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"I still don't know where the money's gonna come from." She pressed her fingers to her forehead, half burying her face in her hand, for a moment. Her insurance was fair enough, and was covering most of the costs, but even the out-of-pocket portions were staggering. Her credit was excellent, but her cards were quickly maxing out, even at what she'd been so sure were ridiculous limits. The father was a sperm donor (in the "dirty word" sense), who'd skipped town when he'd heard she was pregnant, and hadn't been seen or heard from since. There was no help coming from that direction. She knew he didn't have any money, anyway."Damn. I'm sorry. That sucks." Trixie gave Stacy a sympathetic look before turning back to her mirror. "Did you talk to Mr. Parvait?" Mr. Parvait was strapping, young photographer who created web sites for strippers. Of the folks around who did that, he gave strippers the best individual work ups, and by far the best revenue percentages."I did, in fact I. Mom and Dad were nervous about keeping us grounded and kept a tight rein on our access to money.Jim DeCossa was the head of my family’s security detail. He’d taught me how to scan a room, assess people for possible threats and to always stay alert. It paid off. The disguise was amateurish at best. The seat next to me was empty and I was looking forward to flying in comfort. Seeing a flight attendant, I got her attention.“Is it too late to upgrade a seat?”“From Coach to Business, yes, but we have some openings here in First Class.”“Great. Can I upgrade the person in 32C?”I’d been making some money while at St. John’s by teaching self-defense to those who wanted more than the basics from the course I gave on Wednesday evenings. It wasn’t a lot, but all of my expenses were covered, so it added up after a while. I used some of that to pay for the upgrade.She looked a little sheepish as she plopped herself down, took off her big hat and oversized sunglasses. “How’d you spot me?”“Total.
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