by Julie Miller
The dressing room door swung open and a tall woman with short, platinum-blonde hair entered. “You get on out of here, Mary Sue. You’ll miss the late bus.” The older woman wore a tailored gray business dress, but the unnatural perk of her breasts and artfully applied makeup indicated she might once have been a performer here. “Good night, ladies. Be safe out there. Have one of the bouncers walk you out.” She dismissed the others with an equally concerned tone. But there was something more sinister than maternal in the blue-gray eyes that fixed on Riley. “New Girl, come with me.”
Mary Sue was quick to obey. “Sorry, Doreen. See you tomorrow. Good night.”
“Good night.” Riley pushed to her feet as her young coworker scooted on out the door with the others. “Who are you?”
“Opal Cunningham. I’m the lady who fills out your paycheck.” The false lashes above those cutting eyes blinked once. “Now move it.”
“Shouldn’t I be getting home, too? And I answer to Doreen, not New Girl.”
Opal stood to one side and pointed down the hallway for Riley to precede her. “Don’t give me any lip. You kept Rocky waiting. The boss doesn’t like that.”
Was the woman an accountant or an enforcer? Or just a has-been, eager to maintain her status around the club where she’d probably once been another Janis or Mary Sue?
Or Riley.
Remembered feelings of shame, fear, and that low, seething anger she’d lived with for years tried to surface from that lockbox of memories she kept buried deep inside. But with a vicious mental fist, she squashed the emotions and what-might-have-beens and closed the lid, reminding herself that she was here by choice now, not need. She was here for Megan. Riley had gotten out before she wound up a lifer like Opal Cunningham, full of implants and eye tucks and broken dreams, or before she’d become a scary missing statistic like Janis. And her sister.
This woman could talk all the smack she wanted. Riley had endured—and survived—worse than an alpha female guarding her territory.
“I thought Slade Russell was the boss.” Riley sauntered past the older woman into the hallway. Rocky’s office took her away from the circular stairs and guarded doors she wanted to know more about, but now wasn’t the time to press her luck.
Opal turned off the light in the dressing room and quickly caught up. “You’d be smart to do what you’re told, New Girl.”
Although she bristled at the sneering tone, Riley understood there was a pecking order to places like After Dark. She might have gotten in the door, but she wasn’t an insider. Not yet. Megan was counting on her to keep her cool and play her part. So she tucked her chin and followed the other woman into Rocky Calibrisi’s office. “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Riley took a seat in the chair in front of Rocky’s desk, Opal staked her proprietary claim on the club manager. The platinum blonde circled behind his leather chair and put her hands on Rocky’s shoulders. Her red-lacquered nails dug into his white-silk shirt, offering him a brief massage before she bent down to leave the bright red mark of her lips on his cheek. “You wanted to see the new bartender. I made sure she stopped in.”
Rocky leaned back in his plush chair and patted Opal’s hand. “Thanks, sugar. You finished counting down the till yet?”
“I’ll be ready to go to the bank when you are.”
He kissed her knuckles and shooed her out. Opal’s beaming smile turned into a warning glare for Riley as she left the room. If these two were an item, no wonder Opal made a point of asserting her higher status with the other girls. With Rocky’s wandering eyes and hands, he couldn’t be the easiest man to have a relationship with. Maybe Opal hadn’t been suspicious about the questions Riley had asked Mary Sue. Maybe she was just making sure the new girl understood that Rocky was off limits.
Riley covered the perplexed shake of her head by catching the waves of her hair and tucking them behind her ears. Then she spent several minutes paying dutiful attention to Rocky’s explanation of W-4 forms, job application sheet and why he had to make a copy of her driver’s license to prove she was of legal age to sell alcohol. Slimy he might be, but he seemed to be doing all the things he was supposed to as a manager to run After Dark as a legitimate business. And maybe the security guards were here because of the amount of money the club generated that would be kept on the premises.
The whole setup would be a perfect cover for something less savory and far more dangerous.
Her pen was hovering over the blank lines asking for emergency contact information when Rocky strolled around the desk to stand beside her chair. Seriously? He wasn’t fooling anyone with that reading over her shoulder bit. The creep was staring down her cleavage. And oooh, did his fingers just brush against her hair? “You sure I can’t get you onstage, sugar? With that milky-white skin and fiery hair, the customers would eat you up.”
The crude choice of words, paired with the double entendre in his lecherous gaze, was not a selling point. Opal was welcome to this douche bag as far as she was concerned.
“Rocky?” Maybe sensing her paramour’s wandering lust, Opal knocked on the door and charged back in. Whatever emergency had prompted her quick return died on her lips when she saw him hovering like a vulture over Riley’s chair.
The rat didn’t even have the class to apologize. To either woman. “What?”
Shoving aside her jealous insecurities, Opal quickly donned an efficient, indispensable businesswoman persona. “We’ve got an issue in the parking lot. Tyrone Jackson’s BMW got scratched. You know it wasn’t one of our boys. But he’s threatening to call Mr. Russell if we don’t take care of it.”
Rocky raked his fingers through his thick hair and swore. “I don’t need this right now. Not with this weekend—”
Opal shushed him before he could finish that sentence.
What was happening this weekend? Although Riley vowed she’d find out if it had anything to do with her sister, she knew she wouldn’t be getting her answers from these two. Not with the palpable feeling of urgency filling the room.
Rocky squeezed Riley’s shoulder. “Sugar, I know we’re not finished—”
“That’s okay.” Riley batted her eyes, shrugged an apology and pretended to be a little stupid for Opal’s benefit. “I need a few minutes to figure out this tax stuff, anyway.”
He winked. “Just leave the papers on my desk when you’re done.” He grabbed his jacket from his chair and ushered Opal out the door. “Let’s go.”
As soon as the door latched behind her, Riley set the completed forms, at least complete with the information she was willing to share, in the center of the desk and stood. She didn’t know how long a disgruntled customer would demand Rocky and Opal’s attention, but she wasn’t going to blow the opportunity to find out anything she could.
She circled the desk, shuffling through the papers on top before opening the drawers and checking inside. She found office supplies. A bottle of scotch. Inventory sheets and order forms. Frustrated by a locked drawer she couldn’t jimmy open, she moved on to the file cabinet behind the desk to tab through the folders there. With personnel info and state IDs on file, she might be able to track down an address for Mary Sue’s friend, Janis. Maybe Janis would know about Slade Russell’s side business. Maybe she’d even seen Megan, or something else she shouldn’t, and that’s why she’d gotten fired. Riley hoped that nothing worse had happened to the missing woman. No, what she really hoped was that she’d find a clue that could lead her straight to her sister.
Riley breathed in the spicy scents of musk and man a split second before she heard the door close behind her. Hell. She hadn’t heard a sound. Knowing she’d been caught, she closed the file cabinet and spun around, prepared to sweet-talk her way out of trouble with Rocky, or grovel to Opal.
But a big bear paw hand snagged her arm, and a sea of brown T-shirt blocked her view of the room before she could utter a word.
Josiah Kemp dipped his craggy face toward hers and whispered against her ear. “I knew you’d be trouble.
”
Chapter Three
Riley slapped at Josiah’s hand, shoved her shoulder against him. But the big brute wouldn’t budge. “Let go of me.”
He twisted her free arm behind her and backed her into the metal cabinet, leaning over her, pressing inch after inch of his tall, hard body against hers. His deep voice vibrated right through her. “Why are you snooping through Rocky’s files?”
“Hey! Personal space!” Riley opened her mouth to protest, but shut it when she saw his gaze darting back and forth from her to the west wall. “What are you…?” Look. He wanted her to look at something. Although he blocked most of her view, she could stretch her neck just enough to see around the jut of his shoulder to spot the tiny camera lens hidden in the potted fern on the shelf beside the barred window.
Idiot! Of course, there’d be security cameras in a place like this. As soon as she collapsed back against the concealing wall of Josiah’s chest, he released the lock on her wrist and arm, and eased an inch or so of breathing space between them.
She tilted her gaze up to his, pretending that her ragged gasps for air were due to being startled, not the discovery that that enticing scent of spicy soap and a long night of work she’d detected was emanating from his skin. “Do you think Rocky saw me? He said he was going out to the parking lot to deal with a customer. I was looking to see how other employees filled out their tax forms. All those numbers get so confusing.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Josiah’s hands settled at the nip of her waist, his thumbs sliding beneath the thin sweater she wore to tease bare skin. The tickle of the callused caress raised an embarrassing sea of goose bumps. “You’re smarter than that. I watched you tonight. You didn’t have one problem with remembering orders or making change. You’re up to something you shouldn’t be. Now put your arms around my neck.”
“What?” She ignored her skin’s reaction to his firm touch and snorted at the ridiculous command. Note to self—don’t play dumb with this guy. But she wasn’t about to be bullied into a make-out session, even if he was all muscle and hard angles and more man than any of the other cretins she’d been with in her sad, sorry history of a love life. “Is this how you pick up women? Spy on them all night, then give an order once you’ve got something to blackmail them with and expect them to fall at your feet? Your Neanderthal charm doesn’t work on me, pal.”
She heard an impatient growl from deep in his chest a split second before he jerked her away from the file cabinet and palmed her butt with both hands.
“Josiah!”
He lifted her off the floor and she fell against him. With her hips pinned against his crotch and his big hands branding her butt cheeks through her jeans, an instant heat erupted deep in her belly. Still, Riley kicked at his shins, but they were little more than glancing blows. She twisted against him, but the friction only seemed to excite her nipples rather than breaking his grip on her.
“You bastard.” She was cursing her own traitorous response to his overpowering strength as much as she was cursing him for having that advantage over her. “Let me go.”
“Do you ever just do what you’re told?” Josiah carried her to the desk and dumped her on top, with her back to the camera. A mug of pens tipped and scattered. Papers floated to the floor. Before she could squiggle off the desk, he parted her knees and moved between her legs, invading even more personal space. He dragged her to the edge, forcing the seam of her jeans against his zipper and the intriguing package behind it, trapping her between his hands and body again.
Not the smoothest, most seductive move, but damn… Riley’s breath stuttered in her chest as tiny frissons of heat ignited along every nerve ending where his hands gripped her and the subtle shifting of his muscular thighs rubbed a delicious friction against her most tender skin.
Riley blanked her mind against the unexpected, untimely flare of attraction for the big brute with the spare words and raw sexuality. It was a survival trick from the old days—to remove herself from what her body was feeling and stay in control of her thoughts and emotions. A man might possess her body, but there wasn’t a one of them who could get inside her head or heart. Maintain the advantage. She did just that, consciously relaxing her legs that had clenched instinctively around Josiah’s hips, and adding a cutting taunt to her husky whisper. “You gonna take me by force, big guy?”
A vein throbbed at the temple of his bald head. She felt his grasp on her knees ease for a second as he considered how most women would view his caveman tactics. But then his fingers tightened again and his mouth flattened into a mocking grin. “You’re one to talk after that come-on dance you gave me earlier tonight. You understand putting on a show, right? I’m trying to cover your ass here, sweetheart. If anyone is watching, they’ll think we ducked into the nearest private room for a little rendezvous, and they won’t question why you’re in Rocky’s office.” Josiah’s voice dropped to a deep, dark pitch. “Now, do what I tell you and put your arms around me.”
Accepting his reasons, if not quite believing his noble purpose was solely to protect her, Riley wound her arms around Josiah’s neck and played along with the charade. She trailed her fingertips over the warm, strong arc of his scalp and pressed a kiss to the scar beside his mouth. She shook her hair loose down her back and looked up into those whiskey-colored eyes. “Is this how you want me to play the part, Mr. DeMille?”
His heated breath whooshed against her cheek in a huff of frustration. Although whether it was sexual frustration, or he was just peeved with her defiant attitude, she couldn’t tell. His palms roamed up her back, and his fingers tangled in the waves of her hair—for the benefit of the camera, no doubt. “What are you really after here?”
“I’m not after anything.”
“That’s a lie.” He slid his fingers beneath her hair to touch the chilled skin at her nape.
The sudden shock of male heat meeting cool resistance raised goose bumps along her neck and arms again. Ignore it. Brute strength and tender touches were a surprising juxtaposition, that was all. There was nothing unexpected or attractive about this man that could make her lose control of herself and distract her from her purpose here. “What do you want me to say?”
“The camera is on in the security office. Anyone who walks by the monitors can see us, but there’s no sound. You’re talking to me and nobody else right now. So give me some straight answers.”
“How do I know this isn’t some kind of freaky interrogation technique, and you won’t use what I say against me with Rocky or Mr. Russell or the police?”
He stroked a finger across her sensitized skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Dirty, distracting trick. “Are you up to something I need to report to the police?”
“They already know.” The words were out before she’d thought them through and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Damn it. How had she let this man get into her head for even one second?
Seduction hadn’t earned his cooperation. Plausible lies hadn’t appeased his curiosity about her. Steering clear of him all night hadn’t stopped him from spying on her. Did she dare risk the honesty Josiah asked for? Would the truth bring her closer to finding Megan, or seal off any opportunity to save her sister?
Riley pulled her hands to the more neutral position of his chest, wedging her arms, and a bit more space, between them. If she was going to say this, she didn’t want him to think it was part of any game. “You’re sure no one can hear me?”
“I’m sure. Talk.”
She tilted her eyes up to his and found them waiting with guarded patience. “I’m looking for someone.”
“That’s vague.”
“I’m looking for Megan Riley. Strawberry-blonde hair. Taller than me. Slender. A beautiful girl.”
“You’re digging through the files because she used to work here?”
“No.” Her fingers dug into the planes of skin and muscle beneath his soft cotton shirt, betraying some of her concern. “She’s my little sister. Barely eighteen. Still in
high school. She’s been missing for almost a week.”
His body tensed beneath her hands, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift. “Eighteen?”
“Megan doesn’t know about men or the streets or…” She smoothed the wrinkles she’d left on his T-shirt, silently apologizing for not cooperating earlier, soothing the big beast. “…playing charades like I do.”
His hands left her neck and back to close around her wrists and stop the subtle caresses. “And you thought you’d find an eighteen-year-old here? In a strip club?”
Fine. He wanted businesslike instead of friendly? She could do that, too. “I think she’s in serious trouble. I’ve been to the shelters. I’ve talked to runaways and hookers.”
“You’ve talked…?”
“I know my way around places like this, neighborhoods like this.” Never forgetting the camera pointed their way, Riley covered her urgent confession by pulling against his grip, raising her bottom off the desk and placing her lips beside his ear. “People are talking about a hush-hush, high-priced boutique-prostitution business. And every rumor I’ve heard points to After Dark if you want to find out anything about it. I’m afraid Megan has gotten involved in something like that—answering a job offer from some guy claiming to be a modeling agent, or maybe the promise of big money to be some wealthy man’s escort. I know it can’t be legit. If what I’m hearing is true, she may be shipped out of the city—out of the country to satisfy some gross old guy who likes teenage girls. I have to find her before that happens and—what are you doing?”
Somewhere in the middle of her whispered explanation, Josiah released her and moved away from their intimate contact. Riley landed back on the desk. But her freedom was short-lived. Before she had both feet on the floor, Josiah had her by the arm and was hauling her to the door.
She barely had time to grab her purse off the chair before he was striding down the long hallway, forcing her steps into double time to keep up with him. “I told you the truth. You can’t just—”