“Sorry,” she said. “I, um, got tied up.” She giggled. A male laugh came from the bedroom.
I rolled my eyes. I figured she’d gotten more than information out of Jake last night. So much for Shakes.
“I’m going,” I said. I wondered if the search warrant had been served on Growl yet. I’d very cleverly hidden the accounting books in a printer paper box.
“So soon?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were alive. You are.
Good-bye.”
“Wait! Don’t you want to hear about Jean-Claude?”
I hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Sit. I’ll make some popcorn. I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving.”
I didn’t really want to know what she’d been doing all day. I could guess.
And I was jealous.
“Well,” she said, “I met with Jake at All Shook Up, and it turns out he’d arranged for Jean-Claude to show up after his set.”
“Set?”
Ana stuck a bag of popcorn into the microwave, hit the Popcorn button. She leaned against the counter, waggled her eyebrows. “He works at Steel.”
“Steel? Is that some sort of gym?”
Ana shook her head, smiled. “Nope.”
“It’s a strip club,” a voice from behind me said. “I worked there during college to pay tuition. The pay is great.”
To my shock, it wasn’t Jake.
Nor was it S. Larue.
It was Dr. Feelgood.
I looked at Ana. “Shakes?”
She shrugged.
224
Heather Webber
I groaned.
“Hi,” Dr. Feelgood said to me. “I’m Johan Hornsby.” He wore nothing but a pair of boxers. Looked to be the same ones I’d had on the other day.
The microwave beeped. Ana took the bag out, holding it carefully by the corner. “I came back to the hospital after meeting with Jake last night. You were gone by then. I ran into Johan.”
I slid off my stool. “Hi,” I said to him. “ ’Bye. I’m going.”
“Wait!” Ana said.
“What?”
“Jean-Claude. He wants to talk to you tomorrow morning, tell you everything.”
I nodded. “You two have fun.”
“Oh we will,” Ana said, closing the door behind me.
Twenty-Five
I looked up from the hummingbird garden plans on my desk at the soft knock on my door. “Well, if it isn’t JC Rock.”
Jean-Claude sat in the chair on the other side of my desk.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a stage name.”
“But JC Rock?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s such a stripper’s name. You couldn’t have been more clever?” I kicked myself now that I hadn’t put it together before. Hind-sight was evil.
“Stop. I heard enough from Ms. Bertoli.” He fussed with a hangnail, said, “You’re not mad?”
I shrugged. “I’m mad that you’re doing a crappy job for me lately, but not because you’re a stripper.”
“Exotic dancer.”
“Is there a difference?”
“My thong doesn’t come off.”
I held up a hand. “Too much information!”
He grinned. “Sorry. Look, I don’t want to stop working for you, but I really need the money.”
“I hear the money’s good for str—exotic dancers.”
