Shit . . . his wife.

Avery made it into a department store after all. Mainly because she hadn’t packed for a weeklong trip, and it didn’t look like she’d be leaving Manhattan anytime soon.

Now she stood in her hotel room, staring at the few things she’d needed.

She slid into a miniskirt made of spandex, the kind she could hike up at the first sign of trouble to use her legs. Wearing pants, jeans, or leggings in the clubs she planned on hitting would make her stand out like an angel at a hell convention. The guy in her drawing was young, maybe late twenties at best. The tattoo cost a lot of money if, in fact, this Van guy created the thing. His boots had been new. Not something a street bum would have on. The clothes in her memory stumped her. But she was going with her gut, and that meant checking out the kinds of places young people with money went on Friday nights. She knew her chances of actually finding this guy ran up there with winning the lottery. She had to try.

Maybe a week more and she’d exhaust herself into acceptance.

Maybe finally having some memory of what had happened would settle the turmoil inside of her and she could return to her normal life.

Maybe.

She didn’t want regrets. If she didn’t look, that’s what she’d end up with.

Avery slipped into the new boots she’d bought for the club. Sturdy heel only an inch and a half off the ground. Club-worthy and I can still kick the shit out of you practical.

She skipped the braless look and opted for a skintight halter and short-waist jacket. Inside pockets a must.

Her cell phone now had a wallet case with everything she needed inside.

She puffed her hair in the mirror, added some spray, and dabbed bright red on her lips. Guys talked to pretty girls. Especially blonde ones. The more blonde she acted, the more information she’d get. A fact of life Avery learned her junior year of high school.

Avery left the hotel armed with nothing more than attitude and determination.

She had four clubs on her list. All upscale, all uptown, all hot and new.

Chin high, she winked her way through the door of the first club without paying a cover charge. Women ruled the club scene. Without the girls there, the guys didn’t spend money on drinks. And that’s where clubs made their money. This fact Avery had learned in college. If she ever had a daughter, there would be a tutorial before her sixteenth birthday. Right along with a lifetime membership at a krav studio.

What had her thinking about a kid of her own, Avery didn’t know.

Techno music and flashing neon was the theme. The beat was sporadic but that didn’t stop people from dancing. It was still early for the club scene, giving Avery the ability to walk around the people without having to touch them.

She started with the bartender.

Model beautiful, the woman dropped a napkin on the counter. “What can I get ya?”

Avery waved her off. She turned her phone around. “Have you seen this guy?”

She glanced at Avery’s phone. “Not sure.”

“What about this?” The picture of the tattoo.

“I would have remembered that. Sorry. Why?”

“Douche stiffed me with the bar bill last weekend in midtown. Said he came in here once in a while.”

“Did he have a name?”

“I was drunk.”

The bartender nodded like she’d been there.

“Can you ask the other guys?”

Avery handed her the phone.

She watched as the woman showed it to the other guys behind the bar. One by one they looked up toward Avery, shook their heads, and continued with the drinks they were mixing.

“Sorry.”

Avery meandered around the room, stopping the cocktail waitresses, giving the same story. It was easy to gain information from the women when you bonded over a douchey guy.

Thirty minutes later, she was back on the street and walking her way to the next club.

The second club was nearly the same routine, only a little harder to gain the attention of the bartenders since the clubs were filling up. Less techno and more hip-hop. The dance floor was packed.

Avery expanded her conversations to small groups of women.

The same reaction.

When she reached her third club for the night, rap dominated the playlist, and her butt skirted past sweaty bodies everywhere she walked. She would bet her next paycheck the room was way over the FDNY capacity limit. But until something went desperately wrong, laws often didn’t get enforced. The bar was three deep. She looked to the far end, found a couple of guys, and moved in.

“Excuse me.” Flip the hair, smile. “It’s so crowded over there. Hope you don’t mind me barging in.”

The older, taller, and more slender of the two had no problem letting his eyes rake down her skirt and back up to rest on her chest.

“Beauty like you is never barging.”

She let her smile linger and motioned for the bartender.

“Can we buy you a drink?” The younger guy held her gaze and wasn’t foaming at the mouth. Avery wondered if he knew that he’d get further with girls by looking them in the eye.

“I got it.”

The bartender tilted an ear and waited for her order.

Avery moved through the same routine. Phone out . . . “Have you seen him?”

The guys she stood by overheard her by design.

“Stiffed you for drinks?”

She grinned. “Yeah. I wanted to return the favor.”

Tall and Sleazy said something under his breath. The polite guy reached for her phone. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

Yeah, she was looking for a drop of rain in a pond.

“Is that a tattoo?”

She nodded.

He leaned forward so she could hear him. “Do chicks like that?”

Avery found herself smiling. “No.”

“Sure I can’t buy you a drink?” Polite Kid asked.

She shook her head and leaned closer to his ear. “You might want to ditch Sleazeball here. Chicks don’t like being eye raped.”

Mr. Polite looked over her shoulder, then back.

Avery winked and walked off.

“If you change your mind . . .”

Avery waved and walked away.

By the fourth club, defeat had settled in.

The bartenders hadn’t seen him. Most of the waitresses were too busy to look. And the music sucked. It was an uptown club that felt downtown to her. There was some serious drug action going on in a dark corner. Some didn’t even bother hiding the lines on the tables.

At almost one in the morning, she was done.

“Hello . . .”

Avery smiled, not feeling it. “Hi.” What she really wanted to say was not in this lifetime. But she was an adult these days, and talk like that caused trouble.

“What are you drinking?”

“I’m good.”

“Yes, you are.”

Just a kid. One that didn’t mind a weight room, but a rich kid if she ever saw one. “Lines like that work for you, stud?”

“You’d be surprised.” Clean-cut, money, if the watch he was wearing belonged to him.

“Eventually the women will be older, and that will result in a drink to the face.”

He leaned back and his smile left the room. “Bitches better think twice before ruining my shirts.”

Tough guy . . . great. Avery turned as a cocktail waitress holding a tray of shots was walking by. She stopped her, tossed a ten on the tray, and picked up a drink.

Rich Kid stared at her, daring.

Her fingers itched.

She stared back.

Avery tipped back the shot and returned the empty glass to the tray.

He found his smile again. “That was hot.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Not in this lifetime.” She turned to walk away, and he grabbed her arm, hard.

Instant heat shot through her. A twist, a turn, and a shove and his arm was disengaged, and Rich Kid stumbled into the tray the cocktail waitress was holding. Tiny drinks all over his shirt.

Avery thought that would be it.

It wasn’t.

He marched up, hands ready to shove.

She pivoted and brushed his hand away with her forearm. The force was enough to leave a bruise on both of them. He sailed past, stumbling again.

By now a small crowd had stopped dancing.

“Dude, let it go.” This was yelled by a bystander.

He charged again. Avery raised her hands, palms out. “I want nothing to do with you,” she yelled. While the stance looked as nonthreatening as it got, her legs were in position and her hands were up, protecting her face.

Someone stepped between the two of them. “Fuck, dude. She’s a girl. Hands off.”

“Bitch pushed me.”

“You grabbed her.” The cocktail waitress stepped in.

Rich Kid glared at her, lifted his chin.

By now security was barging their way in.

Avery felt adrenaline dumping into her system.

“You okay?” the guy who stepped between them asked her once security was escorting Rich Kid to the door.

“I’m fine.” She pulled her skirt down and dusted her hair off her shoulder. “Done for the night.”

“Might wanna wait a few minutes before taking off. That guy is in here all the time. Pure asshole. Wouldn’t put it past him to wait at the door.”

“Thanks.”

She worked her way to the women’s bathroom and bumped through the women to wash her hands. A small trickle of blood ran down her arm. She must have caught the guy’s watch. She rinsed it off and dabbed the scratch with a towel. The attendant in the bathroom smiled and offered her a mint.