Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery) (6 page)

My gaze had started to travel down his body, but it screeched to a stop at his torso. Oh no, not eyes just for me. He had eyes for Sarah, too. Or some crazy sense of responsibility toward her that he couldn’t explain to me for some reason. Which made him honorable. Damn it, this was too complicated.

“Working hard?” Jack’s question interrupted the reality check I was giving myself.

I brought my gaze back to his face. “Always.” Absently running my hand over my hair, I fed the ponytail through my fingers. Then I took a slow yoga
Ujjayi
breath to get some balance in my thoughts. “Do you want a table?”

A slow smile spread onto his lips. “In your section.”

I frowned. If he kept looking at me like that, I might have to kick him out. “My section is the whole restaurant. This way.” I led him to what was fast becoming “his table” and pulled out the chair that faced the wall. I didn’t want him spending the entire evening watching me. We’d come too close to making love too many times. He wanted it. I wanted it.

But I’d had a few too many years of crumbs in bed with Sergio, and I wasn’t about to give myself to a man who wasn’t fully committed to me.

No way, no how.

I was not a one-night-stand kind of girl.

He set his laptop on the chair I’d pulled out for him. “Thanks.” Then he sat down on the other side of the table, facing the dining room. And me.

Damn. So much for
that
plan. “Do you know what you want?”

His dimple enticingly etched itself into his right cheek. “I know exactly what I want.”

A slow tingle burned its way through my body.
¡Dios mío!
If I wasn’t careful, Jack’s charm would wear me down and my grandmother would be saying rosaries to save my heathen, wanton soul. Again.

I swallowed and regrouped. “From the menu. To eat.”

His smile took on a hint of wicked. This wasn’t going well.

I breathed in through my nose. Constricted my throat. Out through my nose.
“For dinner,”
I added.

He picked up his menu. “Not sure yet.”

I waved my order pad around. Other tables needed service. Hot food waited in the kitchen to be delivered. “Okay!”
Way too perky, Lola. Get a grip.
“I’ll be back. Take your time.”

We did our own seductive dance from that moment on. I took his order, and he flirted with me. I refilled his water. And he flirted some more. I brought him his food, and he tried to get me to sit with him.

“I have other customers,” I said, weakening from repeated exposure to his pheromones.

“Yes, but will they tip you like I will?”

“What, are you going to give me the answers to the
Sacramento
Bee
’s Sunday crossword puzzle?” He could do it, too, being one of the paper’s most popular columnists.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” I grinned,
un poquito
seductively. Two could play at this game. I put my palms flat on the table and leaned toward him. “Just what
do
you have in mind?”

His eyes smoldered, turning from blue to gray, and his lips parted slightly. Just enough for me to imagine exactly what he was thinking.

“
¡Dolores! ¡Ven aquí!
” My grandfather’s Marlon Brando voice swept me out of my fantasy with Jack and back into the restaurant. My grandparents held court in their booth, receiving guests, day in and day out. He was sauntering up to his regular table and seeing his wannabe mafioso face and his slick peppery hair knocked the sense right back into me. Jack and I were on hold.

“
Espera, Abuelo
,” I said over my shoulder as I straightened.

Jack blinked, the heat of attraction under control again. “Better go see what he wants before he fires you.”

I laughed. “If only he would. Then I could work on my cases without splitting my time.”

“Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Ah, but I couldn’t do that. I’d learned that revealing my undercover status to Jack was a risky business. He—and my brother, Antonio—had nearly blown my first incognito moment when I’d worn a wire to catch some flashing shoplifters at Laughlin’s Market. Distance, I reminded myself. The less time I spent with him, the better. And I was still hoping I’d make some great discovery before game time and be able to avoid actually doing the cheerleading thing.

“I’m closing, Jack, then I’m going home.”

He flashed that crooked grin, but something in his expression reminded me of the married mind-reading stare Victoria and Lance Wolfe had shared at Camacho & Associates. “I could come with you,” he finally said.

Yes, you could
, I thought. Especially if he didn’t stop making me feel like he was undressing me with his eyes. “N-no you can’t.”

He blinked, breaking the thread connecting us. “Her family’s coming to get her.”

I shifted my weight to one side and put my hand on hip, my elbow angled out. “
¿Otra vez?
”

He gave me a long, searching look, finally saying, “For good this time. And they’ll keep her on her meds.”

Right. And I really was Xena. “They haven’t been able to do that so far.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

I caught—or maybe I imagined—the double entendre. “Maybe,” I said, but I wasn’t sure there would ever actually be a first time for Jack and me.

Chapter Five

I somehow made it through the next two days without learning a thing about the letters. Not reassuring, given my green status as a detective. I hadn’t gotten paid for my last big case, since it had been personal and off the books. I had to prove myself with this one.

Victoria, it turned out, was more like a bullfighter than a dance team director. She grabbed
el toro
by the horns—the bull in this case being me—and did what needed to be done. If I didn’t know she was determined to make sure I didn’t tarnish the reputation of the Courtside Dancers, I’d think she’d made it her personal mission to torture me. And leave me absolutely no time to investigate.

My attempts to chitchat with the other women on the team had gotten me polite dismissals. I still knew nothing about Rochelle Nolan, the dancer who’d had the affair and left the team. I’d yet to see a letter on the premises. And muscles ached in parts of my body I hadn’t even known existed. If I made it through the Royals’s game that night it would be a miracle.

Arriving two hours before the game, my new super-sized duffel-bag-on-wheels in tow, I made my way through the lower level of the arena and into the locker room, a huge area with two enormous mirrors adhered to the walls. The stereo blared Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and someone screamed, “Downtime disco!”

Whatever
that
meant.

A refrigerator stocked with drinks sat in one corner, while salad, bread, Rice Krispies Treats, chicken, rice pilaf, steamed and fresh vegetables, cookies, and PowerBars weighed down the king-size buffet table.

I perused the room, awed by the transformations taking place. The women were going from stunning to spectacular. I pulled my bag up next to Jennifer, the dancer who’d been the least unfriendly. “Hi.”

She lowered her chin. Not bad as far as greetings from this bunch went. She hung her outfits for the evening on a portable wardrobe. I stared in amazement. There would be four changes tonight. I hadn’t laid eyes on my costumes yet and had no idea if the outfits Victoria was bringing would even fit.

I gestured toward the buffet. “Does all that get eaten?”

“Pretty much. Dancing drains you.” Jennifer studied me. “After three days of practicing, even
you
should know that. Energy is key.”

Here was the attitude I’d been expecting. I leaned in so I could speak without anyone else hearing. “Listen, I’m here to do a job. You can make it easy or hard. That’s up to you. But the easier you make it, the sooner I can get out of here.”

Spider lashes curved up to her brows as her eyes grew wide. She flicked her gaze around and then pushed her bag over to make more room for me.

About time.

She brushed her chin-length brown hair, teasing out the top layer of expensive highlights. She ran her curling iron over the ends, flipping them up. “I’ll try to help,” she said quietly.

I thanked her and then went to work on my own hair. I pulled up the sides, clipping them at the top with a glittery barrette, and then sprayed the long strands of highlights that framed my face and ratted out the back to create extra volume.

Jennifer examined my reflection. “I’ll do your makeup.”

Boo-ya
. She’d come around!

She shouted over the sounds of hairdryers, the blaring music, and women chattering. “Tammy! Can I borrow your foundation?”

Tammy slinked over to us, her long, silky hair trailing behind her like a silk sheet. “It’s way too dark for you, Jenn.”

“It’s for Lola. You have the same olive skin tone.”

She gave me a once-over, then threw out a hip and perched a hand on it. “Doesn’t she have her own makeup?”

Here we go again
. They were talking about me like I wasn’t in the room, let alone sitting right next to them.

“I didn’t know we had to get made up with stage makeup. Next time I’ll bring my own.” I gritted my teeth and forced myself to beam at Tammy. “It’s really sweet of you to share.”

Tammy’s scowl softened, but only microscopically. Jennifer unscrewed the lid of the foundation, took a triangular sponge out of her bag, and began dabbing my face. “Perfect.” She turned to Tammy. “I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”

Tammy huffed and walked away, and I saw her muttering something to another girl, peering at me out of the corner of her eye.

It was definitely like reliving junior high. I had the impression that Jennifer was the queen bee, not Tammy, but she was right up there on the food chain.

Jennifer finished the foundation and moved on to the eye shadow—deep blue on the lower lid and sparkly silver on top. She worked for a few more minutes before stepping back to admire her handiwork. I peered at the mirror and flinched at my clown reflection. “That’s a bit, um, bold, no?”

“You’re going to perform in front of twenty thousand people. Your face will be on the suspended monitor—”

A lump formed in my throat. Twenty thousand people. I’d realized it would be a full arena, but I hadn’t actually put a number to the fans. The Royals were a hot commodity in the Sacramento sports market. They were on top of their game and the fans came out in droves to support them. And since their reality show, the Courtside Dancers had their own rabid following.

And,
ay caramba
, my brother was one of the team’s biggest fans. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Staying undercover and incognito was going to be
un poquito difícil
in front of that huge audience.

Jennifer shook my shoulder. “Did you hear me, Lola?”

“I’m sorry. What?” She’d added more blush and I was sure my cheeks could be seen from Mars.

“I was with Victoria at first. I didn’t want an outsider coming onto the team, you know?”

I hoped against hope that she was going to tell me something useful. “But you changed your mind?”

“Lance made sense. Rochelle’s been seeing Michael Brothers for a long time, so I don’t think that’s why she left. I think the letters scared her, you know, and…” Jennifer trailed off, her eyes darting around the room.

“And what?”

“Maybe you should talk to the ball boys. One of them brought the last note to me.”

“Do you know which one?”

She shrugged. “No. I never really paid attention. They’re all the same, you know?”

Right. Like racial profiling, for ball boys.

“What about the other letters? How were they delivered?”

“I know the ball boys have passed a few of them to the girls. A couple were left in here. Carrie found one in her bag.”

My heart ratcheted up a notch. Finally, information that might actually help with the case.
Hallelujah!
I kept my voice low, masking my excitement. “Where do the ball boys hang out? Do they go into the players’ locker room?”

“The players, coaches, trainer, and doctor are allowed in the locker rooms. I don’t think the ball boys really have their own special place, you know?”

I tried to keep my mouth still as Jennifer traced my lips with liner. Finally she finished and I asked another question. “How long have you been a dancer?”

“This is my fourth season. I worked for a year, then we did
Living the Royal Life
. It’s been craziness ever since.”

“Celebrity crazy?” I asked, barely parting my lips.

Her face clouded. “We’re recognized all the time. It’s not like when Arnold was in town and everyone wanted a glimpse of the Governator, but it’s close, you know? Sometimes I think…”

Her hands trembled like a nervous cat that wanted nothing more than to shed its skin.

“What?” I asked.

“Sometimes I think I should just go back home, you know?” She gestured to her risque cheerleading outfit. “Sometimes this is nothing more than a costume. I’m proud of my body, but in this—”

She broke off, but she didn’t have to finish her sentence for me to understand. I loved being a girl, but I was a strong girl, and the sexy cheerleader thing pushed my boundaries. “I get it. Makes you feel like just an object, right?”

“Exactly. Sometimes I just don’t want people staring at me.”

My gaze ran around the room. “How about them? Do they feel the same way?”

Jennifer capped the lip pencil and pulled out lipstick. “Selma does,” she said softly, “but not the rest.” She paused as I puckered up for the lip color. “How do you feel?”

Good question. I was a nonprofessional dancer about to spend the next three hours committing possible career suicide in front of thousands of people. Ever since this case dropped into my lap, I’d had an insatiable urge to visit St. Francis, the church on 26th Street I’d grown up attending. Light a candle and confess that I’d be shaking my bootie in the arena, say a whole bunch of Hail Marys, and be forgiven for whatever sin I might be committing in the scant clothes.