Lover Undercover (11 page)

“Gotta work on that temper,” he chided. “I know it’s tough on you, not getting exactly what you think you want, exactly when you want it. Trust me, Stacy, it’s all going to work out.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the click of the front door closing.

The bed creaked again, and then Stacy thumped toward the closet, muttering under her breath. “Of all the conceited, egotistical…” The closet door flew open and Kylie helpfully held out Stacy’s robe.

Stacy’s mouth dropped open, but before she could scream bloody murder, Kylie stepped forward and took her sister’s arms. “It’s me.”

With a hand to her chest, Stacy released her breath and sagged against her for a moment. “Oh my God, Kylie. What the hell are you doing in there?” Then a rare thing happened. Red bloomed in Stacy’s face, flushed down her neck and chest. “Did you overhear—?”

Kylie cringed and nodded. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I know I should have spoken up when you first got home, but I was in here digging out my costume for tonight and, well, having kind of a tough moment. I started to call out to you, but then I heard Ian. I just couldn’t handle another interaction with LAPD’s finest today, so I decided to stay put until he left. I didn’t realize I’d be stuck in here while…while you…and he…well, mostly you I guess…”

Stacy shrugged into her robe and yanked the tie snug around her waist. “Yeah, mostly me. What an asshole. An idiot, really, considering he could have left here happy and satisfied, but instead chose to walk off with a boner the size of the Hollywood sign in his pants and some crazy ideas in his head.” She shook her head and sighed. “And he seemed so normal, too. I swear, just when I think I understand men…”

“Maybe all men aren’t alike?”

Stacy snorted inelegantly. “All the ones attracted to me are, so I don’t know what Ian’s trying to pull with his mind, body, and soul bull. I’ve known all along my mind and soul didn’t measure up.”

“What a thing to say! Why would you believe that?”

Her twin shrugged. “Gosh, Ky, let’s see…in sixth grade I asked to try out for the advanced reading class, because as far as I could tell, I read as fast and as well as any of us, but Mrs. Crabtree said one Roberts in advanced reading was enough. I realized then and there, any investment in a Roberts twin’s mind wasn’t going to be mine.”

Astonishment flooded her, and then a belated blast of anger for her sister. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Crabtree should have let you try out. If I’d known you wanted to, I would have backed you up, but you never said anything to me. I always assumed you weren’t interested in school.”

“I wasn’t much after that. Then, in twelfth grade, when Mr. Hicks told me the only way I’d get a passing grade in geometry was to give him a blow job, it kind of cemented things for me.”

Oh, God. “That’s why you dropped out.”

“It certainly factored in.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone? Mr. Hicks should have been fired. And arrested!”

“Who says I
didn’t
tell someone? I was scared, and certain nobody on earth would believe me, except maybe you, but finally, I figured God would know the truth, so I told Father Flannery. You know what he said to me?”

Kylie shook her head, but fingers of dread reached low in the belly and squeezed.

“He said my tongue would turn as black as my soul if I didn’t stop speaking such ugly lies about a fine upstanding man and a deacon of the church.” She waved her hand carelessly, as if brushing off an inconsequential memory, but Kylie heard the bitterness in her twin’s voice.

“I don’t know what to say. I wish I’d known. I would have tried to help.”

Stacy offered a resigned smile. “You couldn’t do anything. They would have torn you down too if you’d tried. Anyway, it didn’t really matter. By then I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and I didn’t need my high school degree to do it. My soul goes into performing, and people say it’s good. Even dancing at Deuces is fulfilling in its own way. It’s challenging.”

“I know,” Kylie quickly agreed, “and also really hard work. I have a new respect for you after walking in your stilettos these last two weeks.”

“Nice of you to say, but I don’t pretend to be the respectable twin.”

Kylie sighed, realizing she and Stacy had more in common than she’d ever suspected. Inside, they bore similar scars, in different places. They were both fighting to overcome the insecurities inflicted from their wonderful upbringing.

“You know, Stacy…growing up, I always wanted to be more like you. I longed to be the brave, fun, free twin.”

Stacy’s eyes widened. “I always wanted to be like
you
. I admired you for being so smart, sensitive, and disciplined. You never gave in to impulse, never acted out, and never, ever lost control.”

“The control is an illusion,” she whispered. “I’m losing it, big time.”

Stacy slowly inspected her face. The corners of her mouth tipped up in a smile. “Better late than never, Saint Kylie.”

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.