Runaway by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

“Eastwood, at least, never expects his girls to entertain two or three at a time.”
    She paled. “But—”
    “Jesu, can you really be so naive?”
    “Yes! I suppose so!” she cried out. “I was trying to work honestly for the money.”
    “Well,” he said softly, black eyes sweeping her, “you’ll be making an honest dollar tonight.”
    She gasped, paling. “I told you—”
    “That you serve tables. Fine. You can serve a table elsewhere. Just not here!”
    What in God’s name did he mean? She remembered the German card player’s comment about serving on a table or a floor. Oh, God!
    He turned from her and started walking. He had let her go, she realized with amazement. She thought about turning around to run. It might be very foolish. He would surely report her to Eastwood. Or else he would just catch her. She had no doubts about his ability to do so.
    She didn’t believe that he’d let her go so easily, and toher own surprise she found herself running after him, catching his arm and causing him to spin around again. She released him immediately and asked nervously, “What do you mean?”
    He stared at her. He smiled suddenly, a slow, curious smile. “You’re supposed to be worth three hundred dollars. That’s quite a sum.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “My rooms.”
    No, they weren’t. She didn’t dare wonder about his exact intentions anymore, or spend any more time ruing the fact that he probably had the power to catch her. Foolish or not, she had to take her chances trying to run.
    And actually, she was getting good at running. Very good. Maybe she could even escape a man like this one.
    She had let him go. He turned and started walking again. She stood dead still and shivered, watching him.
    “Come on!” he called to her.
    Not on his life! This was it, now or never.
    She turned in a flurry of speed and motion and started down an alleyway that led toward the river. She ran like a rabbit, her heart pounding, her feet flying.
    To her dismay she burst out on the same street from which she had just come. Eastwood’s street. She came to a swift halt, flattening herself against the raw wood of one of the alleyway’s shanty buildings. At first she was just irritated with herself, certain that she could slip back into the shadows of the night.
    Then she gasped, her heart slamming against her chest.
    And then it seemed to stop dead with pure horror. She recognized the two men entering the front door of Eastwood’s place.
    They’d been sent for her. They must have followedher trail to Eastwood’s. And they’d probably offer Eastwood anything to get her.
    Oh, God!
    An absolute, horrible panic seized her. She turned and ran blindly, trying to double her speed as she became aware that she was being followed. The men had been told at Eastwood’s that she was somewhere out in the night! Had she been seen? Heard? She didn’t know. But they were in pursuit now. Footsteps fell after her own, echoing, pounding in the darkness and cool of the night. She ran harder.
    The night air stung her eyes. She was gasping for breath. Her heart beat cruelly. The darkness seemed to be closing in on her. How long could she run? Oh, God, it was over, over.…
    She rounded a corner and burst out onto a dock. Tall buildings rose to one side. The dark, muddy Mississippi stretched into oblivion at the end of it.
    She could hear the men shouting out to one another in their pursuit of her.
    She would never let them catch her. Never. She would die first.
    She didn’t care where the dock led, if it were into oblivion or not.
    She started to run again, blindly, into the darkness.
    Suddenly a hand shot out. She started to scream as an arm came around her, sweeping her off her feet. The hand settled over her mouth and she heard a harsh whisper. “Shut up! It’s me.”
    McKenzie. Dear God, it was McKenzie!
    Her heart continued to beat like wildfire. He pulled her into the shadowed darkness of the narrow alley she hadn’t seen