“Good,” he breathed. “Now your shirt.”
I turned so that I faced him, and undid each button. When I was done, I slipped it off my shoulders and let it slide down my arms, slowly, just like he said. I looked up at him through my lashes, curious about what he thought. Nervous really.
He cleared his throat, and went back to the chair. “Now put on the dress.”
His demeanor was suddenly abrupt. With an embarrassed sigh, I took the dress off the hanger and slid it over my head. The V-neck went to below my light blue colored bra and barely covered my butt. I turned to check myself in the mirror and blushed again. “This is awful. I can’t do this.”
“You have to, Rose. Pretend there is no other option. It’s either strip or starve.” He was behind me again, watching me in the mirror. “That’s why I’ve chosen you. I’ve read your file. I know about your parents, about your early graduation from high school and college. I know you’ve never been with a man. Not even Jack. I even know about your ability.”
I gasped. “You do.” For some reason I felt relieved. “How?”
“The FBI has been keeping tabs on you for a long time. Your natural hair color is blond, just like your mother’s, and your real father is still in jail.”
He’d spewed all of my secrets out to me like he was sharing the weather. Tears laced my lashes.
Agent Mackey continued, his voice softening, “I need your innocence. We’ve profiled the murderer and know it’s what he preys on. The desperate. The girls who feel like they have no other option.” He touched my bare arm, and my body shuddered. “I know you are a strong woman in many ways, but when it comes to sex, you are the perfect candidate.
My face flamed, red hot. How could I explain that deep down I didn’t trust men? That even though I knew how much my mom and Phillip loved me, I hadn’t been conceived from love, but because she was raped. “I’m not that innocent.”
Then he dropped the bombshell. “I know how you were conceived. I know David raped your mom. I know the reasons—”
“Just stop it. Shut up already.” My breathing was erratic. I seriously wanted to punch him. “So you read a report. Big deal. You don’t know anything.” I fought back tears, clenching my hands into fists, but a few escaped.
He gently grabbed my hands, his eyes soft, and he tenderly opened them. Images flicked across my mind: Of me at age ten listening to an older boy talk. The same boy teasing me, and the two of us playing video games together during a Christmas break. It was Vincent, but at nineteen. We’d met, but only that day. He was ten years older, and at college while I lived with his step-aunt. How had I not recognized him? I had such a crush.
The tears stopped, and I stood there, stunned. “How did you do that? I didn’t see your intentions, but memories.”
He smiled. “You remember me then?”
“I do,” I uttered, my voice faint.
“Please trust me Rose. I know what I’m doing. And I’ll keep you safe.”
I nodded, my throat thick with emotion.
“May I?” he asked, holding his arms out.
A rush of warmth surged through me, and I suddenly felt less alone. In one step I was in his arms, allowing him to crush me to him. I reciprocated eagerly, happier than I’d been in a long time.
Into my hair, he whispered, “You really are the perfect person to go undercover. Walter, the owner has reluctantly agreed, especially when I explained it was either he cooperates or his clubs would be closed down permanently.” I leaned back and he awarded me with a wicked smile.
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, but now that I know, I can totally see young Vincent in there. Why aren’t you using your dad’s last name?”
“My dad is in a special division of the CIA and I wanted to distance myself from him. But he’s the one who suggested I think about specific memories when our hands touch.” He shrugged. “Mackey is my mother’s maiden name.” He smiled sweetly, and I noticed a slight dimple on his left cheek.
I was relieved, but at the same time more nervous. The ten year old feelings I had for Vincent came crashing in. But at least he knew everything. No secrets. And he needed me. Well, he needed my help. “I don’t know how to strip, Vincent. I’ve never seen it done. I-I…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to let him down. It was crazy to feel so unprepared. I was a ninth degree black belt. The best, most precise shooter on the team, but I had no idea how to turn a man on.
“Get dressed. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Chapter 8
Vincent helped me pick out a pair of glossy red stilettos, a pair of red thigh highs, red gloves with white faux fur lining the tops, and a red G-string. I forced myself to push down the giddy feelings that crept in every once in a while. We were two adults and we hadn’t seen each other in ten years.
“Every girl has a theme to their striptease. You’re going to be the naughty Santa’s helper.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Don’t you think someone else is doing that?” I asked, thinking the idea might be too contrived, given the Christmas season.
He smiled. “You would think. But no.” We drove to a salon. “I’ve scheduled you an appointment with Sonja. She’s going to dye your hair blond, and then you’ll get some waxing done.”
“Waxing?” When I realized what he meant I balked. “Are you serious?”
He seemed uncomfortable. “You have to play the part, Rose.”
I nodded, fighting to keep down the fear growing in my stomach. “Are you coming in?”
“No, it’s better if I don’t. He handed me a credit card and a driver’s license. “This is a company card. Sign it with the name listed.”
I took them. The picture was the one I used for my student I.D. at Harvard. “Diana Melville,” I read.
He smirked as I climbed out. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Enjoy yourself Diana.”
I shoved the cards in my purse, and opened the door to the salon. The scent of fresh linens filled my lungs. A petite blond guy greeted me. “Can I help you?”
I lifted my chin, and said, “I have an appointment with Sonya.”
He clicked some keys and looked at his computer monitor. “Diana Melville?” he asked, glancing at me.
“Correct,” I said, moving closer.
“Right on time. Can I get you some coffee? Tea? Water? A glass of wine?” He chortled. “You look nervous.”
I swallowed, fighting the tightness of my throat. “Water, please.”
He opened a small refrigerator, and grabbed a water bottle, then said, “Right this way.”
Sonya, a tall Asian woman, greeted me, and sat me in her chair. “So, we’re doing a cut and color, correct?” she asked, eyeing me in the mirror.
“A trim. I don’t want a lot taken off. But yes to the color.” It terrified me to think I would be going back to blond. Back to the color I had when my mom and Phillip died. It was a simple act, but dyeing my hair helped me cope with their deaths. I chewed on my lip, worried all the pain at losing them would return. The ache never left, not completely, but in the past six months, it had become tolerable.
“Sounds great.” Sonya brushed out my hair, complimenting me on its beauty. Then she said, “I’m thinking I’ll do a golden blond with some lighter highlights. That’ll really bring out your eyes, and accentuate your beautiful skin color.”
She looked at me for approval. I remembered the hair color on the dead girls. Their coloring was similar. “Great,” I smiled with pretend joy.
I didn’t know if I was ready to see myself with my natural hair color again. My mom and I looked so much alike. A pang of sadness stabbed through my heart.”
“I’ll be back in a few, after I mix the color. Need anything.”
“No, thanks.”
While she was gone, my cell phone beeped with a text.
This is Vincent. How’s it going?
I couldn’t help the smile that bent my lips. I called him Vincent in the changing room, but if I’d just met him, it would
be only right to call him Agent Mackey.
Nothing happened yet. So far so good, I guess.
Try to have some fun, and RELAX. Enjoy yourself.
I snorted. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being prepared and groomed, like a lamb to the slaughter.
Sure thing, Agent Mackey.
Call me Vincent.
So pushy, even in text.
Okay, Agent Mackey. ;)
Seriously. Call me Vincent.
Fine.
Chapter 9
Several hours later Vincent picked me up. Sonja did a wonderful job on my hair. It was exactly the same color as when I went to high school; only thanks to her magical hands it looked like there were strands of gold that shone when the light hit it just right.
As I walked to Vincent’s car, my heart started pounding. It irritated me to know I hoped the FBI agent with the twinkling eyes thought I looked good.
Without even trying to hide it, he gave me a once over. Nervous, I scowled as I shut the door.
“Your hair looks better, beautiful.” He reached out to touch it, but before he did he withdrew his hand.
“My hair is the least of my worries.” But inside I beamed. I was glad he liked it. “I’ve been waxed in areas wax should never go.” Two girls also waxed my legs and armpits, and they felt smooth, like cream.
He choked on a laugh, and I glared.
“Don’t laugh. My body feels…” I paused. How did my body feel? Weird. Like new, which was strange. And I felt sexy, but I would never admit that to Vincent.
“You like it, don’t you?” he asked with a knowing glance, starting up the car.
“It isn’t bad,” I admitted.
When we reached his hotel room he picked up the phone. “You must be starved. What would you like to eat?”
“Do they have turkey sandwiches?”
“I’m sure they do.” He dialed.
Into the receiver he said, “Hello. Can I get a turkey sandwich?” He paused, and placed his hand over the receiver. “White or wheat bread?” he asked.
“Wheat, please.” I sat demurely on one of the chairs. While he ordered I checked out his room. It was a suite. The king-sized bed was in a separate room with large, white double doors revealing the lush comforter and pillows on the bed.
No way the FBI paid for this.
In the sitting area sat a round glass coffee table with a large arrangement of white roses on top. Around the table sat a white couch and two cream and white striped chairs. Behind the couch was a wet bar. I could see the view from where I sat, and it was spectacular.
Vincent hung up the phone.
“It’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Care to join me in the bedroom?” His expressive eyes flashed mischievousness.
I shook my head, but smiled nonetheless.
“I didn’t invite you into my bed, but the room. Come on. I have something to show you.”
“Alright,” I said, standing.
The first thing I noticed, aside from the bed, was a long silver pole that reached from ceiling to floor. It was to the right of the bed in another sitting area. Plush red velvet chairs surrounded it.
“What’s that,” I asked.
“Seriously?”
I put my hands on my hips.
“This, dear sweet Rose, is a stripper pole.”
I gasped, my skin flushing candy apple red. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He went over to what looked like a TV cabinet. Opening one side he did something and music started to play. It was sultry, electronic, a buzzy frenzy that asked to be danced to. “You ready to practice?”
I sank into one of the chairs. “No, I can’t.”
He opened the other side of the TV cabinet, revealing an actual TV. There was a DVD player underneath. He shut off the music and pressed play on the DVD player. “Come here.”
Sluggishly I walked over, wondering what else he intended to throw at me. Porn? Ugh, I hoped not.
Instead, a beautiful dark-haired woman walked onto a dimly lit stage. She wore what looked like a black velvet bikini, black thigh highs, and black heels. Music started to play and the woman began to move. Like liquid.
Vincent handed me the remote. “Watch this until the food comes.” He left the room and I heard him on the phone. Mesmerized I watched the woman dance, her movements erotic, but not sleazy. It was actually quite beautiful.
A few minutes later a knock rapped against the hotel door.
Vincent opened it, and an elderly man dressed in a white suit jacket with black labels, a white shirt, and a black bow tie entered with a rolling cart covered in a white linen table cloth. On top was a bottle of something and food under silver trays.
“Where would you like it, sir?” the gentlemen asked.
“Over by the chairs,” Vincent said.
“Very good, sir.” The man rolled the cart over to the chairs. “Would you like me to open the bottle of champagne?”
“Yes, that would be great.”
The man gave me a sideways glance, before he got to work popping the cork. “Shall I pour?”
Vincent pulled some money from his wallet and handed it to the man. “No, that’ll be all, thank you.”
The man gave a quick bow. “Very good.” He left shutting the door behind him.
“Come and eat,” Vincent said, picking up the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses.
I went over. “You know I’m only nineteen, right?” I asked, glancing at the bubbling liquid in the champagne glass.
“You aren’t drinking to get drunk. This is medicinal.” He handed me the glass. “A toast.”
“To what?” I asked, hiding my nerves under a giggle.
“To new adventures,” he said.
Chapter 10
When I finished my food, Vincent led me back into the bedroom, and said, “Watch Vivienne dance until her moves are second nature. Your clothes are over there.” He pointed to the velvet couches. “When you’re ready, put them on. Then practice. I’ll be in the outer room working. When you think you’ve got it down, let me know and I’ll watch.” He pulled the double doors until they were almost shut. Glancing at the digital clock next to his bed he said, “You’ve got three hours.” He winked and closed the doors.
Panic, the likes of which I hadn’t felt since my parents died, consumed me. Filling me to the point that I couldn’t stand. Like a crumpled towel I sank onto the bed. The few sips of champagne I drank hadn’t done anything to calm my nerves. My eyes flicked to the TV screen, and I clicked play. I watched the woman wind around the pole, hooking one leg and flinging her body like a ballerina. Her movements were graceful, erotic.
There’s no way I can do this, I thought.
But images of those dead girls flashed through my mind. I didn’t have a choice. I had to help. If Vincent believed I could do it, then I would give it my best shot.
With newfound determination I grabbed the clothes from the bag, and put them on. Just wearing them—the shoes, the dress without a bra, the thigh highs, the gloves, the five-inch heels, even the thong—brought my body to life in ways I hadn’t known existed.
I can shoot a pistol with perfect accuracy, and create my own karate moves, so I can definitely learn to dance like a stripper, I told myself furiously.
Rewinding the video, I got to work.
Three hours later, I opened the doors. Stripping was hard. It was also freeing, and though I was sweaty and sore, I felt like a new, more confident woman.
“You better come and see this,” I said nervously, strutting from his bedroom. Jack and Vincent stood and turned. Two sets of jaws dropped.
I looked down, having momentarily forgotten what I wore. I shrugged off my nerves. I hadn’t planned on doing this for Jack, but if I didn’t show Vincent now, I never would.
“Come on.” I went back into the room, and climbed on the tiny stage with the stripper pole.
Vincent and Jack almost looked more nervous than I did. If I didn’t think I’d puke I would ha
ve laughed out loud.
I picked up the remote and clicked on the music. It was a Britney Spears song. I’d seen her video on MTV where she pretended to be a stripper, so I thought it was appropriate. Walking around the pole, I placed my back to Jack and Vincent. I leaned against the pole’s cool surface. Taking a deep breath, I started to move.
Just like the beautiful woman on the video, I told myself.
I swung my hips from side to side and in a circular motion, spreading my legs and arching my back so the pole nestled in the middle of my ass. Peeking over my shoulder I gave what I hoped was a sultry smile and pulled the Santa hat off my head, tossing it over Vincent and Jack. Bending over, I grabbed the pole between my legs and rocked back and forth.
Vincent frowned, and Jack looked terrified.
I needed better moves, I scolded myself.
Standing quickly I spun around and grabbed the pole with one hand while I trailed the other hand down my body. I slowly pulled one of the red gloves off my hands, keeping time to the music, and let it fall to the floor. Then I did the other glove. A little playful I flung it at Jack.
He didn’t move to grab it.
Crap, maybe I totally sucked.
But I still had my cool pole move. Wrapping one leg around the pole, I shimmied up until I reached the top, and then using my legs to hold on, let my head and upper body fall toward the floor. The red dress slinked to my waist, flashing my red thong and my stomach. I moved my arms and torso to the beat.
Vincent’s face was almost purple. He seemed angry. His jaw flexed, grinding his teeth.
Oh, man. I must really be awful.
I’d warned him.
Grabbing the pole with my hands, I spun my way down, moved away from it and got on my hands and knees, crawling over to Jack. I was too nervous to move toward Vincent, especially since the time had come to take off the top half of my dress.
Rose, Undercover (Dead Roses #1.1) Page 3