Great Exploitations (Crisis in Cali) Read Online Free Page A

means in my chosen career field? Conceivably. Was I lying to myself about how I felt for Henry Callahan? Positively.
    So I was lying to myself about quite a few things . . . but what could I, or what would I, do about it? And damn it, this was not Eve Introspection Hour—these were the last few minutes before the all-important Greet. I thumped the steering wheel as I wove into a parking space that just barely fit the Mustang. Mrs. Wallace’s question had dropped a bomb inside me, and I needed to figure out how to diffuse it before it went off. I didn’t need to have the answers to realize the questions would bury me.
    Calming my breathing, I emptied my mind. Once I was certain it was void, I started stacking block after block pertaining to the Wallace Errand and what my objectives were for the night. Mrs. Wallace had let me know yesterday that tonight her husband would be at a club that doubled as a concert venue. Apparently they’d booked a legitimate band that was one of Mr. Wallace’s favorites. I’d never heard of them, but I’d be hearing plenty tonight from the sounds of it. I was still a couple of blocks away from the club and could already hear what I presumed was the band Mr. Wallace was so eager to see.
    Staging the Greet at a concert wasn’t ideal. I’d only encountered one in the past, but it hadn’t gone well and had required a second take to establish contact with the Target. Concerts were loud, bodies were smashed together, and the people in attendance generally ranged from shit-faced drunk to passed-out cold. Hardly the ideal recipe for catching a Target’s eye and slowly reeling him in.
    But this was what Mrs. Wallace had given me and I was eager to get this over with so I could get back to focusing on Henry . . . on the Callahan Errand. I sighed as I approached the club. That was a big part of my problem lately. I could no longer determine what I was most focused on: Henry or the Errand. Although when another one of those instinctual answers fired off before I could snuff it out, I accepted that maybe that was just another thing I was lying to myself about. I knew exactly why I was so invested in my other Errand. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.
    When I made my way up to the entrance, I saw a Sold Out sign hanging from the ticket booth window. But when the guy behind the window saw me approaching, he had a ticket waiting for me on the counter.
    “Not quite sold out,” I greeted, slipping a smile into place as I stopped in front of the booth.
    “Never sold out for fine specimens like you.” He jacked his eyebrows, gracing me with an expression I guessed was his equivalent of a panty-melter. The kid couldn’t have been out of high school yet and was a good half foot shorter than I was in heels.
    Ignoring his comment and look, I took the ticket. “How much do I owe you?”
    I was sliding a few bills from my wallet when he replied, “Tickets are free for—”
    “Fine specimens like me?” I interrupted, withholding the eye roll.
    “The finest,” was the young man’s reply as I hustled through the club’s doors.
    After handing my ticket to the tank-sized guy blocking the hall into the club, I continued toward my destination. The moment I entered the club where the band up front was screaming shrill notes into microphones, more heads than not turned as I began weaving through the crowd. Given the Target was a pro basketball player, I knew a legion of women shadowed him when he went to the grocery store, let alone a club full of single people drinking and looking to score, so I’d amped up my typical Greet attire. My hemline was shorter, my heel height taller, my dress a size smaller. One couldn’t simply bat their eyes at a professional athlete and expect to wind up in bed with him. I didn’t just have to be the most attractive woman in the room to catch a pro athlete’s attention—I had to be the most attractive women he’d seen.
    That was my goal—to hopefully be the