The Second Betrayal (12 page)

us.

It would only be a couple of weeks at the most. I would finish this goddamned op—bring down this New York

prostitution circle and, most importantly. get Hagstedt. And I would go home and be there for Mama.

"Steele." Donovan jerked me out of my thoughts as he called to me from the kitchen. "Could use a hand here."

"Yeah. Sure." Since when did Donovan need the slightest bit of help from me when it came to anything relating to the kitchen? Delicious smells were coming my way now. Something sauteed like beef and vegetables.

When I reached the kitchen, he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me aside, out of view of the living room. He

wrapped me in his arms and held me tight. How did he know I needed this so much? He was the most alpha male I

knew, and I knew a lot of alphas in my line of work. But he was also one of the most intuitive people I'd ever met.

I hugged Donovan back, needing to feel his arms around me and the comfort of his body against mine as long as

possible. He felt and smelled so good. So warm. Male. Spicy. I drank in that incredible scent, and it comforted me

almost as much as his embrace did.

He pressed his lips to the top of my head and I felt his warm breath. "Is your mom doing any better?"

"I don't think so." I placed my forehead against his chest, his navy-blue T-shirt soft against my skin.

"Do you want to go home?" he said, his voice low, concerned.

"Yes, but I'm the only one who can pull this job off, especially the part of being a madame." I gave a sigh. "Months of preparation trying to find this bastard—if we don't get Hagstedt on this op, who knows how long it will take. We've got to get him
now"

"We will." The determination in Donovan's words and in his voice matched my own. "We're going to get you home as soon as possible." He gave me another long comforting squeeze.

"What smells so—" Kerrison said from behind me, then added, "Oops. Sorry to butt in."

If I had jerked away from Donovan, it would have made both of us look guiltier than hell. Instead, I slowly stepped back and tried to smile at Kerrison as Dono van's arms slipped away from me. "Not at all. Donovan was being a good friend and comforting me."

Kerrison frowned. She'd scrubbed her face clean of makeup, revealing a smattering of light freckles that weren't

normally visible. She'd put her long red hair into a ponytail and pulled it through the rear opening of her UT ball cap, allowing the thick ponytail to fall down her back.

"Is everything all right?" She had a genuine, concerned expression. "Is something wrong?"

"To be honest? Things aren't fine." I pushed my hair out of my face, the strands suddenly irritating me. "It's a family issue."

"Okay." Kerrison shoved her hands into the front pockets of her faded Levi's, and I was glad she didn't try to pry about the subject. "I can't offer a big shoulder to cry on like Donovan can, but if you need help with something, name it."

"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and started to feel uncomfortable, like I was going to squirm beneath her gaze, but only for a moment.

"Fajitas, right?" Kerrison seemed to understand my need for privacy by going to the stove and paying attention to Donovan's dinner preparations instead of me and my issues. "Mmmm. Beef, sauteed onions, and sweet peppers. This smells almost as good as my aunt's cooking."

She looked at the small bowls to the side and grinned. "Oooh, and sour cream, guacaniole, along with a bowl of cheese and a stack of tortillas." She glanced at Donovan. "I'm impressed. And starving."

"Those tortillas are homemade, too. Donovan's are wicked good." I allowed a little smile as I moved next to Kerrison at the stove. "His cooking is pretty darned close to being as good as my mammy's." I glanced up at him, ignoring the twinge in my chest at the mention of my mother. "But not quite."

Kerrison wasn't looking. He tugged at the end of my French braid, then leaned close to speak in my ear low enough

that Kerrison would have needed supersonic hearing to catch it. Although with her remarkable skills, maybe I shouldn't have doubted the possibility.

"I can cook up something special just for you, Steele," Donovan said in a low rumble.

My nipples ached at the sensuality in his sexy voice, the promise of good things to come. Real good.

The ring of my work cell phone jarred me out of my desire for Donovan. I'd taken it off vibrate while I wasn't on duty in case any important calls came through. I stepped away from Donovan and checked the phone number on the caller

screen. I didn't recognize it, but the area code was one of New York City's exchanges. Stalder?

I glanced at Donovan. "I think it's the club," I said before answering the phone and saying "Hello," in a throaty, sensual voice.

"Madame Alexis?" Stalder, definitely. "You're to come in for a second interview with Mr. G."

I pumped my fist and elbow in a
yes!
motion as I looked at Kerrison and Donovan. "Of course," I said in a calm tone.

"When?"

"A driver will meet you outside your apartment building in fifteen minutes."

Christ.

"Fifteen minutes," I repeated for Kerrison's benefit. "Chandra and I will be ready for the appointment with Mr. G."

Kerrison raised her hands and looked down at her jeans and T-shirt before looking at me and mouthing, ! "What the fuck?"

"We look forward to seeing you soon," I said before I closed the phone and added,
"Shit."

"You have got to be kidding me." Kerrison shook her head. "What do they think? That we're dressed to the nines the whole day, just waiting for their call?"

I rushed straight for my bedroom. "How can I possibly do my makeup and put on the damned wig, not to mention

getting dressed, in fifteen friggin' minutes?" And miss Donovan's fajitas, damnit.

Kerrison muttered what had to be a curse word beneath her breath by the anger in her tone.
"And
this means no fajitas." She sounded madder at that than at having to leave so fast as she echoed my thought.

The silvery-blond wig had to go on first so that I could make sure every strand of my dark hair was tucked in place.

Thank goodness I'd put my hair in the French braid this morning in preparation for when I'd be going undercover. I

chose the wig with long, loose hair to make it easier to cover any of my natural hair that might stray in the back. Then I performed what must have been the sloppiest makeup job in history.

As soon as I finished making the mascara as thick as possible in that short amount of time, I spritzed on some perfume.

I slipped a cell phone the size of a credit card into a pocket built into my bra on the outside of my left breast.

I'd tucked my miniature lock-picking tools into an even smaller pocket on the right side of my bra. I grabbed the black purse that was pre-stashed with my fake drivers license, a couple of credit cards, another cell phone, and some cash.

Despite the fact it was fall, I also had a dark pair of Prada sunglasses that Oxford would probably read me the riot act over buying.

Well, she might not notice that three-hundred-dollar receipt for the sunglasses when she got a look at the bills for the clothing and shoes. Normally I was happy in jeans and T-shirts. But as a classy madame, I had to look the part, didn't I?

Kerrison and I almost ran into each other as we came out of our rooms at the same time. She gave me a critical look.

"Steele, you have mascara tracks under your eyes."

"Damn." I rubbed my fingers over the skin beneath my eyes.

"Better." Kerrison held her brown handbag in one hand while she brushed her long red hair over one of her shoulders with her other hand.

The motion revealed the spaghetti strap of her cocoa-brown half top, and the light caught the glimmer and sparkles

from the bead fringes along the hem of her top and around the hem of her miniskirt. That skirt showed off her perfect figure and her toned, fit thighs and calves.

"You're supposed to be my assistant, not one of the girls," I said with mock-seriousness as I glanced down at my elegant black sheath dress.

Kerrison grinned. "Can't hurt with the big boss man to look like I'd be happy to do him."

We reached the living room. "Uh, what if he comes on to you and does want you to do him?"

She shrugged, and her RED-issued gold bracelet winked in the brighter living room light. "I'll think of something."

"Damn, damn. Ten seconds." I whirled and ran back to my bedroom. "Forgot my jewelry."

I scooped the rings off the vanity dresser and slipped them on as I hurried as fast as I could while wearing my black strappy four-inch sandals. Kerrison's heels were only two inches high, so I was only two inches shorter, rather than the usual four.

Donovan appeared from out of the kitchen, grabbed my upper arm, and dragged me two steps behind the door before I

could follow Kerrison out of the apartment. "Be careful," he said as he brushed his lips over mine.

I grinned as he pulled away, some of my thickly applied red lipstick smeared across his lips. "Give it up, Donovan. I'm always careful."

Sort of.

He closed the door behind me as I ran the six or so steps to the elevator Kerrison was in. An annoying buzzing sound started when the elevator doors couldn't close because she was standing between them.

When I stepped inside it, the elevator smelled of brass polish that made the brass handrails gleam in the elegant

lighting. The closed-in space also smelled like an orchid hothouse where the orchids had been fed massive amounts of steroids.

"What did you do?" I wrinkled my nose. "Pour perfume on every inch of your body?"

"Too much, huh?"

I nodded and she shrugged.

As the elevator started down, Kerrison pulled a tube out of her purse, unscrewed the wand, and drew it out. Lip gloss.

"Stand still. Your lipstick doesn't look right," she said before running the spongy part of the wand over my lips.

"There."

"Everything else on straight?" I pointed at my wig.

"Looks fine. Goldilocks."

I made a face. " 'Silverlocks.' I don't think there's a strand of gold in this wig."

She smiled. It was a casual smile of camaraderie and it was easy to smile back at her.

We walked out of the elevator at a sedate pace, the beads on Kerrison's skirt and top making soft clinking sounds as we walked. An average-looking guy—who dressed like he was trying to look not so average— was in the small lobby.

He wore a black suit, black polished shoes, and black sunglasses. His dark skin was smooth, unblemished, and unlined, and I'd have bet he was barely in his twenties.

"Ms. Johansen and Ms. Elliot." He said it in a way that was a statement as opposed to a question. Like he already knew what we looked like. He'd probably been shown a still of us made from vids from the cameras located around

the club floor.

I gave him a nod before I slipped on the pair of sunglasses from my purse. After a slight bow, he turned and held open the door for Kerrison and me to pass through.

The blast of New York's November chill instantly caused goose bumps to rise on my skin.

"Our coats," Kerrison said with a groan. "We were in such a rush."

"No time to go back." I paused a moment so that the man in the suit could open the door to the waiting black Lincoln Town Car. I swear, everyone in New York drove black cars.

Kerrison followed me as we slid across the black leather and settled into the posh seats. We looked at each other when the man shut the car door behind us. "You're stinking up the car with that perfume," I said before the driver got in his seat on the other side of the car. "You smell like orchids gone rogue."

She gave an evil grin. "At least I didn't just leave half my lipstick on a man's face."

My cheeks burned, and I forced myself to meet her gaze with my best
what the hell are you talking about
expression.

"You're delusional."

Kerrison snorted. 1 looked away as the driver settled himself in his seat and shut the door. We were all silent as we drove from Brooklyn to Manhattan.

During the drive, my thoughts wandered from Kerrison's keen observation, to Donovan, to the op, and to Mama. She

never left my thoughts, but like any part of life, no matter how much we want things to go our way, we have to

continue on with what we're given.

Daddy and Mama had drilled that into the seven of us from the time we were young, when we didn't have a lot of

money. Those were the years we lived on cabbage and whatever else Mama grew in the garden in the back of the

house, including potatoes. Like the original settlers did, we had potato bread instead of bread made from white flour.

Mama's cooking was every bit as wonderful then as it came to be once they'd saved and built up a good living for all of us. As far as growing up not having much money—my brothers, sister, and I never knew the difference. It was. a

part of our lives, and for the most part we were a happy bunch.

Well, when we weren't getting into trouble in one way or another or fighting like brothers and sisters do. Yeah, we were a bit of a challenge to Mama and Daddy. Putting it mildly.

My focus returned to the op as the car pulled up to the Elite Gentleman's Club and of course the driver aided us in getting out of the car. Again we were under the club's red awning decorated with white holiday lights. And again we were facing the same large, tall, muscled bouncer who'd been there yesterday.

This time he held the door open as soon as we approached him, apparently expecting us. Still, he said something over his wireless communication device, no doubt informing someone we'd arrived.

I slipped my sunglasses into my purse as we met up with another muscled guy who waited at the second door, a

different one this time. This behemoth was bald and had a small diamond earring high up in the cartilage of his right ear.

Mr. Frenchy wasn't waiting for us once we passed through that door; either.