He nodded. “No, you’re not.”
“He already knows who I am.” She scribbled something on her notepad. “He knew right from the start. Leanna showed him my picture.”
He swore under his breath. “You need to get out of here. Quit.”
“That’s not going to happen. He knows something, and he’s willing to tell me.” She tipped her head toward the stage. “Someone wants your attention.”
He couldn’t stop her without making a scene, so he hunched over the table and tipped the dancer.
Did he have to try to fit in so convincingly?
She hadn’t even taken his drink order, but she’d seen the empty shot glasses on his table and the glass of water. She suspected that he dumped some of his vodka in the water glass to keep his head clear.
When she returned to the bar, Jerome waved her on to the other bartender. Was he afraid she’d start asking him more questions?
The next time she returned to Alexei’s table, she included a note with Rage written on his cocktail napkin.
She placed the shot glass brimming with vodka on the napkin and smiled. “But don’t show yourself. We’re meeting in front, but I don’t know if we’re going inside. Do you know the place?”
“I don’t, but I’ll be there before you. Don’t go anywhere with him.”
“I won’t.” She took the cash he held out. “Enjoy the show—but not too much.”
She hurried away from his table. Why had she said that? He was going to get the wrong impression of her, which was that she found him devastatingly attractive, and the only topless woman she wanted him ogling was her.
Nope, that was the right impression, all right.
The next time she turned around from the bar, Alexei was gone. Just as well. Maybe she’d see him at Rage.
She and Jerome avoided each other, too. In fact, this whole club was becoming a minefield.
Closing time couldn’t come soon enough.
As the club emptied out, Sergei emerged from his office and smacked the bar. “Jerome, you take off early tonight. Irina and I stay for audition, and we’ll close up.”
“Are you sure?” Jerome’s eyebrows collided over his nose. “I don’t have a problem closing.”
“I know you don’t. We got this one.”
Jerome shrugged but the crease remained across his forehead. He finished what he was doing and left the rest for Sergei.
As Britt brought up the last of the candles to the bar, Sergei smoothed his finger on a lock of her hair and then wrapped it around his finger.
“You want to stay and watch audition, Barbie Doll? Maybe you learn something.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, but she managed to turn her lips into a smile. “No, thanks. I’ll leave the dancing to Jessie.”
She inclined her head to escape.
His grip tightened on her hair for a split second, and then he released it. “Serve yourself.”
“It’s ‘suit yourself.’” She smacked her pad of paper on top of the bar and wiggled her fingers at Jessie. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
Britt slipped through the back door and leaned against it for a few seconds, taking deep breaths of garbage-scented air. She preferred it to the air in the club.
Something moved to her right, and she jumped.
The homeless guy from the day before held out his hand. “Any spare change?”
She dug a couple of bucks of her tip money from her purse and thrust them at him. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m Calvin.”
“Nice to meet you, Calvin. I’m Barbie. Take it easy out here.”
“You, too.”
She loped down the alleyway and hopped into her car. Maybe Jerome had information that Alexei could use, information he didn’t know what to do with on his own.
Britt looked up the directions to Rage on her phone and joined a line of cars in the late-night traffic. From what she knew about this city, parking wouldn’t be easy to find on the Strip even at this hour.
She drove around the block and then headed down a side street, finally parallel parking in front of an apartment building. She squinted at the sign proclaiming permit parking only and shrugged. If she got a citation, she’d put it down to the price for Jerome’s information.
Tugging at her short skirt, she strode down the sidewalk toward the lights and hubbub of Sunset Boulevard, her tennis shoes a welcome relief from the heels she wore on the job. She turned left at the corner and then ran to make the light to cross the street.
Halfway into the crosswalk, she spied Jerome leaning against Rage’s exterior. A steady flow of pedestrians crisscrossed in front of him, most heading home after a night of partying but some still looking for action.
Was Rage still open? Did Jerome believe they could talk under cover of the noise and crowd inside? Alexei didn’t want her going anywhere with Jerome, but they couldn’t very well stand out on the sidewalk and discuss a Russian crime family—if Jerome even knew that was what he was dealing with.
She reached the other side of the street and walked toward Jerome, who’d shoved off the building. They made eye contact.
A bunch of people staggered out of the bar behind Jerome, hanging on each other and laughing. The surge of humanity moved toward him and engulfed him, one of the party even grabbing Jerome’s hand to drag him along for the hilarity.
Jerome broke away from her and stumbled against a man coming up behind him. Jerome turned and jerked, as if exchanging words with the man.
Britt picked up her pace, the group from the bar now impeding her progress. Somebody screamed, and Britt pushed past the last woman in the group, her heart pounding out of her chest.
When she had a clear view of Jerome again, he was on his knees, clutching his midsection. A rush of adrenaline shot through Britt, and she careered forward on wobbly legs.
Someone else screamed, and by the time Britt reached Jerome, he had fallen on his side, blood soaking the front of his shirt.
Britt dropped to her knees, pressing her hands against Jerome’s tattered, bloody shirt. “Call 911. Somebody call 911.”
She leaned forward, her nose almost touching Jerome’s. “Who stabbed you?”
He parted his lips, and a trickle of blood and foam ran into his ear. “I loved her. I loved Lee. They killed her.”
Chapter Five
“Walk past him, walk past him, walk past him.” Alexei murmured the words like an incantation, but his spell failed.
He watched through narrowed eyes as Britt rushed to the fallen man and crouched beside him. The crowd around the victim ebbed and flowed—some scrambling away from the mayhem, and others circling in morbid fascination. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance, but too close for comfort or, at least, Britt’s safety.
Alexei righted his bike and kicked up the stand with his boot. Traffic on the Strip had slowed to a crawl—a combination of the bars closing and the commotion on the sidewalk outside of Rage.
He edged his motorcycle into the traffic and then pulled an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. He rolled to a stop in front of the red curb and yelled, “Britt! Britt!”
She whipped her head around, her face a pale oval, her arms elbow-deep in Jerome’s blood.
“Get away from him now. Get on the bike.”
Britt was no longer the only person kneeling beside Jerome. A man had ripped off his shirt and had it bunched against Jerome’s stomach. A woman stood on the curb waving her arms. The sirens’ blare sounded closer.
Alexei got ready to park his bike and haul Britt away from the scene if necessary, but she staggered to her feet. She spun around, wiping her hands on her skirt. With jerky movements, she made her way to the curb just as the first emergency vehicle pulled to a stop behind his bike.
“Climb on th
e back and hold on. I’ll give you my helmet in a minute.” He dipped the bike to one side, and as soon as he felt Britt’s arms around his waist, he gunned it.
He turned right off Sunset and headed for the hills—literally. The Hollywood Hills climbed up above the noise and madness of the street, and Alexei kept going until he reached an unpaved road that circled around the property of one of the big houses.
He cut the engine and pulled off his helmet. “Are you okay? You looked ready to faint back there.”
“I—I’m fine. There was so much blood from his chest to his abdomen.”
“Stabbed.” Alexei climbed off the bike and held out his arm to support Britt. “Did they kill him?”
“He was still alive when I reached him. Then he lost consciousness. I don’t know if he died or not.” She covered her face with one bloodstained hand.
“Hop off. There’s a place to sit on the log here. I don’t think the homeowners will mind too much...as long as they don’t see or hear us.” He placed the helmet on the ground and took her arm.
She slid from the back of the bike and collapsed on the log, a sparkling view of LA below wasted on them. “It was horrible. I didn’t even see who did it.”
“It was a man who came up behind him. He used the partygoers as a cover. He probably stole Jerome’s wallet for good measure to make it look like a robbery.” He sat beside her on the log.
She choked. “Did he walk past me?”
“No. He ran into the street after he stabbed Jerome, dodging cars and ducking between them. I lost sight of him, and I think he may have gotten into a car that was part of the line of traffic on the street.” He rubbed her back, feeling the ripples of fear still coursing through her body. “That’s a good thing. He didn’t know Jerome was meeting you. Didn’t see you.”
“How did they know he was there at that particular time?”
“Sergei probably had him followed from the Tattle-Tale. I’m sorry they attacked Jerome, but I’m glad you weren’t with him.”
“Do you think we can find out where the ambulance took him and check up on him?”
“We probably won’t need to do that. A stabbing in the middle of the Sunset Strip? Even if it goes down as a street mugging, that’s going to be news.” He tucked a lock of hair behind Britt’s ear. Solnishka.
“God, the blood.” She rubbed her palms against her skirt. “I don’t know how he could’ve survived that.”
“I’m sorry you had to see it. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”
“He loved her, you know.” A tear dropped from her lashes and rolled down her face.
“Your sister? Jerome spoke to you before he passed out?”
She dipped her head and more tears dripped off the end of her jaw. “Yes. He told me he loved Lee. He told me something else, as well.”
Alexei wedged a knuckle beneath her chin and tilted her head. “What did he say?”
“He told me they killed...Tatyana. That’s why Leanna was so scared. She knew what they’d done.”
Not a surprise, but why kill a woman about to make some money for you?
“I suppose he didn’t say why Tatyana was murdered, did he? You weren’t by his side that long before that man joined you, the one who took off his shirt.” He cupped Britt’s face with one hand, his fingers nestling in her hair.
“He didn’t say. He told me he loved Lee and that they killed her. I thought he meant they killed Lee, but when I asked him, he said it was Tatyana they killed. I asked him if he knew what happened to Lee, but he lost consciousness at that point.”
“Maybe he’ll make it.” Alexei didn’t have much confidence Jerome would survive that attack. Sergei’s guy would’ve made sure of that.
Britt pinned her hands between her bouncing knees. “Why do you think Sergei had Jerome killed? Do you think he knew about him and Lee?”
“If he did, he would’ve made a move on Jerome earlier. You said your sister’s been missing a month?”
“Over a month.” She hunched her shoulders. “Do you think Sergei heard me and Jerome or maybe saw us talking on camera?”
“Sergei would’ve had his guy wait for you, too. It must be something else Jerome did to set off Sergei’s suspicions. I wonder what Jerome was doing in the club last night after hours.”
“I think Jerome was worried that Sergei may have seen him on the footage from the night before because he seemed nervous when Sergei told him to leave early.”
“Turns out Jerome had good reason to be nervous.” He put his arm around Britt and drew her close. “I’ll get you back to your car.”
She grabbed his jacket in her fist. “Alexei, I’m...scared. I don’t want to go back to my place tonight, not alone, anyway. Can you follow me home?”
“What if someone’s watching your place?” He held up a hand when she gasped. “I’m not saying you’re under their surveillance, but they just attacked Jerome, and you were ten feet down the sidewalk from him.”
“I hope his attacker didn’t recognize me.” She folded her arms across her stomach.
He didn’t want to send Britt back to her apartment by herself, but he didn’t want to risk being seen with her if someone was watching her place. He had a solution that made perfect sense.
“Why don’t you come to my hotel with me tonight? Nobody’s going to be watching me, and nobody followed us up here.”
“Wh-where are you staying?”
“Beverly Hills.”
“Must be nice.”
“Let’s just say I’m setting up a certain persona—in order to make contact with the Belkins.”
“Like some wealthy Russian businessman or something?”
“Something like that.”
Her shoulders slumped forward as if she’d been holding her breath. “I appreciate the invitation, if it’s not too much trouble for you to put me up in your hotel room.”
“Not at all.”
The only trouble for him would be keeping his hands to himself.
* * *
ALEXEI PUSHED OPEN the door of his room, and Britt tripped across the threshold with her mouth open. “This isn’t a room. It’s a suite.”
“Yeah, I think all the rooms on this floor are suites. Feel free to make yourself at home.”
He let the door slam behind him, and Britt jumped.
“I’m sorry. You’re still on edge.”
She shrugged out of his leather jacket, once more inhaling the scent that had made her feel safe as she clung to him on his motorcycle, and hung it on the back of a white upholstered chair.
Spreading her arms, she said, “I suppose it doesn’t help that I look and feel like a wreck. It’s a good thing you have a bike that you were able to park close to a side door. I don’t think the doorman would’ve let me in looking like this.”
“You look like that—” he sketched lines in the air with his finger “—because you came to a man’s aid. Having said that, you do have blood on your skirt, blood smears on your blouse, and that helmet didn’t do your hair any favors.”
She put a hand to her head. “I’m almost afraid to look in the mirror.”
“This hotel supplies plenty of big fluffy towels and so many toiletries in there I don’t even know what they are.” He waved his hand toward the other room. “I pretty much limit myself to the shampoo and the soap, so knock yourself out.”
“What about clothes?” She plucked her white blouse, stiff with Jerome’s blood, out of the waistband of her skirt. “I can’t exactly put these back on.”
“In addition to those big fluffy towels, the hotel provides his and her bathrobes. I’m not a bathrobe kinda guy, so take your pick. That’ll suffice for tonight at least.”
She pointed to the door leading to the bedroom. “Through there?”
“Yeah, robe’s in the closet.” Alexei crossed the room to t
he writing table by the window. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to try to find out some info on Jerome.”
“I pray he makes it.”
“Me, too.”
Britt snapped the bedroom door behind her. Sagging against the wall, she covered her face with her hands. What if Sergei had the same man go after Leanna? When Jerome had said that they’d killed her, Britt had almost collapsed on top of him. Then he’d clarified that he meant Tatyana. Was that any better? Leanna had somehow become embroiled with Tatyana’s problems and put her own life in danger.
That was so Leanna.
Buffeted by life’s inconsistencies and cruelties, Leanna had a soft heart and always reached out to others in trouble. If she’d had half the compassion Leanna did, she’d have come to her sister’s rescue a lot sooner.
Britt turned toward the mirrored closet and stumbled to a halt. She gagged at the blood smearing her clothes and even stuck in her hair, the night’s terror crashing all around her again.
She toed off her shoes and yanked the skirt off over her hips. She practically ripped the buttons from her blouse in her haste to peel it from her body. She dropped it on top of the skirt and slid open the closet door.
Alexei’s clothes rustled with the movement, and although she wanted nothing more than to run her hands through his things and press her face against the soft materials, she hung back. She’d wiped off most of Jerome’s blood on her skirt, but the remains still stained her hands pink. She’d probably already gotten blood on his jacket when she’d climbed onto the back of his bike as the cops arrived.
Alexei had been right to get her out of there. She’d have a hard time explaining to Sergei why she’d been with Jerome after hours.
She yanked one of the terry-cloth robes from its hanger and trailed it on the floor behind her as she walked to the bathroom. She stood at the entrance to the bathroom, drinking in the black-and-white tiled floor, the step-down oval tub with Jacuzzi jets and the open shower with two showerheads facing each other. The whole setup gave her sinful ideas about the man in the other room, but she was here to heal and recover—not seduce.
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