Page 24 of Zane

Stretching her legs out, she sighed. "Five years ago, the louse I married left and took everything, leaving me with nothing. The pastor and his wife stepped in and rescued me. They gave me a job, right here." She waved the hand holding the cigarette vaguely to encompass the area. "Got me back on my feet and all that. And honey, they never let me forget it."

Sylvia snorted. "Evidently, the Bible teaching about never letting your right hand know what your left hand is doing doesn't apply to them." She dragged on the cigarette and filled her lungs.

"I'm sorry," Kara murmured, not knowing what else to say.

The woman laughed again, a big braying sound that was strangely comforting. "Oh, don't be, honey. I pay them back by sleeping with the very attractive and younger Deacon Colin Phillips. And I smoke my cigarettes and thumb my nose at them. They pretend to be holy and righteous, and behind closed doors they're nasty. I have some stories about the pastor and his so-called perfect family that would make your insides curl up in shock."

Stubbing out the cigarette on the arm of the bench, she tossed it away and rose. "But that's for another day." With a wave, she was gone, leaving Kara staring after her.

The peace she had managed to find since coming outside had dissolved.

*****

There were times he felt like a hypocrite, and this was one of them. He was a member of a club, a club where filthy rich men from all walks of life were members.

Zane often felt as if he was living a double life. He was comfortable with the men at the bikers' stop he considered friends, but he was also able to fit in here, at this exclusive and lofty wedding-cake white finery of a building sitting atop a rise, overlooking several hundred acres of lush grounds.

And every single time he swore to himself that he would give up his membership, he would find something that drew him to the place.

Perhaps it was the people. He had several friends who were members, not to mention the fact that the "wives" had taken over and revolutionized a club that had started out with "white members" only.

Sitting at the bar, he cradled his scotch and allowed his eyes to wander the room. His decision to come right after the function last night had been spur-of-the-moment. One minute he was on his way home, and the next, he was here. He had used the helicopter to shorten the journey. Since he was a licensed pilot, he had not required anyone to transport him.

He needed some thinking time.

He might just find it here.

He had also had to decline several invitations from eager women who wanted his company. Another one had just approached him. If this continued, he was going to have to retreat to his suite.

"I'd say that's one very disappointed young lady." The familiar careless drawl had him smiling in pleasure.

"Son of a bitch. What the hell are you doing here?"

David Synder gripped him around the shoulders in a tight hug before thumping him on the back. "Language," he tutted with a grin. "I'm a member here, as I recall."

He settled on the stool and signaled for a drink. "I flew in just this morning. Have some business to attend to." He grinned at his friend. "And the invitation to come to France still stands. Hailey is officially mad at you."

"I will find a way to soothe her feathers." Zane felt his mood lifting as he stared at his friend. "How long has it been?"

"Going on a year. Thanks." David accepted the scotch and took a grateful sip. "Christ! You'd think flying first class would be a hell of a lot better on the system. I'm jet-lagged as hell. Anyway, the last time we hooked up was the Thanksgiving deal when my beautiful wife had to host the darn thing along with Lessa and Kelly."

He glanced around, noticing a few acquaintances. "So, what's going on with you? Still fighting the good fight and rooting for the homeless?"

"Always." Zane took a sip of his drink before putting his glass down. "There's this project."

David laughed softly, eyes glittering. "Let me guess. You need some financial backing. Something to do with the homeless or some down-and-out neighborhood that needs some pick-me-up."

Zane shot him a wry glance. "Am I that predictable?"

"You're that concerned and predictable, yes." David grinned. "I think I read something about it. A certain downtown area badly in need of restructuring. A major project."

Zane nodded. "The carrot my parents are dangling in front of me. It so happens I took the bait, and I'm finding it very interesting. It's also very challenging. A former den for drug runners and pimps, there's always trouble brewing."

"And wherever trouble is, you're in the thick of it." David shook his head. "I don't know if I envy you or pity you. Still trying to decide."

"You think I invite trouble?" The question was posed in jest, but Zane wanted to know if it was true.

"You don't exactly invite trouble, my friend. It just has a way of finding you. Why don't we soak up this alcohol by having a meal? Then you can tell me all about your lack of social life."