Black and Blue oa-2

by Gena Showalter

  He’d only huffed and puffed for a few minutes. “Someone is trying to either abduct you or kill you. Meaning you need a disguise. What better disguise than stripper?”

  Nice try. “Give me one hour and I’ll show you a better disguise.”

  And she did!

  Right now, her hair was so blond it was almost white, and streaked with pink. Her eyes were bright blue and her chest hugely inflated by a silicone-infused bra.

  Blue had taken one look at her and shaken his head in disapproval. Disapproval she didn’t understand. No one would recognize her and she fit his preferred type of female.

  But on top of the disapproval, he displayed zero hints of arousal. And the lack, well, it disappointed her.

  Lo. Bot. Omy.

  Even with his scar and piercings, Blue was hired at first sight. No one had a body quite like his. Cut from granite. No one could move quite like he did. Every action was a sensuous mating call.

  Now, hoping she appeared awed by her surroundings, she scanned the club. Dark walls, dark carpet. Dim lighting, except onstage. At both sides of that stage, women dangled from wires, their naked bodies sparkling as they twisted and turned into different sexual positions. In the center, glitter rained from the ceiling, sticking to the exposed skin of the half-naked bumping, grinding brunette currently teasing the audience with the removal of her G-string.

  One of the patrons shoved a bill in her box—and, no, box wasn’t a euphemism. Men weren’t allowed to touch the goods until they’d paid, stuffing their money inside an actual box at the edge of the stage. The bills disengaged the shock line, allowing the girl to stroll up to the patron and settle a high-heeled boot on his shoulder, giving him the perfect money shot.

  A topless waitress arrived and asked for Evie’s drink order. “Beer in a bottle. Don’t pop the cap.” There was no reason to think anyone would try and poison her, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  The brunette finished her show, and a husky voice spilled from the intercom. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to introduce the newest addition to the Lucky Horn family. Give it up for the hard and horny . . . Jack Hammer!”

  This was it! Unable to contain her excitement, Evie clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. Sometimes agenting had its perks.

  The curtain at the back of the stage parted and out strode Blue, wearing nothing but a scowl and a pair of black leather underpants.

  Blimey. She lost her breath. She’d expected to be amused by his situation, but she was inexplicably aroused. He had muscle stacked upon muscle. His skin was pale, like all Arcadians’, and yet, there was a shimmery golden undertone, as if he’d showered in fallen angel dust. He looked wild. Dangerous.

  And, okay, quite livid.

  The waitress arrived with the beer, and Evie waved her away. “You’re blocking my view.”

  As always, power radiated from him. Did anyone else feel it?

  He stood still as a statue as the music played. Someone booed. Someone else threw a chip at him. Gonna blow his cover.

  “Let’s see your best moves, Mr. Hammer!” Evie put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Yeah, baby. Yeah! Show Momma what the good Lord gave you!”

  Somehow he found her in the dark and glared. Then, from one moment to the next, the tone of the glare changed. From anger to anticipation.

  Uh-oh. What just happened?

  He sauntered in her direction, and her hands began to sweat. At the edge of the stage, he tugged a bill from the waist of the underpants—if some skank backstage put it there, I’m going to . . . nothing—and stuffed it in the hot box, lowering the shield.

  He hopped off the stage. The crowd watched, awed.

  Surely he wouldn’t close the distance between them.

  He did.

  Leaning into her, he braced his hands on the arms of her chair. “How about a lap dance, sugar plum?”

  Bloody hell. Shivers cascaded down her spine.

  “Your nipples just beaded for me. I’ll take that as a yes.”

  No way he could tell. Her bra was far too thick.

  “I can,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “I can feel your reaction.”

  Her eyes widened, and her response died as his hands encircled her waist. He lifted her to the tabletop, better aligning their bodies. He forced her legs to part and the apex of her thighs to cradle his—

  Oh, bless me. His massive erection.

  Then he danced. Slow and steady, grinding against her sweet spot. Ratcheting her desire to an earth-shattering level. A place where fires raged. She couldn’t stop her hands. They roamed over his chest, glided over the scar on his face, tangled in his hair.

  If the patrons cheered or booed, she didn’t know it. She was utterly focused on the man in front of her, hyperaware of his every move. Of his power, stroking her with the mastery of a thousand hands. Of his scent in her nose, champagne and strawberries. Of his gaze, boring deep into hers—perhaps seeing into her soul. Of his erection, pressing where she needed him most, retreating, pressing again, and—oh, keep going, please. A moan escaped her. The pleasure . . . too much . . . not enough . . . Give me more. Give me everything. Eden was right. The day had come. Evie wanted some guy to give it to her good and hard.

  Press, retreat. Press, retreat. Liquid heat pooled between her legs, the crease in her jeans just making everything worse. Press, retreat. Or better. Press, retreat. No, definitely worse.

  Her head swam with the force of her arousal. A dangerous pressure built inside her, coiling, readying. If he kept going, he was going to make her come. Right there. In front of everyone.

  Dismayed by the thought, she dug her nails into his bare chest. Felt the heat of his skin, and gave another moan.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, panicked. “Please.”

  Just like that, he stopped.

  He was panting, his lips thinned and pulled taut against his perfect teeth.

  He turned away from her and returned to the stage, quickly disappearing behind the curtain.

  This is being more careful around him? her good sense screamed. Really? Stop threatening that lobotomy and actually do it!

  Evie tore the cap from the beer and drained the contents. Then she signaled for another and drained it, too.

  Once her body had calmed, she pretended to have a nice buzz going and tripped her way to a table of older gents who looked to be regulars, very familiar with the lay of the land. Over the next hour they hit on her and teased her about the we-swear-you-were-having-sex dance Jack Hammer had done with her. Trying not to blush like a stupid schoolgirl, she bought them several lap dances—not from Blue, because he was still backstage, probably searching the offices and cursing Evie’s very existence—and they finally stopped hitting on her, instead treating her like one of the guys. That’s when she paid for a round of drinks for everyone in the club.

  Eventually, all of the patrons came over to thank her and ended up staying to talk. She learned far more than she’d hoped.

  Mr. Gregory Star and his entourage visited the club at least twice a month, and they always migrated to the back to speak with Timothy Mercer, who had worked at the Lucky Horn for three years. Two weeks ago, Timothy just up and vanished. No one had seen or heard from him since, or had any idea what might have happened to him.

  Star, thrown into the mix once again. No question, the man was involved in her father’s disappearance. It was just as certain that Timothy was the man who’d set Blue on fire.

  Eager to verify this news with hard evidence, Evie excused herself under the guise of having to pee and stumbled away as though snockered, heading toward the backstage entrance. The moment she cleared the corner, out of everyone’s view, she dug a shielder out of her purse and threw it behind her, the tiny black device creating an invisible wall upon landing. Until she disabled it, only she and Blue would be able to bypass it, since they were the only ones with a scrambler on their phones, an app designed to disrupt the shielder’s signal.

  She tri
pped her way toward the armed guard at the end of the hallway.

  Frowning, he gripped the handle of his gun. “I suggest you turn around, ma’am. No one’s allowed in this section of the building.”

  Ma’am? Did she really look like a ma’am?

  Ma’ams had at least sixteen robo-cats, wore muumuus, and never took the rollers out of their hair.

  Did he want to die?

  She stopped in front of him, a familiar surge of excitement hitting her. Don’t you dare get used to this kind of work. It was a onetime gig. As soon as her father and his boys were found, as soon as Star was taken down, she was going back to her nice, normal life.

  But honestly, the last time she’d experienced anything this high octane, she’d been on her last mission, and Claire had—

  She locked those thoughts down.

  “Is this not the bathroom?” she asked, making sure to slur her words.

  “Turn. Around. Now. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

  “Okay, okay, you don’t have to be so rude about it,” she grumbled—then rammed her knee into his groin.

  With a strangled bellow he hunched over, struggling to breathe, and she lined up at his side to slam the back of her elbow into his mastoid process. His body went limp as his brain tissue rapidly compressed, and he collapsed onto the carpet, well and truly out for the count.

  “Sorry, bloke, but you picked the wrong side. And you called me ma’am!”

  She peeked through a crack in the door. Half-clad dancers sat in front of a row of vanity mirrors, checking their hair and makeup. No one paid a bit of attention to the entrance as she slipped inside the employees-only area.

  To her right was a closed door with the name Timothy Mercer in the center. Brilliant. Evie strode forward and twisted the lock. It held. After a quick glance behind her—still good—she pulled the necessary tools from her purse and got to work.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” a female snapped from behind her. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”

  Evie pasted a bright smile on her face before turning and facing the brunette who’d been Blue’s opening act. “Hi. I’m Chlamydia Jones, the new stripper. Hired only a few hours ago.” Too chirpy, Black. Dial it down a notch. “I was told to speak with Mr. Mercer.”

  Green eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Mr. Mercer isn’t in.”

  “Dang. That sucks.” I tried to do this the nice way. Evie had worn three rings, just in case. In the center of each, under a jewel, was a needle she’d loaded with poison of her own creation; they’d once been trademarks of her mission work. She thumbed the diamond from Wrath, her most-used toxin, and clasped the girl’s hands. “Can you please—”

  “Ow,” Brunette said, just before yanking free to clutch her stomach.

  “Are you all right?” Evie asked, faking concern.

  The girl shook her head. As her skin turned a putrid shade of green, she ran as fast as her feet would carry her to the nearest receptacle, where she vomited the entire contents of her stomach . . . and maybe even the stomach itself.

  Behind Evie, the door swung open, and a hard hand seized her arm, wrenching her backward. The moment she was inside the office, the door closed, sealing her inside. With Blue.

  She recognized the hum of his power.

  Slowly she pivoted. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, all hints of Mr. Hammer eradicated, and yet, as soon as their eyes met, there was a suspended moment where all she could remember was the feel of his erection rubbing between her legs, and the sharp, desperate need of her body.

  All she could think was More.

  “Stop staring and tell me what you’re doing back here,” he demanded.

  O-kay. So he didn’t feel or think the same. Flushing, she said, “I came to give you a review. After a shaky start, you—”

  “We will never speak of this again. Do you hear me?”

  Can’t laugh. “Consider this blackmail material.” She told him what she’d learned.

  “Confirmation that Star is involved.” He nodded. “We’ll have to search his house. Among other things.”

  Missionspeak. Good. The best way to get back on track. “Found anything in here?”

  “Not yet.” He stomped to the desk and tapped away at the computer keyboard. “I’m loading the club’s security feed for the past three weeks onto a flash drive and erasing today’s activities.”

  Thank God. Replaying Jack Hammer’s debut—and her reaction to it—would have been humiliating.

  “All right. Done,” he said, removing the flash drive.

  “So we’re ready to leave the club?”

  “Yes. And if you can get me out without letting anyone grope me, I’ll admit you’re the better agent.”

  She snorted—then inwardly cursed. Did the man have to be so witty and likable? “Deal.”

  Ten

  E VIE KEPT SURPRISING HIM.

  At the club, she’d handled the patrons and employees with equal skill. Hell, she’d even handled Blue.

  He’d lost himself in the pleasure of grinding on her, forgetting their goal, their audience, until she reminded him.

  She’d begged so prettily.

  Begging. Completely unlike her. It had startled him back to his senses.

  Mentally and physically, he couldn’t seem to control his reactions to her.

  Can’t worry about that now.

  They’d had to ditch her car. Whoever had ordered the earlier chase—hit?—was still out there, and Evie was now . . . no longer Evie. She was Miss Blond Boobies, and he freaking hated it. When he wasn’t grinding on her, of course. He much preferred her luscious dark hair and slender curves.

  Concentrate. Going back to her place would have been stupid, giving away their identities, no matter what they looked like, so he’d offered no protest when she stole a truck and drove him to a safe house she swore no one knew about.

  And why would he protest? Watching Evie steal a car was like watching sexy female auto-mechanic porn on set. He was still hard.

  You’ve been hard for two days.

  “You quit the agency. Why did you keep a safe house?” he asked as he cased the place. It was small but virtually undetectable, hidden underneath a middle-class neighborhood where all of the homes above it were the same shape and color. There was only one entrance, and that was concealed in a darkened alcove next to the district enzyme tower half a mile away.

  Evie had reinforced the walls with alien metal that could withstand a nuclear attack, and hung countless monitors, all watching the surrounding area from different angles. The only furniture was a bed, a chair, and a desk cluttered with a computer, papers, and mechanical parts and equipment he didn’t recognize.

  “I like to be prepared,” she said with a shrug.

  He was the same. He collected safe houses the way other men collected sexual mementos, ensuring he had someplace to go in every corner of the world. Maybe one day he’d give Evie a tour and impress the hell out of her.

  He stiffened. Give her a tour? Impress her?

  Seriously? Michael, John, and Solo weren’t even aware of half of his holdings, and he wanted to share with her?

  Scowling, Blue settled at the desk and booted up the computer. Opening the contents of the flash drive would take a while.

  “I’m going to make a sandwich,” Evie said, pressing a few buttons on a small black remote. In front of her, one section of the wall opened, revealing a fully stocked fridge. “You want one?”

  He masked his bafflement with a muffled “That’d be great, thanks.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll leave out the bread and peanut butter so you can make yourself one.”

  Now, that was more like the Evie he knew and . . . liked. He rubbed two fingers over his mouth to hide a smile. “Have you always been such a ballbuster, baby bear?”

  She shook her fist in his direction. “Stop calling me by those ludicrous names. And, yeah, I guess I have been. But then, I’ve had to be.” She dug a knife from a drawer hidden in the islan
d. “Otherwise Mum would have broken me.”

  She had never willingly offered information about her past, and he found himself leaning toward her, as eager to hear more as he usually was to make a kill. “Tell me about her.”

  As she put two sandwiches together, she said, “She could have been a general in the army. Everything had to be a certain way. Her way. And then it had to meet her exacting standards. Meaning nothing was ever good enough.”

  Little Evie, under a military-like regime. He frowned, not liking the image. Had she ever gotten to act her age and play?

  “I’m not sure what Michael ever saw in her, to be honest.”

  Adorable, the way she added an -er to the word saw. “Does she look like you?”

  “Yes. I’ve been called her carbon copy, actually.”

  Well, there you go. Michael hadn’t been able to help himself. “No good times?”

  “Not until Claire came along.”

  Happiness coasted over him, followed by sorrow. Both emotions sprang from her. Clearly Claire’s death destroyed her, and she was still dealing with the pain.

  Breaking my heart. “What’s your favorite memory of your sister?”

  She thought for a moment, then smiled. “Claire made me watch romantic comedies, romantic tragedies, romantic . . . everything,” Evie said, and her smile faded. “I used to tease her about the horrors of heartfelt emotion, only I called it heartfelt crap, and she used to say I was fooling no one, that I already had that crap in my blood, and then we’d laugh about the word ‘crap.’ ”

  Blue suddenly wished he’d never allowed dislike of Evie to keep him away four years ago. It would have been fun to watch her and Claire together. The fire-breathing dragon and the shy princess somehow finding a way to happily coexist.

  “I had siblings, too,” he admitted. “I was only four years old when they died, but they’ll always have a place in my heart.” He remembered how, before his brothers and sisters died, each placed a hand on his chest. Warmth had then spread throughout his entire body.