was dripping with it, four silver necklaces, five silver bracelets on my right wrist, three on my left, long, silver hoops at my ears and nearly all my fingers had heavy silver rings or bands on them. I’d slopped my hair in a messy knot on top of my head with a ponytail holder and I’d gone makeup free.
I was pretending I had nothing to prove and no one to impress.
I should have worn a dress and heels and makeup. Not to mention, done something with my goddamned hair.
Hell and damnation.
“Can I help you?” the lady behind the reception desk asked, breaking me out of my idiot thoughts.
I looked at her.
I hesitated, for a moment, wanting to run then I took a deep breath and said, “I’m looking for Lucas Stark.”
“You got an appointment with Luke?” the lady asked, looking through the total mess on her desk (not that she would ever find anything).
“No, I’m an…” I hesitated again, wondering if I wasn’t perhaps the stupidest woman in the world, I licked my lips and went for it, “old friend.”
“He ain’t here, girl. You want, I can call him,” the lady offered, looking at me closely.
“No,” I replied quickly, relieved beyond belief that Luke was somewhere else.
There it was, the gods telling me that this was not meant to be. I was going to go with that. Big time.
“I’ll just…” I stopped and looked around, deciding to get the fuck out of Dodge. “Forget it. Could you please just tell him Ava Barlow was here? I’ll try to catch him later.”
I was rethinking telling this woman my name (too late now) when she smiled huge like she had just thought of some hilarious joke but wasn’t going to let me in on it.
“No problem to give him a bell,” she pushed. “I got his number on speed dial.”
Oh crap.
“No!” I cried, suddenly sounding desperate because suddenly I was desperate. I shouldn’t have come there. I could get the goods on Sissy’s stupid-ass, cheating jerk of a husband myself. It couldn’t be that hard. I didn’t need Luke; I didn’t need anyone. “Really, thanks, but I’ll just go, I’ve got to be somewhere anyway.”
I started edging away, deciding on escape.
“Just hang on one tick,” the lady said, ever helpful, getting up and waving her hands to dry her nails. “I’ll just talk to the boys in the back. Maybe they know where he is.”
Eek!
Boys in the back?