Deadly Desire (31 page)

“One lawsuit coming up.” Sammy shook her head, though her expression was one of amusement more than disgust. “I thought she'd given up dancing.”

“Apparently she likes to keep her hand in.” The blonde hesitated, then leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “She likes the younger ones, so she's always on hand to help out when we have some young bucks in.”

“She can have the young ones. They're all hands and no damn cash. Was an ambulance called?”

“No. And the cops didn't show, either, so it couldn't have been more than a few slaps.”

“So why did they shut the room down? It's been out of action all day, apparently.”

I continued to look at the paper, but I wasn't really reading anything. Instead, I reached out telepathically, linking lightly with the blonde's mind. I delved stealthily but deeply into her memory centers, fishing though quickly until I caught the images she was talking
about. I wrapped around them, drawing them into me, remembering them as she remembered—not only seeing and hearing, but smelling.

What I smelled was blood. Lots of blood.

Hanna Mein hadn't injured. She'd killed.

So, did that mean the couple she'd slaughtered had been nothing more than a last-minute substitution for the special that had been canceled? Or had they been just another release for the anger, as the man she'd danced for—then killed—had been?

I continued to sort through the blonde's memories, but she hadn't actually seen anything. She'd been stopped at the doorway, and had gotten the information from the guard stationed there.

I withdrew and flipped over the page as I took a sip of coffee.

The blonde shrugged. “It was due for refurbishment. Now there's a new chaise lounge and a fresh coat of paint on the walls.” She glanced at her watch and rose. “I get to christen the new surrounds in five minutes.”

“Give him hell and make him pay,” Sammy said with a grin.

“Always do, love, always do.” The blonde dropped a kiss on the other woman's cheek then walked out.

I finished my coffee, rinsing the bitter dregs in the sink before heading down to the change rooms to get into my other outfit for the evening—a soft striped silk that looked like something a jockey would wear, except that it didn't fully cover my breasts. Every time I raised my arms even slightly, out popped the girls. And even
though there were plenty of women walking around without covering tops of any kind, the outfit had proven to be extremely popular with the guys despite its impracticality.

The sports bar was half full, which wasn't bad considering it was a Monday night. There were a heap of men sitting at the tables near the big screen, watching some boxing match, but there were many others playing pool or simply chatting with various dancers at the other tables. The name of the game in this room wasn't pool or chatting, but getting the customers to spend money on drinks, or interested enough to spend big in the fantasy rooms.

I scanned the room as I walked around the edge, looking for Kye in his grumpy old man outfit. Not a sign of him. Which meant either he wasn't here, or he'd changed, and I was betting on the latter.

I was three quarters of the way around the room when awareness of Kye washed over me—a short, sharp caress that was gone almost as fast as it had arrived. I turned and saw a spiky-haired blond man walk into the room and then stand, arms crossed, in the shadows near the door, his gaze on the big screen.

He looked totally different than before. Gone was the ratty coat, the slouched stance, and almost grimy appearance. In its place stood a broad-shouldered, muscular man wearing faded, hip-hugging denims and a crumpled, pale pink shirt that suited his golden skin and bleached hair. He looked more like a builder than a hit man, and even though I couldn't deny the surge of attraction, that was the one thing I couldn't
ever forget—that he
was
a hit man. That he
was
extremely dangerous.

I stepped out of the shadows. The minute I did, he shot a glance my way. This time his eyes were green, and they gleamed like the brightest emeralds in the half-light of the bar.

There was nothing warm about his gaze, nothing friendly about the way it latched onto me, and yet the shiver that ran over me was all heat, all desire. Maybe it was simply the danger he represented that pulled at me so fiercely. The feeling that every minute I spent with him could be my last. That no matter how strong I was, no matter how fast, this man
could
counter it. That he
would
counter it, if I ever got in the way of his aims.

Danger was an aphrodisiac to a wolf, and
my
wolf was reacting to it as fiercely as she ever had.

“You're looking like a man who needs to play some pool,” I said softly as I stopped beside Kye and touched his arm. The contact was as electric as ever, and only served to confirm his identity.

A smile flirted with his lips, then he glanced past me. “There's a table available over there.” He nodded toward the locked and guarded side door. It wasn't the only spare table, of course, but it best suited our purpose. “How about we take that?”

“Perfect.” I tucked my arm through his, letting my hips brush against his as we walked. Tension rose between us—all sexual—until it fairly crackled.

The guard didn't even look at us as we stopped at the table. His scent said he was human, so he wouldn't overhear any conversations as long as we kept it low.
Like all the other guards in this place, he was wearing a wire, but there was also what looked to be a small two-way radio hanging around his ear. Every now and again he'd murmur something, and the camera would react by moving.

It wouldn't have surprised me if they were monitoring conversations, so we'd have to keep an eye on the camera position to make sure it wasn't pointed our way. And while we could talk telepathically, that would look suspicious to anyone who might be watching.

“So what happened to the old man?” I asked softly as Kye racked up the balls.

“He's lying in a rubbish bin as we speak.” He picked up the cues and handed me one. “You going to break?”

I glanced up at the odd emphasis he placed on “break” and saw the teasing, almost mocking, light in his green eyes. I arched an eyebrow. “I never break unless it's absolutely necessary.”

“Really?” he drawled. “Maybe I should test that little statement.”

I took the cue from him, then leaned a little closer and whispered, “This from the man who absolutely
didn't
want a lap dance.”

“Oh, I still don't. But then, I'm not the one aching from head to foot, am I?”

“Oh, really?” I chalked the end of the cue then bent over right in front of him, so that my butt casually brushed his groin. The man was definitely understating his current state of desire.

“That sure feels like a whole lot painful to me,” I murmured, drawing the cue back and sending the little white ball spinning into the others. Colored balls scattered everywhere, none of them going into the pockets. The cue ball came to rest close to where I was standing, so I remained where I was, forcing him to come closer.

“I think we need to check out one of the private rooms,” I said. My breath hitched as he casually lined up the shot and his fingers brushed past my side.

“And why would we need to do that if you're in no danger of breaking?”

He eyed his chosen target rather than me, and I waited until he was about to play the shot before saying, “Because Hanna Mein killed someone in the Arabian room last night, and I think we need to check it out.”

His shot didn't miss a solid ball, but it didn't send one into a pocket, either. I smiled.

He stood back and chalked his cue. “And how is what she did in the Arabian room related to what we're interested in achieving?”

I shifted slightly and lined up the ball sitting near the far corner pocket. “Because if someone
did
die, then the body is either still concealed in that room or there's another way in or out. No one saw anything resembling a body leaving the club.”

I went for the shot, but a second before the cue tip hit the ball, his hand snaked down my back and butt, a caress so light and yet so heated that it practically singed.

Needless to say, I missed the ball.

He moved around to the other side of the table and
began to line up the same ball I had. “That still doesn't explain the connection to our current case.”

“Don't be obtuse.”

He smiled and drew back the cue. I waited until the last possible moment, then shifted my arms so that my top rode up my breasts, and leaned over the table, giving him an eyeful.

He missed the ball even worse than I did.

He swore under his breath, then said, “So you think this hidden doorway could lead to one or both of our sorceresses?”

“They haven't been seen in the club all day.”

“Maybe they're simply resting at home.”

“Maybe. Except that this place is listed as their residential address as well and given there's not another floor, we're left with the possibility that either they're behind the locked doors, or there's other hidden areas.” I quickly lined up the ball and made the hit before he could do anything to distract me. There was a satisfying clunk as it went into the pocket.

“You play dirty,” he murmured.

“No dirtier than you, wolf,” I returned. “Remember that.”

His gaze met mine for several seconds, and it was hard to know what he was actually thinking. And while I
could
raid his mind, that just might leave me open for a mind raid attack from him. Which
shouldn't
be possible—given my shields and his lack of telepathy skills—but this wolf kept doing things he wasn't supposed to be able to. Which was a pain in the ass. I had a
bad
feeling that I really needed to know what was on his mind right now.

When he smiled, it only increased my sudden wariness. “Then I guess I'd better go book that room, hadn't I?”

“I think that's a good idea. We can always come back here if it proves a bust.”

“Oh, I'm sure something will bust if we're not very careful.” His gaze skated to my breasts and his desire surged, so strong I could almost taste it. “The rooms are monitored, so there isn't going to be much of a chance to look around without raising suspicions.”

“Oh, I'm sure a clever wolf such as yourself can do something about the cameras without raising too many suspicions.”

I glanced at my watch. A good fifteen minutes had passed since I'd been in the staff lounge, so the blonde's appointment in the Arabian room should be finished by now. I hoped no one else had booked it in the meantime.

“I'll see what I can do,” Kye murmured.

“Well, you'd better hurry,” I said, putting a little tartness in my voice. “I'm a much-in-demand dancer, you know, and someone else just might grab me.”

“Then I'd have to beat them up, wouldn't I?”

“That would work,” I agreed sagely. “You get thrown out, I get inside the room and investigate without your interference. Clever.”

His smile was cool and calculating. “You're not finishing
anything
without me, wolf.”

And one look into his eyes made me realize he
wasn't just talking about the case. A shudder that was half anticipation, half fear, rolled through me.

He put down his cue. “I'll go book now, then see what I can do about the cameras.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Meet you there, then.” He walked away without a backward glance.

I let out a breath, then smiled at the eager young man who rushed to pick up the abandoned cue and who couldn't have been any older than nineteen. I played out the game, giving him lots of little touches and glimpses of breasts and butt, leaving him flushed and smelling of desire. But he didn't say anything about a dance—either private or lap—so I walked over to the bar.

“Any bookings come through on my card?” I asked the heavy-set bartender.

He pressed a couple of keys on the computer, then nodded. “One for twelve in the Arabian room.”

Twelve was a good hour away, so either he was taking time to cool down, or it was going to take him longer than I'd thought to take out the cameras.

“That's it?”

“Yeah, it's been a pretty slow night, although the patrons are drinking well.”

Which was good for them, bad for the dancers. “Thanks.”

He nodded and served another patron. I turned around, saw two guys playing at the table I'd evacuated, and headed over there to chat them up and keep an eye on the door.

The money men did go through with the hourly clearings, but I didn't get a glimpse of anything more than another corridor. I couldn't see a safe let alone private living accommodations.

But if these doors just led to vaults, then where was the sorceresses' den? It
had
to be here somewhere, if only because both women actually lived here. I couldn't imagine they'd want to be too far from their place of deep magic.

Just before midnight I headed down to change into my “Arabian” costume, which consisted of a barely there bodice with filmy sleeves, and a skirt piece that consisted of detachable scarves that were gradually stripped away to reveal a tiny jeweled G-string. Then I reached into my bag and grabbed the remaining bottles of holy water, taping them under my breasts. Big boobs, I thought with a grin, certainly had their uses, but hiding little bottles under them had to be one of the more unusual ones. I closed my locker and walked down to the hall to the private rooms.

The Arabian room was probably my favorite of all the fantasy rooms. Scrumptious golden curtains lined the four walls and framed the ceiling, so that it felt like you were standing in some sultan's luxurious tent. The furnishings enhanced this feeling, mixing rich wood tones with gold paint and deep red fabrics. The carpet was thick, lush, and patterned—just perfect to walk barefoot in—and the air had a light rose and cinnamon scent.

Kye was standing in the middle of the room when I
walked in, and said telepathically,
So what do we do now?

Obviously, he trusted the paper-thin walls as much as I trusted him.

I closed and locked the door.
We pretend to discuss what you want while actually talking about why we're here. How long have we got before the cameras go down?