by Amy Brent
“So that's what this is about?” Nicole shook her head, still having trouble putting the pieces together. “Those men who came to my apartment, they thought I was a stripper who was selling secrets to...who? Terrorists?”
“Russian agents,” Horatio said. “She has one client in particular, Igor Romanov. He's a suspected covert operative. We've been trying to pin him down for years. I did some snooping around when I got back into the country, and I think Igor has been collecting information from Nicole...the other Nicole, that is, and sending it back to his superiors in Russia. The agents who came to your home were trying to find a connection between you, or rather, between who they thought you were, and Igor.”
“But I'm just a nurse. I don't know anything about this sort of thing.”
“I tried to tell them that. I gave them all the information they needed, your social security number, your driver's license number, all of it. They should have been able to use that to realize you weren't the Nicole Willis they were looking for.”
“So that's what you were doing in my purse that night.” Nicole frowned at Horatio, though she had a hard time being angry with him over going through her purse, considering everything else she had to consider.
He looked away in shame. “I'm sorry about that. I was trying to protect you. To keep you off their radar. But they didn't want to listen, and they pushed ahead their investigation without me.”
“So you went to find this other Nicole...and she shot you?”
“Not her,” Horatio said. “A man at the club. A suspected associate of Igor's. Things got a bit out of hand. He must have realized what I was doing there, snooping around. He tried to slip out the back, and I followed him. And, well...” He looked down at his bandaged chest.
Nicole got up from her chair. “I need to think about this, Horatio. I need time to process all of this. To understand. I don't know...I don't even know who you are anymore.”
“I'm still the same man,” Horatio said. “I know this changes things, but I'm still the father of your child. I'm still the man who fell in love with you.”
She looked into his eyes. She saw pain there, and regret. But she still couldn't be sure if she even knew who Horatio was anymore. She needed time to sort through everything he'd said and figure things out.
“I need to go,” she said, picking up her purse. “I need time, Horatio.”
“I understand. When can I see you again?”
“I don't know.” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Just give me some time.”
“All right.” He smiled at her, obviously trying to reassure her. “I love you, Nicole.”
Nicole turned and left without answering. She didn't know what to say to him anymore.
11
Nicole needed some time off to sort through everything she'd learned. She didn't even know if half of it was true, though she couldn't imagine Horatio making up such a story. Though on the other hand, she wouldn't have been able to imagine him being some kind of secret agent, either, before that day.
She requested some time off from work, using the vacation time she'd been planning to save for the holidays. She spent the next few days at home, trying to come to terms with what Horatio had told her. She had no way of confirming or denying anything he'd said. Searching online didn't reveal any useful information. There were news reports of the shooting at the strip club, but they didn't say anything at all about a Russian secret agent or an undercover international hitman. She tried searching whatever public records she could find about Horatio, looking for holes in his story. There wasn't much information to be found on him, either, other than some business articles about his work in overseas finance. She didn't know if the articles were forged as a part of his cover, or if he really did business overseas to keep a legitimate front on his activities. She supposed it made sense as a cover; as a businessman who regularly traveled to other countries to invest in disaster relief and community growth projects, especially in underdeveloped countries, no one would suspect that he was up to anything nefarious. He could easily make some public appearances, signing checks to fund various humanitarian projects, then when the press conferences were over, he could head off into the night to spy and assassinate, and whatever else he did in the name of national security.
She decided to try another route, doing some searches for news about the projects Horatio had funded, then comparing them to political events that had taken place in the same countries. She couldn't find anything concrete, but she found several examples of news reports of major political events that occurred within a week or two of one of Horatio's humanitarian projects. Once or twice there had been deaths under “suspicious circumstances” that occurred not far from a disaster relief project or a new hospital Horatio was funding. There was nothing at all to connect the events to Horatio, other than him being in the country at around the right time. She couldn't prove anything, and she wasn't sure if she wanted actual proof. But seeing the reports made it a bit easier for her to believe Horatio's story.
Horatio called her a few times while she was taking time off from work. She ignored the calls each time. Part of her wanted to talk to him. She missed him; she missed his touch and his voice. And she needed to talk to him in order to get more answers to the questions that plagued her. But at the same time, she knew she wasn't ready to speak to him. Not yet. She needed time to process everything on her own, before she could face him again.
After a few days of feeling stir crazy in her apartment, another thought occurred to her. She wanted to know something about this other Nicole Willis. The one who had somehow been mistaken for her.
She sat at her computer, searching for any information on the other woman. It proved almost impossible to find anything. There were several Facebook profiles of women named Nicole Willis, though most of them were listed as living in other states. She found a few news articles and other websites listing different people who shared her name: a photographer, a botanist, and a body builder, but nothing about a stripper. Even when she tried to google “Nicole Willis Stripper” and “Nicole Willis Exotic Dancer,” she couldn't find any information. And there were more than a dozen women with that name who didn't have anything listed about where they lived or worked, so the one she was looking for could have been any one of them.
She was about to give up, when she realized there was a much simpler way to learn about this other woman. She searched for the news article about the shooting, and found the name of the strip club where Horatio had been shot. The Violet Butterfly, a so-called “Gentlemen's Club” only a few miles from the hospital where Nicole worked. She had never been there herself—it simply wasn't the sort of place she would ever consider visiting—but she knew the general area. She realized she had driven past the place many times, though she had never really paid it any mind.
She stared at the computer screen, drumming her fingers on her desk. She needed some kind of answers. And foolish though it might be, she realized that this other Nicole Willis was one of the only people she could get her answers from. She needed to know if there was any truth behind Horatio's claims.
And in order to find out, she would have to go down to the club and meet this woman face to face.
12
Nicole arrived at the Violet Butterfly late on a Saturday night. She figured that getting there a bit later would make it easier for her to find time to talk to the other Nicole, since hopefully, she wouldn't be too busy with her actual customers. Though she was certainly hoping she could get a chance to talk to the woman without having to pay for a lap dance or something equally distasteful.
When she first walked into the gaudily decorated place, she found a board in the lobby with pictures of all of the dancers. They were all shown on stage, wearing next to nothing, though none of the pictures showed the girls completely nude. Probably because they wanted people to pay to get into the club before they got to see the “good stuff.”
She scanned the pictures on the board. All of the women wer
e thin, though none were all that attractive, at least not by Nicole's standards. They had nice enough bodies, but it was clear even from the pictures that most of them had fake tits, badly dyed hair, and spray tans. Nicole had never understood women who altered their bodies like that. She herself was an all-natural woman, and while she knew she could have stood to lose some weight, she considered her natural curves to be a blessing. There was no way she would ever change her body just to be ogled at by random men.
The strippers all used stage names, many of them cheesy and over the top names like “Kitty Whiskers” and “Missy Storm.” None of their real names were listed. But there was one dancer whose stage name was simply “Nicky Aster.” She was a black woman who looked like she was in her mid to late twenties. Nicole studied the picture, wondering if this “Nicky” was really the other Nicole Willis.
She figured there was only one way to find out.
She paid the entry fee to get into the club. While he was handing her the change, the man behind the counter frowned at her and said, “You know we don't have dudes here.”
“Excuse me?” Nicole asked.
“I mean, there are no male strippers. Just so you know. But hey, if you're into the ladies, that's cool too.” He smirked at her, his eyes roaming up and down her body.
Nicole grimaced in disgust, taking her change and walking away. She didn't care what the man thought about her, but she hadn't come here to be leered at. Though considering the sort of place this was, she knew she shouldn't have been surprised.
She found a table near the back of the main room, away from the stage. She wasn't here for the show. She just needed to find out if Nicky Aster was Nicole Willis, and then find a way to talk to her in private. There were a few dozen other people in the club, nearly all of them men, though there were a few young pairs of men and women sitting together, apparently here on dates. Nicole didn't understand the mindset of a woman who brought her boyfriend to a strip club, especially when she saw some of them buying lap dances for their boyfriends. She supposed some girls got off on seeing their man with another girl, as long as he came home with them at the end of the night with his engine revved up from the show.
When Nicky came out to dance, Nicole started paying more attention. The show didn't do much of anything for her, though a lot of the men in the room hooted and hollered, waving dollar bills at her. Nicky teased them and let them shove money into her underwear. A few guys even copped a feel when she came close enough, though Nicole noticed that the woman kept her distance from those men afterward. At the end of her dance, Nicky blew a kiss to the crowd, and then walked off stage to make room for the next dancer.
A few minutes later, Nicky came out onto the main floor, dressed now in a tight top and skimpy shorts that left little to the imagination. She walked from table to table, flirting with the customers and trying to sell them lap dances. She didn't so much as glance Nicole's way, probably guessing that Nicole wasn't likely to pay for a lap dance. Nicole watched the woman, wracking her brain for a way to approach her and bring up what she needed to talk about.
Finally, desperation set in and she did the only thing she could think of. As Nicky started walking past her table on her way back to the dressing room, Nicole called out to her, “Are you Nicole Willis?”
Nicky stopped and looked at her, her eyes widening. “Who wants to know?” she asked.
Nicole got up from her table and approached Nicky, lowering her voice. “I need to talk to you. It's about Horatio Cameron.”
Nicky frowned at Nicole, planting a hand on her hip. “Never heard of him. Do you want a dance, or are you just wasting my time?”
Nicole's mind raced, trying to think of what else to say. She had no idea how to get information out of this woman. “What about Igor Romanov? Do you know him?”
Nicky's face blanched. She took a step away, waving her hands in front of her. “I don't know nothing. Leave me alone.”
She turned and hurried away before Nicole could say anything else. But the look on her face had been answering enough. Nicky had clearly recognized the name. The only problem was, it had scared her off.
Nicole hung around the club a little bit longer, hoping to run across Nicky again so she could try to get something more out of her than a cold shoulder. When it became clear that Nicky wasn't going to show her face again, Nicole sighed and gave up. She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door, figuring the entire trip had been a complete waste of time. She would just have to talk to Horatio, try to accept that he was telling her the truth, and hope they could move on with their lives.
The parking lot was dark as she walked to her car. A single street light flickered nearby, casting a stuttering light over the area before going out again. Nicole watched the shadows as she walked, a shiver racing up her spine. She walked a bit faster, looking over her shoulder to see if any of the sleazy men from the club had followed her. She reached into her purse for her pepper spray, just in case.
Before she could find it, a hand reached out and snatched her wrist. She yelped in terror as a huge monster of a man twisted her to the side and pinned her back against a car. He glowered down at her, knocking her purse out of her hands and putting a hand on her throat.
“I heard you were looking for me,” he growled. “Who the fuck are you, huh? You don't look like no fed.”
“I...I'm...I...” Nicole trembled under the man's grip, her chest feeling tight. She choked back a sob. “Please, let me go.”
“Not until I get some answers, bitch,” he said. “Why are you asking questions about me? You think you can come snooping around here, bothering Nicky, and I won't know about it?”
“I don't...I don't know what you mean,” Nicole said. “I don't know you. Please, let me go.”
He squeezed her throat, almost cutting off her air supply. “Try again, lady. You asked Nicky about me, and I want to know why. Who do you work for?”
It took Nicole's frazzled mind a few moments to figure out what was going on. This man, she realized, had to be Igor Romanov. Nicky must have called him after she ran off, letting him know that someone was in the club, asking about him. And Igor must have thought she worked for the government. It was insane, and she had never thought that her snooping around would lead to something like this. She had just been trying to find out the truth about Horatio.
“Talk, bitch,” Igor said, pressing her tighter against the car. “Don't make me ask again. If you do, you and I are going to take a little ride, and have a chat someplace more private.”
He clenched a fist, making a silent promise about what their “private chat” would consist of.
“I don't know anything, I swear!” She struggled against his grip, but he was too strong. There was no chance she could possibly escape. Tears started streaming down her face. “Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone anything. I just want to go home. Please...”
“Wrong answer, bitch.”
Igor raised his fist.
A gunshot rang out across the parking lot.
Igor stumbled away from her, clutching at his side. His hand came away red with blood.
Igor raised his bloody hand, staring at it in shock. He looked up and met Nicole's eyes.
Then two more shots rang out. Bullets ripped into Igor's chest and he dropped to the ground. He shuddered for a moment, and then stopped moving.
Horatio appeared out of the darkness, holding a smoking gun in his hand. He rushed over to Nicole. “Nicole, dear, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
Nicole shuddered, letting out a fierce sob of relief. She fell against Horatio's chest, clinging to him. He held her close and stroked her hair, whispering soothingly to her, and telling her that everything was going to be all right.
13
Horatio hurried Nicole to her car and they both got in. Horatio took the driver's seat, pulling Nicole's keys out of her purse and inserting them into the ignition. They were driving before Nicole could start thinking about what was going on.
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“Wait,” she said. “Don't we need to wait for the police?” She looked over her shoulder at the parking lot as Horatio drove away. A crowd was already starting to gather outside, drawn by the sound of the gunshots.
“No,” Horatio said. “I can't risk blowing my cover. I might already be exposed after what happened the other day. But don't worry, I'll get my people on it.”
“Your 'people'?” She frowned at him. “What do you mean? And what are you doing out of bed? You should still be in the hospital recovering.”
“I'm fine,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “And I mean the government. They'll take care of this. Make Igor's death look like a mugging. Or possibly gang violence. Depends on what spin they decide to put on it.”
Nicole leaned back against the seat, covering her face with her hands. The situation was more than she could deal with. She had watched someone get shot. She had almost been killed. And now her boyfriend, the father of her child, was talking about a conspiracy to cover it up.
“Is that what you do?” she asked, unable to look at him. “Kill people, and then cover it up?”
“Nicole, that man was a monster. He was about to hurt you. Maybe even kill you. And we know he's been selling secrets to the Russians for a long time. Not just the information the stripper was giving him. We think he's been hacking government servers, bribing public officials, and using all kinds of other means to steal classified information. We never had enough evidence to bring him to trial, but after tonight that won't matter.”
“But you just killed him.” Nicole stared at Horatio in shock.
“Because it was the only way to protect you,” he said. “And to protect our child.”