#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 13

Jayne stood there alone, stunned. Now she felt a little panicky. She searched the crowd behind them to catch sight of Christos but he was out of sight, long gone. What if he was on his way to inform André that some American girl was looking for him, making up lies? That bit of information would immediately speak volumes to him—he would know that it was her, Jayne Clark.

She found herself ducking, afraid that André was there and might spot her.

She turned and started pushing her way through the crowd back towards the front entrance—she wanted to get the hell out of here. It now occurred to her that if André was crazy enough to send blackmail letters, he might be crazy enough to physically harm her. Or kidnap her and make Robert pay a ransom to get her back.

Her whole plan seemed stupid and extremely dangerous to her. It hadn’t seemed that way back in Oxford twelve hours ago, but it did now.

Isn’t that why you kept this trip a secret from Rob? a voice in her head asked.

She hadn’t taken two steps towards the door before a hand firmly grabbed her elbow.

She gasped, half turning in that direction, filled with terror expecting to see André’s insolent face, smiling at her.

It was the bony bartender with the Mohawk, now apparently working as a waitress, balancing a tray full of drinks in her hand.

She leaned forward and said into Jayne’s ear. “You’re looking for André Gaillard?”

Jayne swallowed, her throat dry. “Yes.”

“I don’t know him, but I know his girlfriend, and she’s here tonight.”

“Where is she?”

The waitress just stood there with a look on her face that said, “Well?”

Jayne then realized she wanted money, and quickly opened her purse and pulled out a fifty euro note.

“Is this enou—”

In a flash, the waitress snatched it from her hand and pocketed it. She nodded back towards the stage and leaned forward again. “That’s her.”

Jayne turned and searched through the throngs of people in front of the stage.

“Which one?” Jayne said, turning back to her.

“The dancer,” the waitress barked in her ear.

Jayne looked a second time—the Russian girl was now hanging upside down from only her ankles, like an acrobat, her arms spread wide, swinging around, her long blonde braid whipping through the air.

When Jayne turned back, the waitress was gone.
 

Chapter 22
 
Jayne watched as the Russian continued her impressive pole dancing routine, but she wasn’t interested in the performance—she had repositioned herself to a point very close to the right-hand side of the stage, where she could observe the crowd. If the Russian was indeed André’s girlfriend, surely André himself was there, too, watching her and rooting for her to win this semi-final.

Jayne started to feel a little more confident. The way Christos behaved had rattled her, but she felt more grounded and determined now. She reminded herself how much Rob was suffering from this blackmail problem. She was part of it, and she had to muster up her courage and take action to stop it.

Jayne scanned the front of the audience directly in front of the stage, then she searched farther back into the crowd. She again realized the effort would be fruitless—if he was there, she would never find him, there were simply too many people, everyone constantly milling around.

She moved back to her original position and reasoned that André was probably watching his girlfriend from the stage wings, anyway, or maybe on video monitors backstage.

As the athletic Russian finished up her routine, the crowd went wild. Even Jayne had to admit she was spectacular. She gave a dizzying, final spin about halfway up the pole and then flung herself into the air, doing a flip before landing perfectly on the mat, like a gymnast, with her arms spread wide, facing the crowd.

“Miss Ekaterina Savina, from Moscow!” the announcer boomed.

The muscular blonde threw a couple of kisses to the crowd and, panting, trotted energetically offstage.
 

Chapter 23
 
Ekaterina Savina won tonight’s semi-finals. All the contestants had come back out on the stage for the judges to announce their decision. The Russian girl had looked overjoyed at the news, had thrown kisses again to the crowd, and then trotted off stage, presumably into André’s arms. That was, if the waitress had been telling Jayne the truth.

Now, the club was closing, and Jayne was trying to get out of there as fast as possible in hopes of catching Ekaterina and André before they left. Throngs of young inebriated people were flowing like a river towards the main entrance.

Ekaterina Savina, Jayne thought, as she hurried along. Russian pole dancer extraordinaire. Just the kind of woman that she imagined would be André Gaillard’s accomplice. Jayne could still see that long blonde braid, and she wondered: when Ekaterina had gone to the hotel here and arranged to receive the wired money through the hotel owner’s bank account, could she have worn a brown wig and hidden that braid under a hat, or simply run it down her back, under her top?

The braid and blonde hair wouldn’t have been that hard to hide. Now she wished she had asked Rob for more details about exactly what the detective had told him.

When Jayne finally moved through the gaping mouth and out into the street, only three or four minutes had elapsed since Ekaterina had walked off the stage. Jayne was relieved to finally be outside on the street, in the hot but fresh air. She trotted towards the stage entrance gate that she’d seen when she’d parked her car, dodging numerous drunks along the way. A kid that looked no more than sixteen dropped to his knees right in front of her, hurling vomit, and Jayne had to jump out of the way to avoid having her shoes splashed.

When she reached the stage gate, she could see a big black guard standing on the other side, smoking a cigarette, only his head visible. She stood on her toes and peeked over the fence, but it was impossible to see much—the driveway took a turn before reaching the side of the club.

Jayne zigzagged around the vehicles parked on the sidewalk, double-checked the location of her rental car, and then walked directly across the street. She stopped on the grass-covered median and turned so she had a clear view of the stage entrance. Lingering there under the shadows of a palm tree, she kept a sharp eye on the gate. She was sure that Ekaterina and André would be leaving together to go somewhere more private to celebrate their victory, perhaps an apartment where they both lived. Jayne’s car key was in her hand—she was ready to give chase and confront the two of them at the earliest opportunity.

After a moment, the guard said something into a radio. He disappeared from view and the gate began to slide open.

A long white limo rolled out of the driveway, turned, and quietly proceeded down the street. The windows were too dark to see inside.

“Damn,” Jayne muttered, looking after the sleek vehicle. Her ignition key still in her hand, she took a step towards her car, but then hesitated—how could she be sure who was in the limo? It could have been any of the performers, or the owners or management...

The guard was already closing the gate again, but he stopped, his radio squawking. He replied but left the gate half open.

After a few seconds, over the din of the music from the club, Jayne heard what sounded like a large motorcycle revving its engine.

A Harley Davidson chopper soon rolled through the gate. The androgynous rider was wearing boots, skin tight black leather slacks and a light black windbreaker.

As the big motorcycle rolled out and turned into the street, Jayne glimpsed a long, blonde braid hanging down all the way to the middle of the rider’s back.

Jayne expected the bike to roar off, but it rolled along slowly along the street, slowed even more, and then cut into an opening in the median.

The Russian girl was making a U-turn.

Jayne sprang to action, running to the other side of the median. She took a couple of careful steps into the street as the bike began to pick up speed, approaching her. Jayne stepped farther out into the street, waving her arms and moving partially into the bike’s path.

Ekaterina slowed a little, the helmet tilting slightly sideways as she took Jayne in.

“I need to talk to you!” Jayne yelled.

The Russian gunned the bike and swerved into the other lane, avoiding Jayne, and blasted off down the street.

Read Part 12 here.

Don't want to wait? Buy the eBook now!
​