by Debbie Mason
Beside her, Cherry fluffed her hair and then adjusted her rhinestone-studded jacket that matched the micro-mini she’d paired with fishnet stockings and five-inch Lucite heels. “Okay, Sugar Tits, let’s get this show on the road.”
A pained sound emitted from Shay’s mouth before she managed to choke out, “Sugarlicious.”
“I know, that’s what I said.”
As Shay had learned in the past, it was no use wasting her breath arguing. She put a shoulder into the car door to push it open, shivering at the rush of cold, damp air. It smelled like exhaust fumes and the sea. The club was located on the highway, twenty minutes outside of Harmony Harbor on the way to Bridgeport.
Before Shay had the doors locked, Cherry bolted across the parking lot swearing at the weather. “Be careful of the ice!” Shay yelled after her, finding it interesting to discover her friend could actually run when she wanted to. She’d have to keep that in mind for another time.
Teeth practically chattering when she entered the club, Shay took a moment to get her bearings. On either side of the main floor, there were shiny-topped black bars with purple padded fronts. The purple and black color scheme was carried throughout the club, from the barstools to the booths at the back of the space that were set up for table service. The club didn’t open for another hour, so the main floor was empty save for a server and bartender, who offered Shay a chin lift.
Not wanting to appear suspicious, Shay returned his greeting while pretending to search through the black-studded purse Cherry had insisted she carry. Libby had drawn out the floor plan, so Shay knew there was a narrow hall on the other side of the bar to her right that led to the manager’s office, but she felt better getting a feel for the place herself.
The main level was a horseshoe-shape enclosed with a black railing that offered a view to the entertainment below. A large, lit square stage filled the center of the room on the lower level surrounded by comfortable black and purple pub chairs for the patrons. Overall, it was a step above most of the clubs she’d been in.
At the bottom of the curved staircase that led to the entertainment level, Cherry stood talking to one of the bouncers and spotted Shay. “Hurry up, they can’t hold off the audition forever, Sugar—”
“Coming, coming right now,” she cut Cherry off, trying to locate the security cameras as she made her way down the stairs. It wasn’t something Libby had paid attention to.
“Benji, this is my good friend—” Cherry began once Shay joined them.
“Sugarlicious,” she intervened, extending her hand. As she did, she wondered if the fortysomething, muscle-bound man with the scarred face and blond crew cut had picked up on her distaste for the name. It didn’t appear to be the case. He was too busy checking her out.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking, but don’t write her off just because she’s a little shy in the T and A department, Benji.”
Shay crossed her arms and gave them both a What the hell? look.
The bouncer lifted a shoulder, and Cherry continued as if Shay wasn’t staring her down. “I’m her mentor, after all, and you know I wouldn’t put my stamp of approval on just anyone.”
“Thing is, I don’t really know you, Cherry…and your friend here seems a little on the scary side.”
“Really? You’re a bouncer, for crap sakes. How can you be afraid of me?”
Cherry gave her a zip it look and grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t mind her. She’s nervous, that’s all. It’s a lot of pressure to live up to, you know. But she’ll blow Freaky Freddie away with her dance routine—just you wait and see. We’ll go freshen up and be back in five.” She began dragging Shay away.
The bouncer shot a pained look to what Shay knew was the glass outer wall of the manager’s office, which seemed to support Libby’s theory that the manager could see them even if they couldn’t see him. There was also a separate set of stairs that led to the office from the hall located off the dancers’ dressing rooms. It’s how Shay planned to get to the office unseen after their performance.
“Ah, Cherry, it’s Friendly Freddie, and that’s on account of him not being friendly at all, so maybe you should refrain from calling him anything other than Mr. Kozack,” the bouncer said.
Shay glanced back at Benji as she followed Cherry to the dancers’ changing rooms. “I hope he told you where the changing rooms are or he’s going to wonder how we know where to go.”
“Of course he did, and he told me something else too,” Cherry said, looking inordinately pleased with herself, which worried Shay.
“Cherry, we talked about this. You don’t ask questions unless I’m with you, and then you play off mine.”
“I know, but I had a better idea. I told Benji that I was in the area paying a surprise visit to my boyfriend, Charlie Angel. No, no, wait. You’ll see, it was a good idea,” she interrupted Shay’s groan. “I said how I was at loose ends on account of Charlie going out of town without letting me know, so I’ve been passing the time by mentoring you. And now that I’ve put my reputation on the line, you had better lose the attitude and get with the program.”
Shay pulled her out of the way of a blonde with bigger hair than Cherry, who was wearing less clothes and texting on her phone. Shay lowered her voice. “I told you I didn’t want us on Costello’s radar, and now you’ve put yourself directly there by saying you’re dating my uncle.”
“I know, I know, but here’s the good news. Benji says he saw your uncle in here talking to Frisky Eddie the night he died.”
Shay was too rattled by the news to remind her it was Fast Eddie not Frisky Eddie. “He’s positive it was Charlie?”
She nodded. “He said Charlie had been coming around regularly, and then they had a falling out or something. But they seemed buddy-buddy that night. They even left together. Good news, right? Now we know Charlie was still alive on Sunday.”
“And was last seen in the company of a man who was murdered a few hours later.”
“Oh, right, not so good news, then.”
“For Charlie, no, but it is for me. The FBI mustn’t know he was here that night. Michael would’ve said something.” Shay looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the manager’s office from there, but she had a feeling it would be free of cameras, same as the secondary entryway. No doubt there were things going on at the Pussy Cat East that Fast Eddie hadn’t wanted recorded. Namely things that went on in his office.
“So, did Benji seem upset about Fast Eddie’s murder? Did he give any indication he thought my uncle was involved?”
“No, none. You could tell he liked Charlie, and his old boss. I didn’t get the impression he’s a fan of the new one, though.”
“Did he mention Costello?”
“No, but he’s coming. I’m sure of it. Benji said we didn’t have time to do a run-through before the audition because they were expecting a VIP tonight and—”
Shay heard the squeak of shoes on tile and put a hand on Cherry’s arm.
“What’s wrong? I don’t hear anything.”
“Give him a minute, and you will. Start walking,” Shay said under her breath.
They only got a few yards when Benji called, “Geez, Cherry, I told you, you didn’t have time to waste. Mr. Kozack is waiting for you to take the stage.”
“You really are good, Shaybae. It’s like you have bionic ears,” Cherry whispered, and then turned to smile at Benji.
He thrust a whip at Shay. “Take it. I’ve been around long enough to see who’s got it and who hasn’t, and you don’t got it, lady. So unless you want to embarrass Cherry, I figure you oughta play to your strengths. You look like you work out, and I don’t mean no Pilates or yoga.”
“MMA.”
He grinned. “Totally would’ve called that. Okay, so work the pole.” He rolled his eyes, she imagined in response to her stiffening. “Come on, this is a class joint. If you play the dominatrix onstage, no one’s going to be expecting you to shake your thing. When you perform on the pole, Cherry wi
ll handle the stage routine.”
“Like you said earlier, you don’t know Cherry. So why are you really doing this?”
“Libby recommended you, so I figured you and her must be friends. How’s she doing? She okay?”
Shay picked up on it right away. Benji cared about Libby. She might be able to work with that. “She could be better. She’s out of a job and has two kids to support.” She saved the best for last. “I think Kozack scared her.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his meaty hands balled into fists. “He’s a scary guy. He’s got a temper. It was time for her to quit.”
“If he’s so bad, why aren’t you warning Cherry and me away?”
“Cherry’s making a guest appearance, and I’m not worried about you. No siree, if anyone should be worried, I think it should be the customers…and maybe my boss?”
You’re a smart man, Benji. Yes, you are. But she wasn’t ready to share with him just yet. She’d watch him closely tonight. If they didn’t get the information they needed on their own, he might prove to be an invaluable asset to have on the inside.
Cherry looped her arm through Benji’s. “Your boss should definitely be worried, Benji, because this is—”
The rest of what Cherry was about to say was cut off by Shay bringing the whip down on the floor with a resounding crack.
Chapter Thirteen
Black single-button Dolce and Gabbana suit with a white Eton multicolored button shirt…Very double-oh-seven, Pretty Boy. The suit was a good idea and so was leaving the five-o’clock shadow. Half the women in here mentally stripped you as soon as you walked in the club.”
“And apparently that makes you happy. Though I’m not sure I understand why,” Michael said as he joined his partner at the bar. He scanned the upper level of the Pussy Cat East for Danny Costello and his men.
“Because I don’t have to do any work. I can sit back and take your leftovers. We should go to the clubs together more often.” James nodded his thanks to the bartender and then grinned. “Time to check out the entertainment.”
“Your self-restraint amazes me. And so does your girlie drink. What is that?”
“A Blue Hawaiian, and don’t knock it till you try it. But you shouldn’t. Only a man’s man can pull it off,” James said as he headed for the stairs.
“All right, He-Man, let’s go check out the lower level. And please, don’t embarrass me,” Michael said, following behind.
James stopped, turning to face him on the third stair. “Ah, Pretty Boy, did you forget to tell me something?”
Michael was about to ask James what he was talking about when the announcer boomed, “And as a special treat, the Pussy Cat East is pleased to introduce our next dancers, none other than Cherry Blossom straight from Las Vegas and her protégé Sugarlicious.”
Michael’s hand tightened around the rail as Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” came over the speakers. “Please tell me Sugarlicious isn’t who I think it is.”
It didn’t take a genius to realize James wasn’t going to answer Michael’s question. He couldn’t even if he wanted to; the man’s tongue was practically touching the step below him.
It might have been better if it stayed that way, Michael thought when his partner regained his power of speech.
“Oh yeah, take it off, baby,” James said, moving his shoulders to the music. He glanced back at Michael, who was still frozen on the top step weighing out the consequences of seeing a half-naked…fully naked?—good God he hoped not—Shay.
If he’d thought he was over her, yesterday had provided ample evidence that wasn’t the case. It’s like the woman had imprinted herself on his heart and soul. So the idea of getting a full-on look at a grown-up version of the body he’d once worshipped wasn’t exactly high on his bucket list. He wasn’t a masochist after all. And he didn’t need any more reasons to lose sleep over her.
“Man, do I feel your pain. What did you do to lose her?”
“Nothing. It wasn’t me; it was her.” A half-truth, he supposed, since he’d been the one who allowed Maura to mess with his head. Listening to his mother, trusting her to have his best interests at heart, had been his first mistake. Not standing up for Shay had been the second and most damning.
Like his mother’s lies, the pain over losing Shay had messed with his head. It was kind of sad to think that, even though he was older and wiser, not all that long ago he’d allowed his mother to manipulate his relationship with his ex. And Maura was up to her old tricks again.
“Here, you’re gonna need this more than me.” James reached back to hand his tropical blue drink to Michael.
Michael made the mistake of taking a restorative sip while watching the men whistling, cheering, and calling out to Cherry and Shay. But what the men were calling to Shay and their equally offensive hand gestures managed to penetrate his lingering shock, and his blood pressure skyrocketed. He had to look elsewhere before he had a heart attack or a brain aneurysm.
And because his rising blood pressure had obviously affected his ability to think straight, he looked at Shay. On the pole. Hanging upside down with her gorgeous inky black hair sweeping the stage. He might have been okay if he focused his attention there, although he wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Even upside down, her flushed face was heart-stoppingly stunning.
But surprisingly the thought of his pounding head exploding didn’t stop him. He allowed his gaze to travel over her creamy breasts being offered up to the drooling crowd by an enticing black bra. He touched his fingers to the side of his mouth. It wasn’t the crowd drooling; it was him. As he self-consciously wiped the corner of his mouth, he dragged his gaze from her breasts to her sleek, toned torso. Toned? The woman had a six-pack. His hand went self-consciously to his own abs.
He would’ve been okay if he kept his attention on himself, but apparently he didn’t care that the sight of her phenomenal body had already turned him into a lust-crazed, drooling idiot, so he let his gaze wander to the black leather micro miniskirt and her incredible, lean-muscled thighs that gripped the pole…Good God that was hot, so hot. She was hot. And the room suddenly felt hotter too. Or maybe it’s me, he thought, and gulped down the Blue Hawaiian at the same time the facets of the diamond hanging around Shay’s neck caught the light and his attention.
“What’s she—” he began, and something wedged in his throat. He coughed, but the wedge didn’t move. He coughed again, wheezing as he tried to get his partner’s attention.
“What’s your prob— Holy shit, are you choking?”
He nodded, pointing at his back while continuing to cough violently.
“Just a sec. Let me think.” James rubbed his bald head, looking around while Michael choked to death. “Okay, I remember now. You’re not supposed to intervene if the person choking is coughing. So keep doing that. Keep coughing.”
Glaring at James, Michael tried to pat his own back. He was just about at the point of throwing himself against the railing before he passed out when muscled arms came around him. The man lifted Michael off his feet a couple of times, and then a wedge of pineapple shot out of his mouth. There was a smattering of applause, a couple of Grosses! and a fair number of ewws. Afraid to see what Shay thought about it all, Michael turned to thank his rescuer.
He looked up, way up, because the man had to be at least seven foot five, and he was packing heat. And the only reason he would be was if he was part of Danny Costello’s entourage. Michael extended his hand. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“No problem. My boss wouldn’t be happy if I let you die at his club.” He confirmed Michael’s initial impression, the man’s accent identifying him as an Italian from Southie. He pointed at the stage. “Which one of the dancers made you choke?”
Michael made the mistake of looking at Shay, who twirled her way down the pole. If he thought she hadn’t seen him, she cleared that up with her next move. Gray eyes narrowed on him, she picked up a whip and cracked it. Hard enough that several men in the
audience jumped, including Michael.
Obviously there was a message that he wasn’t picking up because she stared right at him, lifted her chin, and cracked the whip again. The only reason Michael could come up with for the action was that she didn’t think he knew his rescuer was part of Costello’s crew.
James distracted him from Shay by throwing an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “You kidding? Look what the guy’s drinking.” He gave the other man a knowing grin. “Now, if you were onstage, that’d be another story. You should buy your hero a drink.”
By the time Michael drained his third Blue Hawaiian at the upstairs bar, he’d come up with thirty creative ways to kill his partner. He might’ve come up with more if Luigi, Michael’s savior, didn’t just get the nod from one of his bodyguard pals. Michael turned to face the bar and ordered another drink. He didn’t want either Costello or Kozack to get a look at him. At least not yet.
Luigi thought Michael was a lawyer of his brother’s type. Actually, he thought he was Connor. Unable to give him one of his own business cards when he’d asked, Michael had given him his brother’s. Something he should probably let Connor know. Though maybe the drinks were getting to him because he was seriously considering not telling him. It was either the drinks or the fact that his brother had yet to return his calls about their mother.
Luigi clapped Michael on the shoulder. “My time’s not my own for the next few weeks, but I’ll give you a call after things calm down and see if we can’t get together again.”
If things went as planned, Luigi would soon have more time on his hands than he’d bargained for. Aside from Luigi playing for the other team—both in his personal relationships and line of work—they had a lot in common. They cheered for the Red Sox and Bruins, liked classical music, and frequented the same restaurants in Boston.
