Bad Girl

by Julie Miller

  “Yo, Kemp.” A taunting voice called down from above. Josiah halted in his tracks. The sudden stop threw Riley off balance and she tumbled into the tattoo on his rock-hard arm. “Having trouble keeping the peace out front? Or is that another one of your dates who said no?”

  He tilted his face up to the blond security guard on the metal catwalk above them. Some strong emotion pulsed through the grip on her arm. Anger? Impatience? “That stool you’re sitting on try to run away from you yet? Why don’t you come down here and do some real security work?”

  The guard, though muscular, looked half the size of Josiah. No wonder he felt safe laughing at him from a distance. “I’d be happy to help you with the ladies if you can’t handle them.”

  “You can bite my ass.”

  Josiah pulled her into step beside him again as the guard’s laughter bounced off the brick walls. “Well, that’s charming. Making friends isn’t your strong suit, is it?” When he strode past the door into the club, Riley knew a brief moment of panic. “Where are you taking me?”

  He stopped at a thick steel door in the back wall and shoved it open. “Where there aren’t any cameras.”

  The harsh glare of a bare lightbulb beside the door gave way to the muted silhouettes of trash cans and discarded wood pallets in the shadows between them and a street lamp at the end of the alley behind the club. Josiah released her and took several steps in either direction, peering into the shadows to ensure they were alone.

  Alone.

  Oh. My. God. Every cell in Riley’s body tensed with wary alert. She was smarter than this. Smart enough not to believe in good guys, not to give a man any advantage over her—like telling him how desperate she was to find her sister. Riley backed up to the door and reached behind her to try the handle. Locked. Damn it.

  She’d played right into his hands. She’d told the club’s brawny security chief everything she knew and now he was going to silence her. She should have believed the ugly facade and growly, deep voice, and not let soft brown eyes and arousing touches fool her into thinking she could trust him.

  She was trapped in a secluded alley with a man she hadn’t yet been able to get the upper hand on. The only witnesses to whatever was about to transpire were the rats she could hear scurrying through the garbage Dumpster. Josiah Kemp didn’t need a gun or knife to overpower her. He could break her neck with those two big hands. She must have been right about this place. Right about Megan.

  But she’d been so, so wrong about Josiah.

  The front of After Dark had been sandblasted and given a fresh coat of paint and arty new doors and windows. But back here, the brick walls were rough and uneven, and a faint, moldy odor traveled on the damp autumn breeze that chilled her skin and left her shivering. This was the dangerous, dirty, murky world she was afraid Megan had found herself in the night she hadn’t called.

  But Riley knew how to survive.

  While Josiah flushed a homeless man out of the shadows and sent him on his way, Riley slipped off one of her shoes, curling her toes into the cold asphalt as she turned the three-inch spike of her heel into a weapon in her hand. She stood ramrod straight against the chilly air, tilting her chin defiantly as the beastly bouncer returned from the shadows.

  She didn’t wait for him to attack first. Riley charged with the spike of her shoe aimed right at his eye.

  “Really?” He caught her arm and pried the shoe from her fist, pinning her against the bricks beside the door. He trapped her there with a hand on her waist and the proximity of his body. “I save your hide from Rocky and Opal—who’ve got eyes on everything and don’t like people poking their noses into their business—and you’re going to poke a hole in me?”

  She watched her red pump fly off into the shadows with a flick of his wrist and faked a bravado she suddenly wasn’t feeling. “You like it rough, don’t you, big guy? You know, for a few minutes there when we first met, I thought you might prefer men. But you like putting your hands all over me, don’t you—”

  “Shut up.” He braced a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in, forcing her to wedge her arms against his chest to keep any distance at all between them. “I’m done playing these games with you. The only reason I put my hands on you is to keep you from causing trouble. You’re messing with things you don’t understand, and you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning.” He scrubbed his palm over the dark stubble of his jaw and muttered a curse before leaning in again. “You were grilling Mary Sue about your sister, weren’t you? You put her in danger, too, and she already has enough crap to deal with.”

  “Like what? I know she’s worried about her friend Janis. She hasn’t been able to reach her. Is Janis in danger, too? Is Mary Sue?” Riley felt every brick at her back, every hill and hollow of muscle beneath the splay of her hands. This guy didn’t budge. But the import of what he’d said finally stopped her struggles. “Wait a minute. You were spying on us? In the women’s dressing room?”

  “I’m security, remember? There are cameras in nearly every room with a bank of monitors in my office. That’s how I spotted you in Rocky’s files. That’s why we’re out here now. Nothing but us and a few bums.”

  Cheap voyeurism that passed for security. Figured. More dirty little secrets behind After Dark’s classy facade. Riley was certain now that the club was just a legitimate front for something very illegal. And nobody, not even this big bruiser with the bold hands and brusque words, was going to scare her away from finding Megan.

  “Are you part of the same security team that lets the rich customers in through the side entrance? And how come I didn’t serve drinks to any of them? The man I saw leaving that way never came into the club.”

  “You ask way too many questions. That’s dangerous around here.”

  “Why do you care? You don’t wear a Russell Security uniform. You’re not part of what goes on in the back of the club, are you?” That probably irritated the hell out of him, that he was allegedly in charge of security, yet there were rooms that were off-limits, even to him. She felt the subtle hitch in Josiah’s breathing, and knew she’d hit a sore spot. At the very least, she’d just uncovered another layer of truth. “But you want to be. Your cameras aren’t in those rooms upstairs. Do you even know what’s going on behind those locked doors?”

  “Tonight was your first and last night here, Riley. You’re quitting.”

  Not gonna happen. Strands of her hair caught in the rough bricks and tugged at her scalp as she tilted her head up to his. “Is that where the big money is? You want to be a part of that?”

  His chest expanded with a deep breath, as though he was going to swear again. Or maybe even smack her into silence.

  But neither the harsh words nor the slap across the face ever came. Instead, his breath eased out on a weary sigh and the fingers beside her head plucked her hair free from the bricks before he pulled away and headed down the alley. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t understand. He was the enemy, right? Okay, an enemy who was clearly attracted to her, and whose resistance to that attraction confused the hell out of her, but still… “Wait.” Riley limped after him for several steps before she reached down to pull off the second shoe so she could hurry her steps. “You do know something, don’t you? Please. If it has anything to do with Megan… Can you help me find her?”

  “No.”

  She plowed into his broad back when he suddenly stopped. “Josiah—”

  But when she tried to circle around him to plead her case, he thrust out his arm to keep her behind him. She startled when she saw the man emerge from the shadows at the end of the alley. Homeless, judging by the ratty layers of clothing and stench of booze and filth that followed his tottering walk out to the sidewalk. The alcohol would keep him out of the shelter. She hoped he had a warm place to sleep and that he didn’t try to panhandle money off the wrong person.

  The man had disappeared around the corner before Josiah rela
xed his stance. Keeping an eye on the bum and the handful of other street people lurking in the dark corners of the city block, Josiah slipped his arm behind her waist and pulled her up beside him. “Your time at After Dark is done. Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it.”

  “Walk me……?” Wow. There he went with that chivalry crap again. “Josiah, even if you won’t help me, I’m not leaving.”

  “Yes, you are. Permanently. You are a distraction I don’t need, sweetheart. All your questions and butting in and snooping around are putting my suspects on guard—”

  “Suspects?” Riley stopped in her tracks. Now who was lying and playing games? He wasn’t one of the bad guys. “You’re a cop.”

  Neither confirming nor denying the accusation, he reached down behind a stack of old newspapers to retrieve her shoe and hand it to her. He even provided an arm to balance against while she squeezed her toes back inside the pumps. But the gesture was about practicality, not any kind of truce, and certainly not any kind of admission about the badge and gun he had to be hiding somewhere. “If I hear anything about your sister, I’ll let you know.”

  But a friendly concession was the last thing she’d believe. “You’re working undercover, aren’t you?”

  “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” She felt the familiar clamp above her elbow and they were moving down the sidewalk toward the front of the building. “We’ve been setting up this op for months, and you’re going to blow the whole thing in one night,” he grumbled. He nodded to the cars parked on the street. “Which one is yours?”

  She pointed out her white sedan before they passed it. But this was the confirmation she’d been looking for. “If KCPD is investigating After Dark, then you must believe something illegal is going on there, too. All my sources say—”

  “Your sources?” They stopped in the street beside her car. He swiped the keys from her hand as soon as she had them out and opened the driver’s side door. “What are you, a reporter? How many people have you put on alert about our investigation?”

  “I’m not a reporter.” Riley paused in the triangle formed by the open door, car frame and Josiah, and swallowed the memories of shame and regret that tried to take her back to the past. Inhaling a resolute breath, she turned to face the man who’d proved to be both her nemesis and ally tonight. She tilted her chin proudly. “I have…friends in the neighborhood. They’ve heard things. I promised them anonymity, and in return, they won’t rat me out to Slade Russell or Rocky Calibrisi, either.”

  Josiah looked doubtful. “You have friends in this part of town?” He thumbed over his shoulder. Sarcasm tainted the masculine drawl of his voice. “Like that guy in the alley?”

  A few years ago, she would have known that guy by name. She might even have been rummaging through the pile of trash beside him.

  “I once stayed in the mission shelter over on Yankee Hill Road.” That had been a good night. A safe night. A rare night. “I ran away from home when I was a teenager. More than once.”

  “Why? This part of KC isn’t…” As soon as she read the curiosity and compassion darkening his whiskey-brown eyes, Josiah shook his head. He probably didn’t want to hear the details about Sal Fusco sneaking into her bedroom or the ways she’d finally learned to support herself on the streets. She wouldn’t have shared them, anyway. He tapped the roof of the car, urging her to get inside. “Never mind. You’re done here. There’s bigger stuff going on than a modeling-agency scam.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t say. I’m not risking you blowing my cover or my investigation. There are lives at stake here.” He braced one arm on the top of the door, the other on the roof of the car, as though he expected her to try to escape. “For God’s sake, woman, I’m trying to protect you. I don’t want you mixed up in this.”

  “Why do you think I’m so worried about my sister?” The light from a street lamp burnished the side of his head. She touched her fingertips to the smooth, warm skin there and made one last plea. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Josiah.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I can be an extra set of eyes and ears, and talk to people you can’t.” She let her fingers slide behind his neck and drifted closer. There was nothing fake about wanting to make a connection with him this time. “I’m exactly the kind of woman men like Rocky and Mr. Russell…” She rested her right hand against the swell of his chest and felt a flat male nipple perk to attention beneath her touch. His hands fisted on the car and door, holding himself in check. But she felt the muscles leap beneath the taut cotton of his shirt, and his heart thump a little faster, as she slid her hand up to join the other behind his neck. She thought so. Putting his hands on her wasn’t all about keeping her on a short leash. “I can help you. We can help each other.”

  His eyes locked onto her mouth and his head bent toward hers. His breath whispered across her lips, even as she held her own. He hovered, wanted, held himself back, teased her with his scent and strength until she was the one who rose up on tiptoe to complete the kiss.

  Josiah’s mouth moved over hers, pressing down with a force that drove her back on her heels. He speared his tongue between her lips, urging them apart. She welcomed him eagerly, sliding her tongue against his, tasting the dewy salt that clung to his skin and the tang of the lemony soda he’d drunk while on duty. Her hands clutched at his neck and scalp, traveling over the flexing muscle and harder planes of sinew and bone. His hands moved to her hair, his fingers tangling in the thick waves and tugging lightly on her scalp before he framed her face between them.

  The kiss was raw and hot, devoid of style and full of honest passion. His chest expanded in a deep sigh that brushed against hers and sent her pulse racing. And just when she thought he might gentle the kiss and let her teach him some of the finer points about seducing a woman, Josiah pushed her away.

  Robbed of his strength to lean against, denied the warmth of his body, Riley’s balance was off, making it easy for him to turn her around and put her into the car. But his open mouth and deep, ragged inhales of the cool night air betrayed that he’d been just as into—maybe even just as surprised by—that kiss as she had been. “Good night, Riley. Stay away from After Dark.”

  He closed the car door and walked back into the club.

  She touched her tongue to lips that were still tender, aroused, wanting. She watched Josiah latch the front gate and lock the doors behind him, shutting down the connection they’d just made, shutting her out of her best chance at finding Megan.

  Chapter Four

  “The club isn’t open yet. I can talk.” Josiah switched the phone to his left ear and flipped on the monitors in the After Dark security office one by one, listening to the report from his handler at KCPD, Detective A.J. Rodriguez.

  No new leads.

  No more witnesses willing to step forward and share what they knew about missing girls and the illegal sex trade allegedly based in the back rooms of the club.

  If KCPD was going to get a warrant to raid the place and make some arrests, they needed more specific intel to convince a judge. And that job was up to Josiah. He’d embedded himself at the club three months ago, and had quickly been promoted to chief of security…of the legitimate side of the business. Under the guise of updating security for both customers and staff, he’d managed to get cameras installed in every downstairs room of the club to try to catch something usable on tape. But other than gossip he’d picked up, and his own suspicions about certain people, he’d yet to crack the tight-lipped private security surrounding any illegal activities.

  Josiah eyed the monitor showing the manager’s office and saw Rocky Calibrisi pouring a drink for the club’s owner, Slade Russell. Kevin, one of the uniformed security guards Russell had hired, waited at the door while the two men talked some kind of business. Slimy though that cockroach Rocky might be, he was careful about running a clean club. No overcrowding. No minors allowed. No over serving of liquor. No inappropriate contact with the strippers or w
aitresses—well, that he allowed from the customers, at any rate.

  Rocky’s bitchy blonde girlfriend, Opal, was even more meticulous. On the next monitor, Josiah watched Opal Cunningham sitting in front of her computer, pointing at the screen while sharing a hushed, heated conversation on her cell phone. As far as Josiah could tell from his off-the-clock midday searches through her files and office computer, she could account for every penny of income and every dollar spent. If there was a second set of books with prostitution profits recorded, he hadn’t been able to find them. Most likely they were in one of the rooms upstairs, locked behind keypads and swipe cards and beefy guards loyal to the man who paid them.

  Josiah would love to be a fly on the wall in either Rocky or Opal’s office right now. But wiretaps required a judge’s signature. And though he’d been able to persuade Rocky that the cameras were a smart security upgrade, the cockroach had balked at the idea of anyone listening in on private conversations. Whatever Slade Russell and his silent partners were up to—it was happening behind closed doors, both literally and figuratively. If Josiah didn’t find KCPD the proof they needed soon, he had no doubt that A.J. and the department would pull him from this undercover operation.

  Sinking into the leather office chair in front of the monitors, Josiah gave A.J. a brief report on which of their short list of suspects were in the building tonight. He was an easy fit for this inside operation because of his tough-guy looks and attitude, along with the real experience he had working as a bouncer in college. But A.J. knew he was like a dog with a bone. Josiah didn’t give up. He didn’t let anything stand in his way. From the time he was a little boy, and his Marine Corps father had drilled into him the idea that failure was not an option, Josiah had been getting the job done. If there was a way to get ears on those conversations, to get physical evidence that would incriminate Slade or Rocky or whoever was behind this, he’d find it. If this case was his to solve, then he was damn well going to do it.