Bobby was going to come for her. She had to make sure he hurt no one else.
Bobby MacIntosh looked downright debonair Wednesday night, if he said so himself.
The mirror reflected a tall, sandy-haired cowboy complete with faded jeans, crisp new button-down shirt, and a bolo tie with a turquoise clasp set in silver. Yes, mighty handsome. Reckon on having some fun tonight, he thought with a smile.
He was meeting Sadie in thirty minutes and escorting her to a lovely dinner, then a little roll in the hay in businessman Rex Barker’s hotel room. Sadie wasn’t
And, when you’re smart, you get a referral from a regular customer. Of course, sometimes you have to make it up as you go along. Being an ex-con helped in this case, though Bobby didn’t use his real name. He’d called other ex-cons and eventually learned of an escort service that fit his needs. As an added bonus, he used the name of a prominent federal judge as a referral.
Smart, very smart.
He finished preparing his briefcase-a scalpel, medical scissors, garbage bags, scarves, and nipple clasps. My my my, when he’d read how Rowan’s villain killed his victims he was shocked that she could come up with something so twisted.
He was giddy with anticipation.
He closed his briefcase and left the hotel room.
Tonight, he’d be on a flight back to Los Angeles. By Friday, Rowan-
He couldn’t wait to strangle the bitch.
Susannah Darlene Pierce, Sadie to her clients, learned early on to use her looks to get what she wanted. When her stepfather stole her virginity at age fourteen, she could have buried her head in the sand and bemoaned the fates.
Instead, she took matters into her own hands. Starting with her beloved stepfather.
No one knew who set Stuart Price up on embezzlement charges. No one except Sadie, of course. She figured five years in prison and a quarter million in restitution to his clients would buy her the time to get out of the Bible Belt and make it in Hollywood.
She never did make it to Hollywood.
In Dallas, she met Bridget Carter, a beautiful brunette with designer clothes Sadie coveted, a million-dollar house in a ritzy part of town, and the poise of a starlet. Bridget explained Life to Sadie, and Sadie got it.
Control. Power. Security.
Being an escort afforded her control over men she’d always desired but never knew how to get. What did a seventeen-year-old high school dropout from Arkansas know about the power of womanhood? Because that was what being an escort-or call girl, or hooker, or prostitute-meant. Power.
Bridget taught her everything from dressing properly to manners to safety to culture-an escort should know about current events, but always agree with her man. An escort should know all about popular music, art, and theater in order to blend into society. And Sadie ate it up. That’s why she was double-majoring in art history and business. Art history for fun, business for-well, business.
At $250 an hour, four hours minimum, Sadie worked only two nights a week and made more money each month than her waitress-mom saw all year. And had her mama stood up for her when she told her about the rape, maybe Sadie would have sent her enough so she wouldn’t have to work twelve-hour days, six days a week.
But her mama called her a whore and didn’t believe her. So Sadie had no qualms about keeping all her whore-tainted money to herself.
Now, five years later, going to college, escorting old men part-time, and living in a beautiful condo, Sadie had it made. She figured three more years and she’d retire with enough money that she wouldn’t have to work if she didn’t want to. Bridget, who was over forty, was training her to take over the business, and Sadie thought that might be a fine way to retire. Fifteen percent of her girls’ business, taking clients only when she wanted to, living in a mansion and being married to a successful businessman. Yep, what a life!
She normally didn’t work Wednesdays, but Bridget had called and said Judge Vernon Watson had recommended her to a friend who was visiting on business and would only be in town tonight. Sadie liked Vern, who paid her $1,500 once a month for nothing more than dinner and a show, then a blow job in his chambers. Because Vern had recommended Mr. Barker, she agreed to work.
Rule Number One: Never let your client know where you live. So Sadie met him in the bar of his hotel, the Adam’s Mark, an exclusive hotel near downtown.
She couldn’t help but be surprised-Vern was well into his sixties, but his friend was only about forty. And he dressed like a northerner thought a cowboy would dress. But he was pleasant looking-not drop-dead gorgeous, but nice looking-and younger than most of her clients.
She smiled and extended her hand. “Mr. Barker, I’m Sadie Pierce.”
He smiled in return, took her hand, and kissed it. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a slight drawl, though it wasn’t a Texas accent.
She didn’t think twice as he took her arm and led her to the front of the hotel, where he hailed a taxi.
Conversation at dinner was typical, a little on the quiet side. Barker seemed to be people-watching, noticing everyone who came in. While that would annoy most dates, it didn’t bother Sadie. She, after all, was paid to cater to his needs.
In the taxi, he said, “I know I promised you a show, Miss Sadie, but you are just so dang beautiful I was wondering if you’d mind if we just went back to my room.”
He was actually kind of cute when he asked. As if she would mind. That was her job, one she performed quite well.
“Not at all, Mr. Barker.”
It was odd how he never told her to call him Rex. All her dates had her address them by their first name. It made the men believe she was there because she enjoyed their company, not because they were paying her. But he wasn’t a regular, and he probably hadn’t hired an escort often.
In his room, she asked to freshen up. “Right through the bedroom,” he told her. “What can I fix you to drink?”
Rule Number Two: Never drink alcohol while working.
“Perrier or mineral water, whatever you have.”
“Wine? Something stronger?”
“Sweetheart, you’re man enough to turn me on without an artificial stimulant.” Always make them seem like they are in charge.
He seemed unsure, so she smiled, leaned up, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Three minutes and I’ll be ready for whatever you have planned.”
He smiled. A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She blinked, and whatever it was she’d seen or sensed was gone.
She ignored Rule Number Three: Trust your instincts.
Winking at him, she turned and waltzed into the bathroom.
After taking care of business, she pulled her makeup from her small purse and noticed that the message light was flashing on her phone. Normally she’d ignore her messages while working, but the caller ID showed Bridget’s number-three messages, all from her. Sadie hoped nothing was wrong as she punched in her password and listened.
“Please please please, Sadie, get out as soon as you can. I don’t trust this guy. I just talked to the judge and he didn’t recommend anyone. I’m sorry I didn’t check it out first, but I just assumed-it’s all my fault. I’m so worried-remember that warning from the cops I told you about?” She paused, breathless. “Just tell him your mother died and you have to go and he’ll get a full refund. Okay? Please call me as soon as you can.
