Good Girl Gone Bad (27 page)

She nodded, took the envelope, and slipped it into her oversize bag, then followed him out of her house.

Sitting in her car, she stared at the scrawled message. Her skin chilled and the fine hair on the back of her neck spiked.

Dance for me tonight or I take another one.
Did the kidnapper know she was a cop?

She’d bet the napkin Ty found in the bar had the same handwriting. She hurried back into her house and put the note into a Ziploc bag. A slight movement from the counter caught her eye.

“Sorry, Bubba.” She’d forgotten to feed him. The little red fish swam furiously around his bowl, his tiny mouth breaking the water. She couldn’t help but smile as he gobbled up the three little orange food balls she dropped into his bowl. He was a porker and he was still alive, so there was hope for her yet. Maybe next year, if Bubba survived, she’d get him a friend.

At exactly eight o’clock, Phil strutted into Klub Kashmir. Ty hadn’t called and she didn’t expect him to. After all, he got what he wanted from her. So why call, to thank her? He wasn’t the polite type. She tossed her bag into her locker. That was okay, because she got what she’d wanted from him, too.

“Oh my God, Kat, guess what?”

Candi rushed up to Phil, her big blue eyes shining bright, her red shiny lips stretched into a wide smile.

“What?” Phil couldn’t not like Candi, it was impossible.

Candi grabbed her hands and squeezed them, then hugged them to her breasts. A little familiar for Phil, but she didn’t pull her hands away. “Ty asked me to his place tonight!”

Phil knew at that moment what it felt like to get gut kicked by a mule. The violent reaction left her breathless.

Quickly, she recovered, at least superficially. She cursed silently. Why did that news affect her? It shouldn’t have; she hated Ty and every lying word and action he stood for. He was the worst of the worst.

You’re better than Candi any day.
His words came back to slap her in the face. She’s missed their real meaning then, just after he’d ravaged her against her hallway wall, but with Candi standing in front of her, happier than a pig in crap, the full meaning hit her.

She was better than Candi? Any day? What would he tell Candi tonight? She was better than Kat any day? Jesus, how had she been so stupid? Another lie from his lips to her ears.

She should warn Candi. The thought of breaking her heart almost stopped her but, she straightened her shoulders. Better have a little heartbreak now than a big one down the road. “Candi, Ty’s a cheating bastard, stay away from him.”

Candi dropped Phil’s hands like she had a raging case of herpes. “How dare you speak about him like that!”

This was a losing battle. “Because it’s the truth.”

“You’re just jealous he picked me over you,” Candi said, not looking cute in her saccharine smugness. “I saw how you went after him, Kat. You lost, so live with it.”

Candi had morphed from sweet to sour in less time than it took to glue on a pasty. Phil backed up. For the sake of the case and her own pride, she refused to argue the point. Maybe there was some truth to Candi’s words. Phil shuddered.

“He’s all yours. I have no interest in him.”

“And he doesn’t have any in you, so stay away.”

Candi strode past Phil like the Queen of the Nile, all five feet, two inches of her.

Phil’s hands fisted. If she detested Ty Jamerson, why on earth did she want to rip Candi’s bottle blonde strands out by the roots?

She spun around, right into a hard wall of muscle and bone. Speak of the devil. She looked up into Ty’s narrowed eyes. Obviously, he was no happier to see her than she him. She stepped back, not giving him the courtesy of one word. He grabbed her arm, but she yanked it away. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.

His lips broke into a smile. “Fickle, aren’t you? Less than twelve hours ago you were begging me to touch you.”

Phil slapped him with every ounce of muscle, anger, and humiliation she possessed. White imprints of her fingers flared on his tan cheek. A muscle twitched. His lips narrowed to a thin line.

Phil assumed a defensive position, ready to go to fists with the bastard. She wished he’d touch her, she wanted to sink her nails into his face and rip him to shreds.

He didn’t move or say a word, he only rubbed his cheek and stared at her. He was somewhere else completely. Probably thinking of how many ways he was going to fuck Candi.

Then he blinked and a half smile twisted his lips, the action almost like a second thought. “I was coming to find you. You’re not dancing tonight. You’re back to cocktailing.”

“Bullshit. I’m dancing and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” She was dancing to draw out a killer, and if she had to hog-tie her lieu and stuff him in a closet somewhere, dammit, she’d do it. When undercover, there are no rules.

“Are you defying a superior officer’s command?” Ty whispered.

Phil smiled, a big one. She sidled closer to him, so close she felt the heat of his body. The same heat that drove her over one orgasmic edge, only to drive her over another more intense one. Hate him she did, and hate him she would, but she knew in her heart and her brain no other man on earth could make her feel the way he did. She’d never have the pleasure of his hot cock between her legs again, and that pissed her off nearly as much as his lying, cheating, self-serving, son of a bitch ways.

“It’s official, Lieutenant Jamerson. I defy you,” she whispered back.

His eyes burned molten. She stuck her arms out, presenting him her wrists. “So go ahead and arrest me.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his chest. He didn’t seem to mind that they stood in the middle of the club, with several people milling around them. “I’d like to do a lot more than arrest you.”

“Don’t feed me your lines, Ty. I know where you’re going after we close up tonight.”

His eyes narrowed, then widened. He released her. Her stomach twisted. So it was true. She realized she’d been hoping Candi had made it up to taunt her.

“You, sir, are a despicable character. Stay away from me.” She started to move away, but remembered the note.

She dug into her bag and withdrew the plastic bag. She slapped it against his chest. “I’m dancing.”

He looked at it. “Where did you get this?”

“On my front door. Now leave me the hell alone and let me do my job.”

Before he could see her tears, Phil hurried past him. She was crying, like a little girl! She ran into the bathroom and into a stall, slamming the door shut behind her. She sat on the toilet and fought back the emotional flood.

Feelings of guilt, anger, and regret raged inside of her. She didn’t want to feel bad for wanting Ty, for liking the way he made her feel. Why did it make her bad to enjoy another human being’s body or have him enjoy hers? Orgasms weren’t solely for men; women had needs, too.
She
had needs.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been for the physical aspect of sex until a master had showed her the way. Her skin warmed and she sucked back tears. She didn’t want to ruin her makeup. She was human and had feelings and there was nothing wrong with her feelings.

She just wished to hell she didn’t have them for Ty Jamerson.

Phil sucked it up. She refused to allow her emotions to clutter up her mission: Find the kidnapper and find the girls. She had an open invitation from the one responsible, and she aimed to please. She’d dance like Delilah for Sampson, drawing the kidnapper out.

She smiled smugly. And while she was at it, she’d show Ty just what he was going to be missing out on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Y
o, Masters,” Reese called to Ty, who stood rooted to the floor, his arms crossed rigidly across his chest. Ty didn’t acknowledge his man; instead, he ground his teeth and wished he’d never promised Candi dinner at his place. He’d been thinking with his dick, he’d reacted emotionally, and that really set him off. To hell with it, he was canceling on her. He wanted nothing to do with any female, least of all one he had no interest in.

Ty moved slowly to his man.

Reese grinned, the gesture unusual.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” he asked.

Ty handed him the plastic bag. Reese whistled and handed it back to Ty. “A gift. Same handwriting as the other one. Our man must be feeling pretty sure of himself.” Reese scanned the packed club. “He’s out there. I can feel it.”

So did Ty. “I don’t want her to dance,” Ty said, his voice barely audible.

“Why the hell not? It’s the break we’ve been waiting for.”

Ty remained quiet.

“What gives, Ty? She get under your skin?”

When Ty didn’t respond, Reese went further. “I see. I don’t know what the hell’s going on between the two of you, but you’d better shit or get off the pot. She’s not the kind of woman to jack around.”

“I’m not jacking her around. Nothing is going on.”

Reese laughed, the sound caustic. Ty cringed. “I see. That tells me you’ve already wham-bammed her in your usual gentlemanly manner.”

“Shut up, Reese.”

“Status quo with you. Love ’em and leave ’em, TJ.”

“Look who’s talking. You could give me lessons.”

Reese shrugged. “Not talking about me, man, talking about you dipping your wick in the company inkwell. You know better, especially with her.”

Ty’s eyes narrowed. “What makes her so special?”

“Other than the obvious, there’s the little matter of you putting her old man away, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

Reese clamped his hand on Ty’s shoulder. The men stood dead even in the height and breadth of shoulder departments and they each dragged around their own demons.

“I’ve got your back, man,” Reese said.

“But?”

“No buts.”

Reese stalked off and Ty contemplated the evidence in his hand. So lover boy wanted her to dance for him? Ty’s anger rose. Why the hell didn’t she just tell him about the note? Why did he have to piss her off to get the information?

He let out a long, frustrated breath. If he lived to be a thousand years old, he would never understand what made a woman tick.

He pulled out his cell phone and called in for more plainclothes units to be inconspicuous but available. If they got a bead on the guy, he wouldn’t get far once he made it out of the club.

A ribald ditty roared from the wall speakers and Ty watched disinterestedly as Sable strutted on the stage. He looked closely around. Even on a Thursday night, the club was filled to capacity, but for a full house the crowd was unusually quiet. Especially with a dancer onstage. It set an ominous tone.

Ty slipped the Ziploc into his pocket and cursed Phil. His anger ebbed—slightly. He supposed waking up to find him gone with no note and no phone call, not even a “thanks, it was great,” would piss off most any woman, and he knew she deserved more from him. His skin warmed and his dick tingled. Philamina Zorn was not like any woman he’d ever known.

Her wrath was formidable. He grimaced, knowing he’d feel the full weight of it before this case was closed. He told himself he did the easiest thing for them both: he could deal with her anger and she could think he was a bastard. He laughed out loud, the cynical harshness of it sobering. He was a bastard, in every sense of the word, and she deserved someone who would put her first, who would consider her feelings, someone, dammit, who would kiss her. He didn’t come close to stacking up to those credentials.

His skin tingled and he felt warm and fuzzy all of a sudden. The urge to kiss those luscious lips of Phil Zorn had been hard to resist. He’d never kissed a woman, not the way Phil wanted to be kissed. The way she should be kissed. Long, deep, and wet.

His cock swelled and he cursed out loud. The case was almost over, he could feel it in his gut. Tonight was the night. All or bust, and he needed to focus.

Sable’s last piece of clothing fluttered to the floor, but for a crowd so large, the reaction was minimal.

“Siren!” someone shouted.

“Siren!” another man called.

“Shit,” Ty mumbled. He glanced over his shoulder to Reese, who slipped down from his perch. He turned back to make eye contact with Jase, who tonight resembled an all-American preppy.

The crowd chanted, “Siren, Siren, Siren!”

Sable huffed with what indignation she could muster, reaching down to grab up the few dollar bills bestowed on her before marching offstage.

The stage lights dimmed and the DJ’s voice boomed across the room. “Gents, gents! Our sultry Siren will grace this hallowed stage in a half hour. Have a drink and enjoy the anticipation.”

The crowd surged toward the stage, the chant climbing higher on the decimal scale. “Siren! Siren! Siren!”

The DJ spun a hip-hop tune. “Okay, ladies and gents,” he announced, “I have a special treat for you tonight. She usually closes down the house with her sweet, sexy, and sinful sway, but tonight Miz Candi the delish diva will share her honeydew with you now!”

The roar of the crowd waned a few octaves, and Ty breathed a sigh of relief.

The music swelled, a deep jungle beat. The lights dimmed, the strobe light flashed, and Candi made her slow sexy strut onto the stage.

Ty’s eyes looked past the buxom blonde to the backstage area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who’d managed to get under his skin.

The crowd wasn’t mollified until Candi finally bared her pendulous breasts. They tolerated her offering.

Like Sable, Candi strutted indignantly off the stage, grabbing the few bills littering it.

“Siren, Siren, Siren!” the crowd chanted.

“Ladies and gents, back by popular demand, the sinfully hot diva of the night squad, lady of law enforcement, queen of cuffs, and the spread-eagle mistress, give it up for Siiiiireeeeeeen!”

A siren wailed, red-and-blue lights flickered across the stage and walls, a yellow light stuttered to the beat of the strobe. Dry ice crawled like a downed junkie dragging himself to his next fix, a whistle blew, and “Bad Boys” thundered through the speakers. The crowd erupted, the men hooting and screaming, fists pumping the air and catcalling.