Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (6 page)

“Fine. Do it.” Morgan’s curse reverberated through the room. “Just find the missing agent so we can wash our hands of this bullshit. Government agencies are a total bitch to deal with.”

“Any progress on the mole angle?” Trevor spoke up.

“The DEA can find their own moles” was Morgan’s harsh response. “We were contracted to find out what happened to Dane. That’s our focus.”

“And the girl on the inside—she came up with nothing in regards to Dane?” Trevor asked with a frown.

“She says there’s no trace of him, but there are areas in the club that are restricted to her.”

“How did you get someone in place so fast, anyway?”

“I have my ways.” A typically vague answer from the boss. “Anyway, she hasn’t seen Dane. He might be there.” Morgan paused. “Or he might not.”

Gee, how fucking encouraging. Luke stifled another groan, once again wishing they’d never taken this job. As far as he was concerned, this was the DEA’s mess to clean up. They were the ones who’d sent in an undercover agent to gather intel on Ric De Luca’s drug-smuggling rackets. Luke was no Mafia expert, but he was pretty sure the Mob didn’t take kindly to strangers sticking their noses into its business. Apparently this had been a deep-cover job; Carter Dane had been cozying up to Vince Angelo for more than a year. But Angelo worked for De Luca, and according to the dossier they’d compiled, Ric De Luca possessed razor-sharp intelligence. He’d sniff out a rat in a heartbeat, no doubt about that.

Which meant that Carter Dane was probably dead. Or who knew, maybe his cover had been so good and he was now so deep in De Luca’s organization that he couldn’t get out. The agent had broken off contact two months ago. The DEA had tried handling the matter on their own before finally admitting defeat and hiring Morgan’s team last week, but Luke and the guys weren’t making any damn headway either.

“If Olivia Taylor knows something about Dane, I’ll get it out of her,” he announced.

“Good.” Morgan hung up without another word. Words like
hello
and
good-bye
weren’t part of his vocabulary.

Reaching for his coffee, Luke drained the cup and glanced at Trevor. “Tomorrow I start tailing her.”

The other man nodded. “The rest of us will keep watching the club.” He gave a wry smile. “And trying not to rip out our hair from boredom.”

“Weren’t you the one who gave me a whole lecture about how not every mission was gonna be exciting? Hypocrite.”

Trevor sighed. “That I am. You were right. This sucks.”

Not anymore, Luke almost said. But he bit his tongue. It was probably best if he didn’t let the others know just how interesting this job had become.

* * *

“Liv?”

Olivia quit tiptoeing through the bedroom when she heard her mother’s voice. She’d been trying not to wake her mom as she’d gathered the clothing strewn on the weathered hardwood floor, but now she approached the bed, putting down the laundry bag and sitting on the edge of the mattress. She took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. Tried not to cringe when she noticed the skinny arms poking out of Kathleen’s sleeveless white nightgown.

“I was just getting the laundry,” Olivia said. “You should go back to sleep. You look exhausted.”

The chemo had really taken its toll on Kathleen Taylor this time. Her bald head looked painfully grotesque, especially now that it was covered with brown stubble as her hair began to grow back. Her cheeks were hollow, green eyes sunken in her skull. And so thin. So frail. It was hard to believe that the woman lying in this bed was only forty-six years old. She looked two decades older, a remnant of the vibrant, strong woman Olivia remembered from her childhood.

But she was alive. That was all that mattered. Her mom was the only family she had, the only person she could depend on, and seeing her like this made Olivia want to cry.

She’s in remission
, came a gentle reminder.

Yeah. And maybe for once—God, just once—she’d stay that way.

“I’m tired of being cooped up inside,” Kathleen said in a weary voice. “I was thinking of taking a walk today.”

Olivia tightened her grip on her mom’s hand. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said firmly. “Right now, you need to recover your strength. These last treatments were stronger than the others, all that poison being pumped into your body. Dr. Hopkins said you can’t overdo it.”

“She also said I wouldn’t live to see my fortieth birthday.”

“She was wrong about that,” Olivia conceded. “But not about this. I mean it, Mom. You’ve got to take it easy for at least a few more weeks.”

Kathleen’s eyes turned sad. “Don’t talk to me about overdoing it. You’ve been working double and triple shifts at the restaurant.
You’re
the one who needs to rest, honey.”

“I’ll rest when you’re back on your feet.” Squaring her shoulders, Olivia let go of her mother’s hand and stood up. “Now, I’m going to the Laundromat to do two weeks’ worth of laundry. And you’d better be in this bed when I get back.”

Without waiting for the argument she knew would come, Olivia waved a breezy good-bye and hurried out of the bedroom with the laundry sack slung over her shoulder. In the hall she stopped and took a deep breath. God, how much longer could she keep lying? When her mom was in the hospital, it had been easier to hide the truth from her—that Olivia had quit the restaurant twelve months ago and now took off her clothes for money. But with Kathleen in recovery . . .

You’re almost out of there. Three more months and you’ll have your degree.

With a shaky exhale, she headed for the minuscule living room of their tiny two-bedroom apartment and plucked her purse off the couch. In the closet-size front hall, she shoved her feet into a pair of Uggs, picked up the two heavy laundry bags, and left the building.

It was chilly out and she hadn’t bothered with a coat, but the Laundromat was only a block away. She had no desire to drive the BMW Vince had given her. She only took it to and from work, just so he could see how much she valued his generosity. That she got nauseous each time she slid into its leather interior was something she’d keep to herself.

She took off at a brisk walk, lugging her bags and thinking what a pitiful sight she probably made. Her jeans were frayed and riddled with holes, her brown boots clashed with her purple off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, and her hair was a tangled mess, twisted into a bun atop her head. She felt like a total slob, but the hobo getup sure as hell beat the shiny, see-through crap she wore every night.

Whether she liked it or not, her looks brought her a ton of perks—tables at packed restaurants, a job application being moved to the top of the pile—but she’d never wanted to use them to get ahead. She wanted to earn her way with her intelligence, her skills, and it shamed her that, as of late, she’d had to rely on her appearance to make things happen. Sure, she could pretend it was her dancing that won over the customers, but she knew it was her face and her body that convinced those men to open their wallets.

When she walked into the Laundromat five minutes later, the place was empty save for a harried-looking mother with two young girls clinging to her legs. The woman shot Olivia a frazzled smile, then resumed the task of sorting a pile of laundry. Olivia did the same, then shoved a bunch of quarters into two machines and flopped down on a plastic chair to wait. She’d planned on studying for her upcoming midterms, but when she reached into her oversized purse in search of her economics textbook, she realized she’d left the book at home.

“Wanna see my doll?”

She lifted her head and saw the two blond girls skid to a stop in front of her. The question had come from the younger one, who couldn’t have been older than four.

“Fiona, get back here!” the girl’s mother ordered. “Don’t bother that poor woman.”

“It’s okay,” Olivia called. She looked at the little girl, whose hair was arranged in two adorable braids. “I’d love to see your doll.”

The older girl, ten or so, rolled her eyes. “Don’t touch it. It’s covered with jam.”

Yep, it sure was. Olivia smothered a grin as the toddler held up a ratty doll with floppy arms, a knot of red hair, and a jelly-smeared white face. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Steve,” the little girl said proudly.

She choked back a laugh. “Steve. That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s a boy’s name,” the older girl grumbled. “I think it’s dumb.”

The remark led to a discussion about gender-appropriate monikers, followed by the toddler’s insistence that Olivia
must
be told the name of every doll, stuffed animal, and toy the kid had ever owned in her short life. The children’s mother kept shooting Olivia looks loaded with gratitude, but she truly didn’t mind entertaining the kids.

If anything, being around the girls brought a pang of longing to her heart. She’d always dreamed of following in her mom’s footsteps and becoming a teacher. She would’ve loved to teach at the elementary-school level—interacting with younger kids came so naturally to her, and she knew without a doubt that teaching would bring her great fulfillment. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t pay well, not unless she lucked out and managed to land a position at an elite prep school where her salary would come out of the pockets of the wealthy parents and donors.

Teaching might be her passion, but law was a far more practical career choice. It might take longer and more work to get there, but the payout was bigger in the end.

Trying not to second-guess the choices she’d made, Olivia focused on the two girls in front of her. She was laughing about something the older girl said when the door swung open and heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Reflexively, she turned to scope out the new arrival.

And felt all the blood drain from her face.

The customer from last night had just walked in.

She immediately swiveled her head back to the girls, hoping he hadn’t spotted her. But oh God, what if he recognized her? It was bad enough that she’d been grinding half-naked on top of the guy last night. Having him glimpse her outside of the club was too embarrassing to contemplate. What if he mentioned the lap dance? In front of the
children.

She snuck another peek at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Holy hell—why hadn’t she noticed yesterday how attractive this man was? Actually, with his chocolate brown eyes, messy dark hair, and ruggedly handsome face,
drop-dead gorgeous
was a more apt description. And his broad chest and bulky shoulders radiated strength and masculinity, something she’d completely overlooked when she’d been grinding away on his lap.

She did, however, remember the endearing awkwardness that he’d exuded and the trace of a Southern accent in his husky voice, which was unusual in and of itself—normally the men she danced for morphed into one faceless blur.

Swallowing, she tried to pay attention to the two girls chattering away in front of her, but it was difficult. From the corner of her eye, she saw the hottie from New Orleans heading toward an empty washing machine. Which happened to be right next to hers. Oh, and look at that, her loads were done, both machines coming to a halt as the cycle ended. She decided to stay seated and pretend not to notice.

Little Fiona squashed that game plan. “Your stuff is done!” the girl announced.

The children promptly darted back to their mother, who was stacking a pile of neatly folded clothes in a big wicker basket. A minute later, the trio made for the door, waving to Olivia as they exited the Laundromat.

Oh great. Now she and the hottie were all alone.

Gritting her teeth, Olivia stood up. She ignored the guy, who was shoving a stack of T-shirts into her machine’s neighbor. Only T-shirts. Like fifty of them. And they were all white as snow and looked pretty damn clean. Okay then.

Keeping her back to him, she removed her wet clothing and shoved it into the dryer. Once that was whirring away, she carried the second wet load to the counter and began putting aside the items that couldn’t go in the dryer.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

The deep voice made her jump. Gulping, she slowly met his eyes and feigned ignorance.

“No, I don’t think so.” She ducked down. Treated the laundry in front of her as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

“You sure?” Her peripheral vision caught him tilting his head, pensive. “Wait. You work at the Diamond Mine. We met last night.”

She glanced over again. Acted as if recognition had dawned on her. “You,” she said with mock surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He arched a brow. “Laundry, same as you.” After a moment, he extended his hand. “I’m Luke Dubois, by the way.”

She reluctantly leaned in for a handshake. The second their palms made contact, a shiver shimmied up her spine. He had big hands. A man’s hands, rough and calloused and warm to the touch.

“Olivia Taylor,” she replied, her voice doing an annoying little wobble.

“Olivia. I like that better than Livy Lovelace.”

“I’m pretty sure any name is better than Livy Lovelace,” she said dryly.

“You’re probably right.” The corners of his dark brown eyes crinkled in amusement, and then he flashed her a cocky grin. “So, Olivia. How ’bout another lap dance?”

* * *

Trevor woke up with a start when his ass started vibrating. Groaning, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and sat up. Morgan’s number flashed across the screen.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” the boss asked after Trevor grunted out a hello.

“I was sleeping.”

“Where are the others?”

Trevor rubbed his eyes. “D’s crashing on the living room couch. Luke’s tailing the dancer, and Holden and Sully are watching the club.”

“So you’re alone.”

Wariness circled his gut. “I am. What’s going on?”

“You’re rendezvousing with our informant in an hour.”

“The girl on the inside?”

“Yep. She’s got some new information, potentially about Dane.”

Trevor frowned. “And she couldn’t just tell you when you spoke?”

“The call got disconnected.” He could practically hear Morgan’s scowl of displeasure. “She sent a text, though. With an address, a time, and a quick note about sending someone to meet with her.”