Forbidden Stranger

by Marilyn Pappano

  Rick didn’t like this. He was used to being the one in danger. He could handle it. Julia was smart, but without a weapon, she was pound for pound weaker than any of Harry’s goons. Maybe, if she got into trouble, she’d remember Amanda’s example of kicking Vincent in the balls.

  Maybe, if God smiled on them, she wouldn’t get into trouble.

  Rick rubbed his left foot against the pistol strapped to his right ankle. He trusted in God. He also trusted in being prepared in case God was otherwise occupied.

  Amanda’s flirty little skirt came off in the next number, and she was doing amazing things with the stripper pole, but he was too distracted to feel more than a twitch of lust. Do you think Amanda’s in danger? Julia had asked last week.

  Would her friendship with Rosey keep her safe? It damn well better or there would be hell to pay.

  What if another girl disappears before we find out what’s going on? Julia had asked in the same conversation, and she’d answered for both of them. We live with it.

  Funny how things could change in so short a time. Julia’s involvement in the case. Rick’s involvement with Amanda. One thing he knew for certain: the three of them—they would live.

  He couldn’t say the same about anyone else involved.

  Amanda was due for a break and she wanted nothing more than a little time with Rick. Since he’d taken his break a few minutes earlier—with Julia—she settled for time alone, where she could puzzle out the confusion in her mind.

  Why had Rick started asking questions about Tasha and the other girls? Why had he been convinced that something had happened to them one moment, then the next repeated back her own explanations to her? Why did he really carry a gun? How had Julia really come across that photograph of the girls? Why was she so upset about Rica supposedly taking another job? How had she known Rica’s mother’s phone number? Why had she asked Rick to send someone over to the party location, to check it out and talk to people in the area?

  That sounded like something cops did.

  Being curious about girls who might have disappeared. Carrying a gun when it could not only cost you your job but land you in jail. Knowing a lot of information and even having photographs of people who interest you. Being so upset when your kid brother comes around when you mentioned the club name only one lousy time. Knowing how to find someone’s real name and her mother’s name and phone number. Being able to call that mother out of the blue and get information from her.

  Cops.

  Rick and Julia.

  Amanda reached her private closet, swung the door in, and it stopped halfway. It was Rick’s shoulder that blocked it. He glanced at her, then moved aside, leaving enough room for her to step in.

  Barely enough, because Julia was already in there. Though Rick smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes, and Julia didn’t even make the effort.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Mouth set in a tight smile, Julia shook her head.

  “We were just talking,” Rick said. “Old stuff.”

  A few minutes ago, Amanda might have been jealous. A few minutes ago, she’d have believed that “old stuff” was the affair they’d shared. Now she doubted that they’d ever seen more of each other than they did here at the club.

  Now she believed they were working together, insinuating themselves into the club, making friends with the dancers, gathering information. Willing to do anything to get it. Perform at one of Rosey’s special parties. Sleep with the dancer who’d been around longest, who’d known all of the girls. Use. Deceive. Pretend.

  Rick slid his arm around her, then nudged the door shut. “Are you on break?”

  “Yeah.”

  His mouth brushed her forehead and she realized that she didn’t care. Didn’t care that he’d used her. Didn’t care that the past few weeks had been a pretense for him. Didn’t care that he and Julia had lied to her and everyone else.

  Well, of course she cared. At some point in the future, she was probably going to care a whole lot. Her heart was probably going to break.

  But she’d gotten something, too. Fabulous sex and, more importantly, companionship. He’d spent time with her, talked to her, listened to her, and he hadn’t paid to do it. He might have done it as part of his job. And she’d liked spending time with him, talking and listening. It was the closest to a normal relationship she’d had in twelve years, and if she could manage it with him, she could manage it with someone else.

  Once her heart was finished breaking.

  “Well…” Julia moved, shifting around to the side. “Aren’t we a bundle of fun? It’s almost time for my set, so I’d better go…” She maneuvered her way to the door, then looked back at Amanda. “I’m sorry I got bitchy earlier. You’re a good friend, Amanda.”

  After the door closed behind her, Amanda leaned against the wall where Julia had stood. “That sounded almost like goodbye.”

  “Nah. Julia’s not going anywhere.”

  “But Rica did.”

  “Julia asked Harry about her. He said he’s got a new number for her but doesn’t remember where he put it. He’ll have to find it.”

  Amanda nodded. She wished she had put her shirt and skirt back on or, better yet, stopped in the dressing room to borrow Eternity’s red satin robe. She would rather not feel quite so naked…though there might not be enough clothing in the world to make her feel secure at this moment.

  The urge to nibble on her fingernails, a nervous habit she hadn’t done since high school, was so overwhelming that she folded her arms across her middle, then tucked her hands behind each elbow for good measure. “Rick…you’re not really…Tending bar isn’t…” Grimacing, she took a breath and blurted out, “You and Julia aren’t really—”

  He cut off the rest of her words with a kiss, quick and hard. When he lifted his head, he stared down at her, his eyes dark with intensity. “Please don’t ask that. Not yet.”

  He held her gaze until she slowly nodded, then he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. If Vincent has to come looking for me again, he’s gonna be pissed.”

  She smiled weakly. “Vincent’s always pissed.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home tonight.”

  “But my car—” She broke off and nodded. If he gave her a ride tonight, then he’d be around tomorrow to bring her back to her car. It was pathetic, but it was something.

  She sat out the rest of her break in the small room, zoned out, unable to think or even rouse herself until she heard Eternity’s voice down the hall.

  “Amanda? You back here? There’s a customer out front asking for you.”

  With a little shake to pull herself together, she left the closet and returned to the floor. She caught a glimpse of Julia, onstage, and another of Rick behind the bar, but she kept her focus on the customer Eternity pointed out.

  Focus—that was how she got through the rest of the night. Three o’clock seemed way later than usual. She was weary to her bones, in a way that the job never affected her. It was a good thing she was getting out in four weeks. She felt whipped.

  The dressing room was a crowd of women, some discussing their plans to go out and party, others looking as if they’d been out past their bedtimes. She changed into jeans, a sweatshirt and her beloved Crocs, then went looking for Rick. She didn’t have far to go. He leaned against the wall at the end of the hall.

  “Has Julia already left?” he asked, holding his hand out to her as she approached.

  “I don’t remember. I’ll go back and look.”

  He opened the door, then shook his head. “Nah, her car’s gone. She said she was going to try to get out early.”

  The chill made Amanda shiver and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, snuggling her close against him for the short walk to his car. He opened the door for her, waited for her to settle in the seat, then closed it again. Things, she thought, that he’d never done with Julia; things that had made their affair less than convincing.

  Things that made his af
fair with Amanda very convincing, when it wasn’t real, either. She was the mistake Julia had ridden him about earlier that evening. Had his goal been to befriend her, romance her, seduce her, but stop before actual sex?

  The car smelled of him. His scent was in the jackets in the backseat and permeated the old leather of the seats. It was in the very air and she closed her eyes, breathing it in deeply.

  The smell intensified when he climbed in beside her. She followed his actions by sound—the buckling of his seat belt, the turning of his key in the ignition, his boot leather creaking on the clutch, the shifting into Reverse.

  They’d driven a couple of blocks in silence before she felt his glance. “Am I still welcome at your house?”

  She smiled. “Anytime.”

  “Do you mind if I stop by the apartment and pick up some clean clothes?”

  “And make sure Julia got home safely?”

  She sensed his shrug. “Of course not,” she said.

  A very large speed bump marked the entrance to the apartment complex. She opened her eyes then and saw that more of the streetlamps were out than on. Music thumped from a car in a side lot, its headlights off, and the small gang of men gathered around it turned to watch them pass.

  “I used to live in places like this,” she murmured.

  “Here? Or in Copper Lake?”

  “Both—though minus the thugs in Copper Lake. The biggest threat there were the Holigan brothers.”

  “My granddad called them the Hooligans. I was buddies with a couple of the older ones for a while.”

  “Really? I didn’t know Calloways were allowed to be friends with anyone from the north side of town.”

  His mouth tightened. “Amanda—”

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” Robbie may have been an arrogant snob. Granddad and the uncles were definitely haughtier-than-thou, and the women were exactly as her mother had described them that morning—high and mighty. Except for Sara. And Rick. He wasn’t like his family.

  He turned the corner into the back parking lot and swore. “Julia’s car isn’t here.”

  Amanda glanced at the second-floor apartment. Only one dim light burned in the living room. “Would she have gone anywhere after work?”

  “Not without telling me.”

  Amanda quietly pointed out, “She left work without telling you.” He may have known that Julia wanted off early, but she hadn’t stopped by the bar or called his cell and said, I’m leaving now.

  He parked and took the stairs in leaps. By the time Amanda stepped onto the bottom one, he was wiggling the key in the lock, then shoving the door open. He dropped his keys, where a table used to be, she assumed as she picked them up, and he charged down the hall. She remained inside the doorway, keys wrapped tightly in her palm, until she heard the creak of shoe leather behind her, along with the shuffle of fabric. She started to spin around, but a hand grasped her shoulder and something hard and dangerous-feeling poked against her back.

  The man holding her nudged her forward and she took a few stuttering steps. “Rick?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The only response was upheaval in Julia’s room. Had another man been waiting for him there? Should she be looking for a weapon, thinking about escape instead of being too frightened to think straight?

  “Rick! You have company out there.”

  Running thuds in the hall, then he skidded to a stop at the corner. “Get your hands off her, Tyrone, you moron.”

  “Hey, we weren’t sure she was with you.”

  “If you didn’t see her get out of my damn car, you should have.”

  Amanda moved to the safety of the dining table to study the three men. Tyrone wore jeans and a Falcons shirt. The older man was in a suit, complete with tie, at three-freakin’-thirty in the morning, and the third guy—ratty jeans and T-shirt, unshaven, habitual scowl, eyes murky dark—looked like he should have been the one working undercover with Vincent, not Rick.

  Rick disappeared a moment, then came back in, a gun holstered on his belt. It was much bigger and deadlier-looking than the one on his ankle. As he slid a black case into his hip pocket, he gestured toward the small group. “Where’s Carnie? She was supposed to be handling the GPS tracker.”

  The older guy lifted one hand in Amanda’s direction. “I’m sorry, Miss Nelson, but would you wait in one of the bedrooms?”

  She looked around. Tyrone was gazing at the ceiling, Mr. Tall, Dark and Sleazy didn’t care either way and neither did Rick. Because he would tell her everything he could when they were gone?

  Politely she nodded and passed Rick into the hallway. It had sounded as if a battle had gone on in Julia’s room, but it had merely been Rick tearing through things looking for information. Clothes were scattered everywhere, from thongs, breakaway skirts and bras to staid, boring business suits and everything in between.

  Instead Amanda turned into Rick’s room across the hall. The furnishings were Spartan, no books, no custom-rod magazines, no pictures. Of course, this wasn’t his home. He’d been slumming on the wrong side of town. He probably had a great condo, or maybe his brother had built him a house, complete with garage for working on the car. That was the place he would take women who were really a part of his life.

  While she was part of his lie.

  The apartment walls were thin, allowing her to hear a rumble of voices from the dining room, but she couldn’t distinguish any words. She peeked out the door and saw that Rick had moved, joining the other men at the table. She eased down the hall, past the other bedroom door, hesitating at the darkened kitchen before turning in. There was a small pantry between the wall and the refrigerator, and she pressed herself hard against the pantry door to listen.

  “—when Dautrieve didn’t show up, we called Carnie.” That was the suit talking. “Carnie located her car in a parking lot a mile and a half from the club off Calhoun. Her clothes, her, uh, outfit for the night, was on the backseat and her purse was on the floorboard. Her cell was inside.”

  “We know she wouldn’t leave the GPS transmitter behind on purpose.” Deep, sexy rumble, had to be the sleaze with the scowl. He probably cleaned up really well, but he was dressed just fine for the scum he was dealing with now.

  “So someone made her undress and they took her from there.” The suit sounded very pragmatic, given that it was one of his employees who’d been taken somewhere naked. “We’re in the process of getting warrants for the club, the chop shop, Harry’s and Rosey’s houses, plus a short list of the others.”

  “That’ll take too much time,” Rick said. “We’re pretty much agreed that Rosey’s shipping the girls out of the country, right?”

  “Well, his cousin did buy a container shipping company out of Savannah a month before the first girl disappeared and he’s had movements two days after each girl disappeared.”

  Amanda could see the scowl in Rick’s voice when he said, “Yeah, Tyrone, thanks for sharing that with us yesterday when it could have been really useful. And it’s not just our girls who have disappeared?”

  “Three dancers from Savannah, four from Macon, four from Charleston, six from Jacksonville,” said Mr. Dark and Sleazy. “There are probably more.”

  “All young girls who meet certain specifications. That’s probably the reason for the special parties, so the buyers can select the girls they want. The oldest one so far is—”

  “Twenty-three,” Dark and Sleazy said in his deep, sexy rumble.

  “Julia is thirty-three. And she didn’t get grabbed from a party. She went to the boss obsessing about a missing girl and talking about calling the police. They didn’t grab her to add to their shipment—”

  “Though that’s always a possibility,” Suit said.

  “They grabbed her to keep her quiet. To keep the cops away.”

  To kill her. Amanda’s knees went weak.

  “What’s your point, Calloway?” Suit asked.

  “By the time you get warrants and we round these people u
p and persuade someone to talk…”

  “She’s gonna be dead,” the dark guy said flatly.

  “What do you suggest I do? Let you go in there and kick Harry’s ass?”

  “No,” Amanda said, startled for an instant that she’d spoken aloud. But since she had, she moved out of the corner and walked into the dining room, stopping next to Rick’s chair. “I’d suggest that you let someone Harry knows really well make a trade for Julia and Rica.”

  The suit folded his arms over his chest. “And what is it you think Harry would want that badly? You?” he asked skeptically.

  “No.” She dipped her knees in a bend familiar from the stage as well as the floor and straightened with Rick’s wallet in her hand. She flipped it open and held it out so everyone could see. “A cop. On his payroll. Harry would want that really bad. Trust me.”

  She was absolutely right. There wasn’t much that would please Rosey, and therefore Harry, more than to have a traitor handed over on a silver platter. And there wasn’t anyone at Almost Heaven, Rick thought, who could make Rosey happier for doing the handing. He liked Amanda. He actually considered her a friend. It wouldn’t occur to him that she could be more dangerous to him than his worst enemy.

  Supervisory Agent Baker fiddled with his tie, Tyrone and Evan discussed the details of backup, more GPS devices, multiple surveillance vehicles, ready to head to any part of Atlanta on short notice. Amanda was wired—Rick had done it himself with equipment brought up from Baker’s car—and now they were just waiting.

  Rick stood at the living room window, his shoulder bumping Amanda’s, gazing out as she was. It had started to rain a few minutes earlier, the steady kind of fall that was more nuisance than anything. It washed dirt off the cars in the parking lot below and made the blacktop gleam.

  “Everything looks better through rain,” she commented.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s dangerous.”

  “Lucky for me, I know a couple of GBI agents.”

  “When did you figure it out?”

  “This evening.”

  “You’ll have to tell us later where we screwed up. Julia and I have never worked undercover together like that.”