Tempted by Fate (6 page)

No one had to know that it’d been over a year since she’d been in a club. The last time, she’d gotten her man, of course. She hoped she’d be equally successful this time and find something that’d lead her to more information about her quarry.

She checked the time. Eleven, on the dot—the perfect time for reconnaissance at a club. Before eleven, there weren’t enough bodies to provide coverage, and after, people were too drunk to provide any answers.

Tonight she was determined to get answers.

The queue outside the door was long, held back with a velvet rope. Without regard for it, she strode up to the bouncer.

He looked much like Rocco, muscle-bound and bald—only alive. As he looked her up and down, a smile curved his lips. “You want in, baby?”

She tipped her head and offered him a coy smile in return. The less she said, the less memorable she’d be.

That was the trick—being forgettable. Look good enough to fit in, but not so good you stand out. Which is why she wore all black. A person wore black to be invisible in a city. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail high on her head, sleek and tight.

“I want in, too,” he said as he unhooked the rope. “Maybe later?”

Maybe not. But she let her smile heat up—just a little—and sashayed past him, into the club.

The relentless beat of music pounded her the moment she stepped in. She stopped next to the coat check to take inventory.

The DJ booth sat elevated to the left beyond the bar. A bank of occupied booths lined the right wall. One packed dance floor in the middle, three bartenders, half a dozen waitresses taking and delivering drink orders, and four discreetly located bouncers hugging the corners of the room. The hallway in the back had a steady stream of traffic, probably to the restrooms.

She headed to the bar, which was always the best place to gather information. A barstool cleared and she slipped onto it.

A moment later, one of the bartenders leaned in front of her. “What can I offer you, sexy?”

Not what you want to offer me.
Willow smiled demurely. “Gin and tonic.”

“Got it,” he said, visibly disappointed.

The bartenders were all handsome by most women’s standards, with pretty-boy looks. They had to be used to getting any woman they wanted.

But she wasn’t most women. Pretty looks didn’t do it for her. She liked dark. And rugged. And forbidden.

Like the cop at the crime scene.

She frowned. Why did he come to mind? Even if she were in a different line of work, cops couldn’t be trusted. They were supposed to be the good guys, but in her experience, the ones who weren’t in league with criminals were only concerned about where their next donut was coming from.

But the cop at the crime scene was different. There’d been something about him. The crime scene had been bustling, but he’d stalked on the periphery, separate from everyone else. She felt a pang. It was how she lived her life: on the periphery.

Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she pushed the thought away. As if she’d ever have any kinship with a cop. Nor would she get involved with one. Not in this lifetime. Not with her past.

“Here ya go.” The bartender handed her the drink, letting his fingers touch hers. “On the house.”

She raised her eyebrows, resisting the urge to wipe her hand on her pants. She pretended to take a sip. “Nice.”

“I am.” His grin was all wolf. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“It’s my first time.”

“A virgin. You came to the right guy for your first
time.” He leaned on his elbows, his necklace dangling out from his shirt. “I’ll be gentle, but only if you want me to be.”

Willow barely resisted rolling her eyes. But she wanted information, and this idiot wanted her. Using him was a no-brainer. “A friend of mine works here and told me to check it out. He thought I’d like it.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Joel Rocco,” she said, watching him covertly for his reaction.

“Rocco’s your friend?” His gaze became speculative, dipping to the deep vee of her halter. She didn’t have to be a Guardian to read the sexual thoughts zooming through his head. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He didn’t know Rocco was dead yet. If he’d known, he wouldn’t be thinking sex. Deciding to play along, she leaned forward—just a little—to improve his view. “Would it have made a difference if I had?”

“Yeah. I would have taken you straight back.” He smiled, oily and lascivious. “If you wait for my break, I can take you then. Technically, employees aren’t supposed to fraternize with the patrons, but I know a dark corner.”

She was sure he did. Instead of telling him to shove it, she smiled encouragingly. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she knew it was significant. And if she couldn’t go
straight back
on her own—wherever the hell that was—she needed him.

But first… “Is Rocco around?” she asked, fully aware that he couldn’t be.

“He was supposed to be on, but I heard he didn’t show up.” The pretty boy ran a finger down her arm. “His loss, my gain.”

“When is your break?”

“Half an hour.”

“I’ll wait for you. Over there.” She nodded to the other end of the bar, next to where the waitresses picked up their drinks. The better to overhear gossip. It was a good place to watch everything that was happening.

Which wasn’t much.

Twenty minutes into her watch, she spied a tall man talking to one of the waitresses. He was thin but muscular, shown off by a sheer white shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. His pants were tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. A Rolex glinted on one wrist, and a thick gold bracelet shackled the other.

Rich and entitled. It was in the way he moved—in the way he talked to the waitress. The owner? Probably.

The waitress scurried away and he surveyed the crowd. Willow eased back into the shadows and pretended to take another sip. She was going to talk to him. But not yet.
Not before I find out what
straight back
means,
she thought.

Hopefully, it wasn’t just the storeroom where the staff got it on with patrons.

She didn’t think so. It felt bigger. It felt like where she needed to be to get answers.

The proprietor glanced at his watch and strode to a side entrance she knew was locked. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked it, and went through.

It took him ten minutes to come back. With him was a man in a long black coat. Average height. Dark hair, probably brown. Expensive clothes—obviously custom-made, noticeable even in the darkness of the club. The two of them headed to the long hallway.

The owner was no one important, but this new dark-haired man made her edgy. He seemed familiar and foreign at the same time. She reached out with
mù ch’i,
hoping to place him and settle her muddled feelings.

Suddenly the man stopped. He turned around slowly, looking around the club.

The Bad Man.

Her breath caught in her chest, and she pressed back into the shadows, as deeply as she could go. His features were distorted in the alternating flashing lights and darkness. She could be wrong. She could be projecting. She wanted him so badly.

She shook her head. She wasn’t. It was him.

He looked around the club one more time before the tall man gestured to the back. Nodding, he continued to follow the proprietor.

She had to get back there. She looked at the time. Ten more minutes before the bartender’s break. She was tempted to go back there on her own, but she didn’t want to blow her chance of getting in.

He’d felt her probing. How could that be? She stared at the spot where he’d stood, trying to understand who he was. She’d never considered it, but maybe he had some sort of power. He’d killed her mother, after all. Her mother had been strong, both physically and as a Guardian. Was he stronger?

It didn’t matter. She narrowed her eyes. She was going to exact justice, even if it meant her own destruction. Failure wasn’t an option.

“Ready, sexy?”

She turned as the bartender slipped his arm around her
waist. She stood up and started to move, which caused his arm to drop. “Let’s go.”

“Eager, huh?” He hurried to keep up with her. “I like that.”

Eager to see what the Bad Man was up to. She let the bartender lead her down the hallway, like this was his idea. The restrooms were to the right. Several other doors lined either side. At the end of the hall was another door. A burly man in a black suit stood guard outside it.

Bingo.

“Is this the only way in and out?” she asked the bartender, her tone casual.

“No, there’s a street entrance, too. Most people use that one.”

She let her hand trail down his arm. “Who was the flashy guy? Your boss?”

“Yeah. Quentin owns the club.” A frown lined his forehead and he stopped in his tracks.

Shit. She’d offended him. His thoughts weren’t hard to read—his face was like an open book. “Don’t worry, baby,” she cooed, wrapping herself around him. “He’s not my type.”

His face cleared up. “What’s your type?”

The cop’s face flashed in her mind. “Blond and beefy.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

She again resisted rolling her eyes. “Take me back there.”

He grabbed her hand and yanked her along like an eager puppy. He stopped in front of the bouncer. “Hey, Clancy. I’m supposed to show her to the back.”

The bouncer nodded at her escort before looking her over. “She on the list?”

“She’s in with Rocco.”

Willow gazed directly at the bouncer. Hopefully, he didn’t know Rocco was on a slab in the morgue.

He didn’t. At Rocco’s name, the bouncer smirked and moved aside, unlocking the door. “Have fun,” he said suggestively as they entered.

“Rocco’s the big man on campus, huh?” she asked once the door closed behind them. A heavy velvet curtain blocked their path, a red glow seeping through the edges. From beyond the curtains, she heard the slow beat of sexy music rather than the frenetic dance music in the main club.

“Well, yeah, since he works directly for Quentin. Come on.” He pushed aside the curtain.

“So who was the guy with your boss?”

The bartender glanced at her, pouting again. “What guy with Quentin?”

“The one who looked rich and old. He didn’t look like he belonged.”

He shrugged. “Maybe he was an investor. We’ve had a few walk through lately. Or maybe he was just coming back to the Easy. A lot of rich business guys come here.”

Before she could ask what the Easy was, he pulled her straight into hell. Or as close as you could get on earth.

The front was like a typical club: lively and brash. But the Easy pulsed to a different beat. More decadent, more covert. An echo of the front space, only smaller and seething with some darker energy.

Willow searched the room for the Bad Man, first with her eyes and then
mù ch’i.
Nothing.

How could that be? They just walked in here. Frowning, she looked around again—and then did a double take.

People were having sex on the dance floor.

Bump and grind—sure, expected in a club. But literally? Yes, some couples and groups were only engaged in foreplay, but the vast majority were getting freaky, as Morgan would say.

A sex club. Willow knew they existed, but she hadn’t expected to find herself in one.

How was she going to find the Bad Man in this orgy?

“This way.” The bartender took her elbow and led her past the dance floor. “I’m not supposed to be back here, but I know a place where no one will notice.”

She let him lead her, taking the opportunity to check out the booths. Sure enough, there were people in all states of undress, doing all manner of things.

But no Bad Man. Where could he have disappeared to?

In the back, doors lined a wide hallway. People milled, holding drinks, watching the other people, who were pushed up against the walls and in dark corners. She sought them out with
mù ch’i,
but the Bad Man wasn’t there.

“Wait.” The bartender opened a door and peeked inside. He looked over his shoulder at her, grinning. “All clear. Come on.”

She walked into the room. There was a velvet love seat in the middle. One wall was all glass—a window. Though on closer inspection, she realized it was a two-way mirror.

On the other side of the glass was a bedroom with a
man tied to the four-post bed. A woman sat on him, rocking herself against him.

As jaded as Willow believed herself to be, she felt her eyes widen as another man joined them, covering the woman’s back.

“Kind of cool, isn’t it?” The bartender settled on the couch, spreading his arms along the back. “Come have a seat.”

She leaned against the glass, hoping it was clean. “Are all the rooms outside like this one?”

“Yeah, but in other flavors, depending on what you’re into.” He eyed her eagerly. “You into other things? Because I could try other things.”