Naked Truth (Crimson Romance) (7 page)

“Does anyone in the crowd look familiar? Same faces as you’ve seen in other cities?”

Danny barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding? These guys have their own fan clubs. There’s a blog dedicated to Ranger and his act. Lancelot has 60,000 followers on Twitter. Everyone has Facebook accounts, and everyone gets marriage proposals daily. There are groupies that follow us to every city, no matter how big or small.”

“Well that certainly makes our job easier,” Jack muttered.

Danny shrugged again. “If this were easy, I wouldn’t have lost seven dancers by now. Good luck, kid. I’m going to go out there and warm ’em up for you.”

• • •

“What are you doing?” Kennedy hissed as she followed Vanessa, who elbowed her way through the throng of women all vying for a front-row seat at the second show. She was still reeling from the fact that she was actually attending a male strip show. Which, she supposed, was a slight step up from attending a female strip show. And now, it appeared she was going to sit in the front row.

“This is embarrassing,” she muttered as Vanessa pulled her down into a seat next to a tiny round table. They were seated to the side of the stage, near the restrooms but on the opposite side from where the dancers entered the stage. It was the best seat they were able to procure despite the very large bribe Vanessa gave the doorman.

“This is perfect,” her cousin declared as she waved at a scantily clad male server. “Shots,” she demanded when the server stopped at their table. “Blow jobs. God, I love being single.”

“You aren’t single,” Kennedy reminded her for the twentieth time, after the server walked away. Despite her attempts to sway her from it, Vanessa had insisted upon wandering through the various bars located in New Orleans’s entertainment district in a blatant attempt at tracking down Jack. She’d even texted Sabrina and asked her what Cullen and Jack were doing tonight.

Working, the reply text said. A new case. Which Kennedy had figured out long ago, because otherwise, she presumed Cullen would have been Sabrina’s date to her work function tonight. And Jack … well, she had no idea what Jack would have been doing. While she now knew the man intimately, she didn’t really know much about him at all.

The text did not deter Vanessa, who had downed several drinks by that point and refused to accept the idea that she was not going to get laid tonight. “Fine. Then let’s find a hotspot where I can pick up some other hottie for the night.”

“Vanessa, this is stupid. Call your husband. Talk to him. I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“Said she whose husband cheated on her and she was completely oblivious. At least I saw the signs and am acting on it now, instead of waiting to be blindsided.”

“How is this acting on it? Wait, let me rephrase that. How is this going to solve anything?”

“At least I’ll get laid. Burn off some excess energy.” Vanessa had rubbed her hands together in anticipation at that point.

Kennedy had been tempted to tell her that she’d lied, that Jerry hadn’t cheated after all and maybe Mac hadn’t either, but Vanessa wasn’t the type of person to whom one could confide such things, and, even three years later, Kennedy wasn’t ready to admit the truth to her family—or anyone.

Even if she had decided to have true confessions at that moment, it would not have mattered, because that was when Vanessa had spotted the crowd of women gathered in front of a club a block away. “What’s that?” she’d asked as she’d pointed.

“A dance club,” Kennedy replied. “Although I’ve never seen it so packed before. And where are the guys?”

Inside, she’d discovered a short time later. On the stage. Wearing little else other than baby oil and a few strategically placed bits of costume.

“No, no, no,” she said.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Vanessa replied.

The server returned bearing two shot glasses filled with Baileys and covered with a mound of whipped cream. He grinned as he took Vanessa’s money. An older, buff man straight out of
The Sopranos
suddenly appeared, holding a microphone in his hand. “Well, well, well, what have we here?” he asked into the microphone.

Kennedy groaned and was glad for the low lighting, because she knew her face must be puce from her embarrassment. Vanessa preened for the announcer.

“We’re having a single girl’s night on the town,” she said, her voice loud enough that the mic picked it up. “And we heard you have the best entertainment around!”

The announcer beamed at her. “You heard right, sweetheart. Now, show us how good you are with your mouth. Go ahead. I bet my boys are watching right now,” he said loudly.

Vanessa clasped her hands behind her back and bent over the glass, wrapping her lips around the rim and then tilting it into the air as she swallowed the shot. The announcer’s and the server’s eyes widened.

“Your turn, Kennedy,” she said cheerfully, after she placed the glass on the table and licked her lips.

“Get this girl another!” the announcer boomed into the mic. “And her friend, too, even if she’s only half that good with her mouth!”

Kennedy shook her head to the chorus of catcalls. “I’ll pass. I … I have to drive.”

“Baby, I’ll call you a cab. Better yet, I’ll take you home with me. Show us what you got. I want to see lipstick stains on that glass.” He began to chant, “Do it, do it,” and it took almost no time for the entire club to pick up the cry.

“I hate you, Vanessa,” she hissed, and her cousin laughed as Kennedy reached for the glass.

“Uh uh,” the man with the mic taunted. “No hands.”

“I really hate you.” She huffed out a sigh and clasped her hands behind her back. After a few moments of staring at the tiny glass overflowing with whipped cream, Kennedy finally stretched her neck and opened her mouth.

A hand slammed down onto the table, sending the glass tumbling to the floor, where it shattered and splashed whipped cream and liquor all over her legs. She looked up and discovered Cullen’s stormy, very pissed off eyes glaring down at her. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, as if he were her older brother. Or father.

“Showing Vanessa the sights,” she said weakly.

“What are you doing here?” Vanessa demanded. She leapt from her chair and began scanning the crowd in earnest. “Are you working? Is Jack here, too? I want to see him.”

“Fuck,” Cullen snarled.

“Get this cleaned up,” the announcer shouted to somebody who was standing behind Kennedy. He glared at Cullen. “Do that again and you’re paying for the glass.” He stalked away, morphing instantly into the flirtatious host, informing the crowd that the show was about to start, so get those drinks now.

“You two need to leave,” Cullen said as he stepped out of the way of the server carrying a mop in his hand.

“No way,” Vanessa said. “I want to see the show. Is Jack here or not?”

Cullen raked his hand through his hair and appealed to Kennedy. “Seriously. This isn’t a good idea.” He leaned close and whispered, “We’re undercover here. You need to get her out of here.”

“Oh crap,” she said, and she shot to her feet and tried to pull Vanessa out of her chair. The very last thing she wanted was to see Jack right now, especially when she had a very drunk and determined Vanessa in tow.

“Vanessa, we really need to—”

“Sit down or get the hell out,” a female voice shouted from behind her.

The lights went out, throwing the entire room into pitch darkness for a few moments. She sank back into her seat, her heart racing. What would Jack think of her now? Cullen cursed again and slipped away, and she had every confidence that he was seeking out his partner to inform him that sweet, innocent Kennedy was currently seated front row at an all-male revue.

If Cullen only knew.

Jack knew. But she really wasn’t the type of woman who had sex in limos and went to strip clubs. Would he believe her, after tonight?

Suddenly, a strobe light flashed to life above the stage, and the announcer’s voice resonated through the speakers. “Ladies, ladies, ladies. Are you in for a treat tonight. I’ve got some diamonds for you, and I guarantee there’s nothing rough about these gems. Every single one is of superior quality, and they are in town exclusively for your entertainment.”

As the lights shifted, turned white, and began to flash in a vertical motion, simulating rain, Vanessa leapt to her feet and began screaming at the queue of barely dressed and highly oiled men that strutted onto stage.

Kennedy stared. She’d never been to a strip club before. The closest she’d ever come to something like this was a handful of bachelorette parties, where one or two male strippers showed up in someone’s hotel or living room, danced for maybe twenty minutes, and then held out their hands for cash payment, before bidding them goodbye, and heading out the door.

This was entirely different. This was choreographed and fascinating and … good. Really good. These guys were sexy, each and every one, and they were damned good dancers, too.

Vanessa nudged her hand and she tore her eyes away from the stage to see that two fresh drinks on their small table. She picked one up and turned back to the show, trying to determine, as the announcer suggested, which dancer was her favorite.

That was when she saw him. She didn’t actually believe it at first. The dancer looked like Jack, he moved like Jack, but that wasn’t Jack … was it?

“Oh my God,” she breathed as she leaned back in her chair and stared. And stared. And stared.

It was Jack. He wore some sort of Tarzan loincloth, and his body was slick and shiny. It was embarrassing to admit that she’d had sex with the man and yet was sitting there admiring more of his body than she’d seen when they were naked together.

She liked what she saw. Besides the fantastic body, his moves were amazing, and his come-and-get-me grin said he was really enjoying himself up there.

Kennedy turned her head every which way, evaluating the crowd. She spotted the announcer standing behind a group of women she guessed were part of a bachelorette party. The bride stabbed her finger in Jack’s direction as he stepped into the middle of the stage and did a fifteen second tease of his upcoming solo set. The bride pretended to swoon, and the announcer moved on to another group of women.

What the hell was going on?

“Did you see that guy in the Tarzan loincloth?” Vanessa shouted as the music faded and every man except for one strutted off stage. The one wearing chaps and a black hat remained behind and stood stock still in the middle of the stage.

“He looked like Jack,” Vanessa added.

“Yeah,” Kennedy said weakly. “I noticed.”

She had to get Vanessa out of there. If she figured out that dancer really was Jack, she might blow his cover. Whatever he and Cullen were doing, it involved the federal government. Surely there was some sort of fine—or worse—if she and Vanessa ruined this assignment.

But damn, he’d had some moves. Kennedy took a moment to indulge in a fantasy, one in which Jack was her own personal stripper, and they never left the bedroom, and …

“We have to go, Vanessa. Now.” She pushed to her feet to both shake off the ridiculous daydream and attempt to get Vanessa out of there.

Music started again and the cowboy on stage began to move. The woman behind her hissed out a threat of what would happen if she didn’t sit down. Kennedy sat. Vanessa whipped money out of her purse and began waving it at the cowboy.

“This cannot be happening to me,” she muttered as she watched her cousin stuff bills into some stranger’s barely-there bikini.

“I’m moving you up in the rotation,” Danny announced during Ranger’s cowboy act. “The ladies love you. Four bachelorette parties. All four chose you. Sure you don’t want a permanent gig?”

Jack chuckled and rubbed a towel through his hair. “Pretty sure,” he said. Although he had to admit, this was fun. And it was pretty damn easy to dance—and get excited—when a horde of women stood at your feet screaming and making it obvious they wanted you. Damned heady experience. No wonder these guys were willing to continue doing this night after night despite the very obvious threat to their lives.

Cullen suddenly appeared at his elbow. “I need to talk to you,” he said, completely ignoring Danny.

Danny smacked Cullen’s arm. “You don’t know him, remember?” he hissed.

“I need to fucking talk to him,” Cullen said through gritted teeth. “It’s important.”

Danny gave him a furious look. “You have two and a half minutes. He’s up next.” He strode away.

Cullen grabbed Jack’s arm and dragged him into a dark corner where they were fairly obscured from the rest of the dancers. He didn’t mince words. “Kennedy’s out there.”

“Kennedy?” Jack yelped, feeling as though he’d been zapped by an electric current. “Here?”

“She’s with Vanessa.”

“Sabrina’s sister? What’s she doing in town?” he asked dumbly, his brain trying to process this news. Kennedy … at a strip club?

For some reason, that image didn’t work. She hadn’t struck him as the type to attend these types of shows. Of course, grannies didn’t strike him as the type to attend strip shows, and there was a whole group of them here tonight, so what did he know?

“She’s pissed off at her husband,” Cullen said dismissively. “But the point is, Kennedy is going to blow your cover if you go out there.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Would she? He honestly had no idea.

“Maybe not, but Vanessa is drunk, so she will. You can’t go out there.”

“I have to,” he protested. “We’ll blow everything if I don’t go out there.”

Danny was at the mic again, talking him up, raving about the newest addition to the show—the Animal. Women screamed. Cullen swore and stormed through the door, heading out to resume his bouncer duties.

Music pulsed. The cheering and screaming continued. Jack stepped out onto stage, forcing himself to get into his role. He had a job to do. He was supposed to be trying to find a killer. He shouldn’t be so damn excited about seeing a woman who was meant to be one of any number of one-night stands.

But no matter what he tried to tell himself, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd, couldn’t stop looking for her.