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“Well knock me over with a feather,” I finally managed. How had Louise been so wrong about Jones’s type? I was now regretting my word choice. I didn’t think Derby Jones was the sort of man to take being accused of murder very well.
“You seem surprised,” he said. “Don’t you think Dottie would find me... desirable?”
The way he said that last word gave me a shiver. I had a terrible feeling he might be trying to seduce me. “Actually, I thought it might be the other way around. I’ve heard you have a type.”
“Oh, I do.” This time he did get up. He slowly stalked around the desk until he stood right behind me. His hands came up to rest lightly on my shoulders, thumbs caressing the soft skin of my throat.
A shiver went through me as I imagined those big hands wrapping themselves around my neck and squeezing the life out of me. I’d no doubt Mr. Jones could kill easily and without compunction should he decide it was necessary. Had he thought it necessary to murder Dottie?
“You do?” I managed not to squeak, but only just.
“Ah, yes. I like a woman who is strong. Independent. Beautiful.” His hands slid down my bare shoulders. “One who isn’t afraid of her beauty.”
In other words, one who didn’t mind showing off the goods. Definitely fit Dottie. But independent? That didn’t. Dottie had been the sort desperate to get her claws into any man she could.
His hands slid all the way to my elbows. I was afraid I’d have to slap those hands off me, but I didn’t want to stop him from whatever admission he was about to make. Because I was sure he was about to say something important.
“I can see why Dottie fell for you,” I said a little breathily.
“Unfortunately, she wasn’t woman enough to handle me. Even before her untimely death.” This time his face was pressed awfully close to mine. So close, I could smell cinnamon on his breath. Which was surprising. I’d expected smoke or booze. “Are you woman enough to handle me?”
I held back a smirk. He’d no idea. “How do I know you didn’t kill her?”
“I could swear it to you.”
“Would you be lying?”
“I would never lie to such a beautiful woman.”
I almost burst out laughing. Laying it on just a bit thick there. “Then tell me the truth.”
“Very well.” His lips were inches away from my jaw. “Dottie and I were lovers for a time. It was brief. Casual. And then we both moved on. I did not kill her. Had no reason to.”
And there it was. He’d have killed her if he’d felt there was a reason. No doubt about it. But he, surprisingly enough, seemed to be telling the truth.
“Now, let’s talk about you and me.” His voice was low and sultry. Filled with dark promises.
I stood up so fast, he staggered backward. I turned to face him and gave him a cool, accessing look. “I’m very flattered, Mr. Jones, but I’m afraid you’re not my type.”
And I sashayed from the room, leaving the man gaping behind me.
––––––––
IT TOOK THREE TRIES to find my way back to the club. Without Derby Jones’s goon to show the way, I kept getting lost. One time I ended up in the men’s room. Fortunately, it had been sans men at the time. Another time I nearly locked myself in a closet. But at last I found the chaos of the dance floor.
I careened across the crowded space until I found Chaz. Grabbing him by the sleeve, I dragged him toward the door. “Come on. We’d better go before he changes his mind.”
“Until who changes his mind?” he shouted over the music.
“Derby Jones.”
His eyes goggled. “You met Jones?”
“Hurry. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re outside.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Mr. Singh rose from his table. As we passed the bar, I noticed the barman staring at us. The look on his face was equal parts fear and suspicion. Very strange. Still, I didn’t have time to mull it over. For all I knew, Derby’s goon was already on his way.
After collecting our coats from the coat check girl, we exited the club. It was late, and the streets were empty. A light drizzle frizzed out my wave and dampened my shoes.
“Now tell me—”
“In the car.” I hustled him faster.
We were halfway down the block when the club door banged open and someone shouted, “You there!”
I couldn’t be sure if it was the goon or Jones, but either way, I didn’t want to stop for a chat. Instead I shouted, “Run!”
We ran full tilt for the car, leather soles slapping on pavement, echoing off the walls of the brick buildings surrounding us. Behind us I heard a shout, but I didn't dare turn around to look.
Chaz was ahead of me. He yanked open the car door and held out a hand. Too late. Somebody grabbed me from behind, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of my upper arm.
I tried to yank my arm free, but to no avail. Lifting cocktails does not exactly give a person a lot of muscle tone. Instead, I trod on my attacker’s instep with my heel. He let out a yelp, and his fingers loosened. I whirled around and bashed him over the head with my handbag. He hit the deck like a ton of bricks.
Unfortunately, a second goon loomed close, glowering fiercely as he jumped over his fallen comrade. However, Mr. Singh melted out of the darkness, landing a fist on the man’s jaw.
Without further ado, I ran for the car and jumped inside. Chaz slammed the door behind me and dashed around to his own side of the car. "Go! Go! Go!"
Needed no urging. I revved the engine and gunned it. The car took off with a lurch and screech of tires. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed both goons on the ground. Mr. Singh had disappeared.
"Mr. Singh to the rescue. What the devil did you hit that other goon with?" Chaz asked, hanging on to the strap.
“Aunt Butty insisted I put a brick in my bag," I said.
"You're kidding." He grabbed my bag, pulled it open, and peeked inside. "No brick."
"Of course not. I didn't have a brick. But I figured a book would do just as well."
He pulled out a fat tome upon which was written in gold letters The Complete Works of Shakespeare. "You mean this book?”
I grinned. "That's the one."
"You'll be lucky if you haven't killed him."
"Well," I sniffed, "he shouldn't go around grabbing ladies. He only got his just desserts."
But as we zoomed into the night, I couldn't help glancing in the rearview mirror from time to time, keeping an eye out for goons. The roads remain clear, or at least as clear as they ever got in London, but I had a bad feeling it would only be a matter of time before Derby Jones was on my tail.