“Have you been checking my wife out?” Jason snapped, his face getting that characteristic pissed-off red.
The tech held his hands up in surrender as he backed away. “No more than anyone else will be in an hour or so. She’s pretty hot, man. You gotta know that.”
Jason’s color darkened half a dozen shades. “Well, knock it off before I…”
“Jason,” Cyndi interrupted quietly with a hand on her husband’s arm. “You need to relax. In an hour, dozens of men will be looking at me, and you can’t get angry. You will blow our cover.”
The tech walked out of the room snickering as Jason’s color slowly returned to normal. She secretly enjoyed Jason’s response to the younger man’s comments. It meant he still loved her and would hopefully get over their argument.
“I know, Cyn, but it’s really hard for me to know that you are wearing that get-up for anyone else but me.” He motioned to her red, sequined stilettos. “And those shoes…damn girl…”
Cyndi laughed, causing Jason to shoot her a dirty look. “This is a side of you I didn’t know existed. I had no idea. You know I only want you. This is just a job.”
“I’ve always been the jealous type, Cyndi. And some job…” Jason scoffed.
“Not jealous. I meant turned on by trashy-looking women.”
“You aren’t trashy looking!”
“Oh, please, J.J. I have tassels hanging from my breasts and sequins on my shoes!”
Jason shrugged. “Come on, Cyndi. All men like a little trashy. It’s in our genes. Doesn’t mean we want to marry tramps, but who doesn’t appreciate a little slinky lingerie once in a while?”
“You pay close attention tonight, J.J. I’m going to do a special number tonight just for you.”
“Oh, you can bet I’ll be paying close attention, but I can live without the special number.” He didn’t sound too happy about it. In fact, he sounded pretty pissed off. Cyndi was all out of ways to reassure her husband of her love and fidelity. He was on his own. She had stuff to do.
“You two ready in there?” a loud voice called from the front door.
“Yes, sir, Captain Hanes!” Jason called back. “Come on, it’s time. We have a job to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
The drive to work was charged with a new kind of electric tension. Jason now knew where she went every Friday night. She no longer carried the guilt of lying to him. Instead, she just felt the intense pressure of not wanting to let him—or Jade or Lola—down. She had a different kind of job to do.
Jason would see her dance for the first time. As much as she had tried to downplay it, the thought made her nervous. What would he think when she strutted her stuff to Aerosmith or the song she had selected to surprise him with?
Yes, she had a job to do. And then she had to make up with her husband. The last several days without sex had been majorly upsetting. Jason wasn’t budging on letting her keep the job either. Cyndi sighed. She really did like the gig, but she loved her husband a whole lot more.
Once they figured out where the girls of Sugar Shakers were disappearing to, they would find out why. Jade and Lola needed justice, deserved justice. Cyndi no longer believed that Jade was just going to show up randomly. The girl was most certainly dead, it was just that no one had found her yet. The blood on the young woman’s purse, and the suspect’s attempts to reach out to Cyndi, were proof enough for her. That made her job that night all the more important.
Cyndi just hoped her marriage could stand up to what she had to do that night. Jason hadn’t lied. He was always the jealous type, even when they were high school sweethearts—when he protected Harper. At least their daughter was safe for the moment, hanging out at her grandparents’ house in Norfolk, most likely eating way too much ice cream and staying up way too late.
Cyndi parked the car on the road under a street lamp. A surveillance team would be watching the automobile since the perpetrator had approached her vehicle on several occasions. Grabbing her bag off the front seat, she locked the car and crossed the street. There was no line at the front door, but she decided to use the alley entrance anyway. No telling what she might see, hear, or find back there that could help the investigation
As she approached the side of the building, Cyndi heard a rustling noise from the alley. “You all hear that?” she whispered into the tiny mic on her chest.
“Shhh…don’t talk to us!” a voice echoed in her ear. The tiny ear wig was all but invisible on the outside, but she was well aware of it in her ear canal. “Act natural. If you need help, there are officers just a few steps away.”
Cyndi started to look for said officers, but a voice her ear warned her to stop. “Just act natural, Mrs. Mills. We got your six.”
Act natural, Cyndi. You got this.
Ignoring the rustling sounds, she lifted her head high and headed into the darkened alley.
Roxy stood by the back door, smoking a Lucky Strike. Someone had replaced the single bulb with one of those yellow anti-bug bulbs. It spread a dim glow over the older woman, accentuating the harshness of her features. Dark bags hung under her eyes, and her lips, which were normally painted bright red, were pale and nearly lost against the rest of her features.
“Hey, sugah, you sneaking in the back way again?” Roxy sounded sad. Cyndi cocked her head to the side and studied the other woman. In the dim yellow light, she could see the reflection of tears dampening Roxy’s cheeks.
“You all right, Roxy?”
Roxy swiped at the wetness with the back of one weathered hand. “Imma fine, Liberty. Why you ask?”
“It looks like you were crying.”
“I don’t cry.” She wiped at her cheeks again.
“Well then, your eyes are leaking. What’s up, Roxy?”
The older woman sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a wadded up tissue she pulled out of her shirt sleeve. “You hear about Lola?”
“Yeah. It was all over the news.”
“That cop husband of yours workin’ on her case?”
“Not specifically.” Not as specifically as she was.
“She was a good girl. Lola didn’t deserve to die that way.” Roxy wiped away another stray tear.
“What way?” As far as Cyndi knew, Lola’s official cause of death hadn’t been released yet.
“Murdered!” Roxy wailed as she turned away.
Cyndi watched Roxy’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. In her ear a voice whispered, “We never told the media she was murdered. See if she knows anything.”
“What makes you think she was murdered, Roxy? The news didn’t say anything about that.”
Roxy went still. “It didn’t? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The other woman turned around slowly, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt. “I guess I just assumed…I mean, Lola was from Hawaii, a damned island! She should have been able to handle the ocean.”
Roxy was holding something back. Cyndi could sense it but didn’t know how to dig deeper without making the other woman suspicious.
“I’m sure the police will figure out what happened to her soon.” Cyndi threw an arm over Roxy’s shoulders. “Come on, Roxy, let’s go inside and get ready. The crowd is getting rowdy in there waiting on you.”
“Yeah, all right. I guess my standing around here blubbering isn’t gonna do Lola any kind of good.”
“Keep an eye on that one,” a voice whispered in her ear piece. “She knows more than she is letting on.”
Cyndi held the door to the club open for Roxy. Voices from the main floor chanted “Roxy! Roxy!” as they made their way to the dressing room. In a flash, Roxy was in her yellow and green sequined body suit with the coordinating tutu, all signs of tears and sadness gone from her face. She grabbed up a canary yellow boa and draped it over her shoulders, sashaying out of the room without another word to Cyndi. In seconds, the strains of Great White’s “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” filled the club as the crowd stopped chanting and started singing
along to the throaty tune.
Cyndi busied herself fluffing and spraying her hair and straightening her costume while she waited her turn to perform. She couldn’t help but wonder if Jason was enjoying the show just a little more than he should. Roxy was rough around the edges, but the woman knew how to work a stage, and the regulars loved her. The idea of Jason getting turned on by another woman did not make her happy.
Roxy had one song left when Cyndi couldn’t stand it anymore. When she took a trip to the DJ booth to request her new song as an excuse, she stole a peek around the curtains. Her husband leaned casually against the bar, nursing a drink—probably water, Jason never drank alcohol—and watched Roxy with interest. It was hard to tell the source of the intrigue. Was it the dancing that had him looking so intent, or the possibility that he considered everyone in the place a suspect?
She ducked back behind the curtain, her hands shaking. Dancing had never made her nervous before, not even on her very first night. Having Jason and the guys he worked with watching her amped up the stakes a little. This was no private dance in their bedroom or an anonymous dance to an anonymous crowd. These guys knew her, had eaten dinner at her house, and their wives were her friends.
“You are doing this for Lola and Jade,” she whispered to calm her nerves.
“Did you say something, Mrs. Mills?” The voice in her ear mic startled her. It was surprisingly loud and clear despite the deep bass pounding in the background.
“Um, no. I was just talking to myself. Thanks.”
“How long until you are on stage? We want to cut the mic—the music is pretty loud in there.”
“About thirty seconds. How will you know what’s going on if you cut the mic?”
“We have a couple cameras planted. Your husband and a couple other guys are scattered through the crowd.”
“All right. Roxy’s about done.”
As the older woman came spinning off the stage, she passed Cyndi and called, “There’s a real hottie leaning up against the bar!”
She peeked back through the curtains. The only guy that might have been described as a “hottie” leaning against the bar was Jason. He was alone at the bar except for one of the grabby regulars, Harold. Cyndi shivered involuntarily. Harold gave her—and all the girls—the creeps. There was something in the way he looked at them—like he wanted to wear their skin or something.
“You hear that, Hap?” a voice whispered in her ear, obviously not talking to her. “The old broad called Mills a hottie! He’s down with the geriatric stripper set!”
“Never thought of Mills as a hottie. Guess I can see it though, from a chick point of view,” a second voice, presumably that of Hap, whispered back.
“Roxy is hardly a geriatric!” she snapped into the mic. “And watch what you say about Jason…unless you want me to tell him.”
“Oh, shit,” someone mumbled. “I thought you hit the mute button.”
“I thought you did,” the other person responded.
“You boys need to mind your own business,” Cyndi snapped. “You don’t know anything about any of these people.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Mills. You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”
“Well, I did. It’s nice to know you think my husband is a hottie, Hap.”
She could almost feel his embarrassment. “You aren’t gonna tell him that, are you?”
“I just might, when I am done with my first set. There’s a guy, a regular, sitting by the stage at a small round table. Balding, soft in the middle. Creepy. Might be worth checking out.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Mills. We got it.”
“Show time, boys. You might want to turn down the volume.”
On cue, Confederate Railroad’s “Trashy Women” pulsed from the speakers, her special tribute to Jason. She burst onto the stage, strutting her stuff for all she was worth. Tassels spinning, Cyndi worked that pole like it was her lover.
She leapt across the stage, dropping into a full split as the song spread its magic over the crowd. All her previous nerves disappeared. Who cared if Jason and his boys were in the audience? She was there to do a job, and she was going to do it. If the guys got a show, then they were going to get the best damned show she could give them.
Cyndi was back at the pole. She caught a quick glimpse of Jason; his expression was grim. She pushed him from her mind. The music had her pumped, and the crowd went wild as she threw one stiletto-clad foot high in the air with a kick that would have made a Rockette jealous.
“Woo hoo!” Catcalls and whistles sounded through the crowd as she swung a wide arc around the pole that ended with a spinning pirouette. “Lady Liberty!”
Performing was exhilarating. For a minute, she forgot why she was really there that night as she basked in the noise of the crowd. Jason moved into her sight line—the thin set of his lips was all the reminder she needed. The next few songs in her set passed quickly as she worked through her usual routines.
When the last note of her favorite routine, “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” trickled away into silence, the crowd erupted. Cyndi was a favorite at Sugar Shakers.
“Mrs. Mills? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Cyndi answered as she waved to the crowd and ran from the stage.
“Okay, we are back and recording. We checked on your guy, baldy there. Name’s Harold Schmidt. He has an interesting record of assault and several sexual misconduct charges.”
“I didn’t know that. He’s always creepy, but I had no idea how creepy.”
“We need you to talk to him.”
“Um, okay…how do I manage that without looking suspicious?”
She glanced around to make sure no one noticed her talking to her breasts. The DJ was spinning some intermittent tunes until the next dancer came out. No one paid her any attention.
“Well, Mrs. Mills, this is an exotic dance club, can’t you give him a lap dance or something?”
“A lap dance?”
“Umm…yeah…” The voice in her ear hesitated a little.
Roxy sometimes gave lap dances to earn a few extra bucks. Lola and Jade did too. In fact, now that she thought about it, she was the only dancer who didn’t. She was undercover for a reason, to find Jade and Lola’s kidnapper. She could manage a little something with old Harold Schmidt to help bring her friends justice, couldn’t she?
“All right, I’ll give it a shot, but you have to distract Jason or something.”
“He’s a police officer, ma’am, trained in undercover work. He’ll be fine.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Mills will be fine. He wants to get the guy as much as the rest of us.”
They were wrong, but it wasn’t her problem. His supervisors could handle Jason if need be. She had a job to do, and suddenly Harold was looking pretty guilty of the disappearances, given his previous history.
“Okay, if you say so.”
Strutting her stuff toward Harold, Cyndi almost changed her mind. Before making her move, she scanned the room for Jason. Her husband was nowhere in sight, so she took a deep breath and walked around the older man, running her hand across the back of his shoulder blades.
“How ’bout a lap dance tonight?” Cyndi asked in her best sexy voice. She had never tried to be sexy for anyone but Jason. She batted her fake eyelashes.
“From Liberty? Hell yeah,” he replied, brushing crumbs from his shirt and patting a knee.
“Twenty dollars first.” Having zero experience in the lap dance department, Cyndi improvised from what she had seen the other girls do.
Jason was the only man she had ever had any sexual encounters with, so she had no idea what turned other guys on, but all men liked breasts, so that seemed like a good place to start.
“You can put the money right here.” She bent over, exposing her cleavage so the man could stick the twenty in the space. Harold tucked the bill in just a little further than he needed to, and he shot her a toothy grin that grossed her out. Cyndi smiled back anyway with a l
ittle lick of her lips. Harold moaned in response. If the tent that was pitched in his khakis was any indication, Cyndi was doing all right so far.
Parting his knees with her hands, she turned away from him and shimmied down Harold’s body just enough to rub her booty up against him. As she ran her hands up and down his thighs, she stuck her ass a little higher up in the air for him to tip her. He knew exactly what she wanted. Sliding another paper bill into the crease of her costume, he copped a little extra feel of her cheek. Cyndi tried to ignore it and continued on her mission. As she turned around to face her client again, she kicked up each leg so she could straddle the man. Leaning her head back slightly, she ran one hand seductively across her body as she strategically teased Harold with the gyration of her hips, careful not to make any sex on sex contact.
Out of nowhere, Jason appeared by the bar. As she made eye contact with him, his crimson flushed cheeks and hard-set mouth said it all. Her husband was absolutely furious. She would just have to explain later and hope he understood.
“Ask him where he was Friday night,” the voice in her ear whispered.
“I remember seeing you here last week. You and Lola got a little friendly.” She shimmied a little more before raising her hands over her head and leaning back, exposing her cleavage.
“Mmmhmm…” Harold responded, a goofy grin on his face. His hand lifted toward her breasts.
“Uh-uh…no touching.” Cyndi batted her eyelashes again. Harold seemed to like that. “Where did you go when you left the club last Friday?” Cyndi inquired, working hard to make the words sound seductive, a promise of something more.
“Oh, you know…here and there,” Harold replied as his head fell back and he shifted his hips. Cyndi all but leaped off his lap as the hardness in his pants brushed her thigh.
“Push him more,” the voice instructed. “You’ve almost got him.”
“I missed you for my second set,” she teased, rising from where she was seated and walking around Harold, trailing her fingers up one of his arms, across his shoulders, and down the other side. “No sense in Lola having all the fun.”
Undercover in Six Inch Stilettos Page 15