Lover Undercover (9 page)

“Tell me what you’re hiding. You can trust me.”

She closed her eyes. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “I wish I could tell you,” she breathed. “I can’t. I promised someone—”

“If this person cares about you, they don’t want you to put yourself in danger.” He drew back slightly to gauge the effect of his argument.

She simply shook her head, and then leveled a conflicted gaze on him. “It’s nothing like that. I’m not holding back information that would solve this case.”

“But it’s related. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so nervous. Tell me.”

“I can’t.” She winced as she said it. “I have to, um, take the fifth.”

His hands tightened on her arms. “Are you involved in something illegal?”

The wince turned into a look of pure misery. “I don’t know. Maybe. But talking about it won’t help you find a killer. It would just look”—troubled eyes fled from his and took refuge somewhere over his shoulder—“bad.”

He took her chin and pulled her attention back to him. “Bad for whom?”

“For everyone.” Tilting away from his grasp, she shook her head and gave him a weak smile, filled with regret. “I should go. This is a terrible idea. I’m no good for you. Getting involved with me is going to land us both in trouble.”

She was right. Getting tangled up with her bent all kind of rules, but when she turned and opened the door, all he thought was,
Hell, no
. Following instinct rather than reason, he reached over her head and slammed it closed. She jumped, but stubbornly faced the door.

He leaned in, trapping her with his body. Inhaling her familiar scent, he said, “You’ve taught me something about myself.”

Into the swelling silence she released a pent-up breath. “What’s that?”

“I like bad girls.” He grazed his teeth along her neck, provoking an aroused little moan from her. “One in particular, I can’t resist. I may have to take you into protective custody.”

He braced her palms on the door, nudged her feet apart with one of his, and then sent his hands under the hem of her T-shirt, up the silken ladder of her ribs. She moaned again when he cupped her breasts. Her hips shifted restlessly against him when he squeezed.

“Oh, God. Are you frisking me?” Helpfully, she stepped out of her flip-flops. “I’m unarmed. I promise.”

“You were born with weapons, and you know it.” Tugging her bra out of his way, he feathered his fingers over her puckered nipples. Her low, guttural cry of appreciation went high and sharp when he pinched lightly. Before she could recover, he grabbed the bottom of the shirt, whisked it over her head, and then coaxed her arms higher so he could pull the garment off.

After pressing her forearms to the door, he kissed his way down her back, pausing to unhook her bra. She shivered as it sprang open. Kneeling behind her, he sent his hands around to her breasts again and got to work there while his tongue slid over the curve of her spine.

“The thing is…,” she panted.

He rested his hand low on her stomach and swept his tongue under the band of her leggings. Her abs tightened beneath his palm. He scraped his teeth along her skin. “Thing is?”

Her forehead bonked against the door. “Ah…jeez. The thing is, I’m really not—”

Without further warning, he yanked her pants down, baring her spectacular ass to his view, save for the little black triangle of her thong.

“Oh!” she gasped.

He cupped her cheeks, thumbs riding along the undersides and lifting slightly. Then he ran a finger under the back of her thong, all the way down between her parted thighs. Toned muscles trembled. “You’re really not what?” he prompted, brushing his lips against her smooth flesh.

He sank his teeth into one luscious cheek, slid his finger beneath the panties and straight to the slick little pad of flesh throbbing for his attention. Her whole body stiffened and she gasped, “Oh, Lord. I’m really not a bad girl. I’m not. I’m not,” repeating the denial like a rosary prayer.

Nibbling and licking his way to the other cheek, he used one hand to work the tights off her legs while the other stayed busy delving between her thighs, circling and retreating. She arched and writhed in a dance he found far more erotic than any routine she performed at Deuces.

“I know,” he murmured. Hand on her hips, he spun her around, and knelt there until her dazed, blurry gaze locked on his. “I know,” he repeated, and nudged his face between her legs, then turned and kissed the inside of one trembling thigh.

“Trevor,” she panted, “I’m not…I don’t know…”

“Shhh.” He kissed the other thigh, and then watched her as he hitched that thigh over his shoulder and kissed her in between—where she was soft and wet and incredibly hot.

“Please…” Her head fell back. Her hands sank into his hair, fingers curving to overlap at the back of his head while her body arched up to meet his mouth.

“I’m about to please you,” he assured her. Then he dragged her panties aside and used his tongue.

Her knees buckled when she came, but he caught her, held her tight, and devoured every sweet, fluttering pulse of her orgasm.

Chapter Nine

Before Kylie could catch her breath, Trevor swept her into his arms and started walking. Rich earth tones, wood trim, and old leather swirled in her vision like a merry-go-round of colors and textures. Then he lowered her onto a continent of a bed, switched on the bedside lamp, and stepped back to look at her. Even in the dim glow from the lamp, she couldn’t miss the hunger in his eyes.

She also couldn’t miss the fact that their clothing situation remained as uneven as ever. There he stood, fully clothed, while she wore not a stitch.

The realization brought her to her knees, still weak from the soul-rattling experience of her first non-self-administered orgasm. She planted a hand in the middle of his chest. “Wait.”

He drew back. “Don’t you want to come again—with me inside you?”

Oh boy, did she. Caution had officially fled the building, leaving reckless desire in charge. “Yes. Absolutely yes. But first…” Her shaking fingers scrambled over the buttons of his shirt. The feel of his muscular chest frayed her patience and in the end she simply tore the shirt open. His startled, aroused growl nearly drowned out the clatter of buttons on polished hardwood.

She shoved the shirt down his shoulders, drinking in the sight of his broad chest, striated abs, and firm, flat stomach. “You’ve seen me naked, or nearly naked, plenty of times, but I never get to see you. I never get to touch your skin.” Determined to rectify the inequity, she indulged herself now, running her hands over his warm, hard body. It wasn’t enough. Somehow he sensed this, because he leaned in, knelt on the bed, and took her lips. Kissing him back, she leaned in, too, until her tight, aching nipples brushed his chest. Their moans mingled in the quiet room.

“You feel so good,” she whispered.

He choked out a laugh, even as his arm came around her back to support her. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I want to,” she said against his chest, while her impatient fingers tugged his belt. “I want to know all of it.” Desperately. If wanting him, surrendering to the want, was wrong, so be it. Stacy, her mom, heck, everyone she shared DNA with, gave in to these cravings whenever they struck. For once in her life, she would take the same freedom.

Hands tangled as he helped her unhook his belt and open his fly. Reaching in, she found him straining toward her invading fingers with an enthusiasm that matched her own. Shoving his clothing away, she closed her hand around him.
Dear heaven
…all of him.

Slowly, she let her eyes slide down. Her hand looked slim and delicate around his enormous erection. She’d felt it before, through his clothes. Those furtive explorations really hadn’t prepared her for how big he was. Huge, thick, and hard as granite. Excitement and trepidation fizzed in her chest.

“Trevor—”

He wrapped his hand over hers. “Jesus, it’s insane what you do to me with just a touch.”

Overwhelmed, she rested her forehead against his chest and gave in to the impulse to stroke him. Breath burst from his lungs in a tortured whoosh. His scent, a heady mix of soap and pure, elemental male, invaded her nostrils at the same time his low groan invaded her ears.

The next moment, her world twirled as Trevor flipped her flat on her back. She popped up on her elbows and stared at him. His face was dark with concentration as he opened a foil packet. Something quickened inside her at the sight of his hands on his penis, deftly rolling on the condom. Heat intensified between her thighs. She clenched them together to try to ease the sensation, but it didn’t help. Seeking relief, she opened her legs, offered herself.

He crawled forward until he knelt in the vee. “How do you like it?” he whispered.

She didn’t know. She only knew she wanted it. Urgently. “I don’t care. Please,” she begged, and fluttered her legs in a restless motion.

He slid his hands along the insides of her thighs, parting her legs even more, exposing her aching center and leaving her utterly vulnerable. She bit her lip, but an edgy moan escaped.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” And he did. One hand resting on her thigh, the other wrapped around the base of his erection, he ran the tip over her throbbing sex, and then pushed gently into her.

Pleasure swelled at the point of penetration, coiling and contracting with every shallow thrust of his hips until, stretched to her limit, the sensations sharpened to an almost painful intensity. Another moan tore from her throat, this one half ecstasy, half plea for mercy.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he ground out. She writhed under him, straining to find relief, but his big hand clasped her hip, holding her still. “Let me—” Hooking an arm behind her knee, he hitched her leg up high until her calf rode his shoulder. He sank a little deeper. His beautiful, intense face receded as her vision grayed along the edges. One more second and she’d break into a million pieces from the sharp, thrilling combination of pain and pleasure.

Oh, God, help me
, she prayed. Maybe she prayed out loud, because Trevor reached down between their joined bodies and strummed his thumb over her unbearably sensitive center. At the same time, he angled deep and drove into her.

For one suspended moment, their eyes met. His lips moved and she heard his rough, shocked, “Jesus, Stacy.” Then sensations blasted through her like a shock wave. Eyes closed, head thrown back, she spasmed helplessly, endlessly. With a low, tortured sound, he plunged again, and she shattered in his arms.

…

Trevor stared at the woman asleep in his bed, and because he couldn’t help himself, brushed his fingertip lightly over her soft, slightly kiss-swollen lips. She was a beautiful contradiction, this provocative yet alluringly innocent stripper.

The innocence hadn’t been an act—or not completely. The last time he’d taken someone’s virginity he’d been a sweaty-palmed teenager, but it wasn’t the kind of experience a man forgot. Until tonight, the woman nestled beside him had been a virgin. Not the sex-for-sport man-eater Vern had described to Ian. That left only two options. Either the people at Deuces didn’t know her at all, or the woman beside him wasn’t Stacy Roberts.

A detail shook loose from the stack of facts stored in his brain. Just a small piece of information Ian had offered when he first ran their almost-witness. No brothers. One sister. He’d barely heard it at the time because they were looking at male relatives. They weren’t interested in her sister.

He was now. Careful not to wake his exhausted bedmate, he slid out of bed and made his way to the dining room he’d converted into a home office. He sat at the small desk with his laptop, spotted his Yukon parked in the driveway through the curtains, and sent out a silent thanks to Ian. After entering the security codes, he accessed the online file for the Carlton Long murder. He scrolled through the file directories to witnesses, opened the folder, and scrolled again until he located the subfile for Stacy Roberts. Clicking the file, he paged through the scanned reports and homed in on the immediate family. He perused the information, reacquainting himself with her date of birth. Then he came to the sister: Kylie Roberts. Exact same birthday.

Twins
. He banged his fist against the desk before he could stop himself. How could they have missed this? He’d bet his left nut they were identical twins. He’d ante up the right one on the hunch the woman asleep in his bed was none other than Kylie Roberts.

The deduction explained a lot. Like why, for him, the dry facts about Stacy never reconciled with the living, breathing woman. Why a seasoned stripper came across as an enticing but inexperienced novice, and turned out to be a virgin. It explained why she hadn’t recognized Carlton Long or Alex Montenegro during the first interviews, but later remembered exactly which routines she’d used with each of them. He’d interviewed Kylie. Then she’d run to Stacy and learned what she needed to know so she’d be prepared the next time they spoke. And she had been prepared, impressively so.

The pieces continued falling into place in his mind as he shut down the computer and walked back to the bedroom. The woman tucked under his covers made a small, distressed sound in her sleep.

He sighed. No wonder her dreams troubled her. On top of finding herself at the center of a murder investigation, she’d been living a lie, posing as Stacy. The bigger question—
why
—demanded an answer. Thinking back on their conversation earlier in the evening, he realized she’d been absolutely right about one thing. This was going to be ugly.

Chapter Ten

Kylie’s internal clock woke her at four thirty. Immediately, she realized Stacy’s “get him out of your system” strategy didn’t do the trick right away because her happy body wanted nothing more than to snuggle in next to Trevor’s big, warm frame and revisit every inch of him. Her mind, however, stubbornly insisted she get her butt moving.

The voice of reason, which had been so quiet last night, now pointed out that by sleeping with Trevor she’d taken a foolish and dangerous risk. She wasn’t the person he thought she was, and the more time she spent in close, intimate contact with him, the sooner he’d figure it out. He was way too perceptive. And after everything she’d experienced in his arms last night, this morning she was way too susceptible to him, too vulnerable to pull off a Stacy act. Better all around to make a quick, quiet exit.

Carefully, she eased off the bed. Her heart stalled for a moment when she heard him shift on the mattress, but his breathing remained slow and even, and soon he stilled. Mouthing a silent thank-you to the patron saint of women slinking from strange beds, she searched the dark bedroom for her clothes before remembering they were somewhere by the front door. His shirt, however, lay on the floor by his side of the bed. She crawled over and picked it up.

She was crouched there with one arm in the shirt when the light clicked on and a deep, sleep-rough voice broke the silence. “Going somewhere?”

Wincing at the indignity of being caught mid-slink, she slipped her other arm into the shirt and concentrated on the buttons. Her hands weren’t quite steady. He had that effect on her.

“I have an early appointment. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’ve been awake for a while. After last night, I wouldn’t want you to leave without saying a proper good-bye. It wouldn’t seem right.”

She stood and blew her hair out of her eyes, then looked at him. Big mistake. Propped up on his pillow, with his disheveled hair, sleepy eyes, and raspy jaw, he was hard to walk away from. Because every hormone she possessed clamored to crawl back in bed with him, she responded more brusquely than she intended. “Okay, fine. Good-bye, Trevor.”

“Good-bye…Kylie.”

Oh, shit
. She stared at her feet. “You knew.”

“Not until last night.”

“What gave me away?”

She heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of bedsprings. Then his hand was under her chin, forcing her to face him. “Stacy Roberts isn’t a virgin. I practically have sworn affidavits attesting to that fact. You were, until a few hours ago.”

She closed her eyes against his probing stare. Stupid of her, thinking he hadn’t noticed. He noticed everything.

“Look at me, Kylie.”

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his. Guilt surged through her. She’d lied to him, arguably impeded his investigation. She didn’t deserve his concern. His next words only compounded her guilt.

“Are you okay? Physically, I mean?”

Shame heated her cheeks. “Yes. I’m fine. Please, don’t give it another thought.”

He looked at her for a long second, those dark, assessing eyes roaming her face. Apparently what he saw convinced him she was telling the truth, for once, because finally he nodded. “We’re both going to give it a lot of thought and some discussion, but it will have to wait until later. Right now, we’ve got other matters to deal with.”

Oh, Lord, here it comes. He’s going to arrest you
. Her stomach roiled. A bead of sweat trickled down her spine. “How bad—how bad is it?”

“It’s not good,” he clipped out, all tough, authoritative cop again. “This morning I’ve got to move quickly and by the book. We’re going to get dressed, then I’m going to read you your rights and escort you straight into an interview.”

“I need to call—”

“No calls, unless it’s an attorney. Meantime, Ian’s going to pick up Stacy, and she’ll get the same drill. Depending on how things shake out, we’ll see where we go from there.”

An attorney? Oh, God, this was bad. Fear snaked through her, leaving an icy trail of panic.

“My work,” she managed to whisper around the lump in her throat. “I’m a yoga instructor. I have a class starting at six.”

He retrieved his cell phone from the nightstand and handed it to her. “Call a substitute. Use my phone, so I can verify the number later.”

Trembling hands made dialing an ordeal. Her voice shook so badly her substitute sounded as worried as she felt by the end of the call.

Trevor took the phone from her freezing fingers, and then wrapped his hand over them. She shivered a little at the sudden warmth.

“Kylie, there’s something else I need you to do for me.”

Scared and miserable, she choked out, “I’ll try.”

“Trust me. I have a job to do, but everything I said before still stands. I want to help you. Trust me to do both.”

She nodded, but they both knew she really didn’t have a choice.

…

In the end, he had to help her dress. She was just too shaken up to manage on her own. Once he’d gotten her strapped into the passenger seat and started steering his Yukon down the canyon, her shakes abated some, though her pallor remained a troubling gray. Halfway to the station, Ian called to advise him that Stacy was in custody. Even before he hung up, she peppered him with questions.

“Is Stacy okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Does Ian realize he needs to be careful? She has a broken leg.”

“He’s a trained detective. He noticed the cast.” Immediately, he regretted the sarcasm. The morning was tough enough already. Glancing at her, he noted her stiff posture and felt like an ass. He reached over and covered the tense, white-knuckled fist closest to him.

Her hand relaxed under his, and she rested her head against the seatback. “I wish”—she turned her head until she faced him—“I wish everything was different.”

The words sounded so wrenchingly wistful, he knew with sudden certainty he wasn’t the only one who’d sensed the connection between them, the strange soul-to-soul recognition he’d felt that very first night.

“Ian will make sure Stacy is comfortable. He’s got a knack for putting people at ease.”

She nodded and expelled a slow breath. “Will Ian conduct her interview, then?”

“No.” He pulled into his spot in the station parking lot and stopped the car. “For many reasons, not the least of which is what we did last night, Ian will interview you. I’ll interview her.”

She grabbed his arm. “You need to understand something about Stacy.”

“Kylie, stop.” He pried her hand off his arm and held it for a second. “You can’t do this for her. Everything I need to understand about Stacy, I need to get directly from her.”

“You might not,” she said urgently, “because she’s scared. This is her worst nightmare. She’s terrified you’re going to arrest her for the murders. I’ve told her she’s irrational, but she can’t help it. She’s got an almost inborn distrust of authority. It stems from how she grew up, how people treated her where we grew up.”

Suddenly bone-weary, he stared through the windshield and sighed. “I have some experience dealing with nervous, hostile interviewees. You’re going to have to trust me to ask the right questions and draw the right conclusions. All I want is the truth. I don’t have any interest in hanging these murders on anyone except the actual murderer.”

“I know you don’t.” Her fingers tightened on his arm again. “I’m just trying to explain that she’s scared and defensive.”

Impatient with the whole situation, he asked, “What’s a scared, defensive woman from the backwoods of Tennessee doing working as a Hollywood stripper? And why the hell would you enable her by filling in?”

Kylie let go of him as if he’d stung her. “Besides the fact that if I didn’t fill in, we’d be homeless?”

“You’ve got a home in Tennessee.”

“Stacy’s a dancer. She’s trying to achieve her dreams and become a star. That won’t happen for her in Two Trout.”

“She’s off to a hell of a start.”

Kylie scowled at him. “Sure, plenty of people would say working at Deuces doesn’t qualify as legitimate dancing, and consider it proof she doesn’t have what it takes to succeed, but it’s not true. She’s an amazing entertainer. She’s had lots of auditions and callbacks. Even at Deuces, her artistry stands out. Those routines require more skill and technique than your average bump and grind. For her, dancing encompasses more than mere movement… She embodies a character, tells a story.”

“You’re a fan,” he observed quietly, unable to hold on to his anger.

“I believe in her talent, and in her. She’ll get there.”

“I hope she does. But first, she needs to get through this. The sooner we get started, the sooner we get done.” With that, he exited the car, came around, and opened the passenger door. She hesitated and gave him an uncomfortable look.

“Trevor, I want you to know, you were the only person I danced for like…the way I danced for you.”

Impossibly, he felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, seeing her sitting there, so prim and awkward. “I know,” he said softly, and helped her down. She flashed him a nervous look, and then, because he hadn’t cuffed her, preceded him into the station. He directed her to an interview room. With the recorders on, he recited the Miranda rights and secured her agreement that she understood the rights as they had been explained to her. Doubtful, considering she didn’t immediately request an attorney, but he knew Kylie wanted to cooperate so he didn’t press.

Ian opened the door, stepped in, and said, “Suite B. Recorders are on and ready to go. Miss Roberts declined a lawyer, so she’s all yours.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Standing, he gave Kylie one last look. Huge blue eyes stared back at him from a sheet-white face. Not exactly a confident, trusting expression. With a tight smile, he said, “See you later.” On his way down the hall he hoped her anxious eyes and pale face wouldn’t haunt him through her sister’s interview.

Hours later, he stepped back out into the hall, closed the door, and exhaled a long breath. Equal parts exhausted and relieved, he walked to Kylie’s room to check in with Ian. At his knock, Ian came out, pulled the door shut behind him, and asked, “What did she have to say?”

“Stacy said she had nothing to do with the murders and she doesn’t have the first clue who beat Long and Montenegro to death.”

“And you believe her.” Ian said it more as a conclusion than a question, but Trevor answered anyway.

“Yeah, I do. If she knew who’d murdered those guys, she’d kill him herself for depriving her of two of her best clients.”

“Sentimental girl.”

“In her own way, she misses them. Maybe it’s more accurate to say she misses their patronage, but that’s damn near the same thing in her mind. Whichever, it’s pretty clear she didn’t feel driven to punish them for their misbehavior at Deuces. She’s too focused on the bottom line to let, as she termed it, ‘some stupid, drunk behavior’ get to her. Certainly not enough to put someone up to killing them. If she were inclined to kill someone for those incidents, Ramon would be dead.”

“Not that she has the physical capacity to do the kind of damage done to those men, but does she happen to have alibis?”

“Montenegro’s murder was too long ago. She doesn’t remember where she was. She’s alibied for the night of Long’s murder. Aside from the broken leg—date and time verified by the ER—she spent last Friday evening at a bar, made a friend, and went back to his place after last call.” He shrugged. “I’ll check it out, but it’s going to hold.”

“What did she say about the whole Stacy/Kylie switch?”

“It’s an old fallback for them. Since they were kids, if she was in a jam, she’d ask Kylie to take her place. She swears nobody at Deuces knows Kylie’s been dancing her shifts for the last two weeks.”

Ian nodded. “That’s exactly what Kylie said. And you know what? I’ll bet they’re right. Even for identical twins, the resemblance is amazing.”

“There are subtle differences. Kylie’s eyes are a deeper blue, her lips less pouty.” More shapely…more expressive.

Ian grinned. “Yeah, classy versus sassy. But nobody at Deuces is looking at eye shade or lip definition.”

“Probably not. The personality differences are less subtle.”

“Still waters and roaring rapids—but nobody’s looking at their personalities either. Given that their switch remains undetected, we gonna let the charade continue?”

A part of him wanted to say no. The knee-jerk, protective part preferred to bundle Kylie onto a plane with a one-way ticket back to Two Trout, or somewhere else far away, where she’d be safe. But he didn’t control her and, considering she’d been willing to pose as a stripper to stay in LA, he knew damn well she wouldn’t easily abandon the life she’d built here just because he asked her to. And if she stayed, then pulling the plug on their switch simply shot their investigation in the foot. They were close to forcing the killer to make a move. He felt it. They just needed to push this guy a little more.

“We keep going. If Kylie were underage or something along those lines, I’d have a different opinion, but as it stands, her dancing there doesn’t violate any vice laws. We’re not responsible for talent management at Deuces. If they don’t realize they’ve got a substitute stripper, that’s their problem. Kylie’s a crucial part of the undercover op. Our act may be the only way we’re going to catch this killer.”

“I’m on board, you’re on board. But is Kylie on board?”

The thought of Kylie dancing until two after only a couple hours of sleep and all the trauma of the morning made his conscience bleed, but he nodded. “She will be. I don’t want to lose whatever attention I attracted by leaving with her last night. I want to keep pressing this guy’s buttons until he crawls out of his hole and tries to bash my skull in.”

Just then Kylie opened the door. The words “bash my skull in” echoed down the narrow hall while she looked up at him, fear and worry etched across her face.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I’ve got his back,” Ian said. “Nothing’s going to happen to him.”

Not helpful, if her expression served as any indication. Nor was his safety what he wanted her thinking about. “Come on.” Trevor took her arm and steered her down the hall. “We’re done here. I’ll take you back to my place to get your car.”