BULLETPROOF BRIDE (21 page)

Gabe leaned forward. "And the significance would be?"

"Since we constantly have a pen in our hand, one of the bad habits we bankers have is subconsciously picking them up wherever we go. Only Carla and I had vault access, and this ink is a very distinctive shade of blue. It's a long shot, but if we can trace the pen—"

He leapt up. "I like the way your mind works. Where's the pen?"

"I threw it away." She peered inside her wastebasket. "Uh-oh. The janitorial staff emptied the trash last night."

"Where do they take the garbage?"

"Documents are shredded, paper is recycled and the trash—" She groaned. "We are
not
digging through the Dumpster."

He grinned. "Do you have anything better planned?"

"Yes, work. What if somebody sees us? Besides, it will be like looking for a needle in a very unsanitary haystack."

"Where's your spirit of adventure?" He removed the mug from her clenched hand and set it on the desk.

"At home, with my hazmat suit." She shuddered. "You can fly solo on this one,
Secret Agent
Man.
I refuse to rifle through a Dumpster."

Gabe was staring at her mug. "Maybe you won't have to." He moved the cup aside, and then lifted her inbox. "Look." He held up a jagged half of a pen.

"I missed a piece." With a smile she rolled her gaze heavenward. "Thank you," she breathed.

He squinted at the printing on the side. "—
ue
Moon Club?"

"The Blue Moon Club is a jazz and blues place downtown."

"If Carla
was
involved with the counterfeiters, and she frequented the Blue Moon Club, it bears checking out. Immediately."

"I can't leave right now, I'll get fired!"

He punched numbers into the phone. "I assume
Trask
has voice mail?" His voice spiked high and nasal. "This is Dr. Franklin's office. Miss Beaumont was treated in urgent care yesterday for laryngitis. She requires bed rest and won't be at work for several days." He hung up, and then phoned himself in sick as "Gabe Bond."

"All set."

"But who's going to run the office?"

"I'm not sitting on this until the trail gets any colder." He held the door open. "Maybe after
Trask
does your job for a while, he'll appreciate you more."

"After this fiasco, I won't have a job." Reluctantly, she followed him to the car.

Gabe made a five-minute stop at a gas station to change from his nerd disguise into a black rayon T-shirt, pleated slacks and black sport jacket he produced from a gym bag in the trunk. He climbed inside the car, still finger-combing his damp hair.

Her glance locked on his lean, graceful fingers stroking the shiny raven strands. Musician's hands that had caressed her body, evoking a symphony of hot, shimmery pleasure. Goose bumps prickled on her skin, and her stomach flip-flopped. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes lifted to his.

He stared at her for a long space of heartbeats. His eyes darkened, reflecting back
her own
raw, aching need. Then he lowered his lashes. "Do I have spinach stuck between my teeth or what?"

She gulped, jerking her gaze away. There he went, backpedaling fast and furiously. She'd be smart to do the same.

He started the car. "Tell me about the Blue Moon Club."

Not only did Gabe dodge personal questions, he ran from emotion. But he had a huge capacity for caring when he let himself. She'd experienced his tenderness firsthand. It must be tough for such a naturally outgoing man to keep his feelings under tight rein all the time. He had to have a very compelling reason. A reason he didn't want to divulge. Or couldn't divulge.

"Hey, where are you?"

In your arms
. She forced her mind back to business. "Sorry, just thinking. I've heard the club is nice, though it's in a rough part of town. Somebody bought the building two years ago and renovated."

Morning traffic began to thin as he negotiated a series of one-way streets. "I see what you mean about the neighborhood." He made another turn, and pointed to a two-story building painted the same silvery blue as the ink pen. A neon sign in front read Blue Moon Club.

He circled the block. "No one around. They probably don't open until evening. I'd say a little recon is safe."

He parked the Pinto two blocks from the club. They strolled past the entrance. "Nobody's home."

"No," she whispered. She studied the neon pink help wanted flyers posted in the front window. "Everything is dark."

"Why are you whispering?" He shot her a grin.

"Probably the laryngitis," she snapped in her normal voice.

His low chuckle spilled out. "I wonder what's around
back?
"

She followed him down a deserted alley strewn with garbage. Two battered gray Dumpsters emanating a sour stench loomed side by side against grimy brick walls, lending a sinister cast. A shiver trailed up her spine and she moved closer to Gabe.

Though he couldn't have seen her shiver, he reached back and grabbed her hand. "Here's your chance. Sure you don't want to go Dumpster diving?"

The spooky feeling retreated, and she smiled. "I'll pass."

He stopped in front of a metal door and peered into a thick, wire-reinforced window. "Everything is dark." His glance ricocheted left, then right before he tried the knob.

"What are you doing? Breaking into
Trask's
office was one thing, but—"

"You can go back to whispering now. This would be more effective if you didn't announce our presence to the entire neighborhood."

"What if somebody is in there?"

"I'll have to shoot them, I guess." He took in her appalled expression and laughed. "Relax, honey, I was kidding. The place is deserted."

"Can I help you?" A gravelly male voice rasped behind them.

She whirled. Instinctively she stepped in front of Gabe, blocking the stranger's view. In back of her, she felt Gabe's careful movement. Drawing his gun? Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears.

"I
said,
can I help you?" the man repeated. He was a few inches shorter than Gabe, but had at least a twenty-pound advantage. Rock-hard biceps bulged under the sleeves of his white T-shirt. His red-blond hair was buzz-cut. A jagged white scar bisected his right eyebrow, and his nose sported a distinct bump, as though it had been broken. Probably more than once. He regarded them with the cold stare of a wary Rottweiler.

"We were just leaving," Gabe replied. His fingers squeezed her shoulder. When he stepped in front of her and started forward, she was relieved to see both his hands were empty.

The Rottweiler blocked their escape. "Why are you nosing around?"

Gabe's body went rigid. "Look, Bubba—"

Her mind spun. No telling what Gabe would do if this man wouldn't let them past. "It's about the job," she heard herself blurt out.

"Job?" the stranger growled.

She willed her voice not to quiver. "Your flyers in the front window said you need a singer. I'm here to audition." She waved a hand at Gabe who had turned and was staring at her like she'd grown another head. "This is my … manager. No one answered the front door, so we came around back."

The man's steel gray gaze bored into her. Holding her breath, she stood unmoving beneath his scrutiny. Finally, he spoke. "Come in." He moved forward, extracting a key from his pocket.

With Gabe behind her, she followed muscle man down a long dark corridor.

"I hope you know what you're doing, because we're between the devil and the deep blue sea," Gabe hissed into her ear.

"I hope so, too," she whispered.

Tessa's whispered reply sent adrenaline stinging through Gabe's veins. But instead of a heady, exhilarating rush, anxiety tightened his muscles. He'd let his awareness slip and trapped them in a no-win scenario. If these were the
perps
he'd been tracking, they'd be suspicious and jumpy. Likely to act first and ask questions later. From the silent, battle-ready way this guy moved, he had martial arts experience and was well-trained, probably ex-military.

Gabe mentally played-out his options. If it went down ugly, Tessa could get hurt. Then again, even if he took the guy out now, she could still get hurt. Not to mention he'd burn his cover
and
tip off the crooks. Damn!

His fingers gripped the
Glock
tucked into his waistband. He hesitated. In the short time he'd known
her,
Houdini had demonstrated a remarkable ability to think on her feet. He'd have to be an idiot to pass up an opportunity to get inside. As they progressed deeper into the bowels of the building, he wrestled with himself.
Now or never,
Colton
, make your move.

His
gut said trust
her. He released the gun and let his hand drop to his side.
Okay, gut, you'd better not be wrong.

The man they were following opened a padded door and switched on the lights. He led them into a silver-blue room with close to a hundred round chrome tables circled by black chairs. A chrome and black bar filled one side.

"I'm Leo
Drumm
, manager." His steely gaze flicked over Gabe before fixing on Tessa. "What's your name and what do you sing?"

Gabe could see her trembling, but she answered steadily. "Patrice …
Aron
. One A. And I can sing anything you want."

Gabe bit back a grin. His instinct was still batting a thousand.

Leo gestured at a black baby grand piano on the stage. "I wasn't expecting anybody this early. I don't have an accompanist. Go ahead and sing
a cappella
."

"I play." She walked to the stage, and sat at the piano.

"Grab a chair, Mr. Manager." Leo waved his hand.

He slipped into his Cousin Val demeanor. "The name's Valentine, Val to you." He sauntered toward the front table.

Leo rolled his eyes. He flipped a chair around and sat with his arms folded across the back edge. "She better be good."

Man, he sure hoped so. "She is."

Tessa glanced at him, her eyes wide. He sent her a silent message.
You can do it, honey.
Her breasts rose and fell under her brown suit as she drew a shuddery breath. Then she gracefully splayed her fingers and music began to spill out. He recognized the tune as she began to sing. "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You."

Sucker-punched, Gabe sat frozen in his chair. She wasn't good. Her husky, sensuous voice traveled way beyond good. Clear into fantastic. Time suspended as her seductive melody floated out and wrapped around him, weaving right down into his soul. He forgot to breathe.

Fingers snapped under his nose and he jolted, realizing he was sitting in the sudden silence like a
poleaxed
steer.

Leo drilled him with a curious look. "You okay, pal?"

Unable to locate his voice, Gabe nodded.

Drumm
stood. "Lose The King, and you got the job," he called to Tessa. "You start tomorrow night. And do something about those old-lady clothes. If you work here, you gotta be sexy."

Gabe sucked oxygen into his air-starved lungs. Any sexier and he was a dead man. He signed the contract Leo produced, and he and Tessa left.

She held her silence until they reached the car. She flounced into the passenger seat. "I can't believe you agreed I'd start tomorrow night! I'm supposed to have laryngitis! What if someone from work sees me?"

Gabe strode around the car. He slid into the driver's seat. "They won't. You're using your middle name and a phony surname. That reminds me, I need to get you ID and a social security card for Patrice
Aron
." He twisted the key in the ignition. "With different clothes and your hair down, nobody from the bank is going to recognize the sultry siren on stage."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not going to dress like some sidewalk
strutter
—" She frowned. "How did you know Patrice was my middle name?"

Still reeling from the lethal punch of her singing, he'd slipped up again. It was getting to be a bad habit, one that could turn deadly if he wasn't careful. He should have known she would catch
him,
his sharp cookie never missed a trick. He lifted a shoulder. "You mentioned it, I guess."

"No I didn't." Her eyes narrowed. "You checked up on me." A flush darkened her cheeks. "I shouldn't have wasted my breath confiding in you. You probably know what my blood type is."

O positive, but he wasn't about to admit it. He sighed. "I order dossiers on everyone in every case." He clasped her hand, but she snatched it away. "Your report was bare bones. Priors, warrants, credit history, only enough to tell me you're not involved in anything illegal. The investigator didn't list any information about Jules and Vivienne, or your dad for that matter. Your mother covered her tracks on that one like a pro."

"You violated my privacy." Her voice was tight.

"Nothing personal. Just smart business."

"It's always business with you. The only reason you trusted me is because of the report." Her voice wavered and she ripped her gaze from his face, jerking her head toward the window.