Cold As Stone (Family Stone #7 John) (Family Stone Romantic Suspense)

by Lisa Hughey

  John didn’t know Jess’s mom well but she had made him feel instantly at home at her house in Monterey. “What kind?”

  “Stalker-ish.” Jack frowned. “My buddy Ric is keeping an eye on her.”

  John wasn’t sure why that made Jack scowl but before he could ask, Jack continued, “I’m already split in a few different directions. But if you need me, I’m there for you.”

  If Jack was truly interested in having John come to work with them, he needed to know that John could think and plan on his own.

  “We can handle it.” At least for now. It would be arrogant to assume that if they found the girls that they wouldn’t need help to rescue them. But until they located Sophia and Graciela, they had to focus on the smaller goal.

  “Good.” Jack narrowed his eyes. “Con is monitoring your cover identities. But I’ve also got him working on Shelley’s problem.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

  “I believe in you. But I want you to keep me in the loop.” Jack rubbed his hands over his face. “And protect our girl Rissa.”

  Protect her?

  “She hasn’t been in the field in a while.” Jack pursed his lips as if he wanted to say more. Fuck, what was going on? Was he being set up to fail?

  Then remorse spread through him. Jack wouldn’t do that to him. He had to trust his brother to have his back if needed.

  Relief, pride, and determination spiraled through him before he finally replied, “You got it.”

  Bliss chose that moment to saunter over to where they stood. “Usually it’s the girls whispering on the sofa.” An indulgent amusement sparkled in her emerald eyes.

  “I’ve got an errand to run.” Jack brushed his fingers through Bliss’s red hair and tucked a strand behind her ear.

  “Oh.” Her lips stretched over her teeth, more forced now, and the sparkle was gone as she glanced between the two of them.

  “Sorry, babe.” Jack pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be back a little later.”

  “It’s all good.” In the last moments Bliss’s shoulders tightened.

  Jack did appear to be sorry. John hoped he knew what he was doing.

  “Nice to see you, Rissa.” Jack smiled and sauntered out the door before anyone could say a word. He scattered almost as if he didn’t want to be alone with Bliss before John and Rissa headed out.

  Once Jack was gone, Rissa’s anxiety seemed to ramp.

  “You should get going.” Bliss nudged them toward the door, seeming more distant and sad as they said goodbye. “This is important. Let’s bring those girls home.”

  They’d made it past the velvet rope and a bouncer who looked like he could bench press a small stretch limo. The interior of the upscale club was decorated in retro Vegas glitz. Heavy bronze velvet curtains hung on the walls. Small round tables lining the stage and scattered throughout the floor were decorated with a single fake votive candle. Ornate Art Deco bronze sconces in the shape of women’s breasts, set along the walls between the velvet curtains, flared muted yellow lighting. Teardrop chandeliers with tiers of crystals hung over the long copper-and-bronze bar along the far wall.

  With spotlights covering most of the runway, the occupants’ focus would naturally be drawn to the stage and the entertainment.

  Provocatively attired cocktail waitresses efficiently worked the room, clad in black satin bustiers cut high on their hips, underwire cupping their breasts and their nipples showing through the sheer black mesh. Thigh high fishnet tights and silver patent leather pumps with six inch heels emphasized their legs. Their faces were slathered with makeup, lips slicked with gold glossy lipstick. The final touch was a little top hat with a plume of gold-tipped black feathers and a small web of netting to cover their eyes.

  Cigarette girls with old-fashioned trays full of cigars, cigarettes, candy, roses, condoms and lube roamed the floor offering their wares. Rissa wondered if that’s all they were offering.

  Even though this club primarily featured female “dancers,” their clientele trended toward couples, so the bartenders were totally ripped guys with tight black pants, naked chests, and tiny little gold bow ties around their thick, chemically enhanced necks.

  This place screamed sex. High class, discreet, sex for sale. John placed his hand on the small of Rissa’s back, publicly claiming her. The totally innocuous contact sizzled through her veins, and a sensual buzz skimmed along her nerve endings.

  She’d been fighting the near visceral attraction to him since they met. But there was no place in this op for her get distracted by their sexual chemistry.

  She’d tried before to separate sex from emotion, and the last time it hadn’t gone so well. Sex was too intimate. Too revealing. And the last thing she needed was to share her current insecurities with her partner.

  Relax, Riss.

  His touch and the reason they were in this sleazy, covered-with-a-veneer-of-class-and-shit-tons-of-money strip club had her nerves strung tighter than a trip wire and her stomach on high alert. John led her to a table in a back corner. They would have a view of the stage, the bar, and the hallway that led presumably to the bathrooms. From here Rissa could see a velvet-roped staircase at the end of the hallway.

  She sank into the plush booth at the black linen-covered table and scrutinized the interior, trying to project an air of indulgent curiosity, as if perhaps it was her first time in a strip club. It was actually her first time in a strip club this nice. She’d been on a sting a few years back where she’d waitressed in a gentleman’s lounge but her outfit had been nowhere as revealing as what these servers were forced to wear.

  “Hello, my name is Bunny. I’ll be your server tonight.” The platinum blonde waitress leaned over their table. The sheer cups of her bustier barely restrained her enormous breasts, and the creamy mounds nearly spilled from her top as she bent nearer to be heard over the piped-in instrumental jazz. “What can I get for you?”

  John barely even glanced at the blatant display of flesh before he smiled at Rissa, a look tinged with affection as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, kind of like Bliss had done earlier to Jack…before he’d ditched her.

  Even Rissa had caught the tension between her friend and her fiancé.

  “What would you like, honey?” John nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear and goose bumps shivered over her bare skin.

  Rissa couldn’t deny that his complete lack of response over the waitress’s attributes sparked a little glow in her heart. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Clear liquid that she’d be able to dump in the planter next to her without anyone noticing. The last thing she needed was alcohol in her system.

  Her heart was already pounding like the organ was three sizes too large for her ribcage. And nerves had her fingers trembling and her blood sizzling.

  John smiled at her, the curl of his mouth and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes in complete contrast with the assessing look he was throwing her way. He could tell something was wrong.

  “Just a soda pop for me.” John boomed, “With a chaser of Glenlivet.”

  John handed the waitress a black Amex card embossed with their cover persona name. When they ran the check on them, they’d find out that John and Marissa Walker of Houston were from old money. Old oil family. With lots of cash and very little in the way of pesky morals. According to Jack, Con had been developing the background dossier on the Walkers for a while.

  If Ortega’s organization dug deep, they would find some more salacious stories about the Walkers. Charges dismissed. Rumors of less-than-savory acts. Just enough sketchiness that they might be able to weasel in without suspicion.

  The waitress straightened back up and thrust her breasts forward. “I’ll be right back.” She sauntered toward the bar, her ass cheeks half bared by the bottom of the bustier. Every single strut of her patent-leather-clad feet conveyed serious annoyance.

  Rissa fought the urge to giggle. The waitress was deeply put out that John hadn’t bowed to the glory of her breasts. S
he propped her arms on the table and whispered in his ear, “She’s not very happy with you.” The urge to tease bubbled up, overcoming her other worries. She’d had real dates that were less attentive than John Pulaski.

  John curled his fingers around her left hand. Rissa’s breath caught at the casual touch. Air stuttered in her lungs as he lifted her fingers to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on the very tips of her fingers. It should have been a silly gesture. A manufactured attempt at pretend intimacy. Instead, her whole body came to life and the light contact sizzled along her nerve endings.

  “Yeah. Wonder why?”

  She started to explain the concepts of reciprocal attraction but then he brushed his nose along the inside of her wrist and all her thoughts fled.

  Dammit she couldn’t concentrate.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice came out wispy and breathless, sounding nothing like the rough, tough, street-smart FBI agent she used to be. Her face was close to his, the penetrating pierce of his hazel gaze seemed to melt her into a puddle of gooey arousal.

  “Lavishing my wife with attention.”

  Her heart clenched at the word wife. It had rolled so easily off his tongue. And he was enjoying the intimate public contact. Heat rose from his body, the scent of his soap or cologne, a brisk evergreen, teased her senses.

  “You ever been married?”

  John was so close, she could see the specks of gold in his eyes, and the deep thick fringe of his darker brown lashes. “Nope. Wouldn’t do it when I was active duty.”

  His thigh pressed against hers, the heat from his body was like an inferno. He curled one forearm with hers and continued to press nipping kisses along her knuckles. God, she could barely concentrate. They were supposed to be casing this strip club, studying for something, anything that might indicate that trafficked girls ended up here. So far, their waitress and the cigarette girls were not putting off any frightened or coerced vibes. Of course, she couldn’t always tell but she used to have pretty good instincts. So instead of concentrating on the employees, she might as well work on cementing their cover.

  So no ex-wife. “How’s your girlfriend feel about you living with another woman for a few weeks?”

  “No girlfriend either.” His eyebrows raised inquisitively.

  The sense of relief at his admission took her off guard. She was way too happy about it. But he was big, handsome, heroic. No way he wasn’t in high demand. “What happened?”

  He blinked, his gaze shielded from hers, but the playful quirk of his mouth was gone. Oh, he was still smiling but his lips were tight, stiff. “She couldn’t deal with my leg.”

  Rissa lifted her other hand to his face, rubbed the burgeoning stubble on his chin. “What a bitch.” She smiled as if she’d just whispered something naughty to him, keeping her smile light, seductive. But inside, she wanted to growl and frown.

  John snorted. “Can you blame her?” With his nose, he traced the shell of her ear.

  She backed away from him so that he could see her face. “Yes,” she said fiercely breaking character for a moment. No way as she going to let that derisive, dismissive comment pass.

  They were isolated, encompassed by the dark shadows surrounding their table, wrapping them in an intimate embrace as if they were the only two people in the joint. He hadn’t shaved, leaving a dark shadow of scruff that dusted his jaw and framed his mouth. His beard was tingly against her palm, and a new subtle tension wound between them as he nuzzled her skin with his mouth.

  The press of his lips against the soft sensitive flesh of her bare palm zapped a bolt of arousal straight to her girl parts.

  His girlfriend had definitely been a fool.

  The wonder in his eyes was a revelation.

  As their waitress dropped Rissa’s drink between them, the thunk of solid glass against the linen tablecloth echoed like a shot.

  Rissa jerked at the noise, then pulled away from the mesmerizing spell of his gaze to see her G & T on the table, some of the liquid dribbled down the side as the drink sloshed in the glass.

  Rissa zoomed her gaze to the waitress, who smiled snottily and then placed John’s coke and Glenlivet gently on the tabletop in front of him.

  “How long until the entertainment starts, darlin’?” He laid the Texas accent on thick.

  “Any minute, cowboy.” She eyed John like a woman on a diet who hadn’t had any carbs in twenty-one days. “Anything else I can get you?” she purred.

  John glanced at Rissa, and she knew she wasn’t going to like whatever came out of his mouth next. He made a little come-hither motion to the waitress with his index finger. For a few moments she’d forgotten this wasn’t just a date. She’d forgotten that their intimacy was just a cover for finding out what was going on behind the glitz and glamour at this place.

  Until her “husband” flirted with their waitress.

  She leaned so close that John, and Rissa, had a clear view of her cleavage beneath her bustier.

  “If the missus and I were interested in a little…” John paused expectantly, his gaze skimming through the quickly filling main room of the club since the first show of the night was about to start “…companionship. Do you have an idea where we might find a willing lady?”

  She stood up slowly, assessing them with a tight smile and a small frown between her dark-dyed brows. “I’m sorry, sir. I wouldn’t know of anything like that here.” But her gaze shot to the roped-off stairway and Rissa knew she was lying. Could be they were cautious here. Prostitution in Clark County was illegal. But it was an open secret that Sin City was crawling with sex-for-hire workers. One would assume the waitress would get a cut, or a finder’s fee, if she referred a customer to services offered. “This is a legal club.”

  “I kindly appreciate that. Well just in case something comes to your recollection, we’re partial to our brown sisters to the south.” Trying to push her in the direction of a Latina woman. The exact opposite of the Marilyn Monroe lookalike waiting on their table. No wonder the girl was pissed.

  Rissa couldn’t help but be amused at her frustration. She’d bet the woman didn’t get rejected often.

  Bunny nodded tightly. “Can I get you anything else before the show starts?”

  “Keep the drinks coming,” John ordered with a smarmy smile. “I’ve got a large…appetite.”

  Once the waitress stepped away from the table, John lifted his whiskey and downed it in one gulp.

  “We’re supposed to be working,” she hissed. They needed to be at full operating potential. And John didn’t know it but Rissa was already working at a disadvantage.

  Her gin and tonic might take the edge off her tension but Rissa didn’t want anything to impair her judgment or reaction time.

  “This is just exploratory.” John smiled tightly. Only Rissa could see the tension in his shoulders. She had the strangest urge to rub his shoulders and along his back, to ease the discomfort she sensed. “She was watching. Don’t worry. I’ll dump the next one.”

  Rissa lifted her glass languidly, tilted her head, and pretended to flirt with her fake husband. “Cheers.”

  He clinked his glass against hers and lifted the glass of coke to his lips.

  Rissa took a healthy sip of her G & T and wished that she could indulge just a little more. But the truth was that for her first time back in the field, the last thing she needed was liquor. She purposefully relaxed her shoulders and kept her expression light.

  For the next twenty minutes, John fake downed his scotch and Rissa dumped her gin in the plant next to her. The waitress had continued to flirt with John and ignore Rissa. Bunny, yeah, she’d bet that wasn’t her real name, had been very friendly.

  John kept his banter playful but not too suggestive, without leading her on, as Bunny served them round three.

  The music indicated the show was about to start.

  John slung his arm over Rissa’s shoulder and shielded her from the wait staff. He nuzzled her ear. She tried to ignore the rush of pleasure at
his touch. “Now would be a good time to dump the drink.” She tilted the glass so that most of it poured out and into the potted plant behind her chair.

  “Nice.” He admired her handiwork, never taking his gaze from the stage. John’s fingers toyed with her hair, the small gesture far more intimate than the arm around her shoulders, bringing home the fact that it had been a long fucking time since she’d had sex.

  Right after the incident, she’d been on administrative leave with pay while the Office of Professional Responsibility reviewed the postmortem on the tragically failed op and her role in her partner’s death. During that awful period, she’d sought comfort and salvation in sex. But every encounter just left her feeling worse. Finally she was cleared, and could have gone back to work. Except…she couldn’t go back to the FBI. She couldn’t go back to a job that had taken so much.

  Thank God, Jillian Larsen had offered her a job, a way to keep busy until she was ready to get back into the field. She’d gone from total promiscuity to total nun-like behavior, not in the headspace where physical interaction, platonic or sexual, was wanted or appreciated. At first she’d been too busy just getting through the work day. She’d basically put her whole life on hold for the past two years.

  Until Jill sent her to Las Vegas for this job.

  Damn Jill for knowing what Rissa needed before she knew it.

  But her boss couldn’t possibly have known that Rissa would have such an immediate and intense reaction to John Pulaski. A reaction so strong, her impulse was to back away, hide in the bathroom, until John got the info they were here to gather.

  But the Senior Special Agent she used to be, the one that Jillian had faith in, wouldn’t let her back away from what she needed to do.

  Rissa placed her hand on his thigh and his entire body tensed. “Relax. I’m just getting a little frisky.” Then it occurred to her that he might be worried about her hitting his prosthesis.

  John’s teeth gleamed with a tight smile. “Don’t get too close to the family jewels.”

  She leaned close and nipped at his jaw. “Cameras, everywhere. We need to play to that.” And hope that whoever was watching didn’t see them dump their drinks.