Kitabı oku: «Sexy Silent Nights», sayfa 2

“No. I asked him that right away and he admitted getting one yesterday during the height of the cocktail hour at Pleasures.”

“I’ve got the text.” Then she read it aloud.

“‘’Tis the season for remembering Christmases past. Pleasures and fortune are fleeting. You destroyed an innocent life in pursuit of yours. You’ll pay for that soon. Five nights and counting…’”

Today was the twentieth of December. Cilla did the math in her head. “Five nights until Christmas.”

“Yeah. The first had the exact same message except that it read, ‘Six nights and counting…’”

Holding the phone pressed to her ear, Cilla rose and began to pace. “The first one is delivered to his club here in San Francisco, the next to Denver. The sender wants him to know that someone’s keeping close tabs on him.”

“We think along the same lines, and so does Jonah.”

“Does anything in the wording ring a bell for him?” Cilla asked.

“Not that he can put a finger on. But he has a feeling about the threat. His feelings are usually spot-on, so now I have one, too.”

She was beginning to get one herself. Gut instinct should never be ignored. Her mind was already racing ahead. What she had was a reluctant client and the possibility of real danger. A tricky combination, but she could do tricky. In fact, she enjoyed tricky. One reason she’d been delighted when Gabe had approached her was because the jobs in L.A. had become a bit too predictable and boring even before she’d had a disagreement with a client and decided to move on.

“Jonah has an office and living quarters over his club, Pleasures. That’s where he’s headed.”

“Good to know.” Going to Pleasures would mean a wardrobe change. The jeans she was wearing would be out of place at the fancy supper club.

“I’ve known Jonah since we were in our teens. Ask him for help and he’ll give you anything he’s got. But at heart, he’s a bit of a loner. He doesn’t like to depend on anyone.”

“In other words, he’s going to try to ditch me.”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t let me send anyone with him. He wouldn’t even let me tag along.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stick.” The two years she’d spent working personal security for some of Hollywood’s youngest and brattiest stars had honed her skills in the sticking department.

The moment she hung up the phone, she raced into her bedroom and threw open her closet door. She didn’t have a lot of clothes, but during her time in L.A., she’d acquired some special pieces. She pushed aside hangars and decided on the little black cocktail dress that had visited some of Hollywood’s hottest nightspots.

Whirling, she was about to toss it onto her bed, but Flash lay sprawled across the middle. The cat could move like lightning when she really wanted to.

“I have to leave for a while.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Business. Fancy place.”

Pleasures was very upscale. Though she’d never been there, she’d frequently walked by. And each time she’d passed the front doors during the past three weeks, she’d resisted the temptation to go in. If she had, the chances were good that she’d run into him. The plan was to get over Jonah Stone.

So far the plan hadn’t worked. And seeing him again…

Jonah was a client, she reminded herself. And she had very strict rules about clients.

She turned her attention to Flash. “Dress needs something, don’t you think?” The red peep-toed shoes had cost her half a paycheck, but when she held them up for Flash’s inspection, the cat made a sound deep in her throat.

“I agree. These things will dress up anything.”

It took her three minutes to change and another ten before she was satisfied with her hair and makeup.

She paused to survey herself in the mirror. She definitely didn’t look like a bodyguard. That ought to make it easier for a man like Jonah Stone to accept her as one. At least for the evening.

Then she narrowed her eyes on the image in the mirror and swept her gaze down and up. “Who are you kidding? You’re wearing this just as much for him as you are for the job.”

Moving closer, she tapped a finger on the mirror. “The man has three strikes against him. Not only is he like your father, he’s also your boss’s best friend and now he’s a client. One night with Jonah Stone is understandable. Enviable. Any more could be disastrous. You are going to handle this.”

Turning back to her closet, she grabbed her red leather coat and transferred her gun from her dresser drawer to her pocket. She was almost at the door of her apartment before she felt the eyes boring into her back.

Flash.

“Sorry.” Whipping around, she saw that the cat had returned to her station on the sofa. Right next to the empty plate.

“I’ve got to go, pal.” Crossing to the sofa, she crouched down and looked into Flash’s eyes. “It shouldn’t take long. But it’s my chance to impress my new boss.” She lifted a hand and then dropped it, remind ing herself that Flash didn’t like to be touched. “No more food. Remember our little talk about lifestyle choices.”

It was one that they’d had several times since she’d taken her new roommate to the vet. Dr. Robillard had prescribed a “modification” in Flash’s diet. The pediatrician her mother had taken Cilla to when she was thirteen had used nearly the same words.

“Moderation is the key. It made all the difference for me when I was in my teens. You’ll get used to it.”

Flash’s expression said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Tell you what. I’ll leave the Hallmark Channel on. They’re having a marathon of Christmas movies. It’ll take your mind off food.” She snagged the remote, hit the channel. “Look. A Boyfriend for Christmas. That sounds like a great one. Santa, presents and romance thrown in.”

And now she didn’t have to watch it herself. Cilla silently sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to Gabe as she rose and raced for the door. “Meeow.”

Flash’s mournful reproach followed Cilla as she headed for the stairs.

3

JONAH STONE HADN’T BEEN HAVING the best of days when he stepped into the airport parking garage. A chilly blast of wind followed him. His flight to San Francisco had been delayed three hours because of a blizzard in Denver, and he’d spent most of his wait time at the airport thinking about another blizzard and another night.

He’d been counting on the time in Denver to give him some respite from thoughts of Cilla. He’d been looking forward to catching up with his best friend, Gabe Wilder. Their other pal Nash hadn’t been able to make their annual party because his grandmother had arranged for a private Christmas cruise that would allow Nash and his wife, Bianca, to get to know some recently discovered members of their family.

Though their career paths had drawn them apart since the years they’d spent at Denver’s St. Francis Center for Boys, they tried to get together whenever they could, and Christmas usually provided the perfect time. He’d been looking forward to a poker game tonight at Gabe’s apartment and shooting some hoops tomorrow.

The note that had been hand delivered that morning had changed his plans. Like the first, it had come in a small green box tied with a red ribbon. The message had been playing in his head in a continuous loop, and each time it repeated, the feeling in his gut grew stronger.

The word pleasures had appeared in both notes, so now he was headed back to the club. Pulling his parking stub out of his pocket, he checked the aisle, turned left, and increased his pace.

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. Though he managed not to break stride, he now knew what it must be like to take two barrels of a shotgun right in the belly. She was leaning against the back fender of his car, her mile-long legs crossed in front of her.

Cilla Michaels.

As often as he’d considered calling her, as frequently as he’d imagined her in his mind, nothing had prepared him for the impact that seeing her again would have on him.

It was all he could do to keep his pace from quickening. That night in the hotel lounge, her dark hair had been pulled back into a long neat braid. Tonight, it spilled in dark curls over her shoulders. The open red leather trench coat revealed a very short black dress. The shoes were red with open toes and dangerously high heels. And the legs…well, they were incredible.

But as he reached her, it was the eyes that drew his gaze again, just as they had before. They were a pure and piercing green with a shimmer of gold around the pupils. Fascinating. And looking into them for too long had the same effect he’d experienced the first time. He forgot to breathe.

When he drew air in, he felt the burn in his lungs. No other woman had ever affected his senses, his mind, his breathing, his gut in quite this way.

Nearly a month had passed and he hadn’t stopped wanting her. Now, seeing her again, he wanted her even more. He wanted his hands on her. He needed hers on him.

All the more reason to remember that she was dangerous for him. All the more reason to send her away. He had bigger problems on his plate right now. The two notes he’d received needed all of his attention.

“Cilla Michaels,” he said. “Gabe sent you.”

She nodded. “He contacted me as soon as your plane left Denver. He thinks you need protection, and he warned me you might not like it.”

“It’s not a matter of liking. Do I look like someone who needs protection?”

“Not in the least.” Cilla had had plenty of time to study him as he’d walked toward her, but she was sorely tempted to run her gaze over him again. The black leather jacket and jeans suited his tall, lanky frame and made him look tough and a little dangerous.

“You look to me as if you could handle yourself just fine,” she said.

“Good.” He opened the passenger door and tossed his duffel on the seat. “Then we’re agreed that I don’t need your services.”

“We’re not agreed on that.” She waited until he met her eyes, then added, “The least you can do is let me give my sales pitch. It’s the job of G.W. Securities to think of things the client might overlook.”

He leaned a hip against the car door. “Such as?”

“Would you have thought to check for a bomb under your car?”

He narrowed his gaze. “No.”

She smiled. “I did. It’s part of the service.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that she might have scored a point, but the game wasn’t over.

“I know that the first note said, ‘six days and counting…’” she continued, “the second said five, but that could be a lie. Sociopaths aren’t known for their honesty.”

Silence.

“And you’re probably thinking it’s highly unlikely that someone could have traced your car to this particular parking space, but I got a friend of mine to run down your license plate. Then I simply drove through the garage until I located your car. If I was able to do that, so could someone else. They could easily have booby-trapped it.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point.” When he smiled at her, the effect rippled right down to her toes. Then he took the lapel of her jacket and rubbed it between his fingers. Her toes, the little traitors, curled.

“But you’ve obviously got better things to do tonight. From the looks of it, Gabe’s call pulled you away from something or someone special.”

She thought of the empty cheese and cracker plate, her disgruntled cat and the movie on the Hallmark Channel’s Countdown to Christmas and barely smothered a yawn. Instead, she tried a smile of her own. “Actually, it didn’t. I was having a quiet evening at home.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “You dress like this for a quiet evening at home?”

“I changed after Gabe called. I thought this was more appropriate for Pleasures. That is where you’re headed, isn’t it?”

His smile faded. “Gabe is overreacting.”

“He said you had a feeling.”

“I may be overreacting. It’s probably a crank.”

“Perhaps.” But in the three hours he’d sat in the Denver airport waiting for his plane, he hadn’t changed his mind about coming home, Cilla thought. “But you don’t think so. You don’t like the fact that they used the word pleasures in the note.”

Surprise flickered for a moment in his eyes. “No, I don’t like that.”

“Could be coincidence, but…”

“I don’t trust coincidence.”

“But you do trust your instincts.”

He let the silence stretch again, so she pushed her advantage. “Look, I know we have a history. And we made a deal. One night.” She waved a hand. “Let’s put all of that in a side bar for now. This is strictly a professional offer.”

He narrowed his eyes fractionally, and dammit, her toes curled again. For an instant, her mind flashed back to that moment in Denver when they’d first stepped into the hotel room and he’d pushed the door shut and put his hands on her. His eyes had narrowed then, too, and she recalled how they’d glinted in the darkness. Ignoring both the image and her traitorous toes, she ruthlessly focused.

“Gabe’s a friend of yours and he’s my boss. He asked me to make sure you got to Pleasures safely. As a favor. I’m not even here on G.W. Securities’ clock. But I am here as a private security agent. And I’m good at what I do. You can call Gabe and get a recommendation.”

He frowned. “I’m not questioning your abilities.”

“Then why don’t you think of my escorting you to your club as a way to set Gabe’s mind at ease?”

“You’ll follow me to Pleasures and that’s it.”

“Not exactly. The service G.W. Securities provides is more than door-to-door. I check out your apartment before you go in. Double-check the security system. And I get a chance to walk you through Pleasures on the way. I’ve never been there.”

He considered for a moment. “Sounds reasonable. I run the risk of sounding like a real prick if I say no.”

“Not exactly the way I’d phrase it, but you’ve got the gist.”

“You are good at this, aren’t you?”

She beamed a smile at him. “I’m the best. How about I follow you to your club?”

HE LIKED TO KEEP HIS ROOM dark. In his opinion, everything was way too bright during the holiday season, as evidenced by the amount of light pouring through the windows. On the screen of his laptop, he could see that Jonah Stone’s plane had landed—10:15.

The anger that he’d been keeping tightly leashed for the past three hours eased just a little. He didn’t like it at all when he had to adjust his plans. The plane should have landed three hours ago.

But Stone was finally here. It wasn’t too late to go forward with the scheme. It would be another forty-five minutes to an hour before Jonah Stone would reach Pleasures.

He took a cell phone from his desk and punched in a number. On the fourth ring, a raspy voice said, “Yeah?”

He relayed the information and gave the order. “Got that?”

“Consider it done.”

Turning off the cell, he laid it carefully on the desk. Then he rose, walked to the closet and took out his overcoat, a hat and a long scarf. He trusted the man in charge of the mission, but he would still be on the scene to make sure his orders were carried out.

Five more nights—that’s how long it would take to complete his mission. It was all planned out. And during those nights, Jonah Stone would pay for the life he’d taken.

Moving to the nightstand, he glanced down at the picture. It was framed in crystal, and a small flameless candle burned in front of it.

Elizabeth. Poor, innocent Elizabeth. She’d been the only person he’d ever loved. And he’d had to leave her. He had a calling. She’d understood. He’d known that she’d been fragile, but how could he have foreseen that in his absence, she would fall under the spell of a man who’d seduce her and then reject her and kill her?

Five nights from now, on the anniversary of her death, he would exact revenge.

After running one finger down the side of the frame, he put on his coat, the hat and the scarf. Then he walked to the door.

When one set up a plan, part of the pleasure was watching it come flawlessly to fruition.

4

“YOU’VE GOT A CLASSY PLACE here,” Cilla remarked as she joined Jonah at the rear of his car. He’d pulled into a private lot half a block down from Pleasures and spoken briefly with the attendant, who’d then waved her through.

“I like it,” he said, shifting his gaze to the three-story club on the corner across the street.

And well he should, Cilla decided as she studied it. The location was prime, right in the heart of the city, and the building was old with tall arched windows on two upper floors that recalled a different, more gilded age.

On the second floor, shadowy figures wove their way among tables lit with candles. Through the windows on the street level, she caught a glimpse of a crowded bar. Tiny white Christmas lights twinkled on the awning, a subtle salute to the season.

“I know that I only talked you into letting me escort you here and lock you up tight for the night, but you really should allow G.W. Securities to provide you with round-the-clock protection. At least until we get a handle on what’s going on here.”

“You talked to Gabe on the drive over.”

She shrugged. “He is my boss. He wants to put a couple of men on you even without your agreement. My feeling is that the moment you spot them, you’ll shake them. He agreed. So we’d like your permission.”

“You’ve got all you’re going to get from me tonight. I have a business meeting tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t need a couple of babysitters tagging along. You can tell Gabe that I’ll check for car bombs myself in the morning.”

She let it rest as they watched a couple exit through the glossy red entrance doors to the club and head up the street in the opposite direction. At this time of night, there were very few pedestrians, and many of the other buildings on the block were dark. So were parked cars. In contrast, Pleasures glowed like a tempting little jewel.

“Shall we go clubbing?” he asked.

“Can’t wait.”

Jonah extracted his duffel from the front seat and started across the lot. Behind them, the car beeped as he locked it with the remote.

She walked to his left, just half a step in front of him, and when they reached the sidewalk her eyes scanned the street. Directly across from them was a narrow alleyway, but the light from a streetlamp revealed only Dumpsters. To the left was an unmarked van in a loading zone. But it was seemingly empty and already sported a parking ticket on the windshield.

There was nothing at all to cause the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. The door of the club opened, releasing another couple along with the faint sound of bluesy music and laughter. The man and woman turned away from them, crossed to the opposite corner, then disappeared down a side street.

As they stepped off the sidewalk, Cilla slipped an arm through Jonah’s, and drew him on an angle toward Pleasures. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to drop in your club for just a drink.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Why haven’t you?”

“Usually I’m not dressed for the occasion.” That was true enough, but not the only reason she’d avoided going into the bar. “My apartment’s not far from here, so I’ve walked by on my way home from work. You painted the doors red a few weeks ago.”

“My manager Virgil’s idea. He wanted to try it out for Christmas.”

“Festive. One of these days I’ll dress up and treat myself to a glass of champagne at the bar.”

“We don’t have a dress code.”

“But with a club like Pleasures, dressing up is part of the deal—kind of like Cinderella going to the ball. It wouldn’t have been the same if she’d worn her work clothes to the castle. Know what I mean?”

“Yes.” He looked over at the bright lights of the club. “I know exactly what you mean. Providing the opportunity to dress up and escape the workaday world is part of what each of my venues offers.”

The itchy feeling that had been nagging her since they’d stepped out of the parking lot suddenly increased, and Cilla had to exert all her control not to turn around. Instead, she listened hard.

Some kind of movement near the van? Their backs were to it now. Then she heard the footsteps, approaching from behind.

When Jonah tensed beside her and would have turned, she increased the pressure on his arm and pitched her voice low. “We have company, so do exactly as I say. Take me into your arms.”

She moved with him, shifting so that her body shielded his, then raised her hands to his face. “Lean closer.”

He leaned so close that his lips were nearly brushing hers. She was very aware of the fact that the footsteps were growing louder. But she was aware of other things, too—a flood of sensations. The hardness of his body, the heat of his breath on her mouth, the ribbon of pleasure that unwound right to her toes. Every cell in her body remembered him. Wanted him. For a fleeting moment, one desire—to feel those lips on hers—nearly swamped her.

Ruthlessly refocusing, she whispered, “Be my eyes. How many, what do they look like, and how close are they?”

“Two and they look like Laurel and Hardy.” He nipped at her bottom lip, and for just an instant, her mind clouded, then emptied as if someone had pulled a plug. She was aware only of Jonah—the hardness of his thighs against hers, the tightening of his hands at her waist, the heat of his breath as it moved over her lips and between them. Sensations hammered at her, and all she wanted was to melt into him.

“They’re about ten feet away. And the fat one, Hardy, has a gun.”

“Shit.” Adrenaline spiked through her system, clearing her thoughts, stiffening her spine. “I need them closer.”

“You’re getting your wish, sugar.”

“The one with the gun is mine.”

“Not going to happen.”

She nipped his bottom lip hard. “I know what I’m doing. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll be the helpless female, you the macho man. He won’t know what hit him. Trust me.”

“Let the girl go,” a gravelly voice said.

Arguing time was up, but Jonah dropped his hands. Cilla immediately pivoted toward the men. Eyes widening, she pressed a hand against her breast and focused on her training. “Sweetums, he’s got a gun.”

“Step aside,” the tall, skinny one said to her. “We don’t want you.”

“Go ahead, sugar,” Jonah said. “Run on up to the club. I can handle this.”

“Okay. Okay.” The words came out on breathless gasps as she took one shaky step, sideways. Without missing a beat, she shot her other leg straight up. Her toe hit Fatso’s wrist dead-on and the gun clattered to the pavement. Pivoting slightly, she landed a punch to the man’s temple. With a grunt, Fatso fell like a rock.

She glanced up to see Jonah racing after the skinny one. “Dammit!”

Pausing only long enough to kick the gun on the sidewalk out of the way, she ran after them. Her heart shot straight to her throat when the back door of the van near the alley slid open. There was at least one more thug to deal with—the driver. She could see him through the windshield now. Broad shoulders, short gray hair.

Before skinny could nose-dive through the door, Jonah grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. One punch straight to the face took him down. Cilla winced and for the first time registered the sting in her own knuckles.

Then the window on the driver’s side lowered and she saw the gun.

“Get down,” she shouted to Jonah. He did, hitting the sidewalk and rolling as the shot rang out. Skidding to a stop, she pulled her own gun out of her pocket, gripping it in both hands as she took her stance and fired. Tires squealing, the van lurched away from the curb and up the street. It backfired loudly in the intersection, then roared off. She got the license plate before it disappeared.

Sliding her weapon back in her pocket, she turned to see that Jonah had already sprung to his feet. The relief was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”

So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.

“From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”

He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.

The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”

He collapsed onto his stomach.

“Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”

“Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”

“I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”

Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.

Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”

Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”

“No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”

When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”

There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”

There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.

“I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.

“You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.

Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.

AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.

The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.

Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.

The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.

Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.

And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.

It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.

She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.

“The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”

Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?

And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.

Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.