Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he glanced at D, who was standing by the railing staring at the skyscrapers in the distance, then at Luke, who was smoking a cigarette on the other side of the table. Although they’d been on the terrace for the past hour, the conversation had been scarce, and Trevor was kind of grateful for the silence.
He couldn’t get Isabel off his damn mind. Which was nothing new, seeing as he’d had Isabel on the brain for the past six months.
Yet now that he’d seen her in person, his preoccupation with the woman disturbed him on a whole other level. His reasons for wanting to contact her had been purely about making amends, and that was exactly what he’d done earlier—as much as she’d let him anyway. So theoretically speaking, she shouldn’t be on his mind anymore. He’d apologized. She’d accepted. End of story.
Except it didn’t feel like anything had ended—it felt like the beginning of something, and he had no clue what to make of that.
Swallowing a sigh, he tossed his napkin in the pizza box and closed the lid. He was just reaching for his bottle of Bud Light when his phone chimed to signal an incoming text.
Speak of the devil.
“Morgan?” Luke asked, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray.
Trevor shook his head. “Isabel.”
“What does she have to say?”
“See for yourself.”
He tossed the BlackBerry to Luke, who peered at the display and read the text aloud. “Vet Cora Malcolm. Something fucked up happening at this club.”
Luke’s resulting frown matched Trevor’s, who was wishing Isabel had been more forthcoming with the details. They already knew Angelo ran drugs out of that upstairs suite of his, so what other fucked-up thing could be happening over at the Diamond Mine?
D left his place by the railing and joined them at the table, plopping his big body in a chair. Their resident asshole hadn’t said much to anyone since he’d made his position clear at the diner, but that didn’t mean shit considering D didn’t say much on a good day.
“Who’s Cora Malcolm?” D demanded.
“Good question.” Rather than go inside to find the dossier Holden had compiled on each of the dancers, Trevor opted for the easy alternative. He dialed Holden’s number and put the phone on speaker.
Holden’s brusque voice came on the line a second later. “What are you, a mind reader? I was literally about to call you. I think I have the answer to—”
“Hold that thought,” Trevor cut in. “First, who’s Cora Malcolm?”
Mr. Photographic Memory didn’t let them down. “One of the dancers. Stage name’s Coral Holliday.”
“Coral?” Luke echoed. “Yeah, I remember her. Redhead, small breasts, long legs.”
“Any idea why she might merit vetting?” Trevor asked Holden.
“No clue. She’s a single mom, NYU student, keeps her nose clean. She didn’t raise any red flags for me. Anyway”—the man sounded impatient—“forget about her for now. I think I figured out the deal with Angelo and Olivia Taylor.”
When Trevor made out the sound of typing, he had to roll his eyes. “You’re supposed to be watching the club, McCall. What the fuck did you bring your laptop for?”
“I do know how to multitask, Callaghan.” A few more clicks sounded on the extension. “So listen, I was following the money trail and I hit pay dirt.”
Since Holden had the tendency to drone on for hours, Trevor leaned back in his chair and got comfortable.
“This April, Olivia was admitted to St. Francis Hospital. I hacked into her medical report—sounds like she got beat up pretty bad. One of her cheekbones was fractured and collapsed in her face. A surgeon came in to fix it, put some plates and screws in there to repair it.”
D looked extremely interested. “Angelo roughed her up?”
“I don’t think so. One of the bouncers at the club filed the police report. Tony Moretti. He claims a customer dragged Olivia into an alley and started pounding on her. This Tony showed up in time to stop the attack, but the perp ran off. Olivia’s medical bills were paid in full—by Angelo. He also covered all her outstanding debts and bought her the Beemer.”
When the line went silent, Luke spoke up in a sharp tone. “What are you thinking, Holden?”
“That a three-hundred-pound bouncer wouldn’t just let a would-be rapist run off,” Trevor said grimly, voicing Holden’s thoughts.
“You think Angelo killed the customer?” Luke asked.
“Yep. And then he covered it up, dumped the body, and lied to the cops,” Holden hypothesized.
Luke cursed under his breath. “That makes sense. And Olivia . . . she probably saw him do it and didn’t tell the police. Or maybe she tried to tell the truth, and Angelo threatened to kill her too.”
D snorted. “Or she stood by and let it happen, then high-fived Angelo when it was done.”
That D’s first instinct was to think the worst of Olivia Taylor was as predictable as Luke’s impulse to think the best of her. Trevor had worked with both men long enough to know the way their brains worked, and so he wasn’t surprised when the bickering started.
“I don’t think she’s in cahoots with Angelo,” Luke said evenly.
“Shocking,” D muttered. “The beautiful, misunderstood stripper must be a victim in this, right?”
“Why do you immediately assume she isn’t?”
D exhaled an annoyed breath. “Whatever. It’s all good. You can go all Sir Galahad and chase after the damsel in distress. I’ll be here, ready to save your ass when your virginal damsel tries to tear your throat out.”
Trevor released a breath of his own, ready to run interference, but Luke ended the bicker fest by standing up. “I’m going back in,” he announced. “It’s time we figured out whether she’s a player in this game or a victim.”
Chapter 7
Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she entered the VIP room and found Luke Dubois inside. When she’d been told five minutes ago that someone had requested a private dance, she’d felt like running out of the club and throwing up behind the Dumpster. The confrontation with Cora had lingered in her mind all night, leaving her so on edge it was a miracle she’d managed to get up onstage and pull off a decent performance—working that pole took a lot more skill than people knew.
Normally she walked into the VIP room with dread, already making an effort to mentally detach herself, but tonight her pulse sped up and her palms went damp. He was back. And as gorgeous as ever.
As she strode toward the couch, she tried to pretend that the sight of him didn’t affect her. That those thick, muscular legs encased in worn blue denim and the hard chest beneath his long-sleeved shirt didn’t do a thing for her. But her traitorous body betrayed her, and her heart beat faster and faster the closer she got to him.
“Hey,” he greeted her, his gaze focused on hers.
You’d think after all this time at the Diamond she wouldn’t feel embarrassed waltzing around half-naked, but she did, even more so now that she’d spent time with Luke outside the club. And now here she was, standing in front of him topless, and she couldn’t help but wish that he was seeing her like this under different circumstances.
But that was just crazy. She might be attracted to the man, but nothing could ever come of this attraction. Getting involved with Luke—with anyone, for that matter—was a risk she couldn’t afford to take.
“Hey,” she answered.
Their eyes locked.
Olivia cleared her throat. “I thought you only tried things once.”
“I had to make an exception.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse. “It was the only way I could see you again.”
Ignoring a tiny spark of pleasure, she closed the distance between them. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear yesterday.”
“I don’t give up that easily, darlin’.”
His Southern drawl flared up. Her pulse went off-kilter again.
And then the music started.
O
livia’s throat ran dry. God, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t straddle that big, strong body again. Maybe if she hadn’t spent time with him yesterday, maybe if he hadn’t made her laugh with all those stories, then she could treat him like any old customer and do her job.
As she hovered over him, hesitating, she became excruciatingly aware of the cameras pointed right at her. Vince would review this footage. He’d see her standing there like a deer in the headlights. He’d punish her for making him look bad in front of a customer.
Taking a breath, Olivia started to dance.
She heard Luke’s sharp intake of breath. When she looked into his eyes, the heat she saw in them floored her. Quickly, she spun around. Okay, no eye contact. Eye contact was a bad idea.
Instead, she moved into the triangle created by his open legs, keeping her back to him as she undulated her hips to the rhythm of the music. Bending her legs, she placed her palms on his knees for support, lowered herself onto his lap, and rotated her hips in a circular motion. She nearly keeled over when she felt a thick ridge pressing into her bottom. Her cheeks scorched. Oh God, he had an erection.
Of course he does. Look at what you’re doing to him.
Breathing deeply, she arched her back so that her long hair was flung into his face.
“Olivia.”
She blocked out the sound of his husky voice, refusing to turn around. If she did, he’d surely notice that her nipples had puckered into two tight buds. He’d surely see the signs of arousal on her flushed skin.
“Fuck, this isn’t right.”
He sounded so tortured that she caved in, needing to see his eyes. They were filled with reluctance. Disappointment.
“What do you mean?” she heard herself whisper.
“It’s not right,” he mumbled. “I don’t want to pay to see you. I don’t like knowing that it’s the only reason you’re even in here with me.”
She gulped. When she realized she’d gone still, noticed that the music continued to pound from the speakers, she shimmied closer and straddled him, jutting her breasts as she sank onto that bulge in his jeans.
“Can we please just stop talking?” she said, her throat tight. But she knew what he meant. This wasn’t right. He was the first man she’d been attracted to in who knew how long. The only man who’d ever made her feel all pathetically tingly when he smiled at her.
“No,” he choked out. “We can’t. I came here to talk.”
She brought her breasts toward his face, rolling her hips. Maybe if she ignored him, just did her thing until the music ended, he would let it go. Stop pushing for . . . for whatever it was he wanted from her. A date. Coffee. Friendship. It wasn’t in the cards, no matter how hard he pursued her.
Averting her eyes, she trailed a finger along the curve of his jaw, then leaned forward and blew seductively on his ear. He flinched as if she’d shot him. The erection pressing against her core seemed to thicken.
“Goddamn it,” he growled. “Stop distracting me.”
She stared at his hands, which were palm-down on the couch on either side of his thighs. He lifted them slightly, as if he wanted to touch her, but then he flattened them and groaned. “I came here to help you, Olivia.”
Her gaze darted to the camera aimed at them.
“No sound,” he said quietly. “I checked.”
Checked? How?
As his expression turned fierce, it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea who this man even was. She didn’t know what he did for a living, why he’d moved to New York. She knew nothing except that her heart skipped a beat at the mere sound of his smoky voice.
“We don’t have much time, so I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully.” When she went motionless, he groaned again. “No, keep doing . . . what you’re doing. Angelo’s watching, isn’t he?”
Olivia knew her eyes had gone as wide as saucers, but she didn’t disregard his order. She kept up with the grinding, all the while wondering what the hell was going on. His easygoing charm had transformed into urgency, his face burning with intensity.
“I lied to you,” Luke admitted. “I wasn’t here the other night for a lap dance. Frankly, if it was up to me, we’d be doing this in the privacy of a bedroom, no cash involved, just two people who seriously want to turn each other on.”
Olivia’s lips parted in a startled O.
“We’ve been watching Angelo. My team and I.”
Now her jaw fell open. She quickly slammed it shut, hyperaware of the camera pointed at her.
“We’ve been watching you too, and I think I know what’s going on with you, Olivia. The attack in the alley—something happened that night, didn’t it?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Why . . . how . . .”
“Angelo’s not your boyfriend, is he?”
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever he has on you, I can help you,” Luke said in an impassioned voice. “I lied to you about who I am and why I’m here, but I’m not lying about this. If you’re in trouble, we can help. But we need your help too. We need you to—”
The music died.
As the bouncer’s voice blasted out of the intercom, ordering her to take a bow, panic constricted Olivia’s chest. She was too stunned to move, uncertain as to whether she’d imagined everything Luke had said or if this was some sort of trick, just another way Vince was toying with her or testing her loyalty.
“Fuck.” Luke’s tone became more insistent as he rattled off a series of numbers. “That’s my cell number. Memorize it. Quick, Olivia.” He recited the numbers again, twice. “Say it back.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Then she stumbled off his lap, knowing that one of the bouncers would come storming in if she didn’t.
“You can trust me,” Luke said softly. “I’m one of the good guys, darlin’. If you need help—”
“I don’t need help,” she sputtered.
Resignation filled his brown eyes. “I know you’re scared of him. I don’t blame you. He’s dangerous, and you should be scared of him. But I promise you, I can help you.”
She took a panicked step to the door, but his voice stopped her.
“Did you memorize that number, Olivia?”
Without turning around, she whispered the seven digits.
“Good. Then call me when you’re ready. Anytime, darlin’.”
The endearment had just exited his mouth when the door flung open and a scowling bouncer named Bobby appeared.
“This gentleman giving you a hard time, Liv?” Bobby asked gently.
She gave a wild shake of the head. “What? No. No, he’s not. I just feel a little under the weather.” Shock continued to spiral through her body, making her muscles go limp, which only gave credence to her sudden bout of illness.
Looking concerned, Bobby stepped forward and took her arm to steady her. “Come on, let’s get you to the dressing room. You do look a bit pale.”
Olivia refused to look over her shoulder as the bouncer half carried her out of the room, but she could feel Luke’s gaze burning into her back. Later. She would absorb everything he’d told her later. Right now, she had to pretend everything was fine, a game plan that only increased in importance when she and Bobby entered the dressing room to find Vince pacing the floor. He must have dismissed the other girls again—he was alone in the room.
His eyes snapped in her direction when she walked in. “Leave us,” he said to Bobby.
As the big man disappeared, Olivia sank into the nearest chair and gathered her composure.
Vince loomed over her, his features livid. “What the hell happened? Bobby said a customer was upsetting you.”
She lifted her head, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “That wasn’t it. I got light-headed during the dance, that’s all.”
Doubt clouded his perfectly sculpted face. “Light-headed.”
“Yeah.” She made a show of rubbing her temples. “I suddenly felt really sick. I almost co
llapsed on that poor customer. I think I scared him.”
Vince slid down to his knees in front of her. “Screw the customer. I’m more worried about you.”
The concern in his voice might’ve been sweet if she hadn’t known exactly who this man was. “I’m fine,” she said in a tired voice. “I think I’m just coming down with something.” Inspiration streaked through her. “I don’t know if I’ll be up for anything too action-packed tomorrow night.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll take it nice and easy, babe. I know we’ve got you scheduled for the afternoon shift, but fuck it. Spend the day at home tomorrow, and you’ll feel good as new by the time evening rolls around.”
Well, it had been worth a try. Looked like she’d have to find another way to keep from sleeping with him. On their anniversary.
Vince leaned closer, the stench of his strong cologne making her stomach roil. “I was worried when Bobby called me down.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Good.”
And then his mouth touched hers and she was so not fine. It was the briefest of kisses, just the brush of his lips, but it brought bile to her mouth.
Pulling back, she massaged her temples again. “Yeah, it’s probably a good idea that I don’t come in tomorrow. I’m sure Cora would be willing to—” She halted, the memory of Cora’s breakdown flooding her head. “She was here earlier and she totally freaked out on me. She said—”
“I know all about it, babe.” Vince’s smile was a tad condescending, and he ruffled her hair as if she were a five-year-old. “Cora and I straightened everything out.”
Olivia studied his face. “You did?”
“Yeah, it’s all good. She was just pissed off that Candy was taking all her shifts.” Vince shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We reached an agreement.”
“Oh. That’s good.” If it was true. But she could tell by the vague lilt in his voice that he’d lied to her. She’d known Cora since freshman year and she knew the other woman wouldn’t have freaked out over losing a few shifts. Something else had happened. Something bad.