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anger. For a bunch of other reasons, sure, but never because impulse urged him to. It was one of the abiding tenets of his life—never lose control. That, and his determination to remain single.
    He turned his focus back to the tattoo parlor and strode to the front door. He frowned when the handle refused to give beneath his hand. Shit. She’d shut up for the night while he was wasting time on the sidewalk. His guess was confirmed as the lights were switched off.
    Fine. He’d come back tomorrow. He made his way back to his car and was about to pull away from the curb when a seen-better-days Subaru WRX drove past, Zoe behind the wheel.
    He fell in behind her automatically. He already knew she had an unlisted telephone number and address. At least if he followed her home, he’d know where she lived.
    2
    LIAM TRAILED ZOE through the night-dark city for twenty minutes until they were driving through the graffiti-covered streets of North Melbourne. He almost gave himself away by braking sharply when she pulled over to the curb without indicating. He pulled over when he found a parking spot half a block up. He twisted in his seat to watch as she exited her car.
    She was carrying a gym bag and walking with purpose, her long legs eating up the sidewalk as she approached the front door to a nightclub.
    Not going home, then. He watched the entrance for five minutes, but she didn’t come out. He shrugged and exited his car. He’d talk to her in there. The venue didn’t matter, what he had to say—and offer—did.
    He locked the Mustang and walked toward the club. A big guy in a tight black T-shirt blocked the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. Liam glanced at the club name—Thrashed—before eyeing the bouncer in front of him. The guy eyed him back for a long beat before moving aside.
    Liam passed through into a small foyer. Loud music leaked out from the club proper and he paid a ten-dollar cover charge to the guy behind the counter.
    He pushed through double swing doors to find himself in a dimly lit space dotted with tables and chairs, one wall all bar, the opposite wall a stage. It was early and there were only a handful of people at the tables. Zoe wasn’t one of them.
    He scanned the bar, but she wasn’t there, either. Where the hell was she? He waited ten minutes to see if she’d gone to the bathroom, then walked outside to make sure her car was still in the street. It was.
    He returned to the club and bought a beer. Over the next twenty minutes, the club slowly filled.
    And still Zoe hadn’t appeared. The loud music was getting on his nerves by then and he decided to call it quits and look Zoe up again tomorrow. After all, she’d survived twelve years without him. She’d survive one more night.
    He was shouldering his way to the exit when the lights flashed and the audience began to clap and whistle. The room dimmed and the stage lights came up as a band sauntered onto the stage: a drummer with long stringy hair and too many piercings; a bass guitarist with big biceps and the crookedest nose Liam had ever seen; and a lead guitarist in tight leather with a bare chest. His guitar slung across his shoulder, the lead guitarist leaned in toward the mike stand.
    “Yo! We’re Sugar Cane and you know what you got to do, people. Tell Vixen how much you want her!” he hollered.
    The crowd went nuts. Screaming, whistling, stomping their feet. Liam turned toward the exit, glad to be leaving before his eardrums started bleeding.
    “Relax, boys and girls. Vixen is more than ready to come out and play,” a sultry female voice said.
    Liam turned to the stage, instinct telling him he wasn’t going to like what he was about to see.
    The crowd took it up a notch, screaming and stomping as a woman strutted onto the stage in black, four-inch stilettos. She wore black fishnet stockings with red satin garters and a pair of tiny black patent leather hot pants. A strip of belly and most of her breasts were bared by a tight black