by Virna DePaul
“Sir?” The driver poked his head in. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” Vladimir gritted out the lie. “Is the door open?”
“You bet. Want me to carry your briefcase?”
Bootlicker. But at the moment Vlad was secretly grateful for the man’s obsequiousness. “If you would. Please go ahead.”
He had to use the car door to lift himself out. Vladimir made a mental note to look at the security footage of the parking lot. If the men were nobodies, he would have the dogs poisoned somehow, if they returned. But it was possible they hadn’t been joggers at all. He had rivals at other crime syndicates just as steeped in blood.
A vision assailed him. A thin trickle of blood widened into a river that engulfed him. He stood, bracing himself against the car, until the vision faded away.
There was only the building. And his driver, holding the door open with a smile.
Chapter 18
Barrett blinked the sleep from her eyes, wondering why Nick, who was wearing athletic wear for some reason, had decided to stop by her condo at an indecently early hour. Then, after taking in his obvious “Joe Shmoe” disguise, which did nothing to detract from how sexy he looked to her, she immediately hoped it was because he wanted to do something “indecent” to her. But apparently not …
“We did the perimeter check on Club Red and I just downloaded the photos.”
When she just continued to blink at him, he smiled, bent down, and kissed her on the forehead. He was freshly shaved and had splashed on something with a hint of spice.
“You look nice,” he added. “Sweet and sleepy.” His gaze moved over her wrinkled, army-issue T-shirt. Her cherry-print pajama shorts didn’t go too well with it. But he seemed more interested in her bare legs.
“I remember how you always used to get up before me, Barrett. And how you’d always let me take you back to bed and make love to you one more time before I had to get up. Those were the days.”
She smiled at the warm memories his words evoked. “Yeah. Land mines and valentines.”
He chucked her under the chin. “You’re funny. Got any coffee?”
That was it? Their first face-to-face after she’d told him she loved him and he kissed her forehead, chucked her on the chin, and asked if she had coffee? She scowled. “No.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. But I don’t know for how long,” she added reluctantly. She didn’t know where Justine was this early in the morning, but she was betting her temporary roommate would be waltzing back in at any moment with the coffee they were sorely lacking. Well, there was something else she’d been sorely lacking.
Him. In her arms. On her tongue. In her body.
If he wasn’t going to make the first move …
She leaned toward him and his eyes heated as he obviously read her mind. Stepping inside, he kicked the door shut and pulled her against him. Covering his mouth with hers, she took the taste of him she’d been wanting. Then he pulled back, rested his forehead against hers, and gave her what she’d been wanting even more. “I’ve been thinking of you ever since you told me you loved me. And thinking of ways—good ways—to punish you for hanging up on me right after you did it.”
“Good ways for you or for me?”
“That’s right,” he agreed.
She laughed, rested her cheek on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms even tighter around him.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’m glad you came, even if it is far too early.”
“Ditto, angel.”
They gave themselves a few minutes in each other’s arms before separating. “Okay,” he said. “We’ve got things to do. Things to go over. I put everything on this for you. Here.” He handed her a flash drive.
She yawned and ran her hands through her hair, not missing the way his gaze latched on to her breasts as she stretched. Smiling, she held up the flash drive and waved it even as she shimmied her hips. “I have a feeling I’m about to be buried in recon data.”
“That’s right. Aerial photos and data extrapolation, to be exact.”
“From drones?”
“Yes. And satellites.”
“And I used to think angels watched over us all.”
“Not these days.”
“Thanks, Nick.” Unable to resist, she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist again just as a clattering sound broke the silence.
Justine opened the front door with a bang. “Fucking elevator,” she muttered to no one. “Pushed the fucking button ten fucking times and the fucking door jams. Just what I need with this fucking bag about to split—”
Then she saw them.
“Oh. Hello. I’m Justine. You must be Nick. And hey, you’re in luck.”
“I am?” Nick asked as she breezed past him. Though he stepped back, he kept one arm around Barrett’s waist, something Justine saw, causing her to wiggle her brows at Barrett.
“Barrett, I couldn’t remember how you do your brew, so I actually got two extra coffees, one cream, one skim. Take whichever you like. Nick can have the other.” She entered the condo and plunked down a disintegrating paper bag splashed with coffee. She grabbed paper towels from a roll and started mopping up the mess.
“There’s plenty for all,” Justine continued. “But the leaky one with the foam and cinnamon is mine. You know something, guys? If I had a boyfriend, this would be a brunch double date.”
None too subtle. There was no use telling Justine that Nick wasn’t her boyfriend. With his arm around her, that was clearly what he was communicating. It was a new thing for them—PDA. Barrett leaned into his side, finding that she really liked it.
About a half hour later, the impromptu breakfast for three was over and Justine was heading to the door. “See you guys later. I expect to be fully briefed after you get through.”
Nick waved at Barrett’s friend. She seemed to approve of him, which he took to heart. He hadn’t missed how in one moment Barrett seemed to relish the small signs he gave of being her lover—the occasional brush of his hand against her shoulder or kiss on the neck—and how in the next moment she seemed to be uncomfortable with his PDA. He supposed it was natural given how new this was for both of them—a couple of declarations of love did not a completely comfortable relationship make. But he’d been determined not to lose the ground they’d made. So each time she’d shied away from his affection, he’d simply amped it up all the more, something that had made Justine laugh out loud.
Barrett rose from the table to see Justine out and returned with her laptop.
Not meeting his eyes, she plugged the flash drive into the USB port. “While you’re here, let’s go over this together.”
Tilting his head, he looked at her, then sighed. Because they needed to do some work, he’d give her space for now. But not long enough to build a wall between them again.
Reviewing all the photos and the additional intel he’d garnered from various sources took almost two hours. When they were done, she sat back. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Nope.”
Barrett sat up straight. “Shoot. I almost forgot. Ginny Prescott gave me some clothes of Jane’s that hadn’t been washed. Is it possible that one of the dogs could work with them?”
Nick hesitated, thinking it over. “Tracking dogs are specialists. Aura doesn’t find missing people. But I’ll talk to Kev. He knows other handlers and maybe one of them can help. He and I were spotted in the club parking lot. In disguise, but even so.”
“Who spotted you?”
“I don’t know. Couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but the car looked expensive, so my guess would be that it wasn’t the janitor arriving early.”
Barrett found the bag with the sleep T-shirt and socks. She held it up without opening it. “This is Jane’s stuff. I’ll keep it here for now.”
Nick nodded. “Okay. It could be useful. I just can’t say for sure and we can’t be too conspicuous.”
<
br /> “Meaning the Club Red parking lot can’t turn into the New City dog run all of a sudden.”
“Exactly.”
“Moving on.” Barrett adopted a crisp tone. “We need to formulate several escape plans if we go in. And decide on a method of keeping in touch. And signaling for help.”
“I have a few ideas. On this.” He took another flash drive out of his pocket. “The photo files ate up the memory on the first one. So swap and we can take it from there.”
“Okay. Thanks, Nick. I’ll try to gather whatever intel I can at tonight’s auditions.” This time her voice was far from crisp. She tried to hide it, but she was nervous. In a way, that was good. Fear kept you on your toes. But she had to know that he’d die before he let anything happen to her.
“Tonight you’re just like anyone else auditioning for a job. And once you’re in? Don’t forget I got my start as an infiltration and extraction specialist. If something goes really wrong, I will get you out of there, Barrett.”
“Jane comes first.”
He looked at her, not surprised in the least by what she said. But he obviously surprised her when he suddenly stood, grabbed her hand, and yanked her toward him. Cupping her chin and tilting her face up, he stared into her eyes. “I hear you. But I’m not leaving you behind. Now, can we stop pretending to play it cool and let me do what I’ve been wanting to do since I got here?”
She swallowed hard. “What’s that?”
He simply lifted his brows and continued to stare at her.
Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and swung her legs up, confident that he’d catch them, which he did.
As he cradled her to his chest, she cupped the back of his head and pulled his face close. “All right, soldier,” she whispered with her lips pressed against his. “Let’s make this quick.”
Only he didn’t.
He took things slow.
And he made sure that this time, when she said she loved him, she said it the way he’d been wanting. With him inside her and her legs wrapped around him.
And he said the words back to her.
Praying that sometime soon, she’d actually believe and trust in them.
Chapter 19
“Now refresh my memory,” Justine said hours later after Nick had left and the two had commenced Operation Shopping. “Why are things moving so slowly? Why can’t we just call in some help and move in on Club Red? Like you, I’m learning more and more with every day that passes, but I’m still not as up on all this secret agent whoop-de-doo as you are.”
At least Justine was straight about what she did and didn’t know. Bottom line, Justine knew the world that Barrett was about to enter in a way you couldn’t learn from books.
“Because we have no evidence that Jane’s actually here. We only know that she was taken.” Barrett looked at Justine over the clothes racks to make sure she understood.
“Can’t the local cops just close Club Red down and look for her? I want to be sure on the fine points. One of these days I’ll be a real agent just like you,” she said drolly, playing down the badass abilities she had and that Barrett had seen for herself.
Barrett shook her head. “Not without a warrant and without cause. We’d have to go in front of a judge and we have no solid evidence right now. And I’m very grateful you came with me for backup. You are a real agent.”
Justine screwed up her face in a comical smile. “While we’re on that subject, I guess Sheriff Lester and Deputy Jim Bob don’t have the manpower or the brains to conduct an investigation on their own, right?”
“Right. Which makes New City a desirable location for strip clubs and prostitution for that reason, among others. Out in the boonies but near enough to the main East Coast highways to get its share of the action.”
“That’s about what Moira said—oops, I mean, I understand. Let’s get you a disguise so you won’t get killed.”
Justine pulled out a skimpy dress that wasn’t much bigger than the tag attached to it. “Now that’s cute. Matches your eyes. Celery blue.”
“I think you mean cerulean blue.”
“Whatever. It’s a pretty color.”
“It is.” Barrett shook her head again. “But it’s way too short and looks too tight.”
“Short and tight is what club attire is all about,” Justine said, rolling her eyes. “So where do you usually shop?”
“Preppy places. You know, like Jay Canoe or Van Sailor.”
“I went into one of those stores once,” Justine said. “Rubber-soled flats in brown or navy. Stripes on everything. The sales associates didn’t look too happy to see me.” Justine slung the blue dress back onto the rack.
“My turn to pick your brain,” Barrett murmured, frowning at an even skimpier dress. “What’s a strip club audition like?”
“They refer to them as cattle calls for a reason. Some of the girls—well. Don’t be surprised if they push and shove. The competition is fierce.”
“I bet. I’m not dancing.”
“You don’t have to. It’s not the only job on offer. But whatever the boss is looking for, it is about how you look and the way you move. You gotta be a little shameless and super sexy. For you, that would be sexy in a classy way.”
“Sounds doable. What are you going to pretend you’re applying for?”
“Anything behind the scenes. Sometimes they hire older chicks to keep an eye on the brats. Cuts down on the hair-pulling in the dressing room.”
“You think I could do that?”
“No. They need someone loud and tough to be in charge backstage. That’s my guess, anyway. You have that haughty look, though. But it’s not enough.”
“Haughty?”
“A little. Look, you asked and I answered,” Justine said in response to Barrett’s expression of indignation. “Remember that you’re going to be mixing with girls who didn’t have all your advantages. And listen, some of them are really nice and work hard—college girls trying to pay tuition, single moms whose baby daddies don’t pay child support, girls who never had two nickels to rub together—”
“I get the idea.” Maybe that sounded more snippy than she intended. But Barrett already knew she was likely to be regarded with suspicion by nearly all of them.
Justine shoved several hangers together, inspecting another relatively modest dress before moving on. “There will be plenty of girls who are tougher than you can probably imagine.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Girls like that—just don’t judge them, because they’ll know. But watch your back.”
“I didn’t come here to judge anyone,” she muttered.
Justine quickly changed the subject. “You’ll be surprised by how young some of them look. Maybe you know the type? Fresh-faced teen temptress? I worked that angle until I was in my late twenties.”
“I never had a baby face.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Not with those cheekbones. You look rich, Barrett. Like you could give a man a whack with your gem-encrusted riding crop. Make him beg for—um—whatever he wants,” Justine said brightly.
“I don’t own one. And a real riding crop is plain saddle leather.”
“Well, that would work, too,” Justine said cheerfully. “Anyway, you practically scream class. Club Red isn’t going to put a gum-chomping bimbo at the front station.”
“So you think I should go for the hostess job?”
“Easier to get. You’re not a dancer. And hostesses don’t handle cash. They just have to look good, keep track of time, and be able to tell the riffraff from the real deal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Guess I better invent a résumé.”
Justine laughed. “Hell no. Don’t. Believe me, they’re not looking to hire Ivy League grads. So shut up about that. And by the way, change your last name at least.”
“How about Klein? Sounds real.”
“And it’s nice and short. Go get a fake ID,” Justine added.
That had been on her list si
nce she and Nick had checked into that hotel.
“I’ve already got my cover in place from when I met Powell. If they run a background check—”
“Well, they will.” Justine gave Barrett a friendly slap on the butt. “On this. It’s all about your appearance, honey.”
Barrett thrust all the dresses on hangers over her arm back onto a rack. Haphazardly. She straightened them out and smoothed the tags into place. Then she picked up the two dresses that had fallen under the rack, not wanting to make extra work for some sales associate.
She was a compulsively good girl. And she was not looking forward to the audition.
“Here we go,” Justine whispered. The surging crowd of women in front of the low stage formed a human wall.
“We need a battering ram,” Barrett muttered.
“Just ease through. Or stay put. You’ll get noticed no matter what.”
Barrett looked down at her feet, which were already hurting from standing for so long. Her plain, high-heeled pumps in ivory had cost more than the conservative evening suit they matched. The cut was classic except for the neckline that plunged between her firm breasts. No camisole. Justine had insisted that she show a little skin.
She smiled at a supertough-looking dancer who pushed past her, glancing at the tattoos swarming all over her arms and the tarnished stud decorating her nose. The woman trod heavily on her toes in reply.
Barrett winced.
“Not the girl-next-door type,” Justine said without moving her lips.
“No kidding.”
The tattooed dancer’s forward march through the crowd produced howls and shoves. The bouncers escorted her to the door as soon as she reached the stage.
“She’s a natural for a biker bar.” Justine wasn’t being catty, just putting in her two cents. “A luxury club like this would never hire a girl with that much ink,” she added. “The bouncers know the ropes.”
There were several up there. Massive men with thick necks and bald heads and sharkskin suits with no lapels. Plus fists decked out with rings big enough to serve as brass knuckles.