Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (11 page)

“Cora—”

“I thought you were my friend, but you’re
not
. You’re no better than all the other sluts in this whorehouse.”

“What are you
talking
ab—”

“I thought we were friends! That’s why I got you this job, so I’d have someone to watch my back, someone who gave a shit about me. But you don’t. You never did, did you?” A maniacal laugh spiraled out of the girl’s mouth.

Gulping, Olivia dared to approach the hysterical redhead. She reached out her hand, only for Cora to slap it away as if she’d been stung by a hornet.

“Don’t touch me,” Cora growled. “I only came to tell you what you could do with your
friendship
.” She stumbled toward the doorway. “And tell that sick motherfucker he can shove his five grand up his ass. I’m going to the cops.”

Chapter 6

From the bathroom doorway, Olivia watched with wide eyes as Cora stormed out of the dressing room. Her mind reeled from confusion, and her cheek still stung from that slap. What the
hell
just happened?

What had Vince done to her friend?

Snapping out of her stupor, she charged across the room.

“Bad idea, Olivia.”

She spun around and spotted Candy in the process of lifting a tube of lipstick to her mouth. Dumbfounded, Olivia met the dancer’s blue eyes. “Why is going after her a bad idea?”

“It’s not the time. The boss won’t appreciate your interference.”

She bristled. “What makes you an expert on Vince?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another step toward the door.
“Cora needs a friend. She needs me.”

“She needs to calm down,” Candy corrected, reaching for a flat brush and dipping it into a container of cream-colored powder. As if she had no care in the world, the dancer began applying her makeup, her voice gentle and oddly comforting as she went on. “Whatever happened with her and Vince, they need to work it out amongst themselves. You’ll make it worse if you get involved.”

“Why?”

“Because Vince likes you meek. Doesn’t he, Olivia?”

She remembered the last time she’d talked back to him, and the right side of her face experienced a phantom pain. She hadn’t been able to open her eye for days.

“Whatever you’re doing to control him, keep doing it,” the blonde advised. “Stay off his radar.”

Off his radar? She almost laughed. She was the
only
thing on that bastard’s radar.

“Why are you saying this?” Unable to help it, she glanced up at the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

Candy’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Olivia noticed for the first time that Candy Cane’s blue eyes were far sharper than she’d realized. Shrewd. Warm. The dancer couldn’t be older than thirty or thirty-one, but she exuded a maternal aura that made Olivia want to launch herself into Candy’s arms and let the other woman comfort her, the way her mother used to do before she got too weak for even the gentlest of embraces.

“What does he have on you?”

The out-of-the-blue inquiry slammed into her like a punch to the gut. “Wh-what?” she sputtered.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let me. You can talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”

“The shadows in your eyes,” Candy replied. “I still see them.”

The temptation to confide in the woman was so strong she nearly blurted out every last detail, but then her mouth snapped shut. For all she knew, the dressing room was wired for sound and Vince was listening to every word. This was a trick. Vince must have put the dancer up to this. He’d caught on to the charade and now he was using Candy to extract a confession from her. So he could punish her.

“Then you’re seeing things,” she said coldly. “Because the only thing Vince has is my heart.” With that, Olivia ended the conversation by marching toward the rack of costumes and keeping her back to Candy.

Several minutes later, Olivia’s suspicions were confirmed when she passed by the woman’s station and spotted Candy texting on her BlackBerry.

Checking in with Vince and typing out every word that had just been exchanged, no doubt.

Friend, her ass.

* * *

Nothing beat New York pizza. Trevor couldn’t deny that as he wolfed down the last slice of the extra-large pie he’d devoured all by his lonesome. Man, he was piling on the carbs lately, but then again, he was burning them just as fast now that he’d begun working out again. It felt good to be at the top of his game.

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.

Olivia’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.