Lover Undercover

chapter Twelve


When Kylie walked into the dressing room at Deuces, all conversation stopped, and three sets of highly made-up eyes turned to her.

Unsettled, she placed her bag on the vanity and cautiously returned the curious gazes of her fellow dancers. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Snowflake, don’t be coy.”

“Yeah, honey, we heard you had a guest with you when you left last night. Did you give your favorite client a lift?”

“Or maybe he gives you the lift, no?”

Trevor was right. Word traveled fast. Not two minutes in the door and she was getting the third degree—and the perfect opportunity to advance the plan. A plan she hated. But she owed Trevor her cooperation. She’d given her word. Dropping to her chair, she slumped and sighed. “I’m sorry, girls. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Anxiety brought an authenticity to her voice.

Lee Ann took the bait. “Aw, honey, what happened? Don’t tell me that big, hot stud turned out to be a dud?”

Kylie shrugged. “He was fine, at first. But later he got all bossy and possessive. He said if we were going to date, he didn’t want me doing private dances anymore. I explained Deuces would cancel my engagement if I refused to do private performances and I’d be out of a job. He said…” She let her words die away, as if they were too painful to speak aloud.

“What does he say?” The protective outrage in Ariana’s question was as thick as her accent.

“He said a private dance is nothing but a fancy name for hooking,” Kylie whispered. “And he didn’t date hookers.”

Three sharply indrawn breaths practically sucked the air out of the room.

“That bastard,” Ginger snapped, breaking the silence. “I hope you kicked his ignorant, judgmental ass to the curb.”

Kylie nodded. “I did.” Channeling Stacy, she wound herself up for an indignant rant. “I told him I made it through three extremely competitive auditions to get the gig at Deuces and not one of them involved screwing anyone, for money or otherwise. Then I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

“Good for you, Stacy, giving him a piece of your mind. If a guy had said that to me, I’da been speechless.” Lee Ann patted her shoulder on her way out.

“Yes,” Ariana agreed, following Lee Ann. “You treat him as he deserves. I am proud.”

When the door swung shut, Ginger slid into the chair next to her and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry, Snowflake. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but I could have sworn Mr. Strong, Silent, and Sexy as Hell had evolved beyond the run-of-the-mill caveman hypocrite we get around here. If it’s any consolation, he had me fooled, too.”

Kylie offered a weak smile. Since when had she become so adept at manipulation? She hadn’t counted on receiving sympathy and solidarity from her fellow dancers. Playing with their emotions made a rotten situation worse.

“Worse” was a relative concept, she realized over the course of the evening. As word of her disastrous date traveled the Deuces grapevine, she endured a scolding from Vern about going home with a client, a gallery of pitying looks from the waitstaff, an offensive proposition from Gary, a creepy fish-eye from Ramon, and a worried look from Benny. By the last half of her shift, she found the glazed lust from the customers a distinct relief.

Relief was short-lived. Vern strode up to her after her second stage dance and said, “Okay, kid. It’s time for lesson number one on why we don’t date the customers. Your boy is in the VIP room, requesting a private dance. Now, I know you two had a little tiff last night, and you may not feel like entertaining him right now, but I’m not in the business of turning down money. He says he just wants the dance and isn’t looking for trouble.” Vern paused and gave her a hard stare. “You don’t usually bring personal drama to the job, so I figure you get one free pass. You want to use it tonight?”

She swallowed the urge to say yes, and dug deep for the Stacy cockiness. “Absolutely not. I’m a professional, and I’m also not in the business of turning down money, either. He wants a dance? I’ll give him a dance. He gives me any grief, I’m having him bounced.”

“Fine and dandy. VIP room three. Ramon’s already there.” With that, Vern lumbered off.

“Fine and dandy,” she repeated under her breath, and prayed to God it would be. Obviously Trevor had made it into the club in one piece, but if the next few minutes went as planned, there was no guarantee he’d stay that way.

Stomach churning with dread, she made her way across the still-crowded club to the VIP room and tried to mentally prepare for next phase of the plan. She took a deep breath and slipped inside. There he sat, looking so big and tough and good, she suddenly longed for the days when all she had to do was straddle his lap, strip off a few articles of clothing, and touch him to her heart’s content. When their eyes met, his darkened, hinting maybe he had the same thought.

Then he began a long, slow perusal of the slutty schoolgirl, starting with her patent leather Mary Jane platforms, ascending along her black thigh-high stockings, sweeping up the twin bands of skin exposed between the tops of the stockings and the bottom of her very short pleated plaid skirt.

She sauntered over and straddled him with a bravado she didn’t feel. His gaze snagged on the hot-pink panties visible beneath the hiked-up hem of her skirt, and despite her worry over this so-called plan, her trigger-happy hormones sent a rush of heat straight to the spot.

His warm hands found her cold midriff, bared between the low waist of her skirt and white blouse tied just under her breasts. One small flex of his wrists settled her squarely on his lap—on him. He lowered his hands to his sides, leaned close, and rubbed his lips along her neck.

“Are you okay?”

She stuck with a nod.

He eased back and looked at her, as if seeking some better confirmation. She took a deep breath, which caused her breasts to brush against his chest. His attention immediately dropped to where the unbuttoned shirt and hot-pink bra offered up her breasts for his inspection.

Her nipples sprang to attention under his gaze.

“Jesus, Kylie, you’re beautiful,” he breathed against her ear, left totally exposed by her low pigtails. She’d never appreciated how vulnerable and sensitive her ear was. His voice penetrated the coiled canal, vibrating over invisible receptors, sending shivers to all the other invisible receptors in her body.

“Don’t be scared,” he went on, misinterpreting the reason for her physical reaction, but nonetheless nailing her emotional state. “We’ve got this is in the bag. You ready?”

No. She nodded.

“Okay. Make it look good.” He curved his arm around her, locked his hand along the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him.

“Let go of me!” she yelled, and followed the outburst with a slap. She’d never hit anyone before in her life, and her first attempt went wide of the target. Instead of connecting with his cheek, her palm glanced off his chin.

He played it up anyway, bringing his hand to his chin as if she’d actually hurt him, pinning her with a shocked, angry glare. “Crazy bitch,” he growled.

She scrambled off his lap, exactly as he’d instructed, and ran to the door.

“Hey!” Ramon spoke up from the corner—his usual slow, lazy response.

Kylie yanked the door open, shouted, “Leave me alone,” and slammed it behind her, effectively capturing the attention of every customer and employee in the vicinity. A second later Trevor barreled through the door and strode toward her until they stood toe-to-toe.

“I’m not paying for the dance unless you finish it.”

This time she landed the blow. Her palm cracked against his cheek. His head swiveled on his neck. The impact shimmied down her arm. “Consider it finished!”

Straightening, he said, “We’re not finished until I say we’re finished,” and shoved her. She staggered backward and let her leg give out beneath her, hoping her tumble didn’t look too controlled. No worries, as it turned out. She accidently upended a table on her way down. Customers scrambled and drinks went flying. Lee Ann screamed. Benny charged across the now-chaotic floor and reached Trevor at the same time as Ramon.

She held her breath as they grappled, but after a brief, intense struggle, the bouncers wrangled their quarry face-first into the wall. Vern materialized and said something to Benny. Benny nodded, and with a jerk of his beefy arm, yanked a convincingly conquered Trevor away from the wall. He and Ramon escorted him to the exit.

Vern extended a hand to her, grunting as he helped her to her feet. “Please don’t tell me I gotta call the paramedics for you again.”

“Stop fussing. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Okay then.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost last call. Pack it in for the night if you want. Just get me your tip-out before you leave.”

“Thanks, Vern,” she called over her shoulder, already on a beeline to the dressing room. Luckily, she held herself together until the door closed behind her. Then she collapsed into her chair and turned into a sobbing, shaking mess. Anybody coming in would probably assume they were witnessing her delayed reaction to the altercation. In actuality, she was practically incapacitated with worry for Trevor.

According to the plan, after being ejected from the club, he’d get in his car, drive away, and return a few minutes before closing to stalk the parking lot—like an angry client looking for her. Deuces cleared out pretty quickly after close, so while some of the staff might see him on their way to their cars, there’d still be plenty of time for someone waiting in the darkness to take a swing at him.

Her instructions were to leave the club early and drive home, but she found she couldn’t do it. How was she supposed to sit at home while Trevor risked his life? Home was too far away. If something happened to him she wouldn’t know until Ian thought to call her, and that might be…too late.

No, she needed to stay close. But how? As long as Stacy’s blinding yellow Bug remained parked in the lot, Trevor and Ian and most everybody who worked at Deuces would know she hadn’t left yet. Mind in mid-whirl, inspiration struck. She’d leave now, park the Bug at the diner across the street, then walk back to Deuces and sneak inside before Vern locked up for the night. From inside the back door she could watch the parking lot and keep an eye on Trevor. No one would be the wiser.

With her own plan devised, she quickly changed, tossed her costume into her bag, hefted the bag onto her shoulder, and then stopped short. Dang it, she had to calculate her tip-out and give it to Vern. The chore was going to burn precious time. Would she still have enough of a window to move her car and make it back to Deuces before they locked up for the night? She glanced at the clock on the dressing room wall. It would be tight. Very tight. She dug her lockbox out of her bag, furiously totaled her tips, and deducted the proper percentage. Cramming bills into the front pocket of her jeans, she opened the dressing room door…and ran straight into Ginger.

“Whoa, slow down, Snowflake.” The redhead gave her a concerned once-over. “I saw what happened tonight. Are you okay?”

She nodded, ashamed her charade generated yet more unnecessary worry. “I’m fine. I just really have to get out of here.”

“After what you’ve been through, I totally understand. Anything I can do to help?”

“Actually, yes.” She pulled the bills from her pocket and thrust them at Ginger. “I’d owe you a lung if you’d give my tip-out to Vern and tell him I took off.”

Ginger laughed her husky, inherently sexy laugh and took the money. “Don’t give it another thought. And keep the lung,” she shouted at Kylie’s retreating back. “It’s your teeny-tiny gnat ass I want.”

She wished she had time to joke around, but she didn’t. One thing for sure, Stacy really needed to give these women a chance. Her sister was missing out on some quality friends by keeping them at arm’s length. She hurried to the exit at the end of the hall and yelled back, “My ass is yours.”

Ginger laugh followed her out the door. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Kylie shook her head. Despite her nerves, a smile took control of her lips.

Her luck held. She moved her car to the other lot and made it back to Deuces without attracting any attention. After waiting several minutes in the shadowy corner behind the back door, it swung open and she saw Gary and Ramon walk out. They never glanced her way when she slipped around the door and inside before it slammed and locked.

Ducking into the utility closet at the end of the hall, she waited. Benny walked out with Ari, Lee Ann, and Ginger. The last of the waitstaff filed out, and then, finally, Vern. Now she moved to the back door and peeked through the narrow window at the nearly empty parking lot. Not a lot to see, just a few people getting into their cars. Minutes later she peeked again. Aside from Trevor’s Yukon, she saw nothing. No Ian. No Trevor. No unnamed shadow moving nefariously along the perimeter.

Frustrated with the limited view she had from her vantage point, she contemplated opening the door a few inches. Just then, her ringtone chimed from the depths of her bag and echoed like a siren in the silence. Crap! Why hadn’t she thought to turn off her phone? Could they hear it outside?

She dug the dang thing out of her bag and whispered, “What?”

“Where the hell are you?” Trevor demanded in his tough cop voice.

“I’m at home.”

“You’re not at home. Detective Hernandez called me from his position across the street from the club. He saw your car in the diner parking lot.”

Shit. “He’s mistaken—”

“No, he’s not. I’m standing right beside it as we speak. Exactly where I’m not supposed to be at the moment. What are you up to?”

“I’m hungry. I’m getting takeout.”

“Yeah, right. You’re taking this call from the world’s quietest diner. Kylie,” he sighed, and the edgy sound cut a guilty trail through her conscience. “Where are you?”

Now she sighed. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Where. Are. You.”

“I’m, ah…inside Deuces.”

“Goddammit.” The slam of a palm against a metal surface punctuated his curse, and she hoped Stacy’s car didn’t have a dent in its roof.

“Nobody knows I’m here,” she justified. “I’m not in the way. Did you really expect me to just go home and get a good night’s sleep knowing you were wandering the parking lot with a big bull’s-eye on your head?”

“Kylie, I—nobody—did a sweep of the building.” Although his breathing told her he was on the move, his voice remained carefully calm. For whatever reason, this caused her nerves to stretch tight. “What if you’re not the only one hiding in there?” he went on. “What happens if our guy is holed up inside the club?”

Fear’s icy fingers tickled her spine. She hadn’t thought about the killer hiding inside the club.

“I’ll tell you what happens,” Trevor went on in the face of her silence. Leashed fear strained his words. “He trips over you on his way to take me down. Get out of there. Right now.”

Imagining a murderous maniac lurking somewhere inside the building triggered her flight instinct in a big way. “I’m going,” she gasped.

“Good girl. I’m almost at the back steps. I’ll meet you there.”

Hands shaking, she fumbled with the exit bar on the back door. The latch finally gave way, and she stumbled through, completely off-balance. Even as the world tilted and the concrete rushed up to meet her, her eyes scanned the lot for Trevor. She saw him running her way, but as he ascended the first step, a hulking figure in dark clothing and a ski mask broke away from the shadows between the stairs and the wall of the building. A blunt object glinted at the end of his upraised arm.

Kylie screamed at the same time the arm began a powerful downward arc. Trevor started to turn, feinted left, and grunted as the makeshift mace connected with his head. The next instant, he tumbled facedown on the asphalt. The heavy, hollow thud of something solid connecting with flesh and bone reached her ears like a radio signal on a five-second delay.

She screamed again—his name this time—and scrambled down the stairs to where he lay crumpled and unconscious. The attacker stood stock-still for a second, as if shocked by her presence. Then a voice in the distance yelled, “Freeze!”

Nobody froze. Momentum didn’t permit her to do anything except continue closing the distance to Trevor. The assailant took off down the narrow alley behind the buildings. Ian approached at a full run, shouting instructions into a phone…radio…something. “Officer down! Repeat, officer down! Hernandez, get your ass over to the mouth of alley and cut this bastard off.” Without breaking stride he yelled, “He breathing?”

Oh, God. Was he? With a burst of strength born from adrenaline, she rolled Trevor over, almost crying with relief when she heard his low groan of protest. “Yes!” The relief evaporated when she saw his face. Blood flowed freely and copiously from a cut near his temple.

“Stay with him,” Ian barked as he flew by. “Ambulance is on the way.”