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Now, ten paces past the podium without being scanned, leaning against the man whose wallet she spotted, she gave a breathy little laugh. “Oh, Tito—I don’t wanna wait. Let’s just go back outside.”
The tall man pocketed his wallet, staring down at her. He looked pleased that she’d found his wallet, but also mildly irritated at the snapping sound coming from the man he’d titled Kill-joy.
“Ah, shut up,” Tito snapped. “Look at her,” he said, waving a finger towards Cora. “Every night, every day, years of this shit. You think she’s a hidden fed? She woulda taken my wallet, not pointed it out, dumbass.”
The big guy frowned.
But Tito was no longer thinking with his thinking machine. Rather, he seemed to be physically reacting somewhat to her touch, to glimpses down her dress, which he kept taking whenever he had the chance, to the view of her leg.
Tito swallowed, and it took him a moment or two even to remember how. “She’s fine. My clearance!” he snapped back. “Tell Dad what you want. Be a bitch about it and see what I do, huh?”
Then pointing threateningly at the big man behind the podium, Tito began to guide Cora away. Not towards the dance floor, but down the tiled walkway, around the edge of the dance floors, and up towards a sealed back door. Two more guards stood by this door.
Cora didn’t glance back, but she could feel the big man at the podium glaring after her.
She could also feel some of the guards watching her as she left.
But she kept up the pretense, laughing occasionally, leaning against Tito, and doing everything she could to maintain physical contact.
This, she had long ago decided, was the same as a ju-jitsu match. Except here, she had almost all the advantages. The tall, stringy-haired scarecrow wasn’t her type. Not enough trauma. At least, not the type that Johnny and some of her other exes had shared.
And now, his hand slipping lower and lower down her back until he was starting to push boundaries that she wasn’t sure she was willing to go along with, they passed through this second row of doors. The guards stepped aside, ushering them through.
Cora led the way now, if only to get away from that groping hand, tugging at the front of Tito’s suit. Her fingers grazed his bare chest.
He was breathing heavily now as he came with her. “Just—just through here,” he muttered. He led her down another hall.
Now, it looked far less like they’d found themselves in a dance club and more like an office space.
Ever reliable to engage in some braggadocious exposition, Tito said, “Don’t worry, no one comes back here. Like,noone. I’m the only one allowed, plus, well, the guy who owns the place.”
“Oh? So, youdoknow who owns this place?” Cora said, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.
Tito winked at her. “You know it. Now...where do you wanna do this?” he said, smirking at her. He had already unbuttoned the front of his shirt, revealing his chiseled abs and waxed chest. They found themselves in a small, office space. The desk was disheveled, suggesting this wasn’t thefirsttimetonightTito had brought someone down here for a bit of fun.
Cora glanced around the room for a moment. “Are we really alone?” she whispered.
“Oh, honey, don’t worry. No one comes here. Now come on, show me the goods.”
Cora nodded, smiled. Then jammed her thumb in his throat.
One moment, the big, ogling lecher had been staring at her. The next he doubled over, hacking, gasping, and desperately clutching at his neck.
“Don’t worry, Tito,” she said, putting on a mocking version of the flirtatious tone she’d been using. “I didn’t break anything. Here—hold still.” And she brought her elbow hard into his temple.
Two hits: thumb to neck, elbow to temple. And he hit the ground like a sack of wet flour.
She gave a little satisfied sigh, smirking at where he lay. And then she adjusted her dress, straightened a bit, rubbed at the back of her rear where his hand had lingered as if to wipe off a patch of grease. Then, stepping on the playboy to exit the room, she moved quickly.
She glanced towards the sealed metal door where two men had been standing guard. Then she looked towards the other offices. No sounds were emanating from any of the rooms. She supposed this meant Tito had been right that they were still very much alone.
“You’re right,” she muttered towards the unconscious, bare-chested scarecrow. “It is nice and private.”
And then she moved into the next office. A computer on the desk, but it was locked. A cabinet behind the desk, also locked. She frowned, bit her lip, and then reached a decision. She hastened back towards where Tito lay on the ground, rooted around a bit and found his giant fifty caliber weapon and returned to the desk.
It wouldn’t do much good against his password protected computer.
But the big ol’ filing cabinet?
