Midnight Alias

by Elle Kennedy

  Pretending to be perplexed, he said, “Of course not. Why would you think I’m following you?”

  “It’s just . . . I’ve danced for hundreds of men, and this is the first time I’ve ever run into one of them outside of the club.” Suspicion laced her throaty voice, but she kept her head down, fiddling with her clothing.

  “Maybe none of those other men do their own laundry.”

  A laugh burst out of her mouth. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Rest assured, I’m not some sick stalker.”

  “That’s exactly what a sick stalker would say,” she pointed out, but the doubt on her face had eased. She still didn’t meet his eyes, though.

  “You know, it’s common courtesy to look someone in the eye when you’re having a conversation with them,” he said lightly.

  She stiffened. Her sweater fell over her shoulder again, revealing a flash of golden skin. Then she looked up and sought out his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude, aren’t I?”

  “Perfectly understandable.” He shrugged. “We’ve already established that last night’s lap dance is the big uncomfortable elephant in the room.”

  “Do you do it often? Get lap dances, I mean.”

  “Honestly? No. Yesterday was my first.”

  She looked surprised. “What made you ask for one then?”

  Luke knew he had to tread carefully. He had to be a normal guy. A man she could confide in. “I was curious.”

  She raised one delicate brow. “Curious.”

  “I’d never had one before, and I’m a firm believer in the try-anything-once philosophy.”

  She smiled, and something shifted in his chest.

  Vince Angelo’s girl, he swiftly reminded himself.

  “A risk-taker,” she said knowingly.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” He flashed her a grin. “I can probably go on for days about all the dangerous things I’ve done.”

  Instead of the “Oooh, tell me more” he’d expected, Olivia remained silent and her expression lost its playful light. Even worse, he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of annoyance in her eyes before she carried her things to the dryer.

  “Not a fan of danger?” he asked.

  She spared him a pithy glance over her shoulder. “Not really, no.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, he could see all his hard-earned progress flying right out the window. Damn it. The daredevil stories usually worked like a charm. Chicks loved a man who flirted with danger.

  But apparently not this one.

  He mulled it over, then opted for a different approach. “So there’s no room for risk in your life? You’re forever playing it safe?”

  She turned to face him with a coy smile. “No, I take risks. Last week I ordered a double cheeseburger at McDonald’s instead of a regular old cheeseburger.”

  Luke laughed. “How’d that work out for you?”

  “I had a stomachache all night.” She shrugged. “See? Taking risks is overrated.”

  “Sometimes,” he agreed. “But sometimes you’ve got no choice. Like, wouldn’t you do something risky or dangerous if it meant helping someone you cared about?”

  Olivia seemed to ponder that. “Yeah, I would.”

  “See?” he said, mimicking her. “Risk-taking can be necessary at times.”

  “I guess.” She sauntered back to the counter. “So what’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done for the sake of helping someone else?”

  “Faced down a pack of wild dogs with nothing but a stick,” he revealed.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. That’s how I rescued my mutt.”

  “I’m intrigued,” she said, waiting expectantly.

  “Well, there was this pack of dogs roaming the streets a few years back. It was New Orleans after Katrina, so a lot of strays were wandering around.”

  The word Katrina plugged up his throat like a wad of gum, but thankfully Olivia didn’t seem to notice. Swallowing, he went on, trying to maintain a casual tone. “Anyway, I was leaving a bar one night when I heard a scuffle in the back alley. Got out there just in time to see the pack circling this poor mutt. He was another stray, from the looks of him—scrawny, rib cage jutting out, and his hind leg was broken. An easy meal for the pack. The poor thing looked so pitiful I couldn’t not save him.”

  Olivia looked fascinated. “So you fought off the other dogs.”

  “Yep.” He rolled up the right sleeve of his black button-down and held out his forearm to display the jagged white scar there. “That’s how I got this. One of the dogs got hold of my arm, but then I got hold of that stick, and they scurried the fuck out of there.”

  “And the mutt?”

  “Me and him both got rabies shots, the vet fixed him up, and we’ve been best friends ever since.”

  That got him another smile. His chest felt kind of hot.

  “So were you involved in the relief efforts after the hurricane?” Olivia asked.

  He knew it was an innocent question, but he couldn’t control the way his shoulders stiffened, or the sudden tension in his jaw. Crap. Why had he brought up this damn subject to begin with? He’d wanted to get a conversation going, but now, as memories of Katrina blew through his head like the gusts that had blown his city apart, he regretted opening his big mouth.

  “Yeah, I was involved,” he answered noncommittally. “I’m big on helping people.”

  She slanted her head. “Okay, tell me another story then. Other than a stray from New Orleans, who else have you helped?”

  Painting himself with a heroic brush wasn’t exactly Luke’s cup of tea—more like Sully’s style—but since he was the one who’d opened the door to this discussion in the first place, he couldn’t really complain.

  Besides, with her green eyes shining and her exquisite face dancing with amusement, Olivia looked so fucking gorgeous that Luke would have given her any damn thing she wanted, including the clothes right off his back.

  But he settled for a story instead.

  * * *

  Isabel hadn’t anticipated the thrill that shot through her body when she laid eyes on Trevor. She’d been trying hard not to think about him these past six months—and failing miserably at it. Now here he was, standing in front of her, and she couldn’t deny that his presence affected her.

  “So you’re Morgan’s girl on the inside,” Trevor said, his deep voice containing a wry note. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should have known.”

  She gestured for him to enter the apartment. “He contacted me two months ago,” she admitted. “Right after Carter Dane went AWOL.”

  “Two months ago?” He looked surprised. “The DEA didn’t call us in until last week.”

  “Officially. But Morgan’s friend at the agency asked him to unofficially look into Dane’s disappearance right after it went down. Morgan asked me to gather some intel. He knew you guys would eventually be contracted so he figured he may as well have someone in place ahead of time.”

  “And didn’t say a word about it to any of us. Again, not a surprise.”

  Trevor’s tall, muscular frame dominated the narrow front hall of her apartment. He was bulkier now, had definitely been working out since he’d been dragged out of retirement for that Colombian job. He looked good. Really good. Dark hair in a short style, wool coat snug against his broad shoulders, black trousers emphasizing his long legs. But it was his whiskey brown eyes that snagged her attention. They were completely devoid of the overwhelming grief she’d glimpsed that day in the hospital, when he’d ripped into her for saving his life.

  It was strange—they’d spent only a short amount of time together, yet after they’d gone their separate ways, his chiseled face had continued to flash through her mind, the memory of his baritone voice a constant nuisance. She’d found herself thinking about him so frequently that she’d started begging Noelle for assignments. She’d thrown herself into a stream of undercover gigs, using them as a distraction, but each time she returned to being Isabel Roma, the
memory of Trevor Callaghan returned too.

  She wondered what that meant.

  At the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Isabel asked as she led him into the cozy sunken living room.

  “No thanks.” He glanced around. “So this is where you live.”

  “Told you it was small.” She followed his gaze, seeing everything through his eyes. The only furnishings in the living room were a pair of tall bookcases, a plump yellow couch, and a square pine coffee table with a stack of takeout menus on it.

  Trevor turned to face her. “I like it. It’s you.”

  She drifted over to the couch and sat down. “How so?”

  “Straightforward. Warm.”

  After a beat, he sat down next to her. Not that he had any other option. The sofa was the only place to sit in the room. She’d never cared much for material things, and her apartment showed it. Her bedroom boasted nothing but a bed and a big wicker chair that she tossed her clothes on. The kitchen had a table and one chair. The spare bedroom sat empty. The sparse surroundings didn’t trouble her, though. She was hardly ever here anyway. In fact, she’d spent more time in this apartment these last two months than in the past five years combined.

  “So,” Trevor began awkwardly, “how’ve you been?”

  “Busy. You?”

  “Same.”

  “Morgan said you’re back to work full-time.”

  “Yeah. Being in the middle of the action has helped a lot.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Isabel, about that last day in Bogotá, I—”

  “In the past,” she cut in. Before he could press the subject, she hurried on. “Let’s just focus on this job, okay? I think Carter Dane is alive.”

  That got his attention. “What makes you say that?”

  “I overheard Angelo talking on the phone last night. My presence is never required in his office, so I sweet-talked my way up there, told his bodyguard I desperately needed to talk to Vince about my performance. His door was ajar, and I caught the tail end of his conversation. I don’t know who he was talking to, but it was about Dane.”

  “What did he say exactly?”

  “That sooner or later they—I assume the DEA—will start looking for Dane, so it would be best to get rid of him before that happened.”

  Trevor’s features hardened. “The agency was right, then. Dane’s cover was blown.”

  “That’s what it sounds like.”

  Suddenly those brown eyes were pinning her down with a sharp look. “Did Angelo see you at the door? Does he suspect you were eavesdropping?”

  “I don’t think so.” She grinned. “Candy Cane isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I play her off as dumb when I’m around Vince.”

  “Unfortunately, Angelo is sharp.” Concern hung from his deep voice. “I’m going to recommend that Morgan pull you out of there.”

  Isabel’s heart did a little flip. Last time they’d worked together, she’d been the one watching out for Trevor, doing her damnedest to make sure he didn’t get himself killed. The role reversal was unexpected.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Angelo didn’t suspect a thing. He just ushered me into his office and sat there rolling his eyes in boredom while I babbled on about this new routine I want to try out.” She leaned back, toying with a strand of her hair. “In all honesty, the man doesn’t seem to notice or care about any of the dancers. He’s only got eyes for one.”

  “Olivia Taylor.”

  She nodded. “He’s obsessed with her.”

  “Does she return the sentiment?”

  Isabel pondered that. She was a seasoned operative, yet she couldn’t quite figure Olivia Taylor out. Onstage, the dark-haired dancer exuded sex and sin. In the dressing room, she was subdued, jumpy even. Shadows haunted the woman’s eyes, but the reason for those shadows remained a mystery, even after two months of working with the girl.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something is definitely troubling her, and I’m not certain, but I swear she flinched one time when Angelo touched her. Other times, she smiles at him like he’s the love of her life.”

  “What’s your gut telling you?”

  “That she’s scared of him,” Isabel said flatly. “That he’s got her under his thumb, and she doesn’t want to be there.”

  Trevor went silent for a second, then gave a decisive nod. “Then we go with your gut.”

  A rush of warmth spread through her. Oh, this was bad. It was obvious that whatever bond she and Trevor had formed in Colombia still existed. She’d hoped time would have severed it.

  She cleared her throat, steering the discussion back to safe ground. “I’ll continue keeping my eyes and ears open, but Olivia needs to be watched. Morgan said Luke’s trying to get close to her?”

  “Yeah. And the rest of us are still on the club.”

  “Abby too? Morgan didn’t say.”

  “She’s at the compound—mandatory break.”

  Isabel grinned. “Abby’s not a fan of mandatory anything.”

  He grinned back.

  Six months ago, smiles from Trevor Callaghan appeared about as often as Halley’s Comet. Now they seemed readily available. God, he had changed. She wondered if he still struggled with the nightmares.

  Their eyes met again, and a frustrated groan left his lips. “I don’t care if it’s in the past,” he blurted out. “I still need to apologize.”

  “Trevor—”

  “I acted like a total ass, all right? When you saved my life, I was so fucking pissed. I was ready to die, Isabel. I wanted to die.”

  “I know.”

  He let out a breath. “I lashed out at you and you didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, but I understood where it was coming from.”

  It had still hurt, though. That’s probably why his presence was so unsettling to her now. She was thirty-two years old and thought she’d reached a point in her life when nothing and no one could hurt her. Her family’s Mafia background had made her childhood unorthodox, not to mention unbearable, and she’d lived through too much heartache, too much bullshit. Truth was, her easygoing charm was nothing but a practiced facade. Inside she was hardened.

  Trevor’s callous parting words and cold accusations had punched a hole in her shield, and it troubled her that he’d gotten close enough to be able to do that.

  “I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confessed. “I wanted to call so many times and tell you how sorry I was, but I kept chickening out.”

  That brought a wry smile to her lips. “I could’ve called too, but you told me to stay out of your life.”

  “I’m a bastard.”

  “You were a bastard,” she corrected. “You seem better now.”

  “I am.” He swallowed again. “I let her go.”

  She didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. Gina, his dead fiancée. The woman who’d haunted his dreams and given him a death wish. “That’s good,” she said quietly.

  He cleared his throat. “Isabel—”

  “I’ll keep digging at the club,” she said abruptly, getting to her feet. “And I think trying to befriend Olivia will be on my to-do list as well.”

  The moment had passed. Trevor snapped back into business mode. “I want you to start checking in with me. Keep Morgan in the loop, but I want a check-in every four hours.”

  “That seems a little excessive.”

  His dark eyes met hers. “Humor me.”

  * * *

  Luke Dubois was the most fascinating man Olivia had ever met. By the time her laundry was washed, dried, and folded, she actually felt reluctant to leave the Laundromat. Luke had been entertaining her with stories for the past hour and a half, but to be honest, she was more interested in the man than his words.

  He was incredibly intelligent, funny as hell, charming without even trying. And blatantly masculine. When he’d stood up to transfer his clothes into the dryer, she’d realized just how huge he was
. Six-two at least, without an ounce of fat anywhere on that big, sexy body of his. She kept sneaking peeks at him, pathetically intrigued by the thick forearms he’d revealed when he’d pulled up the sleeves of his button-down, the unruly dark hair that curled under his ears, the thin white scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

  But when she found herself staring at the curve of his sensual mouth and wondering what his kisses would feel like, she knew it was time to go.

  Cutting him off mid-sentence, Olivia reached for a neatly folded stack of sweaters and said, “I should get going. My mother’s waiting for me at home.”

  “Here, let me help.” He grabbed one of her empty sacks and began to fill it with folded items. Then he shot her a sideways look. “You live with your mom?”

  She nodded. “I was on my own a couple of years ago, but then she got sick so I moved back in to help her out.”

  “Is she still sick?”

  “She’s in remission now. For the third time.”

  “She must be a fighter.”

  Her throat tightened. “She is. She’s . . . God, she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I wish I was half as strong as her.”

  Luke’s voice was rough. “You seem pretty strong to me.”

  Before she could stop it, the memory of the attack in the alley flew into her head. The customer’s black eyes flashing in fury, his fists coming down on her face.

  A wave of sickness swelled in her stomach. She’d tried to be strong that night. She’d kicked, scratched, punched, but the more she’d tried to strike out, the deeper the serrated blade had dug into her neck.

  Just as quickly, her nausea was replaced by a blast of anger that burned a path through her body. She had been strong. She’d fought for her life that night. It was afterward that she’d become weak. She’d allowed herself to be weakened when she’d let Vince pay her bills, when she’d let fear keep her under that man’s control.

  “Hey. Olivia, look at me.”

  A pair of hands cupped her chin. She looked up and found Luke staring at her in concern.