In the Still of the Night:Sexy Romantic Suspense (Book 2 The Blonde Barracuda's Sizzling Suspense Series) (11 page)

D. C. came at an auspicious time. He would be gone for three days. If all went well—and why wouldn’t it?—she would be in and out of the Rising Sun tonight with enough evidence to put her plan into action. And Jake would never need to know how her team got the explosive evidence.

She tossed her head to ensure that the long black Asian wig was securely fastened. The bright neon pink halter, matching boy shorts, and over the knee black patent leather boots completed the picture. She grimaced. It wasn’t the first time she’d donned the streetwalker’s garb. She brushed off the distant memory of the sixteen-year-old who’d worn it for real. The only thing she could hang onto from that awful memory was that Anthony had found her in the strip joint, before she’d had to sell her body to eat. She wished she’d been smart enough then to make sure her “fuck me” boots were reinforced with steel tips… and housed a knife sheath.

Remembering Dalila implying that her belly button ring made her a whore, Lexie threw her reflection a satisfied grin. Anchoring the tiny microphone hidden in the gaudy zircon jewel in her navel, she muttered, “Hmm, one woman’s whore is another woman’s spy.” The final piece of equipment was the gold cross at her neck, which housed another microphone and GPS tracker. She’d heard from some of her informants, that ‘johns’ and even streetwise pimps hesitated to rip off a cross from their prostitute’s neck. Didn’t want to tempt the gods apparently.

In the alleyway, she and Dewa went over their final plans. The young Chinese man was one of her students. While he could hold his own in the martial arts arena, his real value to her was the fact that he was a technological whiz. She’d learned of his skills when she saw him replaying a scene from his unsuspecting girlfriend’s bathroom. Forcing him to admit how he captured such intimate footage, he introduced her to the high-tech gadgetry that was making privacy a forgotten luxury of a simpler and more trusting past. Gently blackmailing him was easy. She needed his discretion, in return she gave him hers. At least for the moment. Once this was over, she intended to shame him into confessing his sins to his girlfriend.

Looking over his outrageous low hanging pants, enough bling to light up the night and a doo rag over his spiky hair, Lexie was satisfied. Definitely pimp material. A nose ring and tongue stud were the most common of his piercings. She groaned at the nipple rings and connecting chains he sported, visible under his bro-tank. She reminded herself to make sure Dewa wore a shirt around Jake. Steel capped boots with more armor than hers completed the picture.

Once more, Lexie warned her young partner. “You are there to get the evidence we need. You are not there to protect me. Do you understand?”

At his quick nod, Lexie scowled at him, “Listen to me, Dewa. I know what men are like. There was something bred into you when you were still tadpoles that made you think it was up to you to protect any girlie tadpole that flicked her tail at you. That is NOT your job tonight. Don’t forget I was winning national mixed martial arts medals when you were still in junior high school. I can protect myself, Dewa—no matter what happens. It is critical that you are not compromised. If I tell you to go, so help me God, you run like hell and don’t let anyone catch you. Or strip you of all that expensive equipment buried in those outrageous piercings. Are we agreed?”

When the young man nodded, Lexie said with a nonchalant shrug, “Oh and just in case you feel inclined to forget your promise to me, and get all macho? Don’t forget. I have a copy of Alicia in a rather compromising position, as well as her e-mail address—and phone number.”

Dewa’s dark flush was visible in the moonless night.

“You wouldn’t really do that to me, would you, Jai Li?”

She laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “In a heartbeat, Dewa. In a heartbeat.”

Chapter 10

Lexie circled the block around the Rising Sun massage parlor, taking her time to close in. Dewa leaned against the lamppost in front of the spa. Lexie took in a satisfied breath. The young guy really was a pro. At least as far as his technical skills went. Whether he looked like a hardened pimp was another question. But that wasn’t what she needed from him. No, street smarts were her forte. She knew the street inside and out. She’d watched it from a distance and from up close. For too many years she’d listened to women tell their stories. She heard their inflections, their slang, and their weary acceptance of their lives. Tonight she would be one of them. Soon she would be their avenger.

Her plan was simple. She needed to hook up with a john in front of the Rising Sun and lead him inside. Capturing the illicit money exchange was essential. As was the backdrop of the Rising Sun. The challenge was how to get that combination without alerting the bad actors inside the spa that she wasn’t one of their girls doing what she was paid to do. She was counting on the astonishing number of “incidents” that took place nightly inside the establishment. It was one of the busiest and most profitable erotic massage parlors in the District. And one of the best-guarded. Lexie was counting on sheer volume to allow her to get inside with her john. From their surveillance she knew that a minimum of twenty girls worked the rooms inside. And each girl turned at least a dozen tricks a night. Damn that would exhaust the most exacting gatekeeper and that was what Lexie was counting on. Risky? Hell yes. Necessary? Absolutely.

She had excellent footage of women telling their horrific stories. Telling in excruciating detail what happened inside the walls of these “workplaces.” Their stories were heartbreaking and all too familiar to Lexie. But to the general public? And the City Council? And the rabid press corps? They were dynamite. Which reminded her, on their list of “must haves” was a clear shot of the prominently posted city permit on the wall of the Rising Sun.

She ran through the scenario one more time in her mind. She’d made Dewa repeat it so often that she could envision it just by closing her eyes. The anteroom was small and always crowded with weary girls and eager johns. The girls brought in the johns they rounded up on their assigned streets. Once inside, they turned them over to the Madams stationed at the entrance to the private cubicles. After the john paid, and picked up a condom, he and his girl waited for a cubicle to open up. Lexie’s plan was simple. As soon as Dewa captured the money exchange on camera, the two of them would make their way through the tiny hallway to the back entrance and head down the alley undetected. That was the plan.

After about an hour, she and Dewa had become familiar figures on the street and weren’t attracting notice from the watchers at the spa. Lexie tested that notion by initiating a conversation with one of the pimp/guards leaning up against the porch leading to the spa entrance. Complaining about the “new” pimp she was breaking in, she asked the heavily tattooed black man to watch him for her, said he was young and the first time he’d “done” the Rising Sun. Lexie motioned Dewa over, and introduced him to Sanchez. The bored guard was helpful in a laconic sort of way. Warned them both that the Madam was a greedy bitch, and any money she charged for upselling Lexie’s services she pocketed.

Lexie spotted a fifty-something, balding man leaning up against a couple-year-old Toyota Camry. He had ‘suburban white male out for a night on the town’ written all over him. Lexie shrugged to her two companions and muttered, “He oughta be good for an entrance fee, don’t’cha think?”

Sanchez shrugged. “Just don’t let the bitch see you take it. She’ll grab it
and
your portion of the trick fee.”

Lexie threw him a knowing grin.

“Hey, you guys show a little muscle and whatever I get, I’ll split.”

Sanchez nodded his understanding and with Dewa at her side, moved in to “encourage” the exchange.

Lexie marveled at how sanguine the aging yuppie was as he prepared to commit a crime that could easily destroy his marriage and his livelihood. Apparently the guy was an old timer, knew his way around the brothels. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow when she suggested that she’d do a little extra if he paid her directly. Rolling off a couple of twenties, he shrugged and handed them to her. Confident that Dewa had captured the audio and video of the exchange, she winked at Sanchez and tucked one of the twenties in his pants pocket as she and Dewa entered the spa with their mark in tow.

Inside the stench of heavy cloying perfume, sweat and sex hit Lexie in the face. She saw Dewa jerk back. Poor kid, she thought to herself. What an introduction to the oldest profession in the world. The tiny room was even more crowded than she expected. The girls ranged from their late teens to early twenties. The men were easily twice their ages. The fat squinty-eyed Madam parked in the entrance to the private rooms didn’t bother with niceties or subterfuge. Clearly she’d long ago concluded that the risk of exposure was small and the payoff so large that she did her business mechanically and openly. Lexie tossed Dewa a knowing nod at the City permit prominently displayed beside the entrance. She smiled grimly to herself. A two-fer for Dewa’s camera. Next to the permit was the Rising Sun logo. Damn, she wouldn’t need to art direct this shot. The spa owners did it for her.

When Dewa signaled that he’d captured ‘their’ mark paying the gatekeeper and pocketing the condom, Dewa headed for the hallway. Lexie sidled up to her guy, who’d introduced himself as Greg. She was confident it was his real name. So certain that he wouldn’t get caught, he didn’t even try for an alias. Running her hand suggestively over the front of his pants and smiling at the responding twitch, she whispered that she needed to go to the ladies room. With another quick tug at the bulge that was making a more forward appearance, she winked over her shoulder and followed Dewa down the narrow hallway.

To her relief, Lexie saw that Dewa had made it outside. He was heading down the alley when a couple of the men lounging at the bottom of the staircase jerked to attention and yelled to him to stop. As instructed, Dewa didn’t respond, just shoved his hands in his low hanging jeans and speeded up. The largest of the guys tossed his cigarette and shouted as he took off after the young man, “Hey, asshole, you deaf?! Didn’t you forget something?”

As if on command, the other two guards tossed their cigarettes and hurried to catch up to their leader. Seeing the danger, Lexie yelled, “Go, Dewa. Run!”

Her shout had the intended effect. The startled men forgot the pimp who’d taken off like a bat out of hell and turned as a group to see who dared interrupt their fun.

Lexie pranced down the stairs and tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. Eyeing the leader of the group, a tall heavy-set Asian man, she cocked her head and grinned. “Sorry guys. I’m just breaking him in. He doesn’t know all the rules.”

She kept walking when a large hand jerked her back. She relaxed in his hold to distract him. Making no attempt to break away, she took in the scar that kept his left eyelid partially closed. His occluded vision gave her an advantage she intended to use. But before attacking, she tried a more seductive approach.

“Hey, man. Lighten up. Can’t ya see, I’m not going anywhere?”

His breath reeking with alcohol was hot on her face.

“You’re right about that, pussycat.” He twisted her arm behind her and dragged her up next to him. Surveying her body, he nodded to his friends.

“No, we definitely haven’t met. I’d remember these anywhere.” He reached out and gave her breast a sharp pinch. Lexie managed to keep from crying out. The brute continued in a low voice. “And guess what? These honkers are real, aren’t they pussycat?” He reached across and pinched the other breast. This time Lexie was unable to stifle her cry.

“Yeah, you are definitely new, baby. She don’t seem to know the protocol, does she?” The two men beside him growled in agreement. One reached out and twisted her nipple.

“I’ll be fucked, Maco. These jugs are real. Looks like this is our lucky night. First the slut tells her pimp to hightail it outa here . Then she thinks she can just sashay her hot little ass right past us, without paying her dues.” He pressed his hard muscled body up against hers grinding his arousal into her stomach. He laughed and his buddies joined in. “Yeah, slut, you feel that? And there’s more where that came from, ain’t there, boys? See, pussy cat, we have a little initiation party for new sluts—in addition to the regular dues.” Grabbing once more for her breast, he chortled, “Fuck yes! Is this our lucky night or what?”

Taking advantage of the three deviants’ attention to her breasts, Lexie twisted and drove her heel into the leader’s foot. His surprised scream drowned out the sound of cracking bone.

Lexie ducked down and whirled out of the Maco’s grip. From her warrior crouch, she taunted, “Depends on how you define luck.”

With a spirit yell, Lexie went into action. She spun in a flying whirl and drove an elbow into Maco’s jaw. The big man stumbled back but quickly recovered and raised his fists in the unmistakable sign of a trained fighter. Turning, she ducked in time to miss the heel of the third man’s boot. Instead she smashed the palm of her hand up into his nose and heard a satisfying crunch. His outraged scream and a spurt of blood confirmed she’d broken his nose. Two against one she could handle with ease but over her shoulder she saw that her screaming adversaries had attracted reinforcements. Sanchez came bellowing around the corner, followed by another Asian man. Driving a steel tipped boot at Maco’s knee, Lexie missed but caught his hip. As he went down, he grabbed for her but caught her hair. With a painful jerk he pulled her wig free.

Sanchez roared. “Fuckin A! It’s the blond bitch! The fucking martial artist freak who helps all the whores. Get her, men! Whatever you do, don’t let her go! Christ, they’ll kill us if we let her go!”

Lexie spun backwards to survey the landscape. Ignoring the leader who was rolling on the ground cradling his broken foot, she counted her odds. Two against one, a piece of cake. Three against one, could be interesting. But four against one, particularly when three of them were clearly trained fighters, now that called for strategy. First she had to even the odds. Whirling from left to right she went for Maco who was coming at her his face tight with rage. Anger was a weapon she used. Against him. With a round-house hook kick she went for his knee again. This time she connected.