Stripped (17 page)

“Not a problem.”

Of course it wasn’t a problem. He got his own private show nightly. Brandon grumbled low. Christ, he was jealous! Thirty-five years, and for the first time in his life he was experiencing that malignant cancer. How pathetic.

Determined to beat the green beast back into its corner, he twisted around to look Sergei in the eye. “There’s something I want you to do tonight.”

With a nod, Sergei accepted unhesitatingly.

“I want a full report of who pays for a lap dance in that section and who gets multiples. I want to know the girls—description’s fine—and the guys.” That ought to choke him up. Brandon wasn’t certain he could even keep the tally for the entire night. He could observe and notice trends, or oddities, but track
all
the girls for twelve hours? If Sergei could pull it off, he deserved the job.

“Understood.”

Aaron slid off his stool as Brandon’s second drink arrived. He urged Brandon to the office with a jerk of his head. “I need to see you before we open.”

Thank God for small miracles. If they weren’t working this damn case, he’d spend the rest of the night behind that office door. Collecting himself—not sulking. Absolutely not licking his wounds and nursing a battered ego. He jumped off his seat and strode two steps away.

“A word with you, Moretti?”

The no-nonsense tone to Sergei’s question stopped Brandon in his tracks. He bristled. Here it came. The conversation where Sergei warned him away from the pretty girl and Brandon had to inform him to piss off. He knew it would happen, he just hadn’t expected it to occur before the night even began.

Slowly, he turned around.

Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

Sergei’s emotionless stare held Brandon’s. “I’m only going to say this once, and then it’s not going to be an issue between us again.”

Brandon felt his entire body slowly tighten. From his toes all the way up to the base of his skull, his muscles cinched together. One wrong word, and they’d all snap. “Spit it out,” he ground out tightly.

“I’m not, have not ever, and never will be, fucking Natalya.”

The statement nearly knocked Brandon sideways. Stunned speechless, he could do no more than open his mouth, shut it, and blink. He’d made an ass out of himself. A monumental ass. For what?

Nothing.

Fuck.

Wordlessly, he pivoted and left Sergei to assume his duties.

Eating crow was something entirely new to him. On some deep level, he knew he owed both Sergei and Natalya an apology. But on an even deeper level, he recognized that apologizing would acknowledge that his interest in Natalya went further than a casual romp through the sheets. He could try to tell himself otherwise all day long. When it all boiled down to cold hard fact, if he wanted one solitary night with the auburn-haired beauty, he wouldn’t have fixated on a kiss.

He wasn’t quite ready to admit that to himself, let alone a man he’d just hired, and certainly not
her
.

Nope. He wouldn’t touch that subject. Because the other cold hard fact he couldn’t avoid was that he didn’t know a damn thing about Natalya, and she remained a key person of interest in his current investigation.

His head began to pound. He squeezed his temples between thumb and middle finger and pushed open his office door. Right about now, he’d give everything he owned for ten minutes of peace.

Aaron’s grim expression said he wouldn’t find it now.

Sighing, Brandon dropped into his chair, slugged back his second drink, and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “What’s up?”

“I called Rory to see how he was doing this afternoon. He’s pretty beat up.”

Brandon waited. Aaron hadn’t dragged him into his office to discuss their partner’s emotional meltdown. No, this was lead-in to something bigger. Something that pricked the hairs on the back of Brandon’s neck and laced his lungs closer together.

“We got to chatting about the case.” Aaron passed a hand over his chin, his expression thoughtful. “We overlooked something major, man.”

The prickling at the back of Brandon’s neck inched down his spine. He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned his forearms on his desk. “And that would be?”

“Well, I can’t say we really overlooked it. We just didn’t see it. Rory did while we were talking. It may be insignificant—you know the turnover with dancers is high.”

“Spit it out, Mayer.”

He scratched the back of his head, took a deep breath. “Each club hired a new dancer two weeks before a body turned up on the Rim.”

“Son of a bitch,” Brandon exhaled.

“It could be coincidence, Bran.”

“Coincidence my ass. Do we have names? Descriptions? Anything?”

“I’m working on it.”

Brandon’s gut rolled over. He should have listened to his instincts. Instead, he’d invited a stranger into the tidy circle he intimately understood. Two strangers. One with a suspiciously clear file. He might as well have tied Kate to the street corner with a sign that read free.

“Listen. We don’t know for sure. I know there’s… something between… you and Natalya.”

Unwilling to hear any more, Brandon lifted his hand to beg his partner off.

Aaron delved ahead, oblivious to his silent request. “You’ve done undercover a long time. Play it. Get close to her. Find out what she knows.” He paused on an indifferent shrug. “Can’t hurt. If you find out she’s clean, all the better.”

If
she were clean. A big
if
, considering the alarms buzzing in his head. If she weren’t…

Brandon shut the thought down before it could solidify. That promised to be a calamity. One he couldn’t guarantee he’d walk away from unscathed.

“You’re the only one who can,” Aaron continued in his matter-of-fact, good-observant-cop tone. “None of us are gonna get close to her, that’s for damn sure. Not if she’s waltzing into your office and peeling off her clothes.”

Against Brandon’s will, his gaze pulled to the corner of his desk where she’d stood, her body trembling, her lips less than a breath away from his. The memory of how good she felt against his hand, the tight way her wet pussy had squeezed as she edged closer to orgasm engulfed him. Her soft moan filled his ears.

Kiss
me.

A new tightness invaded his body, this one far more uncomfortable than the compression of anger. With it came a hollowing in his gut, a void aching to be filled. By her. With her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aaron.” Meritable, but he couldn’t ensure he possessed the ability to remain objective. He wanted Natalya too damn much. With Kate’s life on the line, and Rachel begging to be laid to rest, he couldn’t risk an inability to see in black and white.

Aaron shook his head. “It’s a damn good idea, Moretti. It’s the only solid lead we have.”

Falling against the back of his chair, Brandon raked both hands through his hair. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Aaron was right. With eleven days left, and no more information than they’d possessed when they left Sadie’s, they didn’t have many other options.

He expelled a heavy sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

B

Between the waitresses dropping orders, bartenders pouring too heavy, and Jill doing her damndest to distract him every time he found a moment to stand in a corner alone, he hadn’t had time to think about the conversation with Aaron. Not really. It hummed around inside his head like an angry hornet in hot pursuit, but he kept a careful distance from that agonizing stinger.

Jill’s knee drifted between his thighs as she wiggled closer to his side. Her palm rested on his chest, petting him like he were a puppy she’d picked up at the pound. “C’mon, baby, it’s been so long. You know Kate can’t be as dirty as I can be.” Her fingers wandered down his chest to slide over his indifferent cock.

Giving her a perturbed frown, he plucked her hand off his dick and stepped around her intruding leg. “I’m sure you’re right. But—” As he forcibly guided her to arms’ distance, a flash of auburn in the corner of his eyes cut him off. He turned his head to find Natalya standing at the backstage door, hair tumbling around her shoulders as she bent over to pick up a towel she’d dropped.

His heart thumped hard, shooting a 3-D image to his brain of the way she’d bent over in front of him, hips gyrating, breasts swaying.
She stood, and their eyes locked over the crowd. His reaction was instantaneous and powerful. Blood surged to his groin. His cock stirred to attention, and his pulse ratcheted up three degrees.

Cozy up to her.
What could it hurt?

Jill made some cooing noise that reminded him he’d been saying something. For a moment, he struggled to recall the conversation. It came back as she pushed at his arm to creep back into his personal space.

“I’m not sleeping with Kate.” He barely registered the swivel of her head and the angry color that filled her cheeks as he extracted himself from her clawing fingers and made a beeline for Natalya.

It could hurt a lot of things, but he’d never shirked risk before. He’d never been afraid to take chances other guys would run from. His sometimes-daredevil approach, while not always in line with department policy, landed him this investigation and took him out of the dung heap of narcotics. If he had to cozy up to a killer to close this case, Natalya wouldn’t be the first. She just put a whole new definition on the meaning of
cozy
.

So what if he liked it? So what if he
wanted
to know what made her tick and every hidden erogenous zone on her body?

So what if she scarred him in the process?

Natalya hadn’t moved. As if she understood the boundaries had suddenly shifted, she stood in front of the door, watching him stalk across the room, daring him to turn tail and run.

No deal. He was done with running. All he’d needed was motive to pursue. Aaron had handed it over.

“C’mon, sugar, I’ve been begging for a week. I just want to take you on the town. Show you a good time. Whatcha say? I’ll wait outside. Have the car running.”

The gravelly male voice invaded Brandon’s ears and dragged him to a stop. He tore his eyes off Natalya and cocked his head as he turned toward the sound.

“Ben, you know I can’t do that,” Becca answered with a laugh.
Standing over a middle-aged dark-haired man in an expensive Italian suit, she shimmied up his body, wagging her crotch in his face. “I’m too tired after work.” Her hands glided over her thighs, then dipped between her legs as she pantomimed sliding down on his cock.

The man hissed. His hands inched toward her hips.

Becca noticed the flutter of movement, gave him a sultry smile, and batted his hands away. “Now, Benny Boy, I don’t like men who break the rules,” she purred as she bent forward, bringing her rather large breasts beneath his nose.

“Then come with me where there aren’t any. The other girls haven’t complained.”

Brandon’s instincts stood at attention. The other girls. How
many
other girls? Eleven maybe? He memorized the face. Hawk-like nose, deep-set beady eyes, salon haircut. A lift of a tailored cuff exposed a Rolex. Money, yes. Not just nice clothes.

“I’ll make you feel good, Becca.” Ben grabbed her ivory ass and squeezed. “Real fucking good.”

Before Brandon could step in and remind
Benny Boy
that if the girls didn’t want to be touched then hands stayed off the goods, Becca smacked Ben’s hand hard enough the
slap
echoed over the music. She threw her leg over his knees, gave him one saucy wag of her ass, then sauntered away, leaving Ben grumbling and rubbing the back of his wrist.

Brandon backed into the shadows. As much as he wanted to continue on his path to Natalya, he couldn’t. Ben might be put off enough he’d leave, and Brandon needed Aaron to do some fishing. He went to the bar; Aaron’s preferred station was the stool closest to the door.

Aaron took one look at Brandon’s face, set down his beer, and slid to his feet. “Who?”

“Guy at table twelve. Dark hair. Nice suit. Name’s Ben. Why don’t you offer him some VIP benefits and see what you can find out. He’s hot to trot over Becca.”

Becca, who fit the physical description and whose talents onstage
made her the next candidate to fill Kate’s time slots, should Kate disappear. They’d already figured out the killer marked his targets well in advance. The strategy made it possible to rotate methodically through the clubs. Another several months, and Becca just might rise to the top of the bastard’s list.

“On it.” Aaron drained his bottle, grabbed another that he’d nurse for the next couple of hours, and meandered toward Ben’s table.

Feeling like he’d finally accomplished something worthwhile, Brandon gave himself permission to indulge in Natalya. Anticipation buzzed through his blood. He took a deep breath and wove through the crowd, murmuring silent prayers she’d returned to her office and he wouldn’t have to hunt her down.

H

It was the only way Natalya could describe how Brandon had looked at her when she’d taken a few minutes to herself and decided to survey the crowd. The harsh lines on his face that she’d become accustomed to had disappeared. The intensity in his eyes was feral and breathtaking. She’d stood frozen in place, captivated by the realization he looked at her, while simultaneously wanting to run.

Run far and fast, because she knew where that look led.

She hadn’t though. Not until his attention had diverted and she could flee without looking like a coward.

Natalya pushed away from her office door and sank into her chair. The low sensual bass thumped through the walls, seeping into her veins and filling her with the same restless energy that ebbed off the men gathered before the stage. Anticipation.