AS THEY LAY together after a satisfying tumble in bed, Yvette was concerned. Herbie had felt distant, preoccupied, and he was lacking his normal level of enthusiasm.
“Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”
“Tough day in court.”
“Where’d you go after?”
“My client’s father wanted to talk to me. Which was a switch. First he wanted to fire me.”
“Aw, who would want to fire you?”
“Anyone with any sense,” Herbie said.
He was uncomfortable with the conversation because he wasn’t mentioning Melanie. There was no reason not to, still, he didn’t feel like bringing her up. It was one of those situations. Awkward for no good reason.
“You want me to make you a drink?” Yvette said.
“Sure.”
Yvette hopped naked from the bed and flounced over to the bar in the den. She frowned as she mixed the drinks. Was he on to her? Was Donnie right about giving her name to the cops? Had they run her record and told Herbie? His friend was a cop. His friend was the top cop. And he had been there, supervising the whole thing. If they had run her record, they’d have told him about her past. And he’d have told Herbie, and Herbie would know, and that would be why he was acting so funny just now, not at all like himself. Preoccupied, and guarded, like he was keeping something from her. And what could that be except that he knew who she was?
Well, too late now. The gig was either blown or it wasn’t. Nothing to do but go ahead as if it wasn’t. Play the part and hope for the best.
Damn it, Donnie was right. Yvette hated it when Donnie was right. Which, she conceded, was more often than not.
He was right, but he was reckless. He could blow the gig on his own and still be right, just chalk it up to bad luck. But if she blew it, there’d be hell to pay. He’d give new meaning to the words revenge sex. She’d be lucky if she was able to walk.
Yvette steeled herself, slapped a smile on her face, picked up the martinis, and headed back to the bedroom.