Trick Play (Mavericks Tackle Love Book 3)

by Max Monroe

  “Okay. Okay. I can see when I’m not wanted.” He chuckled and raised both hands in the air.

  “Definitely not wanted.”

  He feigned discomfort and held his hand to his chest. “You wound me, cuz.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You can go now.”

  He grinned. “I’ll guess I’ll see you at family dinner?”

  “Yep, and let’s not make it anytime sooner than that,” I said, and his responding chuckles followed him out of my office door.

  Sometimes, my family was a real pain in my ass, but today, Steve had done me a favor. Who knew how long I would have let the flirtation with Cam go on if he hadn’t interrupted me.

  “Hey, Sarge,” I greeted as I walked into Sergeant Miller’s office.

  He ran the undercover unit within Hoboken PD, and if it weren’t for his willingness to let me get creative in my current case, I probably never would have been allowed to set up such an elaborate operation to bring Marco Sabella down.

  Going undercover as a stripper for a prolonged period of time wasn’t what you’d consider normal police protocol.

  Of course, it wasn’t the first time it’d been done, but it wasn’t something a lot of police forces utilized. This type of undercover work was difficult to execute, and more than that, it was pretty fucking dangerous.

  “I see you’ve been busy,” he said with a slight nod toward the file sitting on his desk. “Looks like you had a successful weekend.”

  Last night, I’d sent him an update on the Sabella case.

  That file contained the aliases Sabella had been using to buy up real estate within Hoboken’s and New York’s city limits, along with the aliases he used for deeds and bank accounts. It also included everyone involved with the prostitution ring and twenty possible informants within his drug organization.

  “We have enough intel to convince Judge Stewart to give us our search warrants for Sabella’s real estate properties,” I started to explain. “And, between the tapped phone conversations we already have and the evidence we’ll find inside those properties, I’m certain we’ll have what we need to put a kibosh on his prostitution ring.”

  “Good,” he said and flipped through the pages of my updated report. “We’ll keep this in our back pocket for now.”

  The thought of sitting on information I’d put blood, sweat, and countless hours into acquiring stung. But I knew we had to keep it on the back burner.

  If we arrested Marco Sabella now, we might as well say sayonara to stopping the most important and crucial aspect of this case—his drug trade.

  Yes, the man deserved to be behind bars, but right now, we needed him to keep going about his business. It was the only way.

  Until we could link him materially with the Cortalona Cartel in Venezuela, we might as well have had nothing. It didn’t matter that we knew the product, the dealers, and the locations. It didn’t matter that we had years of resources and hundreds of man hours on this thing.

  If we moved too quickly, it’d all be for nothing.

  We had to have all of our eggs in one basket and know beyond all reasonable doubt how his operation worked. Our case couldn’t have any holes or room for questions.

  “And what about this list of twenty possible informants?” he asked.

  “Each and every one of those informants I’ve tracked down is dealing with Sabella,” I explained. “Most of them will probably keep their fucking mouths shut for fear of retribution, but I think there’s at least one or two in there that will sing like canaries when faced with the ugly consequences of tight lips.”

  “I hope their songs include sheet music. We need a paper trail to the Cortalonas.”

  “Me too,” I answered.

  “The DEA would have a fucking field day with that kind of intel.”

  I grinned. “I’m sure they would, Sarge.”

  “Well,” he started and leaned back in his desk chair and crossed both arms behind his head. “Consider me impressed. Good work, Simone.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “I’ll get patrol to start tracking these informants, and you just keep your head down and ears open while you’re inside the club.”

  “Will do.” I nodded and stood to my feet.

  “And, Lana?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be smart out there. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Let’s get these fuckers nailed soon. I’m not too keen on keeping one of my best detectives so close to a piece of shit like Sabella.”

  “You got it, Sarge.”

  As I walked out of his office, I couldn’t stop my mind from replaying his final words.

  Be smart out there.

  Don’t take any unnecessary risks.

  Instantly, one larger-than-life and irresistible man popped into my mind.

  Is Cam an unnecessary risk?

  My heart took up residence in my throat when the words Cam and unnecessary were combined in the same thought.

  Deep down, I knew the answer—I just didn’t like it.

  Without a doubt.

  The red neon Skins sign glowed in the foggy night air as I pulled to a stop on my Harley in the parking lot and killed the engine.

  With a shove of a foot, I engaged the kickstand and tipped the bike to the side, swung my leg over, and pulled my half helmet up and off my head.

  The bass from the heavy music inside pulsed in the relatively still Wednesday night surroundings and shook through my insides just enough to give my nerves an extra buzz of excitement.

  Seeing Lana here at work, where I couldn’t even call her by her real name and anyone else was privy to the soft lines of her body, wasn’t ideal, but after four days of so little contact with her, I’d finally broken down and caved. I was more than willing to take what I could get.

  After locking the handlebars to prevent them from turning and anyone from making off with my Softail, I made my way to the front entrance, nodded to the bouncer at the door who was apparently getting to know my face, and stepped into the dark, thrumming front hall.

  The lights were dim everywhere, and it took almost a full minute to adjust to the strobing, smoky lighting, but I was too excited to take my time.

  Around the main curtain, draped artfully to one side to conceal the main stage but still allow for entry, I found the club of adult action already in full swing.

  My good pal Chastity was swinging around a pole on the main stage, her legs out in an overextended split, and two other girls were backing her up on the stages to each side.

  A crowd of men was gathered in a booth, smoking cigars and watching the dancing while conversing every so often. Marco, the owner, sat in the middle of it all with his arms extended to each side in a relaxed position.

  The bar was busy as bra-wearing cocktail waitresses filled orders and prepared shots, and a girl was prancing toward the back private rooms with a lucky, college-aged guy in tow.

  All in all, it was a busy night, I thought, for the middle of the week, but Trixie wasn’t anywhere to be found.

  I didn’t know her schedule and I probably should’ve sent her a text or called the club to see if she was working, but it wasn’t like I’d been solely acting off of sane and rational thoughts since I’d first laid eyes on Lana.

  Lately, impulsivity had become more of a constant than I liked to admit.

  My lips turned down slightly in disappointment, but I talked myself down pretty quickly. There was still a whole area in the back to which I didn’t have access.

  It was entirely possible she was here, just waiting her turn to perform.

  After a quick secondary scan, I redirected my focus to the entrance behind the main stage in the back. I weaved through the crowd, intent to ask one of the girls if they’d seen Trixie back there, but a hand on my arm caught me off guard.

  Marco, it seemed, had noticed I was here.

  “Cameron!” he crowed. “So glad to see you here again.”

  I did the nod and smiled the smile, hoping he’d keep this greeting
quick and easy and move on, but he had other ideas.

  “Come, come,” he encouraged, pulling me toward the stage without leaving room for argument. “Sit with me and my friends. Enjoy the show. Have a cigar.”

  I considered declining, telling him I was really just here to see Trixie, but the wisdom of admitting something like that didn’t seem rich with reward. Plus, I was almost certain Lana would frown on bringing that much attention to the new depth of our connection.

  “All right,” I agreed instead, powering my body forward enough that he’d get hip to the idea that I wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to be pulled.

  As he released my arm and smiled again, I fought the uncomfortable roll of my stomach and worked on getting over it.

  It wasn’t like I wanted this guy to be my new best friend, but if I wanted to hang around Lana—and sometimes do it here—it’d be in my best interest to play the part enough to get on his good side.

  The smoke thickened as we stepped into the official boys’ club, and several sets of calculating eyes came my direction. I squared my jaw and held my ground as each of them looked me over.

  “This is Cameron,” Marco introduced. “He plays for the New York Mavericks.”

  “Cam,” I insisted as the steely faces melted into smiles. Apparently, I’d been deemed harmless enough to include.

  A round of hellos and chin tips later, and Marco had me sitting next to him with a glass of whiskey in my hand.

  I had to hand it to the guy. He had a killer memory for customers’ preferences, and if Trixie was any indication, excellent taste in the kind of woman men were really looking for. That unbidden thought sent another uncomfortable wave through my gut, and I did my best to ignore it. Now sure as fuck wasn’t the time to get pensive.

  “So tell us, Cam,” one of the other guys started, moving his cigar out of his mouth just long enough to mutter the question. “What’s it like playing for the Mavericks? Is Wes Lancaster as coldhearted as they say he is?”

  The rest of the group laughed, and I thawed a little into the comfort of talking about football. If this was all they pushed me for, I’d be able to navigate my way through the night no problem.

  “It’s a great team, and Lancaster’s got his heart in it. He expects a fucking lot, but I can’t even really envision myself working for an owner who cares less than he does.”

  “Ah,” Marco hummed. “Spoken like a true professional.”

  The other men nodded in respect. Apparently, they appreciated a man who wouldn’t insubordinate his superior, even in the company of strangers.

  I wondered briefly what kind of men they were—what kind of business they had their hands in. I had a feeling it wasn’t exactly clean.

  From behind, a pink-tipped, long-fingered, tanned hand settled onto Marco’s shoulder, and he looked back to find the owner. Curious, I did the same, glancing between the woman I hadn’t really seen before—redheaded, young, scantily clad, and done up—and Marco before diverting my attention back to the group.

  Marco didn’t seem like the kind of man who liked to be watched, despite his propensity for watching, and I didn’t feel like pushing my luck. Still, I listened intently as the two of them interacted.

  “Yes, doll.” He glanced to my glass and noticed it getting empty before adding, “And another whiskey for Cameron. Then come around and see me.”

  She nodded and skimmed her hand across Marco’s shoulder before sashaying away, and I allowed myself the curiosity to turn and watch her go.

  She was beautiful. Genuine.

  But a poor comparison to the woman I was hoping to see.

  Marco, unfortunately, took my curiosity and interpreted it as interest. “You like her, Cam?” he asked, and I shook my head.

  He laughed at that, taking a puff of his cigar and staring at me hard. “Right. That’s Ana. She’s normally mine, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I declined, but a gleam in Marco’s eye suggested he didn’t exactly take my word at face value. Or maybe he did, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want to.

  Ana returned swiftly, handing Marco a fresh drink and then passing me a whiskey. I accepted it with a smile but didn’t offer much else.

  Marco snapped his fingers as she rounded the sofa to come to him like he’d asked, and I hurried to reiterate that a private dance was unnecessary.

  Really unnecessary.

  “I don’t need a dance, Marco. Really. I’m short on time and need to be heading out soon.”

  It was a lie, and quite frankly, the fucking last thing I wanted to do without seeing Lana, but the wolves were circling a little too close, and a smart hunter knew when to retreat and try again later.

  “Fine, fine, Cameron,” Marco agreed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But as Ana stopped in front of him, leaned in, and listened intently as he whispered to her, it became pretty clear my exhale had been premature.

  With a wink and a nod, she moved to the side stage directly in front of our group, climbed up, and started dancing.

  It was public and blessedly better than something in private, but it was also clear that Marco intended this public dance to be directed at me. Ana homed in, focusing in my direction and swaying her hips for my attention. She made short work of removing her top, a move I was sure Marco had prompted, and let her plump breasts swing freely for my view. I kept watch on the stage—I didn’t think Marco would drop the issue if I didn’t—but I blanked my mind and focused on the music instead. The beat. The lyrics. All of it was finite, and when it came to a close, so would the dance.

  I focused on the end game instead of the journey, and Marco eventually went back to chatting with his friends.

  When the song finally came to a close, I knew two things.

  The first opportunity I had, I’d be making a swift exit.

  And no matter what, I couldn’t let Marco know how attached I’d become to Trixie.

  There was apparently no limit to how far he was willing to go to distract me from a woman he so obviously considered his biggest asset at his club.

  But, through my eyes, Lana wasn’t a mere asset. She was way more than just beauty personified. She was wicked smart and intriguing and funny as hell. She was the one and only woman who had ever truly held my attention.

  I knew it was fucking crazy. But God, it was the truth.

  Normally, I didn’t work Thursday nights, but there had been some sort of big horse race at the Meadowlands, and the club had needed extra girls to handle the crowd that would most likely filter in from the event.

  With that crowd came money, and, well, Trixie wasn’t the kind of gal who’d balk at financial opportunity.

  So, here I was. Nearly primped and ready to dive into another night of acting like an exotic dancer.

  Yippee.

  “Marco wants to see you in his office,” Star said as she walked past me.

  I raised a brow carefully as I finished up applying a fresh coat of mascara to my lashes, worried I’d poke myself in the eyeball if I got too cocky with the expression. “Did he say what it was about?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head and started to run a brush through her long blond locks while I focused on trying to get my stomach to calm down. Unscheduled meetings with Marco always put me on edge, given the nature of my real identity. “Just said he wanted to have a quick chat with you. Who knows, maybe he wants to give you a pat on the back for making Cam Mitchell a new regular.”

  Cam’s name falling from her lips made the already nervous organ flip over. And what did she mean, a new regular?

  I doubted his second-time presence at Skins the night I went home with him equaled him becoming a regular, but I forced those thoughts out of my head and offered a signature Trixie grin. I didn’t have time to sit back here and analyze, and I certainly didn’t need to let my mind drift off on the subject of Cam Mitchell.

  “Well, whatever it’s about,” I said as I stood up from my vanity, “he needs to make it quick b
ecause I’m due onstage next. How’s my makeup look?”

  “Perfect,” she said, her gaze trailing casually from my face to my breasts. “And that bra makes your tits look fantastic.”

  An odd compliment for the everyday woman, sure, but a compliment all the same.

  “Glad my three-hundred-dollar investment at Victoria’s Secret last week is paying off.” I did a little shimmy, a signature Trixie move, and she laughed.

  “Enjoy your perky tits while they last, sweetie. Once you reach thirty, it’s all down-fucking-hill after that.”

  “Yeah, but that’s exactly what implants are for, right?” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed toward the back hallway that led to Marco’s office. Star’s “Oh, hell yes, girl!” response followed me as I walked, trailing off completely when I made it to the backstage door.

  The crowd was thick and the men were eager, but thanks to laser focus and a fake smile, it didn’t take long before I was softly rapping my knuckles against Marco’s closed door.

  Sometimes, it really took nerves of steel to handle the responsibilities and stress of being undercover, but I’d chosen this career path. I’d chosen this assignment. And now wasn’t the time to fold under the pressure.

  I swallowed whatever discomfort was threatening to come to the surface, and I forced myself to be single-minded, only focused on what Trixie would be thinking and doing and saying right now.

  Everything else rolling through my mind couldn’t be anything more than background noise.

  “Come in,” Marco said from the other side of the door, and I dutifully obeyed.

  His head was to his desk as he wrote something down, so I offered a question before stepping all the way inside. “Star said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “I did.” He looked up and grinned, gesturing to the lone seat in front of his desk. I hated everything about that slimy smile plastered across his vile mouth. “I just wanted to let one of my favorite girls know what a fantastic job she’s doing.”

  Oh, give me a fucking break…