Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (10 page)

Romeo perused the main floor of the oh-so-classy PussyFoot Gentleman’s Club. Not surprisingly, the inside was just as rundown as the out. The song blaring through the worn-out speakers had been a hit about ten years ago and the woman dancing up on stage probably reached her prime ten years before that.

He’d been in a million establishments catering to men’s fantasies—some as risqué as giving the patrons hands-on participation in making their illusions come true, while others . . . well, they were dives like this one. Existing on the edge of town like the whore no one wanted to acknowledge but most were glad existed.

“Hey.” A feminine hand pulled his chin back to face her. “Am I so tempting you have to look away?”

Romeo chuckled, giving the exotic dancer straddling his legs a pat on the thigh. “Absolutely, Jazmin-with-a-Z.” He shifted under her to hide his lack of response to her lap dance. Hopefully she’d think he was a typical client, embarrassed to show a hard-on.

A beam from one of the spots flashed over Jazmin’s face, glinting off the sequins on her barely-there bra. She wasn’t bad to look at but this business tended to take a toll. As evidenced by the hardness in her eyes and the tight skin around her mouth, making her appear older.
Wonder what made her choose this life?
She draped her forearms on his shoulders, dangling her bronze cleavage an inch from his face. He blinked at the sudden sight of her plump breasts wiggling then pulling away, working to entice him to bury his face in the mounds and shut the world out for a few hours.

Ah well, guess some people choose whatever path is available to them. I can’t save everyone
.

Not even when he tried help save someone from herself.
No matter how strong she thinks she is
. A pang stole through his heart at the rush of images of Magician’s battered body after she had infiltrated a sex-slave ring seven months ago to help the team shut it down. He personally killed as many bastards as he could by twisting their necks or shooting whoever got in his path to rescue her, but the damage had been done before the squad even showed up that day.

A shaft of light pierced the gloomy club, drowning out the Pepto-Bismol effect from the pink neon tubing. He tightened his fingers on the dancer’s thighs at the small silhouette framed in the doorway.

“Hmm,” Jazmin purred, “liked that, did you?”

Huh?
The light disappeared with a resounding thud of the front door slamming closed.

“I’ll do it again, baby.” She swiveled her hips centimeters from his cock, the inner part of her thighs rubbing against his suit pants as she moved. Making up the story explaining the glitter she left behind promised to be a lot of fun.

Magician, aka Special Agent Sonya White, paused at the edge of the bar, scanning the busy club. Their gazes collided for a millisecond but it was long enough for him to catch the rolling of her eyes.

It may be childish for his twenty-eight years but he couldn’t help taunting her. He wrapped his hands around Jazmin’s back and leaned forward.

Jazmin trilled at his sudden interest, increasing her gyrations to the beat of the song. Exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. He peered just over the exotic dancer’s shoulder and grinned—knowing Magician couldn’t see his smile. His partner stormed in his direction, her back ramrod straight and her face puckered as if she sucked on a lemon.

Smoothing his fingers down the dancer’s spine under the guise of being enchanted by the woman’s skin, he followed Magician’s progress across the floor.

In three. Two. One. . . .

“Special Agent Stiles,” Magician snapped, halting just to the side of his table. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jazmin froze, whipping her head toward his partner.

A long scar ran along Magician’s check, disappearing into the hairline near her ear. She received the souvenir courtesy of the slave-trade bastards while she was undercover. Romeo didn’t think the scar detracted from her good looks; in fact, he thought it made her even more beautiful, giving her a depth no one else could ever possess. Just another weapon she had in her arsenal to manipulate the men salivating at her feet.

He placed a small kiss on the dancer’s shoulder and sat back, widening his grin as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Obviously I’m interviewing Jazmin-with-a-Z Hott.”

Jazmin settled her weight on his legs as Magician raked her gaze up and down the dancer’s body. His partner’s eyes narrowed onto the juncture where Jazmin rested against his unexcited cock. Not that Magician could tell that with the dancer covering him, but Jazmin was now clued in.
Busted
.

Jazmin turned away from Magician and searched his face in confusion. He shrugged and played it off by hooking a thumb at his partner. “What can I say? Buzzkill.”

Magician’s chin shot up and Jazmin let out a giggle.

Much better. A woman should be made to feel as if she was the sexiest siren in the world, even if he wasn’t interested in the slightest.

The light dimmed and heavy metal music pounded from the speakers, forcing him to divert his attention to the stage. Two women appeared, each strolling toward the other from the side entrances, their steps timed to match the rhythm of the double-bass drumming. Tall black leather boots climbed to their mid-thighs with thick fishnet stockings covering the rest of their legs. Skimpy black shorts and full-bodied bras along with masks and whips helped complete the dominatrix fantasy.

For an insane second, Romeo envisioned Magician in the same getup, strutting across the stage and gripping the brass pole bolted into the floor, her long black hair trailing behind her as she grasped the metal and swung her body around.

“
Raymond
.”

He ripped his gaze away from the show and blinked the vision away. Where the hell did that come from?

Magician dipped her chin and squinted as if she could just imagine his line of thinking.
Trust me, Mag, you’re not even close.

“Have you learned anything from
Mizz
Hott?” Magician asked coolly, probably for the second time.

He cleared his throat and exchanged a quick smile with the dancer still perched on his lap. “Yep. Her manager is an asshole who wouldn’t allow me to talk to her unless I was a paying client.” Why the hell had he just defended his position? This scenario had played out a million times between them before.

“I see,” Magician replied.

He patted the dancer’s exposed rump. “Guess our time’s up.”

Jazmin stuck out her bottom lip and pouted.

He held up a fifty. “Thanks for the info.”

She slid it out of his fingers and slowly deposited it inside her bra. Once the money disappeared, she leaned forward and kissed him. He blinked, not expecting the action. This industry had a code similar to prostitution: Kissing was too personal and therefore generally not done. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to irritate Magician further, so he placed his hand on the back of Jazmin’s head and returned the kiss with ardor.

After angling the dancer’s head just so, he slit his eyes to peer at Magician’s reaction.

Whoa
.
What the fuck?

His partner parted her lips and her smoky baby blue eyes filled with . . . Hell no that couldn’t be desire, could it? A jolt shot through him at the thought, instantly making him hard, which freaked him out even further.

Jazmin moaned and ground her hips against his cock, no doubt thinking she was the reason for its sudden stiffness.

Magician dropped the fingers she had placed against her bottom lip and pushed her shoulders back. The impersonal mask she liked to wear when she attempted to hide her emotions slid back into place.

Did he just imagine that? Please, dear God tell him the club’s noxious smoke had been laced with a drug or something. He needed anything to explain his head trip over the last few minutes. He had hoped to get a rise out of her but, shit, he hadn’t expected to be, uh, the one who’d
risen
.

He ended the kiss and smiled at Jazmin.

The dancer’s eyes twinkled for real as she rose seductively. “Baby, come back to see me
anytime
,” she purred just loud enough for his partner to hear. She ran a finger from the top of his shoulder toward his stomach. “I mean that.”

He pulled her hand away just as it reached his belt and kissed her fingertips. “I know you do, Jazmin-with-a-Z. Do me a favor and keep yourself safe, you hear?” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

“Always,” she retorted over her shoulder, swishing her hips toward a small group of dancers huddled near the bar.

Magician let out a disgusted sound. “Really? A stripper this time? Didn’t you get your fill with the woman from the pub a few nights ago?”

“Hey, no need to be jealous. I offered to help hook you up with that guy who sat at the other end of the counter, but you refused.” He stood, smoothing his slacks, thankful his hard-on had disappeared.

“That guy only had two teeth,” Magician shot back, “and was at least sixty years old.”

Romeo laughed, remembering the farmer who had stared at his partner all night. “Hey, I can’t help it if your choice of bedmates is limited.” He couldn’t stop his taunting smile. “Bet he knew how to use those choppers to please you though.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He shrugged and focused on why they came in. “I needed information and Jazmin was willing to talk to me.”

“For a fifty. Bet if you threw in another ten, she’d have done more than grind on your lap and talk.”

“Catty, Mag.” He skimmed the crowd, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. “She’s run into some tough times, doing the best she can. Besides, she informed me the cameras in the parking lot are just for show and haven’t been working for months.”

Magician snatched his FBI windbreaker off the back of a neighboring chair and tossed it at him. “At least we won’t have to come up with a cover story for Cappy and Talon entering Michelle’s room and not coming out.”

Michelle blinked as Talon swung the car onto a concrete driveway long enough for only one vehicle at the last house in the row.

The sand-colored brick blended nicely with the ivory siding and maroon shutters. Hedges underneath the front windows had been trimmed with care and the trees beside it were just starting to display their fall leaves. A wrought-iron and wooden bench sat beneath a birch tree, inviting her to curl up on it and read. Overall, picturesque and perfect—if she wasn’t facing a murder charge.

Talon slipped out of the car, pulling a small leather case out of his back jeans pocket, and strode up the front walkway. Jeremy opened her door and offered his meaty hand.

Her resolution waffled. Had he already formed an opinion on her guilt or innocence? Bringing her here didn’t necessarily mean he was on her side. He had yet to tell her who he worked for or the reason he had access to an ongoing investigation’s information.

And those nagging questions should outweigh the giddy, oh-my-God-he-thinks-I-look-really-good emotions, but sadly, her attraction and her suspicions were dead even.

Then what’re my options?
Take his hand and pray it wasn’t a trap or hop out of the other side and . . . what? Run? Crap. The way his body looked, he had no aversion to physical fitness. Cappy would catch her with no problem. He could even threaten to shoot her. Either way, he’d still have the mystery employer and she’d never be able to pry out of him why he helped her.

Her brain hurt.

She had to trust her instincts when they barraged her to call him, and trust his word that he wasn’t turning her in . . . at least not immediately.

She grasped his hand and her fingers spasmed with the same electric storm as earlier.
Sweet baby Jesus
. Gripping him tighter, she tried not to drool as he helped her stand way too close to him. Goose bumps raced over her skin at the way his height and physique made her feel dainty—not something she’d ever felt before. A fall breeze sailed over him, pushing a lock of hair across her eye and carrying his exquisite scent. Oh God. He smelled so good. She swiped the strand away, glancing up, and jolted at how close his mouth was to hers. Mere inches. His eyes narrowed and focused on her lips. She couldn’t stop her tongue from wetting them.

His intense coffee-tinted irises darkened.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Awareness and tension crackled around her and even if a bomb went off she wouldn’t be able to turn away. He lifted a finger and ran the tip over a scar near her hairline she usually kept hidden with makeup. Trembling under the rough skin, she squeezed the hand still holding hers.

A heavy frown pulled at his mouth and the heat that had been building in his eyes dimmed, morphing into . . . guilt? A cold shower couldn’t have doused the desire in her core faster than seeing his pity.

Ripping her hand out of his, she maneuvered around him and stormed up the walk.

She had no interest in becoming his next rescue project or being seen as a simpering damsel in distress. Yes, she had needed him in Colombia, and yes, she had called him today to help clear her name, but if they ever had sex it would be their overwhelming attraction driving the desire not pity and guilt.

A quaint living room with beige carpet and white walls greeted her when she stomped through the doorway. Sturdy, utilitarian furniture in a swirly blue-and-tan pattern consisted of a three-cushion couch, a two-cushion loveseat, and a high-backed chair. A fireplace with a marble slab at its base graced the side wall while a thirty-some-inch TV sat on a wooden stand against the short wall, opposite the front windows.

The living room bled into the dining room with a four-person table and dark-brown pleather chairs pushed in at each end. She caught a glimpse of a pedestrian kitchen that shared the wall with the TV and gained its entrance from the dining room.

Suddenly, every nerve stood at attention.

Jeremy had entered behind her.

Flustered at how her body had already tuned into his, she moved deeper into the room.

Space was
not
going to be a luxury in this tiny house. The cramped tightness unsettled her further.

Talon materialized out of the hallway shadows, hemming her in between the two men.

Her heart rate kicked up and her palms broke out in sweat. They were too big in the limited area, towering over her. All the oxygen left the room and her head spun. Air. There was no air with them hogging all the space. She swayed. She had to get out of here. Black spots dotted her sight. The tight confines were too reminiscent of that small room—

“Easy, Michelle,” a gruff voice crooned as if he spoke from the end of a tunnel. “Sit down.”

Her vision dimmed and blurred as rough hands grabbed her biceps, ratcheting up her pulse. Free. She had to get free.
Now!
She flailed her arms, punching anything she could connect with. She would not let them tie her to the chair. Not again. She’d make them kill her first before she’d willingly succumb to their sick games.

“Christ.” Grunt.

She was done answering their same three questions. She had no clue what they were talking about and never answered the way they wanted. She struggled and kicked against the confining forces.

“STOP! I’m not a spy!” she screamed, praying
this
time they’d listen.

They didn’t. How many times did they have to beat her, throw her back into the room, only to drag her out again and start over . . . usually with a different set of devices before they believed her?

“Goddammit. Ow.”

Her vision failed completely. Terror gripped her as a vise tried to pin her arms back. Oh God, no. They held her like this earlier when Raul walked in. He was not going to live out his twisted fantasies again. She reached into her reserves and fought against her abductors, crazed to get away.

Her fist connected with something that gave underneath her swing.

“Fuck! If you don’t get her under control, I’m going to,” a male voice yelled. Had she heard that voice before?

Muscled forearms clamped across her chest, crushing the air from her lungs as her feet lifted off the ground.

“I’m not Raul,” another male voice said. This one had her heart weeping in relief. “I’m not Raul. Stop fighting me.” Her body swung to the side. “It’s Captain Jeremy Malone. Not Raul. I’m not going to hurt you. Are listening to me, Michelle? It’s Cappy.”

Her brain froze.

“That’s right. You gave me that nickname, didn’t you? Remember how you tried to smile when you said ‘Cappy for short’?”

Cappy!
He was here to rescue her. He wouldn’t let that sadistic bastard touch her anymore.

She slumped in his arms.

“Good girl,” he crooned. “We’re going to sit here on the couch and breathe slowly.” Her body shifted with his, her weight now resting on top of him. “In”—he took an audible deep breath—“and out.” He blew it out, the air tickling her ear.

“Come on,” he prompted. “Do it with me.” He breathed in again and she found herself following his instructions. “Again. Deep breaths.”

They sat there for who knew how long breathing, her heart calming bit by bit.

She opened her eyes. A white, monotonous drywall ceiling slowly came in to focus, not dirt-riddled wooden slats.
Thank you, Lord
. Her sight was back. She plucked at her moist shirt, peeling it away from her body as she continued to breathe. Her gaze meandered to the kitchen entrance—

She gasped. Holy Mary Mother of God.

Talon leaned against the wall, holding a wad of paper towels against his face. Bright red blood filled the once white paper and dotted the front of his T-shirt.

“Did I do that?” she whispered, not really sure who she was asking.

“Yeah,” Cappy answered softly. “You kinda freaked out on us and started punching anything you could find.”

Tears blurred her vision. She had gone three years without an episode. Three glorious years without anything triggering her mind to relive that horror, and in the past twenty-four hours she’d had way too many.

“I’m so sorry.” She buried her head into Cappy’s large shoulder.