A Matter of Trust (5 page)

“We have that in common,” Michael noted.

Sloan regarded her with surprise. “What?”

“An early fascination with something other people don’t understand.” Her face took on a distant expression, and she continued musingly, “It sets you apart. It can be hard.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, and Michael sensed that there was more that Sloan wasn’t saying. There was a harsh undertone in her deep voice that hinted at pain, and Michael had the distinct impression the security specialist was censoring her replies. She wondered, too, if Sloan had felt the same numbing isolation that she had experienced before Nicholas.

With that thought, she suddenly realized how wrong she had been about Nicholas, perhaps from the very beginning. At seventeen, what she believed to be a partnership of equals had very likely only been youthful dependence spawned from aching loneliness. Now, when she thought of Nicholas, she saw only a remote, calculating stranger. Not someone who loved her. And not someone she loved.
My God, has my whole life been a lie?

The flicker of sorrow in Michael’s expressive eyes didn’t escape Sloan’s notice. It bothered her, and she had no idea why. Impulsively, she asked, “Have you eaten?”

“No,” Michael replied cautiously, wondering where the conversation was headed. She was surprised by the question, realizing she hadn’t even been aware that she was hungry, and surprised even more that Sloan was inquiring. The other woman didn’t seem the type for easy familiarity any more than she was.

“Actually,” Sloan began hesitantly, still uncertain why she was doing what she seemed to be doing. Maybe it was because they appeared to share some of the same disaffected past; maybe it was nothing more than that they had been able to talk so easily. She shrugged.
Nothing wrong with being friendly, right?
“I’m about to catch a show in Old City. A friend is performing, and the food there is serviceable. Want to come along?”

Normally Michael wasn’t impulsive, but when she thought of the long night ahead, this seemed like a harmless enough diversion. “Why not?” she said and instantly wondered at this uncharacteristic whim.

*

Michael almost backed out a dozen times.

We’re virtual strangers; what if we have nothing to talk about?

Unfortunately, she had agreed to let Sloan drive, which at the time seemed to make sense. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she wouldn’t be able to make a hasty retreat if the evening turned into a disaster.

She sat in the front seat of the sports coupe, staring out the window at the busy city streets. It was close to 11:00 on an unseasonably warm Friday night in April, and an unusual number of people were still walking about, taking advantage of the weather. She realized that she was rarely out at this time of night, unless it was to travel home from the office. And at those times, her mind was on automatic, busy constructing answers to questions most people hadn’t yet asked. That was one of her strengths, her ability to see both the problems and the solutions inherent in a project before they developed. She sorely wished that ability extended to her private life as well.

Beside her, Sloan drove with quiet concentration. She seemed efficient, aggressive without being reckless, and intensely focused on maneuvering the powerful sports car through the narrow, crowded streets. Michael was surprised to find that she wasn’t uncomfortable, even though she was doing something completely foreign to her. She rarely socialized outside the obligatory business meetings, and when she and Nicholas had been forced to entertain, she had done so reluctantly. She simply didn’t feel comfortable making casual conversation with near strangers. When she tried to remember the last time she and Nicholas had been out alone together, she couldn’t. How on earth she had ever allowed herself to be drawn into
this
strange outing escaped her.

“You needn’t stay if it doesn’t please you,” Sloan said as if reading her mind.

Michael looked at her sharply, studying the angles of her face in the flickering light from overhead street lamps and passing cars that illuminated her features briefly before darkness descended again. In those brief patches of light, she could make out the strong chin, sculpted cheekbones, and straight fine nose. She couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but she didn’t need to. That was something already etched in her memory.

Despite the odd turn of events, Michael reminded herself that she had spent the last few hours in this woman’s company, in far more than casual conversation. Contrary to being awkward, it had been amazingly easy.

“I’m accustomed to looking after myself, Ms. Sloan. Please don’t worry about me.”

“Just Sloan,” Sloan repeated again. She glanced briefly at Michael, then returned her attention to the road. “I have absolutely no doubt that you are entirely capable of looking after yourself. I only meant that it might not be the kind of entertainment you’re used to.”

“You said a show—down here I’d guess a jazz combo or a piano bar.” At Sloan’s faint smile she asked cautiously, “What exactly does your friend do?”

Grinning a little wider, Sloan deftly maneuvered into a parking space on the street. She cut the engine and turned in her seat to face Michael, carelessly draping her right arm over the back of the passenger seat. There wasn’t a great deal of room in the interior of her Porsche, and her fingers glanced unintentionally over Michael’s shoulder. “It’s a drag show.”

Michael jumped slightly, more from the unexpected contact than the unanticipated answer. She swallowed, then answered steadily, “Of course, a drag show. Exactly what I was expecting.”

Sloan laughed, appreciating her companion’s aplomb. She released her seat belt and pushed open the driver’s door. “Come on. I have a table reserved up front.”

Michael waited on the sidewalk, watching the unquestionably handsome woman come around the car to join her.
What in God’s name am I doing?

Backstage in the dressing room shared by all the performers, Jasmine sat before a light-encircled mirror at a long table that ran along the entire length of one wall. She finished applying the last touches of mascara and reached for the lip gloss to seal the dark crimson shade she had chosen to highlight the subtle sweep of blush along the crest of her cheekbones. Carefully, she used a fine brush to shade the edges of her upper lip and then checked to ensure that any hint of shadow along her jawline had been obliterated with a light foundation.

As the door to the dressing room opened and one of the other performers entered, she smiled up at the newcomer. “How’s the crowd?”

“Full house.” The statuesque brunette in the form-fitting red dress eased into the adjoining chair. She studied her reflection in the mirror and, after assuring herself that everything was in order, swiveled to face Jasmine. “You should get a load of Sloan’s date,” she remarked too casually.

Jasmine arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh really? Sloan never said anything about bringing someone.”

“Well, she’s at her usual table, and she’s got a gorgeous blond with her. Even by the usual standards, this one’s a show-stopper.”

“Blond, as in natural?” Jasmine inquired, feeling a faint stirring of anxiety. “As in perfect size 6? As in Ingrid Bergman elegant and Sharon Stone sexy? That type of blond?”

Crystal stood, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, looking into the mirror again as she made a subtle adjustment to the very expensive body-sculpting brassiere she wore and squeezing her lips together in a slight kissing motion. “That would be the one.”

The new client.
Jasmine closed her eyes briefly, then muttered, “Oh, fuck. That’s a first even for her.”

“Problems with the randy partner again?” Crystal was always eager for any gossip about Jasmine’s secretive associate. She could never get Jasmine to tell her the dirt, but she kept trying.
Everyone
wanted to know Jasmine and Sloan’s story.

“Sloan’s reputation is greatly exaggerated,” Jasmine remarked at length, her sense of loyalty overcoming her irritation. If Sloan wanted to risk losing a client by breaking her heart before the deal was closed, no one could stop her. Maybe she’d learn something.

“That’s not what I hear around town,” Crystal prodded.

Jasmine reached for the black sheath dress, lowered it over her head and smoothed it down her body, reminding herself that it was not her problem—and none of her business. “She just needs to settle down with someone.”

Carefully, she fitted the expensive wig over the thin skullcap that contained her own blond hair.
Better for business, better for my nerves, better for her. Especially better for her.

“Sloan? Settle down?” Crystal laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. Honey, that one is not the marrying kind.”

Jasmine followed Crystal out of the small, harshly lit dressing room toward the shadows at the edges of the curtained stage. She knew better, but it was not her story to tell.

*

Glancing surreptitiously around the room, Michael edged her chair closer to the small circular table, unsuccessfully trying to avoid being bumped by the bustling waitstaff and harried latecomers. It was crowded and noisy. The patrons displayed such a contagious exuberance that it made her smile. It was a partylike atmosphere, and she felt herself relaxing despite her initial misgivings.

“Drink?” Sloan shouted, her shoulder brushing Michael’s while she steadied the teetering pedestal table with one hand. With the other, she accepted a plate of surprisingly good-looking sandwiches from a waiter and settled it in the center of the tiny tabletop.

“Wine?” Michael shouted back. Whatever the seating capacity of the club, she was certain it had already been exceeded by a wide margin. If the fire marshal happened in, they’d all be out in the street.

“I wouldn’t chance it here.” Sloan pulled a face. “It’s most likely something that comes with a screw cap in a gallon jug.”

“Vodka tonic?”

Sloan nodded as she rose. “Safer,” she called as she moved off into the crowd.

Michael watched her escort wend her way effortlessly through the throng of shouting, jostling people. Sloan moved gracefully, with a subtle air of confidence that suggested she was used to others stepping aside for her. Some people might find that kind of self-assuredness off-putting, but Michael merely found it compelling. Sloan’s natural graciousness seemed to temper what on the surface might appear to be arrogance.

Alone, without Sloan’s charismatic presence to distract her, Michael had to wonder at her
own
behavior. She didn’t know this woman, had never been in any place remotely like this before, and worried that she would say or do something to embarrass herself. And yet, despite her anxiety, she also felt a surge of excitement. She hadn’t been away from the office for anything other than business trips in months. This was as far from her usual routines as she could get, and just the diversion she needed.

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” a slender redhead in soft tan chinos and a white cotton turtleneck announced as she pulled a chair over to the already crowded table. At the look of perplexity on Michael’s face, she added, “I’m a friend of Sloan’s.”

Michael held out her hand. “Michael Lassiter.”

Sarah regarded her carefully for a moment, noting the perfectly styled hair, understated but flawless make-up, and the suit so expensively tailored that it looked casual. “If you’re a drag queen, you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Ah...” Michael struggled for any reply that would be remotely appropriate.

“Ms. Lassiter is a business associate, Sarah,” Sloan said smoothly as she wedged herself into the remaining chair at the cramped table, depositing Michael’s drink and her own. She tried to hide her amusement. Michael’s beautiful face showed signs of numb shock. “Sarah is a doctor of Oriental medicine, Michael.”

“Oh, I see.” Not that she did. But it might explain the slight fragrance of spices that clung to the redhead and the quiet contained expression on her smooth, even features that Michael found oddly companionable. It didn’t explain, though, who Sarah was, or why she was there, or how she knew Sloan.

But then why should anything about this experience make sense?
After all
, I’m
here, and I’m not entirely certain how that came about. I don’t know these women at all, but I feel comfortable with them. Clearly, the rhyme and reason of it is inconsequential at the moment.

As if sensing Michael’s thoughts, Sarah laughed and laid her hand briefly on Michael’s arm. “Sloan never has gotten over being cryptic, even when she doesn’t have to be. We met ages ago when we both did a stint in Thailand. I ended up staying behind and studying there. We’ve just recently reconnected since I got back to the States, but you might say we’re best friends.”

“I see,” Michael repeated, nodding as if that cleared everything up. When she saw the look of discomfort pass over Sloan’s features, darkening her gaze for a moment, she didn’t ask for clarification
. She’s certainly entitled to her privacy and her secrets.

“Then,” Sarah continued as if oblivious to Sloan’s glowering expression, “she invited me to see Jasmine perform, and now I hate to miss one of her shows. Have you seen her in action yet?”

“No,” Michael answered, seeing no point in adding that she had never in her life seen so many women who might
not
be women, and how did one tell anyway? Mercifully, the lights went down, signaling the beginning of the show, sparing her from any further response.